Title: The Sexagenarian; or, the recollections of a literary life (Volume 2 of 2)
Author: Beloe, William
Language: English
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The Sexagenarian; or, the recollections of a literary life, in two
volumes. Vol. II.



                                   THE
                              SEXAGENARIAN;

                              RECOLLECTIONS
                                   OF A
                              LITERARY LIFE.

                             IN TWO VOLUMES.

                                 VOL. II.

                                 London:
                   PRINTED FOR F. C. AND J. RIVINGTON,
                     NO. 62, ST. PAUL’S CHURCH-YARD;
          _By R. and R. Gilbert, St. John’s Square, Clerkenwell_
                                  1817.



    Pelliculam veterem retinens et fronte politus
    Astutam vapido gestas sub pectore vulpem.

CHAPTER I.


The next personage of whom some detached and mutilated memorandums
present themselves, must be an object of conjecture, but the
peculiarities concerning him are very striking, and the changes of his
character and conduct so very considerable, that it may not be unamusing
to some readers, to look back on the last twenty-five years, and
endeavour to discover to whom they will apply.

The individual alluded to in our Manuscript, is mentioned as having been
educated in the principles of the Dissenters, and to have officiated in
earlier life as a clerk in some manufactory, or with some merchant, at
Liverpool. It may be questioned, whether he ever entirely got rid of
his former prejudices, but on some occasion or other, he chose to offer
himself to the Bishop of Landaff as a candidate for orders. By him he
was ordained, and he rendered himself so acceptable to the Bishop, that
he made him his Chaplain. Preferment he had none to give him, at least no
opportunity of making provision for his Chaplain presented itself, and
the subject of this article was for a long series of years confined to a
scanty income, obtained from laborious curacies, and from the not much
more tolerable labour of pen-drudgery for booksellers.

With his entrance into holy orders, the spirit of orthodoxy and loyalty
did not immediately accompany him. His more intimate associates were
still those, who, on all occasions, avowed and practised hostility to
the Established Church, and friendship for French principles; and he so
far forgot himself, that for a time, at least, he was an active member
of the famous, or rather infamous, Corresponding Society. His very
particular friends were Mr. Stone, Helen Maria Williams, Mr. Holcroft,
Mrs. Wolstoncroft, Dr. Priestley, Dr. Kippis—_et id genus omne_.

In this interval he published sermons, which were well received,
some essays, rather heavy, but which indicated powers of thinking.
He translated a very popular theological work, and this with so much
success, that it introduced him to the notice of an excellent and
venerable prelate, who has before been named, and who always eagerly
sought opportunities of distinguishing and rewarding literary exertions,
particularly such as promised to be useful to the Church.

Our gentleman had then the discretion to withdraw his name from the
above-mentioned society, and demonstrated a little more circumspection,
with respect to those with whom he associated. He however married a rigid
Dissenter, to whom he eventually owed the prosperity, which attended his
close of life.

By a concurrent series of fortunate circumstances, he was finally
introduced to the Premier, and employed by him in some confidential
services. The consequence of this was preferment so considerable as to
secure a perfect independence.

His publications were very numerous, and he had obtained a sort of
name among publishers, which occasioned many manuscripts of authors
to be confided to him for revision and correction. Among others, he
superintended the very popular work by Colonel Drinkwater, on the siege
of Gibraltar. It is, however, to be apprehended, that he sometimes
allowed his name to be prefixed, when he had not a great deal to do with
the substance and body of the work.

And so much for Dr. ⸺.



    His primum studium est ciere risum
    Ex re qualibet, et leves cachinnos
    Movere, et recitatione ficti
    Lingas nobilium excitare laudes.
    Norunt scommatibus placere salsis
    Et mordacibus irritare dictis
    Si quem simplicioribus notarunt
    Vitæ moribus esse, et institutis
    Aptant denique, punctum ad omne, frontem.

CHAPTER II.


The vicissitudes of fortune, of principles, and of conduct, which
characterised the individual above introduced, not improbably brought to
the recollection of the Sexagenarian, another personage of still more
eccentric and contradictory qualities. For immediately succeeding the
above sketch, after the erasure of some lines, in which occur the words
_inconsistency_, _unprincipled_, _uncommonly good luck_, we find the
following observations:—

I have often regretted that on leaving his society, I did not constantly
write down the good things said by JOHN WILKES. I transcribe from
memory these few particulars concerning him, and I may perhaps hereafter
increase the catalogue.

He was really a sad dog, but most delightfully amusing, facetious, witty,
well-informed, and with much various, though not profound learning.

He was sometimes so intolerably sarcastic, and more particularly at the
expence of his friends in the city, that the wonder is, how he could
so long continue in their good graces. He never put any restraint upon
himself, when in company, on the other side of Temple-bar, but indulged
in all the satire of his wit, at the citizen’s expence. A few examples,
among a hundred that could easily be given, may suffice.

When confined in the King’s Bench, he was waited upon by a deputation
from some ward in the city, when the office of alderman was vacant. As
there had already been great fermentation on his account, and much more
apprehended, they who were deputed, undertook to remonstrate with Wilkes
on the danger to the public peace, which would result from his offering
himself as a candidate on the present occasion, and expressed the hope
that he would at least wait till some more suitable opportunity presented
itself. But they mistook their man; this was with him an additional
motive for persevering in his first intentions. After much useless
conversation, one of the deputies at length exclaimed, “Well, Mr. Wilkes,
if you are thus determined, we must take the sense of the ward.” “With
all my heart,” replied Wilkes, “I will take the non-sense, and beat you
ten to one.”

Upon another occasion, Wilkes attended a city dinner, not long after his
promotion to city-honours. Among the guests was a noisy vulgar deputy, a
great glutton, who, on his entering the dinner room, always with great
deliberation took off his wig, suspended it on a pin, and with due
solemnity put on a white cotton night-cap. Wilkes, who certainly was a
high-bred man, and never accustomed to similar exhibitions, could not
take his eyes from so strange and novel a picture. At length, the deputy,
with unblushing familiarity, walked up to Wilkes, and asked him whether
he did not think that his night-cap became him? “Oh! Yes, Sir,” replied
Wilkes, “but it would look much better if it was pulled quite over your
face.”

Wilkes’s dislike of the Scotch was sufficiently notorious, yet he was
very partial to Boswell, and often sought his society. I dined with him
once, (_loquitur Sexagenarius noster_) when, among some enlightened
people, was present a heavy, stupid, consequential fellow, who held
some city office, and who often, in the course of the conversation,
treated Wilkes with much rudeness. It seemed that Wilkes and Boswell
had met in Italy, and had ascended to the top of Vesuvius together.
They recapitulated various circumstances of their expedition with much
pleasantness and good-humour: and among other things, Boswell reminded
Wilkes, with no ordinary satisfaction, of the exquisite Lacryma Christi,
which they had found at a hermitage for the accommodation of travellers,
half-way up the mountain: “Pray brother Wilkes,” said the citizen, “what
is Lacryma Christi?” The answer which is here omitted, joined the most
perfect wit, to the grossest blasphemy.

But neither would Wilkes spare Boswell, or conceal before him his
prejudices against the Scotch nation. He seemed to seize, with particular
avidity, every opportunity to play upon Boswell, when any thing relating
to Scotland was introduced. “You must acknowledge, my friend Wilkes,”
observed Boswell one day, “that the approach to Edinburgh from the London
road, presents a very picturesque and interesting picture.” “Why so it
perhaps may,” returned Wilkes, “but when I was there, the wind was in my
face, and it brought with it such a confounded stink, that I was obliged
to keep my handkerchief to my nose, the whole of the way, and could see
nothing of the prospect.”

Not long afterwards, Boswell was speaking of some Scotch nobleman, who
was very fond of planting, and had ornamented his domain with some very
fine and beautiful forest-trees. “Where could this possibly be,” said
Wilkes; “I travelled through the country with an American servant, and
after we had visited various places in different parts of Scotland, I
enquired of him what his general opinion was of the country?” “Oh, Sir!”
replied the American, “it is _finely cleared_.”

There was a heavy Lord Mayor in Wilkes’s time, who, by persevering
steadily in the pursuit of one object, accumulated an immense fortune,
and rose progressively from the dignity of Common-councilman to the
State-coach, and the Mansion-house. His first entrance into life was as a
common bricklayer. At one of the Old Bailey dinners, his lordship, after
a sumptuous repast on turbot and venison, was eating an immense quantity
of butter with his cheese—“Why brother,” said Wilkes, “you lay it on with
a _trowel_.”

There is a singular anecdote of this same Lord Mayor, demonstrative of
the parsimonious principles, by the exercise of which he doubtless rose
to opulence. His only son was brought up in the same mean profession, and
one day fell from a scaffold, and was killed by the fall. The father, who
was present, on seeing the accident, only exclaimed, “Take care of his
watch.”

In the riots of the year 1780, which at the same time endangered and
disgraced the metropolis, Wilkes was lamenting the ungovernable violence
of a London mob;—upon this, some brother citizen took him up shortly,
and reminded him of the disturbances of which he had formerly been the
occasion. “Sir,” returned Wilkes, “I never was a Wilkite.”

He was not apt to express outwardly any thing like chagrin or
mortification, but he certainly took his disappointment at Brentford,
the last time that he offered himself as candidate for Middlesex, very
heavily to heart. “I should much have liked,” he would say, “to have died
in my geers.” Upon a similar occasion he exclaimed, “I can only compare
myself to an exhausted volcano.”

Among other peculiarities and contradictions which marked Wilkes’s
character, was a passion he had for collecting bibles, of which he
had certainly obtained a great number of curious editions. But he was
nevertheless consistent in his profligacy, and whenever the subject of
religion or scripture was introduced, treated both with the keenest
ridicule.

He called one morning upon a friend who resided in a very close and
retired situation in the city, but who had a small opening before his
house, of a few yards square, and two plants, which once looked like
lilacs, in large tubs, adorned his windows. Men were employed in painting
the outside of the house. “Brother,” said Wilkes to his friend, “suffer
me to plead in behalf of these two poor lilacs in the tubs; pray let them
be painted too.”

Wilkes was particularly fond of the society of learned men, though not by
any means profoundly erudite himself. On some distinguished Greek scholar
being named to him, he expressed a great desire to have his acquaintance.
“Pray make me know him,” says Wilkes, “and tell him I should very much
like pergræcari[1] with him.” To which the person alluded to would have
made no kind of objection.

There were other broken and unfinished scraps in the Manuscript about
Wilkes, which in appearance were intended to revive the recollection of
circumstances to be detailed at some hour of leisure. There is, however,
this remark at the end.

Wilkes was of that distinguished eminence for facetiousness and humour,
it may indeed be said for wit, that it was the fashion of the day to
ascribe any very striking and popular bon mot to him, and about the time
of his disappearing from the stage, to him or Jekyll. They have both, in
all probability, had the reputation of saying what neither of them ever
uttered; though both were eminently distinguished for saying naturally
and unaffectedly innumerable good things.

A few of these children of questionable parentage are preserved. No
matter to which of the above, or to whom, they belong.

    Querist.—Where, observed a Roman Catholic, in warm dispute with
    a Protestant, where was your religion before Luther?

    Q. Did you wash your face this morning?

    A. Yes.

    Q. Where was your face before it was washed?

       *       *       *       *       *

    I wish you at the devil, said somebody to Wilkes.

    I don’t wish you there.

    Why.

    Because I never wish to meet you again.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Where the devil do you come from? said Wilkes, to a beggar in
    the Isle of Wight.

    From the devil.

    What is there going on there?

    Much the same as here.

    What’s that?

    The rich taken in, and the poor kept out.

The following may with greater probability be assigned to Jekyll than to
Wilkes.

    Your friend N. is married.

    To whom?

    The tall Miss G.

    What to that thin lankey piece of furniture: it could not be
    from the lust of the flesh, for she has not an ounce upon her.

       *       *       *       *       *

    At a dinner where great satisfaction was expressed, it was
    facetiously proposed that the president should proceed to the
    kitchen, and kiss the cook.

    That, observed ⸺, would be a salute at Spithead.

       *       *       *       *       *

    When a certain popular nobleman was appointed to the green
    ribband, he met his facetious friend, who warmly congratulated
    him on his new dignity, and green ribband. Yes, said the
    nobleman, but you will find me the same man still. Why, then
    returned the wit, you shall be the Green Man and Still.

    A pert young lady was walking one morning on the Steyne, at
    Brighton, when she encountered our facetious friend. You see,
    Mr. ⸺, I am come out for a little sun and air.

    You had better, Madam, get a little husband first.

The above are a few of the facetious apopthegms, which seemed, in the
opinion of the Sexagenarian to merit preservation. There are others in
the Manuscript, but they are either more familiar, or less interesting.
Contrasted to the above, are two extraordinary instances of ignorance,
which appear to have been written down as marvellous examples of a total
want of comprehension and intelligence.

A woman of decent appearance came into a stationer’s shop, where the
Sexagenarian was present, and desired to purchase a pen, for which she
paid a penny. On receiving it, she returned it with the observation, that
it was good for nothing. Another was given her, but she gave this also
back again, with the same remark. On being asked what fault she had to
find with them—“Why how,” she returned, “could they possibly be good for
any thing, when both had a slit at the end.”

The other instance is no less curious, and also happened in the presence
of our friend.

A female came into a bookseller’s shop with a slip of paper in her hand,
upon which was written a verse from Scripture, with the proper reference
to the place from whence it was taken.

“I want,” said she, “_the sermon_ on that text, and two of my neighbours
will each be glad of one also.” The bookseller surprised, enquired whose
sermon it was. “Our curate’s,” she replied, “and he preached it last
Sunday.” On being asked whether she knew if it had been printed, she was
a little displeased, and pettishly observed, “how could it be preached
if it had not been printed.” No explanation or remonstrance availed to
satisfy, and she left the shop, convinced that the bookseller could, if
he had thought proper, have accommodated her with what she wanted.



    Temeritas est videlicet florentis ætatis, prudentia senescentis.

    Adolescentia sola est invalida viribus, infirma consiliis,
    vitio calens, fastidiosa monitoribus, illecebrosa deliciis.

CHAPTER III.


A literary life, like adversity, introduces a man to strange and
opposite acquaintance. Genius, talent, and learning, are not limited to
rank or station, and the ingenuous desire of receiving, as well as of
communicating information, induces an individual of such propensities to
put aside those prejudices, which marked differences of opinion in creeds
and in politics, have an inavoidable tendency to excite. That such were
the feelings, and such the circumstances of our venerable friend, at a
certain period of his life, appear from the following loose memoranda,
which he evidently intended, at some period or other, to arrange and
methodize.

What shall that individual alledge, to ward off and repel the charge
of inconsistency, who began his career in life under the auspices of
James Townsend, of Bruce Castle, of the patriotic Aldermen Sawbridge
and Oliver; who confesses that he spent agreeable hours with Price
and Priestley, and Horne Tooke, and Major Cartwright; and Kippis; and
afterwards with a well known popular Baronet, and Dr. Disney, and
Walker of Liverpool, and very many others of this description. The same
person in the decline of life, had no friends, associates, or indeed
acquaintance, but with individuals whose principles, sentiments, and
conduct, were as diametrically opposite, to those of the characters above
named, as light to darkness.

The fact is to be thus explained:—The first entrance into life must
be incidental altogether; our first connexions are unavoidably those
of our relatives, and their friends and associates; principles are
unfolded only by time and experience, and then it is, that intimacies and
attachments are formed and confirmed by similarity of taste, sentiments,
and pursuits. Our Sexagenarian, as appears from his notes, first lived,
where almost the whole of what might properly be denominated taste and
learning, was confined to the Dissenters. Mark, reader, not Methodists;
never was much taste or learning visible among these sectaries, but among
the old Presbyterians, who constituted, in the place alluded to, both a
numerous and respectable class. Neither did the word Presbyterian by any
means imply “an immoral man, a pestilent citizen, or a disloyal subject.”
He was therefore and of necessity compelled, though firm and immoveable
in his own religious tenets, to associate much and familiarly with them
in order to participate in common in the literary barter, which was
carried on with much fairness and liberality on all sides.

Afterwards having formed a tender domestic connection, the ramification
from which, drew him not unwilling to the metropolis; his family
engagements threw him abruptly, and in the heat of the American war,
amidst “a croud of patriots,” many of whose names have before been
mentioned. Young and inexperienced, dazzled with the name of liberty,
confounded by subtleties of argument, which, if he could not accurately
analyze, he was still unable to confute; and lastly, with the prospect
placed before him of ease and independence, can it excite surprise, that
he should get entangled in a net, of which the meshes were at the same
time so fine, as to elude detection, and too strong to allow of escape?

Politics, however, was not the subject for which he was best qualified,
nor did they ever interest his affections, or exercise the better
powers of his mind. He was rather the instrument than the operator,
and he confesses that he has often looked back with a sort of shame
and compunction, at having been, sometimes, the means of circulating
ingredients, of the full tendency of which he was then unconscious, but
which he has since ascertained to have developed some of those poisonous
seeds, the pernicious effects of which, Europe, nay the whole world, has
for the last five and twenty years experienced.

He derives, however, some consolation from the hope, indeed the confident
belief, that many of those individuals, to whom a chain of fortuitous
circumstances thus introduced him, were not themselves aware of the
ultimate consequences of their conduct. The spirit of distrust and
suspicion, which, in our free country, always follows with unremitting
vigilance, the measures and the ministers of government, the emotions
of wounded pride, of disappointed ambition, and, in some instances of
personal enmity, combined to form the stimulus which actuated the conduct
of many of the best and ablest characters among them. Many also, it is
apprehended, discovered the illusion in time, and retracted their errors,
before they had operated to the injury of their country.

Be the above as it may, the whole of the junta has disappeared like “the
baseless fabric of a vision,” and of the individuals more particularly
alluded to, the writer of these pages was, when this was recorded, the
“only rack which was left behind.”

It may not be altogether unentertaining to say a little on some of these
worthies, the result of personal knowledge.



    What variety of herbs soever are shuffled together in the dish,
    yet the whole mass is swallowed up in one name of sallet. In
    like manner, under the consideration of names, I will make a
    hodge-podge of differing articles.

CHAPTER IV.


James T. of B. Castle, was the most extraordinary character of them all.
He was of a good family, his father having been an opulent merchant,
Alderman of London, and Member of Parliament. Whether this gentleman
had that determined and implacable spirit of resistance to the measures
of government, which afterwards characterized his son, has not been
recorded. This James T.’s first appearance as a candidate for political
fame, was when he served the office of Sheriff, with Sawbridge, and
perhaps the same office has never since been filled by such individuals,
possessing, in such entire unison, qualities so eccentric. It is
not intended to write T.’s life, though it deserves a place in our
biographical collections, far better than many which there make their
appearance.

The principal upon which he seemingly acted, was to resist government in
every thing, though this was hardly fair on the score of gratitude. He
married a natural daughter of the last Lord C. who left Mrs. T. all his
estates, which were very large indeed, but as she had been born abroad,
and had never been naturalized, the estates were forfeited to the crown.
The then Lord Holland had an intimate political connection with Mr. T.’s
father, and through his parliamentary interest, the estates were restored
to Lord C.’s daughter, and confirmed to her by act of Parliament.

This liberality had, however, no sort of influence on his conduct;
his own opinion on any subject was the standard of right, and _fari
quid sentiat_, his motto. During the time of his serving the office
of Sheriff, it was thought expedient by government to execute some
rioters in Spital-fields, in the neighbourhood where the offence had
been committed. This he and his brother Sheriff strenuously resisted,
contending they were not justified in seeing the sentence of the law put
in force, except at the usual place of execution. They were, however,
obliged to give way. Upon another occasion, he resisted the payment of
the land-tax, and suffered his effects to be seized at T. from the excuse
that in the case of Wilkes and Lutterell, the county of Middlesex was not
legally represented.

He had great natural eloquence, though he had not taken much pains in the
cultivation of his mind; and he always commanded attention in the House
of Commons, where he once very narrowly escaped being sent to the Tower,
in consequence of some intemperate expressions against the Princess
Dowager of Wales. His most particular friends were Lord Shelburne and
Colonel Barré. He represented Calne, Lord Shelburne’s borough, and when
in town, always resided in his Lordship’s house. Whatever may be thought
of his politics, though they certainly were of a mischievous tendency,
he was a firm and steady friend, and so tenacious of his promise, that
he would leave the remotest part of the kingdom, and the most delightful
society, to attend and give his vote at Guildhall, though for the meanest
individual, and the humblest office. He was very proud and tenacious of
his dignity among the great, though of the most conciliating affability
with his inferiors. He would travel from one end of the kingdom to the
other without a servant, and with a small change of linen in a leathern
trunk behind the saddle.

The Sexagenarian once accompanied him on a fishing excursion, in a remote
province, and he chose, in the kitchen of the village-alehouse, where
they stopped for refreshment, to dress some of the fish that had been
caught. A labouring man came in to enquire of the landlord how to get a
letter to London _at least expence_. “Give me your letter,” said Mr. T.
“and it shall cost nothing.” He accordingly asked for pen and ink, and
franked it, to the great amazement of seven or eight peasants, who were
standing about to see the novel spectacle of a Gemman dressing his own
fish.

A great deal more might be said, and not without exciting interest, of
this singular character, but it appears that our friend’s memorandums
must be curtailed; they would otherwise extend to too great a length.
With the exception of Lord Shelburne and Colonel Barré, Mr. T.’s
political friends varied somewhat with times and circumstances. He was
once very intimate with Lord Thurlow, with Horne Tooke, with Sawbridge,
and Oliver, and Wilkes, and many similar characters of that day, but
before his death, these connections ceased altogether.

His son, it seems, partook of his father’s enthusiasm, or what they
mutually understood to be the cause of liberty, and attached himself to
the flaming patriots of the day.

The London Aldermen of those days, at least it is true of many among
them, were in some respects different from those of the present. There
were not a few individuals of birth and fortune, but little connected
with commerce, who used their influence to obtain the Aldermanic gown,
entirely from political views and purposes; such was Mr. T. and such
also was Sawbridge.

Mr. Sawbridge was a country gentleman, with no city connections, but
ardent in his politics, and exasperated against government, for what
he considered as a violation of the constitution, in not permitting
Wilkes to sit as representative for Middlesex. He at that time sate in
Parliament for one of the Cinque Ports, and so distinguished himself by
the part he took in favour of Wilkes, that he became exceedingly popular
with the citizens of London, who, before he was an Alderman, elected
him with T, to the office of Sheriff. He was in due time both Alderman
and Lord Mayor, and afterwards represented the city of London in three
succeeding parliaments.

He was a violent and constant opposer of the American war, and a
systematic advocate for parliamentary reform; and during the whole of the
time that he had a seat in the house, he never failed to make an annual
motion to shorten the duration of parliament.

He was a perfect gentleman in his manners, and very little calculated
to assimilate with those, into whose intimate society, his political
enmities and prejudices introduced him.

Another of this circle was Mr. Oliver; he was a West India merchant, and
in his external manners, the perfect gentleman.

The circumstance which first introduced him to city honours and political
importance, was alike whimsical and accidental. He had a brother, who,
on some vacancy for the representation of London, had declared himself
a candidate with much prospect of success. He was, however, seized
with a violent and dangerous sickness, which prevented his appearing
on the hustings on the day of nomination. On this day, however, Mr.
Richard Oliver, the subject of the present sketch, presented himself to
the citizens, and lamented that the condition of his brother’s health
rendered it impossible for him to avail himself of the honours which
probably awaited him; but that he who now addressed them, attached to
the same party, governed by the same principles, and possessed of equal
independence, begged them to transfer the kindness they meditated for his
brother, to himself. He succeeded without opposition, and in the interval
between the day of nomination and election, was chosen an Alderman, and
was afterwards Lord Mayor.

Of all the political popular characters of his day, Mr. Oliver, perhaps,
was most consistently tenacious of the principles which he first avowed.
This he exemplified more particularly with respect to Wilkes. As soon as
he began to suspect that Wilkes was actuated by other motives, and had
other views beyond those which they vindicated and pursued in common, he
withdrew himself entirely from the Connection, and obstinately refused to
serve the office of Sheriff with Wilkes as a colleague.

Some few years afterwards, and towards the conclusion of the American
war, in despair, as he observed in a speech to the Corporation of London,
of seeing greater wisdom in the measures of government, he resigned both
his Aldermanic gown and seat in Parliament. He then went to visit his
estate in the West Indies, where, after remaining some time, he proceeded
on his return to England, and died in the voyage on board the packet.

Very different from the above individuals in almost every particular,
was BRASS CROSBY, of whom there is hardly any thing more memorable, than
that with Oliver, he demonstrated considerable firmness in the affair of
the Printers, and was with him committed to the Tower, for a supposed
breach of the privileges of parliament. But he was a man of no talents,
of coarse appearance, and rude manners.

To the above conclave also belonged RICHARD BECKFORD, a natural son of
the celebrated Alderman Beckford, and a mighty lover of liberty; but he
was also no less famous as a lover of something else, and that was of
eating and drinking. If there shall be any one surviving who personally
knew, and can remember him, they will allow that seldom has a more worthy
candidate been seen for a place at the Round Table of the Knights of
Heliogabalus.

His prowess in this way was enormous. If he had only two bottles of
Madeira at dinner, he thought himself stinted, and even after a more
copious portion, would not unfrequently go in the evening to some of
the fashionable club-houses in the vicinity of St. James’s-street,
and repeat the dose. He was a remarkably large uncouth man, and had a
convulsive infirmity in his head and neck, which made conversation with
him exceedingly unpleasant.

Of Colonel Barré and Lord Shelburne, it must be unnecessary to say
any thing. They might be considered as the fulcrum, upon which this
political association rested; but there is one individual of whom it
may be expedient to say a little more, and this was G⸺e B⸺s. He was a
most perfect, noisy, turbulent demagogue; a great clamourer for liberty,
and like all such, sour, surly, and tyrannical in his own family. He
expressed a great contempt for women generally, and appeared to have had
a remarkable aversion to what are considered as female accomplishments.
In consequence of these absurd prejudices, he was particularly harsh
to his wife and daughters, and refused the latter the opportunity of
acquiring the commonest and more essential attainments. They trembled at
his appearance, and exulted, with unaffected satisfaction, whenever any
unexpected incident detained him from his family.

He was what in city language is termed a Deputy, that is, the
representative of the alderman of the ward, in his absence. He was a man
of strong sense, and by flattering his vanity, he was found exceedingly
useful to his party at Common Halls, Courts of Common Council, and
Ward Meetings. It was the fashion of that day, and it appears to have
continued to the present period, to insult Royalty by insolent attacks,
under the names of petitions and remonstrances. On such occasions, the
personage here alluded to was always a conspicuous performer.

He had a son, who, bating that he inherited his paternal foibles, as they
related to party and politics, was a sensible and accomplished gentleman.
He, however, died prematurely.

There were other individuals of this fraternity, but of less notorious
importance. The ligature, however, which held them all together, was
first weakened, and finally dissolved.



    En ego non paucis quondam munitus amicis
      Dum flavit velis aura secunda meis,
    Ut fera ninboso tumuerunt æquora vento
      In mediis lacera puppe relinquor aquis,
    Cumque alii nolint etiam me nosse videri
      Vix duo projecto tresve tulistis opem
    Quorum tu princeps.

CHAPTER V.


It can hardly be a matter of astonishment, that from mixing a great
deal with the above individuals, and as well from family connection,
as from repeated assurances of independence, the mind of a young and
inexperienced man, should in some degree be warped. That he should in
some measure feel a favourable bias towards sentiments and prejudices,
which he heard perpetually avowed by many whom he esteemed, and
vindicated not only with no ordinary degree of subtlety, but with the
greatest powers of argument and intellect.

The delusion, however, did not last long. The fervour of political
association, and the dreams of anticipated affluence, were abruptly
but effectually dissolved. The golden image of independence was only
seen through a glass darkly, and at a prodigious distance. It became
necessary, steadily and diligently to exercise such abilities as were
possessed, to fulfil the sweetest of charities, and the most sacred of
obligations.

Whilst the mind was still in an unsettled state, and the imagination
bewildering itself in visions of fancied occupation, accident (of all
accidents surely the most fortunate) placed in the way an individual,
to delineate whose character with fidelity and truth, though a most
delightful task, yet it is one which requires no ordinary talents—no
slight attention.

This occurrence, and this individual, gave a decided bias to the future
pursuits, studies, views, connections, and prospects of the Sexagenarian.
The influence was like that of an ascendant star, nor ever did one dark
cloud interpose between this star and the object, which with complacency
and affection, contemplated its mild and benignant aspect. Two streams
united, which together formed a river, gentle but far from dull, and full
without overflowing. Quickness of conception on one side, was tempered
by judicious deliberation on the other; luxuriance of expression was
chastened by classical accuracy, and extreme facility of communicating
ideas, was moderated and reined in, by a salutary sobriety and reserve.

At first, indeed, there seemed something like an impassable gulf between
the parties, formed by the undisguised exhibition of the qualities of
mind by which they were severally distinguished. The first rencontre, for
so it may be called, happened at the period, when the popularity of Mrs.
Siddons, was at its height. The Sexagenarian, warm, impetuous, and living
in much intimacy with the family of Mr. and Mrs. Yates, of theatrical
memory, contended for the superiority of his friend and favourite, and
considered the excellence of Mrs. Siddons, as solely consisting in the
knowledge of her art, without exciting or displaying the great features
and impressive emotions of nature. On the other hand, it was argued
with equal pertinacity, that Mrs. Siddons had much higher and stronger
claims to admiration, and that her popularity was the result of feeling,
co-operating with judgment. As usual, neither party was convinced by the
argument of his opponent, and they parted not very well satisfied with
one another. But the reserve occasioned by this jarring of sentiments
soon wore off, and disappeared altogether. Similar studies, pursuits,
and objects, induced an intimacy, which was never interrupted but by the
cold hand of death.

Something more is to be said of this personage.

Born of highly respectable connections, he was educated at a public
school, where his talents soon inspired respect, and his facetiousness
and wit, rendered him exceedingly popular. This spirit never forsook
him through life, for he invariably continued to animate the society of
which he was a part, by incessant sallies of cheerfulness, good humour,
and the very best sort of conversation. His talents, however, were of a
still higher order, and perhaps, there was no situation within the scope
of his ambition, which he was not qualified to fill with dignity, and to
the public advantage. He was a sound and excellent scholar, as the term
is generally understood, but he was, moreover, distinguished by very
extensive general knowledge and acquirements.

He several times claimed the public attention as an author, and the
characteristic features of whatever he wrote, was strong sense, sound
judgment, and a perfect knowledge of his subject. These solid and sober
qualities proved an admirable check upon the too great quickness, extreme
vivacity, and rapidity of conception, which distinguished his friend,
who, for a term of no very short continuance, was also his coadjutor.

In the progress of a somewhat extended life, he filled different
stations, and he discharged the duties of them all, with the most
exemplary fidelity and honour. Why was he not appointed to the exercise
of functions still more elevated and more dignified? This is a question
not very easy to be answered. He might if he had thought proper. If he
had condescended to use the ordinary means, which individuals similarly
circumstanced, practise, and generally with success, there was nothing
in the line of his profession too lofty for his pretensions, and which
the connections and friendships he had formed, might not easily have
procured. But though not more proud than became a man so endowed, and
so distinguished, he had not the flexibility, which in the present
condition of society, they who have good things for barter, invariably
require of those who want them. He scorned to flatter and bow the knee
to those, with whom he had entered life on the level, and had continued
to associate with on the same terms of manly equality, but whom better
fortune, or greater address, not superior merit, or stronger claims, had
raised to the height of worldly honours. Though not without ambition, he
had a sort of proud and manly disregard of lucrative situations, merely
considered as such, and was not at all inclined to remit his ordinary
habits, or to deviate from his accustomed paths, in pursuit of them.

He did indeed attain, and by force of merit only, the means of passing
through life, with great respect and honour, in possession of all its
comforts, and with not a few of its best advantages. These he enjoyed to
the fullest extent, participating in them, with no very limited circle
of old and long-tried friends. What has been said of his claims to
worldly distinctions, is equally applicable to his mental endowments.
His learning and his talents were equal to any undertaking. He would
have been a good historian, if he had directed his mind to that branch
of learning. A poet he was, and in the epigrammatic part of poetry was
excelled by very few; he was well acquainted with the niceties and
subtleties of grammar, and of his own language more particularly. He
was by no means disputative, but, if occasion required, was an expert
controversial writer. To finish all, he was a critic of no ordinary
precision and acuteness.

That he had faults, it is not pretended to deny; but they inflicted
no wounds. A sort of coldness and reserve of manner was frequently
considered as the result of pride, and sometimes excited unfavourable
impressions; but it was not pride, and very soon melted into familiarity.
Among his intimate friends it was impossible to be more communicative,
facetious, and agreeable. But it is time to have done?

The above tribute is paid from a full and warm heart. It is the result
of long, very long attachment, esteem, and gratitude; of a friendship
never interrupted; of an intercourse which a continued series of years
cemented. Can it be necessary to say more?



    Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads.

CHAPTER VI.


The plane of the Sexagenarian’s literary horizon became much extended,
in consequence of this connection, and much “_terra incognita_” was
discovered and explored. Several planets also in the literary system,
were by the aid communicated from this source, contemplated with greater
accuracy and precision; the plains of the Muses were traversed with
congenial ardour, each deriving similar gratification from the same
sources. Much has already been said, and indeed there seems hardly any
limit to what might be said, on the talents, characters, performances,
and fortunes, of their various associates.

Memoranda of a great many personages still remain more or less detailed
in our manuscript; but the work appears already extended beyond perhaps
the patience of many readers, and the task of selecting and arranging
from a crude mass, is not the most satisfactory that can be imagined.

The Sexagenarian appears to have had from his childhood a remarkable
partiality for books of voyages and travels, and sought after them with
the extremest eagerness, from the ingenious and imaginary adventures of
Robinson Crusoe, to those more important works of authentic discovery,
and actual description, which have for the last century, and indeed much
before, obtained the sanction of public approbation and esteem. This
feeling naturally led him to seek the personal acquaintance of all those
among his contemporaries, who had made themselves eminent, either by
their geographical knowledge, or their actual visits to remote regions
and countries, less perfectly known.

Of many of these personages he has left notes, which induce the
disposition to believe, that he had, at one time, entertained the
intention of writing something in a connected form, on the subject of the
value of their different observations and discoveries. This, however,
he did not do; but from the remarks which he had made, the reader may
perhaps find some transient amusement in the selection which succeeds.


ALEXANDER DALRYMPLE.

This was a very considerable man, perhaps few, or none, of his
contemporaries could compare with him, either for the extent or the
accuracy of his geographical and nautical knowledge. His works on
these subjects were very numerous and very important, and his original
manuscripts, which, after his death, were deposited in the archives of
the Admiralty, contain many valuable treasures.

It were to be wished, that as far as good policy and the national
interests would justify such a measure, government would allow, under
certain restrictions, extracts to be made from these papers, for the
public information and satisfaction.

The English public have always been zealous and generous encouragers of
all undertakings, which have had in view the increase of geographical
knowledge. There are no publications more secure of success, than
such as profess to detail the discoveries of regions before unknown;
which describe the manners of those nations with whom we are less
perfectly acquainted, thus combining, at the same time, information with
improvement. Such propensities merit, on the part of government, as far
as they can consistently make it, an adequate return.

Who could possibly be more proper for such an official undertaking, than
the gentleman who succeeded Dalrymple in his situation of Hydrographer?
It would be exceedingly difficult to point out a collection, without
excepting even national repositories, where so great a mass of books and
tracts on geography and navigation could be found, as in the library of
Mr. Dalrymple. They amounted to many thousands, nor was there perhaps
one, in which he had not made some manuscript observation. He had,
moreover, the best and most popular works of this kind, in every language.

His conversation was lively, interesting, and full of information; he
was obviously subject to great irritability, which might partly be
constitutional, and partly perhaps induced by those severe fits of the
gout, to which he was subject.

In the decline of life, his personal appearance was somewhat whimsical.
Whenever he visited, he carried with him a small stool, which appeared
indispensible to his comfort.

He was always ready and willing to communicate what he knew, and it well
answered the purposes of those, who wanted information on the subjects
of the kingdoms and oceans of the world, to listen with attention to
Alexander Dalrymple.

The Sexagenarian appears to have been still more familiarly acquainted
with Dr. P. R.



    Dare atque accipere te volo
    Dei divites sunt—deos decent opulentiæ
    Et factiones—verum nos homunculi
    Salillum animæ, qui cum extemplo amisimus
    Æquo mendicus atque ille opulentissimus
    Censetur censu, ad acherontem mortuus.

CHAPTER VII.


Indeed the memorandums intimate, that not the least interesting
circumstance of his literary life was implicated in his connection
with this personage. This Dr. R. had a brother, who, for a long
series of years had been resident in a remote foreign country, where
he successfully prosecuted his profession. He became, from familiar
communication and personal observation, so well acquainted with the
natural history of the country, the peculiarities of the climate, its
endemic diseases, the manners of the inhabitants, laws, usages, and
singularities, that he wrote and published an interesting volume on the
subject, which was very favourably received, and extensively circulated.

Dr. P. succeeded to his brother in his professional reputation,
situation, and local advantages, and exercising his mind on similar
objects, with the addition of still more favourable opportunities, he
very considerably added to the stores which his brother had acquired,
and became eminently qualified, to reprint, with important alterations
and additions, the work which had obtained to his predecessor, no
insignificant degree of credit. He was called upon to undertake this
honourable office, and he assented.

At this period, the Sexagenarian was a sort of scholar of fortune, and
not being immediately engaged, as it should seem, in any work which
exclusively demanded his attention, did not disdain the task of revising
the manuscripts of authors, and superintending their labours through the
press. For this employment, an adequate compensation was expected and
rendered.

The parties, in the present instance, had frequently met, and were on
certain terms of familiarity. One evening, the Doctor took the writer
of these memoranda on one side, and proposed to him to undertake the
revision of his work in manuscript, and the correction of it subsequently
at the press. This was readily agreed to, but no terms were mentioned on
either side.

The manuscript, which was of no ordinary bulk or extent, was received,
examined with careful attention, at the expence of no small portion of
time, and finally committed to the press.

It extended to no less than two large quarto volumes, and probably
altogether a year, or somewhat more, was employed on the labour. In the
interval, our Sexagenarian and his family used to speculate on the golden
harvest about to be reaped, by way of compensation. What was it to be? a
pipe of Madeira? a pair of silver candlesticks? a gold repeater?

At length, the last sheet was sent to press, and the day of publication
announced. The corrector waited upon the author to felicitate him on his
safe delivery. A week passed away—a fortnight—a month—still no Madeira—no
piece of plate;—in short, no solid pudding, but a great deal of empty
praise. However it was soon forgotten.

    Temporis officium solatia dicere certi est.

And it was not always so. Similar occupations were afterwards thrown
in the way, but he had the wisdom taught him by the experience he had
obtained, to undertake nothing but with certain specifications of
recompence.

This seems no improper opportunity of inserting a detached anecdote on
the subject of compensation for literary labour, which occurs somewhere
or other in our manuscript.

A venerable old clergyman, who had in part, directed the education of
our friend, and who took a warm and friendly interest in his reputation
and welfare, had been informed, with no benevolent intention, that he
prostituted his learning and talents to needy booksellers.

The Sexagenarian, on some occasion or other, revisited the place where
his friend and patron resided, and both from affection and gratitude,
hastened to pay his respects, where they were so justly due. He was
greatly surprised to find the warmth, with which he had hitherto,
invariably, been welcomed, changed into extreme coldness.

On requesting an explanation, Sir, said the old gentleman, I am informed
that you write for the booksellers, than which I cannot conceive any
thing more degrading, or more unbecoming, a scholar and a gentleman.

Pray Sir, did not Addison, and Swift, and Pope, and before them Dryden,
write for the booksellers?

Granted, but that was a very different matter: their reputation was
established, and they moreover, obtained very large sums for their
productions.

If, Sir, the largeness of the sum increases or diminishes, as you appear
to conceive it does, the turpitude of the action, how much do you imagine
I received for my last work? I beg you also to remember that I have a
large and increasing family, and nothing to depend upon but my talents
and my diligence.

Why perhaps fifty pounds.

I have received seven hundred guineas.

The old gentleman’s displeasure vanished in a moment. I cannot blame you,
I cannot blame you, he exclaimed, and they parted as good friends as ever.

Now to return to the brother author Doctor. Bating this single
circumstance of his being too tenacious of his money, he was a most
agreeable, well-informed, and good-natured man. Though far advanced in
years, he retained a great deal of vivacity, and has often enlivened
a numerous circle by his facetiousness and humour. No one endured a
jest with greater forbearance; and as he came from a country where the
Mahometan law prevailed, and had written a detailed account of the usages
and peculiarities of the haram, he was often laughingly reproached with
availing himself of the privileges of the Mahometan law to its fullest
extent. That he ranked as a bashaw of three tails, had four wives, &c.
&c.



    Ηδη μεν πολέων εδαην βουληντε νοοντε
    Ανδρων ηρωων πολληνδ’ επεληλυθα γαιαν
    Αλλ’ ουπω τοιουτον εγων ιδον οφθαλμοισιν
    Οιον⸺

CHAPTER VIII.


Bruce appears to have been seen once, and once only, by our Sexagenarian,
who nevertheless expresses, in various parts of his manuscript, a general
confidence in his veracity, and a great admiration of his prowess and
intrepidity. He lived intimately with some of Bruce’s most familiar
friends, and had frequent opportunities of ascertaining that many
assertions made by the traveller, like those of Herodotus, were confirmed
by subsequent observation and examination. But it was Bruce’s peculiar
character, that if he discerned, or ever suspected any want of confidence
in his auditors, he disdained all explanation, and could not be prevailed
upon to enter upon any further discussion.

He was a very great friend, and frequent correspondent of the individual
mentioned in the pages immediately preceding, who was able, from his
personal knowledge and local situation, to confirm many things asserted
by Bruce, which were at first, in this country, thought equivocal. On
his first return from his remote and protracted travels, he had some
questions proposed to him on the subject of the Bible in the language
of Abyssinia, by a venerable and highly distinguished member of our
Church, which he answered very satisfactorily.—He afterwards voluntarily
undertook to translate literally, a number of proposed texts from the
Pentateuch of the Abyssinian Bible, in order that they might be compared
with the English version. He did do this, but they were unfortunately
mislaid among his numerous papers. They, however, are most probably in
existence, and may hereafter appear.

A very ingenious clergyman, who was also well versed in the Oriental
languages, made a Catalogue Raisonné of Bruce’s manuscript library, which
of itself would be very acceptable to the learned world. The manuscripts,
however, it is to be hoped, will not be permitted to remain buried in
Scotland, but as they are of the greatest importance to the elucidation
of Scripture, will hereafter be deposited in some of the public libraries
of this country.

The following are some of these manuscripts:—

The Old Testament in five volumes, which do not contain the Psalms, but
have a copy of Ludolph’s Æthiopic Psalter.

This was transcribed for Mr. Bruce at Gondar, by scribes of the country,
upon vellum. The character is clear and beautiful, and there are marginal
variations. Many of the books begin and end with a prayer, and as there
was never before in Europe a perfect copy of the Æthiopic Scriptures,
means should be taken to supply the Christian Church in Africa with a
complete copy of the Bible.

The fourth volume contains the book of Enoch. There is moreover the New
Testament in Æthiopic, in two volumes, also upon vellum.

The first volume contains a preliminary discourse upon the Gospels, and a
Masoretic analysis of the verses and paragraphs.

The Apostolic writings are also found in two volumes, upon vellum. These
four volumes, in all probability, compose the only perfect copy of the
New Testament in Europe, written in the language of Abyssinia.

Another volume contains the constitutions of the Apostles. Another has
the title of Synaxar, and is an history of the Saints venerated in
Abyssinia.

The Arabic manuscripts are numerous and valuable.

The travels published by Bruce were greatly in favour with the
Sexagenarian, who has left various annotations upon different passages,
which they contain. Though very partial, on the whole, to this most
extraordinary man, he was by no means blind to his errors, or insensible
of his inaccuracies. His confidence in him was very materially diminished
latterly, from having discovered, that Bruce, in all probability, never
was at the battle of Sebraxos, which he nevertheless describes with
circumstantial minuteness, and of which he has introduced plans, drawn
up with the precision of one well versed in military tactics. There
was also something remarkably mysterious and suspicious, as our friend
seemed to think, in the circumstance and character of Luigi Balugani, who
accompanied Bruce as a draughtsman. He owed more to his talents than he
was willing to acknowledge, and the story of his death is glossed over in
a very unsatisfactory manner.

There is a long dissertation in our manuscript, on Bruce’s theory of
Solomon’s voyage to Ophir, and perhaps it may be an object of regret,
that it is too long for insertion. The conclusions which Bruce drew from
his premises are not conceded, nor does he appear to have had a very
clear conception of the subject on which he was writing, and has failed
altogether in proving that Sofola is Ophir.

To conclude this article, it appears, from the concurring testimonies of
succeeding travellers, that Bruce was never appointed to the government
of Ras el Feel, nor indeed to any government at all.

It may not, perhaps, be impertinent to subjoin, that among Bruce’s
manuscripts is a Coptic manuscript on Papyrus.

It was found among the ruins of Thebes, in Egypt. It is written in the
Sahidic or Theban dialect of the Coptic, that is of the language of the
Pharoahs. The above manuscript has been described by Dr. Woide.



    Orbis situm dicere, impeditum opus et facundiæ minime capax,
    constat enin fere ex gentium locorumque nominibus, et eorum
    perplexo satis ordine, quem persequi longa est magis quam
    benigna materia, verum adspici tamen cognoscique dignissimum,
    et quod sine ope ingenii Orantis ac ipsa sui contemplatione,
    pretium operæ attendentium absolvat.

CHAPTER IX.


Whether the person next named in our notes, properly comes under the head
of celebrated travellers, may, perhaps, be disputed; but every one will
allow, that as far as geographical knowledge is connected with voyages
and travellers, there are few, if any, of modern times, to whom science
is more indebted, than to Major R.

Before his time, we of this country, hardly knew any thing of the
scientific construction of maps, and some individuals here were termed
geographers to the King, who were totally ignorant of the principles of
their profession. The Major, however, gave a notable example of what
might be effected by personal observation, acting in conjunction with
real science. The obligations which his country men owe him in this
particular, cannot easily be explained, but he may be considered as
the father of the English geographical school; and we now accompany a
traveller in all those parts of the world, which he has undertaken to
illustrate, with confidence and security.

The map of the peninsula of India is beyond all praise, and the elaborate
dissertation by which it is accompanied, is perhaps the most perfect
thing of the kind in our language.

How little did we know of Africa, till within the last twenty years, and
how imperfect were the best geographical delineations of that region, not
excepting that of D’Anville! How little also should we still have known
even from the well-conducted, expeditions of Hornemann, Brown, Park, and
others, if the same skilful hand had not assisted in the illustration of
their several journeys.

The great question of all, however, whether the Niger has any
communication with the Nile, still remains undetermined; the learned
subject of this article is decidedly of opinion, that these rivers do not
meet.

Like many other personages of distinguished merit and superior talents,
the notes of our manuscript, represent this eminent geographer, as of
the most placid and unassuming manners, communicating his knowledge with
a modest diffidence, and listening to the suggestions, even of the less
informed, without the smallest degree of ill-humour. The great work,
however, by which his name will go down to posterity, is perhaps his
illustration of the geography of Herodotus.

This too is announced in the Preface, to be only the first division of a
larger work, which was intended to comprehend the whole of the ancient
geography, as improved by the Grecian conquests and establishments, with
such portions of military history, as appear to want explanation.

None of this had appeared when the manuscript, from which these extracts
are made, was written.

The next character which presents itself in our manuscript annotations,
is that of a very eccentric and whimsical Irish traveller. He also
published a book of travels in Spain and Portugal, by no means
uninteresting, or ill-written in itself, but which was bought up and
rendered scarce on account of the great beauty of one of the plates, with
which it was embellished.

He was the son of a Dutch merchant, who retired from Holland with
a considerable fortune, to spend the remainder of his days in this
country, and with this view, purchased property in one of our largest
provincial towns. This traveller was his eldest son, and every thing
he undertook or did, his studies, pursuits, habits, and acquaintance,
were chosen with the most extraordinary waywardness. His characteristic
principle was “_fari quid sentiat_,” without any very nice regard to
time, circumstance, or persons. This was particularly obvious in all he
published, and in a neighbouring island, involved him in no trifling
perplexity or disgrace. By some thoughtless expression, he offended the
females of the place which he visited, and they, to mark their contempt
and indignation, thought proper to call a dishonourable utensil after his
name, and had a striking caricature of his person visible at bottom.

He published, however, one standard work, upon chess, which will always
be quoted with respect by all who are engaged in this particular pursuit,
the varieties, chances, and labyrinths of which he well describes, and
which any indifferent reader may peruse with satisfaction and amusement.
What his ultimate situation in life was, or whether he yet survived, when
these notes were written, was apparently unknown to the Sexagenarian. All
that appears on this head is in the form of a query, thus:—Did he not
afterwards engage unsuccessfully in business of a speculative kind, and
lose the wreck of his fortune?

The traveller had a brother of some waywardness also, but who was very
amiable, and, unlike the former, of the most unoffending manners. When
young, he had not a mere liking, but an absolute passion for theatrical
amusements. He in a manner attached himself to the provincial company of
the place where he resided, accompanied them to whatever place they went,
never absented himself from any of their performances, assisted them with
his countenance on all occasions, his advice, and his purse.

This passion remained for a considerable number of years without the
smallest abatement, till he finally formed a connection by marriage
with a family, the heads of whom were distinguished by the very highest
degrees of theatrical excellence, and not more deservedly popular for
their eminence of this kind, than for their general accomplishments. This
gentleman also was an author, but of a peculiar kind. His knowledge was
indeed principally confined to his own language, in the literature of
which, and more particularly in that which related to the Drama, he was
remarkably well skilled. The performance which he produced had relation
to the greatest ornament of our country, and which, if it was not
entitled to the praise of genius, might reasonably claim that of care and
diligence, of accuracy and usefulness.



    Nam doli non doli sunt, nisi astu colas
    Sed malum maxumum si id palam provenit.

CHAPTER X.


A name next occurs, but little known in this country, but in some degree
implicated with the character of an Englishman, who appears to have
obtained a celebrity, of which he was not altogether deserving. The first
person is Martin Sauer, the latter, Joseph Billings.

Sauer accompanied Billings, as secretary, in an expedition, undertaken
by the command of the Empress of Russia, to ascertain the latitude and
longitude of the mouth of the river Kovima, the coast of the Tshutski,
and of the islands in the Eastern ocean, stretching to the American
coast. He came to this country, partly from commercial views, and partly
to publish himself, his own account of this long and perilous voyage.

It was recommended to him, to obtain an introduction to our Sexagenarian,
as being a person likely to facilitate his views, with respect to his
meditated publication. He followed the advice, and an acquaintance
took place, the result of which, gave rise to many curious notes and
observations, which have place in our manuscript.

Sauer’s narrative was published a great many years since, and is very
curious and interesting. When he arrived with Billings at the Bay of
St. Lawrence, in the country of the Tshutski, they separated. Billings
proceeded over land with much difficulty, and after escaping many
dangers, till he arrived at the Kovima, and Sauer returned by sea to
Kamtschatka.

It appears both from Sauer’s published narrative, and from many private
documents and communications, that Billings was far from deserving
the reputation he obtained, and that he was by no means qualified to
undertake the superintendance of such an expedition. He was remarkably
ignorant, and inflexibly obstinate. His ignorance, more than once in the
voyage, induced him to mistake one place for another, and his obstinacy
was the occasion of his losing two new vessels, constructed for his
immediate use. A combination of both these qualities prevented his
accomplishing the great object of his mission, which was to ascertain
the existence of a north-west passage. In this he failed altogether.
Billings, however, was a bold and hardy navigator, and though he did
not accomplish that which was expected of him, is entitled to some share
of respect. No notice has, however, hitherto been taken of him in any
English book of biography.



    Magnas dolebat aliquis amissas opes
    Naufragio: Oceanum postulat de injuria;
    At ille. Numquid dissimulavi qui forem?
    Numquid voraces esse gurgites meos
    Nescire debuisti?

CHAPTER XI.


Much favourable notice is made in our Memoranda relating to Browne, the
African traveller, and many interesting conversations appear to have
taken place on the subject of what he had actually observed, as well as
of the expeditions which he meditated. He had the enthusiasm of visiting
remote and less known regions so strong upon him, that the wonder is,
he should so long remain at home after his return from Africa, however
tedious, perilous, and painful, his residence at Darfour must necessarily
have been.

No man, by his personal manners and appearance, his gravity, firmness,
good sense, and judgment, appears to have been better qualified for
undertakings of the kind. His demeanour was precisely that of a Turk of
the better order. He conversed slowly and sparingly, never descended to
familiarity, observed each and all of the company as if with jealousy and
suspicion. But when this wore off, and intimacy was established, he was
exceedingly communicative, and readily discussed the subjects about which
he was most anxious, and best qualified, to impart information.

After much and long deliberation upon the subject, he finally determined
upon the expedition, in the prosecution of which he lost his life.
He proceeded by Malta to Smyrna, and from thence through Asia Minor,
Amassya, Tokat and Armenia to Tebriz. At this place he remained a few
weeks, expecting the arrival of the English Ambassador from Hamadan, the
ancient Ecbatana. He lived with Sir G. O. some time at Tebriz, who gave
him letters to Naserraddin Mirza, son of Beg Ján, King of Boccara, and to
Ahmed Ali Mirza, the King of Persia’s son, the governor of Khorasan, and
residing at Meshhed.

The Ambassador, moreover, procured him passports and letters from the
King of Persia and his ministers, and a _Mehmander_, who would have been
responsible for his life and property, as far as the Persian dominions
extend. His impatience, however, to proceed, induced him to leave the
king’s camp some hours before his Mehmander was ready, and being in a
Turkish dress, and not known to be an Englishman, he was murdered by
some wandering tribe of Kurds or Turkomans, near the Kaflán Kúh or Tiger
Mountain, after having crossed the river Kezel Ouzan, which separates
Azerbarján (Atropatera) from Irak.

He had no English attendant, but whilst he remained in Persia, kept one
groom and one valet, both Persians, and had two or three horses.

He left no papers or memoranda behind him when he departed from Tebriz,
but a few dispersed fragments were collected at the spot where the body
was found.

He often avowed his intention of publishing his travels to Bokhara and
Samarkand, and he purposed, had it been practicable, to return by the
northern end of the Caspian sea, as he was to have gone by the southern
end of it. The Ambassador made such representations to the King of
Persia, that both he and his son Abbas Mirza took the greatest pains to
discover the assassins.

Mr. B. was in appearance and indeed in fact, one of the most reserved men
in the world—cold, cautious, and wary; and yet, in this last journey, he
was so impatient to proceed, that he not only refused to wait for the
escort, which the Ambassador undertook to provide for him, but he made a
display of the gold which was to enable him to accomplish his purpose.

This last fact, though strongly asserted, is so incompatible with his
general habits and character, that it may well excite a suspicion of its
accuracy. True it certainly is, that the same morning brought to England
the news of his safe arrival at Tabriz, on his way to Kurdistan, and of
his being murdered by the very band, who undertook to be his guides and
protectors.

The intelligence of his death came to England through Somnerat, the
celebrated French traveller. It is, however, to be hoped, that as some
of his papers remain in private hands, the public will have, sooner or
later, the benefit of his observations, as far as he was actually able to
proceed.

The annotations relating to Browne, in our manuscript, conclude with a
paragraph, in which serious regret is expressed, at his scepticism with
respect to religious subjects. Indeed he appears to have been an avowed
disciple of the school of Volney, and the other miscreant writers of that
stamp.

He has deformed and defaced his otherwise valuable publications, with
some passages so bad as not to be transcribed, and some remarks which he
has inserted on education, prove that he had adopted many of the wildest
absurdities of the modern French philosophy.

The following particulars concerning the latter part of the life
of Browne, are added by him who revised and has superintended the
publication of these volumes.

His intention, as above stated, was to proceed from Tebriz to Khorasan,
to the governor of which place he had the strongest recommendations from
the English ambassador, then resident at Tebriz with the Persian monarch.
This of itself being a distance of nearly a thousand miles, through a
barbarous country, was an adventure sufficiently arduous to have deterred
any other individual, of a less persevering and determined character.
From Khorasan he purposed nevertheless to make his way to Samarcand, and
thence to Turkistan, an undertaking which even to the best informed among
the natives, appeared to be full of difficulty, as well as danger.

Sir Gore Ouseley, with the greatest kindness and promptitude, undertook
to procure him the protection of a Mahmendar, an officer of the King,
under whose escort, as far as Chorasan, he not only would have had
personal security, but horses and provisions every where at his command,
at the expence of the Persian government.

There was, however, some little delay in the equipment of this officer
appointed to attend him, occasioned partly by the tardiness of the man
himself, and partly by the negociation then near a conclusion between the
courts of Russia and Persia, which necessarily occupied a considerable
portion of the ambassador’s time.

Browne accordingly became impatient, and left Tebriz with two attendants
only, directing the Mahmendar to follow him. This officer having
received his instructions, and apprehensive of the English Ambassador’s
resentment, lost no time in his endeavour to overtake the traveller. Most
unfortunately he found him within forty miles of the Persian Monarch’s
camp, barbarously murdered. Plunder does not appear to have been the
object, as Mr. Browne’s papers, pistols, and effects, were recovered, and
placed in the hands of Sir Gore Ouseley. His money, of which he had not a
great deal, was certainly seized by his servant. But in all probability,
he owed his death not so much to any improper display of his property,
as to his invincible obstinacy with which he resisted all expostulation
and remonstrance, in always wearing the Turkish dress. Now it happens
that the Hordes, by some of whom Browne was murdered, entertain the most
deadly hatred and animosity against the Turks, for one of whom in all
probability he was mistaken.

Strict search was, however, made after his assassins, and a great number
of the inhabitants of the district, where he died, were apprehended, upon
whom the King of Persia, without any judicial proceeding, expressed to
the ambassador his determination of inflicting the summary punishment of
death. This, however, Sir Gore O. would not permit.

The surmise that he owed his death to the circumstance of his appearing
as a Turk, is somewhat confirmed by the fact, that within a few months
preceding this melancholy event, Sir William Ouseley, brother to the
ambassador, and who accompanied him in his mission, passed this very spot
without molestation.

It is a subject of the deepest regret, and a most serious loss to
literature, that Browne did not live to fulfil the object of his
expedition. How well qualified he was to increase our stores of
geographical information, his work on Africa sufficiently attested. Of
the countries which he meditated to visit, with the view of describing,
our information is very scanty as well as unsatisfactory. These were more
particularly the regions of Chorasan, Boccara, Samarcand, &c. concerning
which regions, our best books of geography communicate very little.

(_Further particulars from another hand._)

Notwithstanding all that has been said above, and the seeming attention
and assistance paid to the English Ambassador’s endeavours to discover
and punish Brown’s assassins, there is too much reason to apprehend that
he fell a victim to the jealousy of the Persian government. People in
those remote countries, and the Mahometans more particularly, have no
conception whatever of a person’s undertaking the perils and fatigues of
a long and distant journey, for the sake of intellectual or scientific
improvement only. They invariably attach jealousy and suspicion to such
a character wherever he appears, and impute to him, either political
motives, or the desire of gain. The regions to which Browne directed his
attention, were at the time in a very unquiet and unsettled state. The
Persian Sovereign considered his authority over them, as precarious and
insecure. The peace with Russia was not definitively concluded, and the
government might, not improbably, entertain a suspicion, that Browne’s
motive was political, and not the avowed one of curiosity alone. Several
subsequent incidents, circumstantially considered, very much tend to
corroborate the idea, that the Persian ministers were not entirely
innocent of the death of this unfortunate traveller.

In the first place, his arms were not touched; his gun, double-barrelled
pistols, and weapons were all preserved and carefully returned to the
English Ambassador. So also were his papers of every kind, and indeed
each article of his property, except his money, which it was generally
understood was seized by his servant and secretary.

In the next place, one of our artillery-men, who was stationed at
Ispahan, on some provocation he had received, neglect of pay, personal
affront, or some other cause of offence, abruptly left the place, and
undismayed by the danger and the distance, endeavoured to make his way
to Tebriz, where the Ambassador was then resident, in the court of the
Persian Monarch. He then proceeded in spite of every obstacle, nearly to
the spot where Browne was murdered, when he was stopped, as it should
seem, by some of the miscreants, who had imbrued their hands in the blood
of his countryman. They insisted upon his immediate return, which for a
long time he refused to do, till at length they told him that if he did
not, they would treat him as they did the Englishman the other day.

Browne, when at Tebriz, had lived at the house of Colonel D⸺, who
commanded the artillery sent to Persia from this country. This gentleman
was greatly affected at the news of Browne’s death, and determined,
if possible, to obtain his remains for burial. He accordingly availed
himself of the influence he possessed, and obtained from the Persian
ministers, the necessary mandate, that Browne’s remains should be
delivered to the Colonel’s messengers.

He employed for this purpose a trusty serjeant, who proceeded to the
spot. On producing the minister’s orders to the principal person of the
place, he was informed that the mandate was so peremptory, that it could
not be resisted, but at the risk of his head, and he would immediately
give the necessary directions for the bones to be collected. Much evasion
was nevertheless practised, and so much time lost, that the honest
serjeant became impatient, and declared that if what he came for was not
immediately produced, he would return without them. At this moment, two
men, with each a small burden, were seen approaching, who were declared
to have with them what was wanted.

They were delivered to the serjeant, who, as directed, rewarded the
parties, and hastened to return. The English gentlemen had intended to
come out in a body to meet the relics, had ordered a coffin covered with
black velvet to receive them, and intended to inter them with the usual
ceremonies of the church. But the serjeant had already returned, and
deposited the charge in the officer’s house. The surgeon of the British
establishment undertook to examine the bones, and arrange them, but on
closer inspection it appeared that a gross imposition had been practised.
There was indeed a part of a skull, but the other bones were certainly
not human, but belonged to some animal.

Since the above was written, information has been received, that a
gentleman, an intimate connection of the traveller, has obtained
possession of his papers, and of various documents relating to him and
his meditated journies. These are methodizing and preparing for the
press.



    Qui demissi in obscuro vitam agunt, Pauci sciunt—fama atque
    fortuna eorum pares sunt—qui in excelso ætatem agunt, eorum
    facta cuncti mortales novere.

CHAPTER XII.


From Browne let us proceed to the character next in succession, who had
not his imperfections, and with whom the Sexagenarian appears to have
had much and familiar intercourse. This was the Ambassador from the East
India Company to the court of Ava, during the government of Sir John
Shore, afterwards Lord Teignmouth. Before this mission, our geographical
knowledge of Ava, and the contiguous countries, was exceedingly imperfect
and inaccurate. The few books which had been published on the subject,
were principally French, and were confined to unsatisfactory descriptions
of Siam and Pegu; whereas the empire of Ava comprehends both Siam and
Pegu, which are subordinate and tributary to the court of Ummo-rapoora,
or, as it is there denominated, “The Golden Foot.” It extends to Tibet
and China on the north, and on the south to Junkseylon.

Geographical perplexities were, however, cleared up, and errors,
particularly with regard to the Great River Irrawaddy, removed by this
expedition of M.S. For example, the river which connects Pegu with
the ocean, was by former geographers continued from beyond Pegu, to
the frontiers of China; whereas the main river, the mouth of which is
Rangoon, passes through Prome to the capital, and to the borders of
China. The Pegu river is relatively an unimportant stream, taking its
rise a very little way above Pegu.

By the assistance of Major Rennell and Mr. Dalrymple, the geography of
Ava has now received great illustration; and jealous as that nation
still continues to be, with respect to the admission of Europeans among
them, political necessities, as well as the expediency of commercial
interchange, will probably, in the progress of a few years, remove
whatever obscurities may yet remain.

With respect to the people themselves, of their manners and customs,
the productions of their soil, their religion, and their learning, the
European world was almost in entire ignorance. With the exception of a
small volume, translated from the French, and entitled “A Relation of
the Voyage to Siam, performed by Six Jesuits, sent by the French King to
the Indies and China in 1685,” there was no book in the English language
illustrative of the subject.

No person was, in the opinion of the Sexagenarian, who has so expressed
himself in our notes, better qualified in all respects for such an
expedition than Major S—s. He combined the firmness of the soldier with
the courteous manners of the gentleman, and he found the union of these
qualities, of no small importance in the progress of his undertaking. He
accordingly succeeded to the full extent of his views, and to the entire
satisfaction of his employers. This latter circumstance is sufficiently
attested by his being dispatched a second time to the same place, to
explain some misconceptions which had taken place on the part of the Ava
government. Of this second expedition, however, no public notice has
been taken, nor did the traveller avail himself of the opportunity thus
offered, to correct or enlarge what he had before written and published
on the subject.

It is rather remarkable, that so very little should have been previously
known of an empire, second only in extent to that of China. The Sovereign
considers himself as the greatest Potentate upon earth, and indeed
nothing can be more ostentatiously splendid than the grandeur of his
court.

The East India Company thought so highly of the services rendered them
by their agent, that they voted him a donation of twelve thousand Sicca
rupees.

On his return to his native country, his active spirit found various
opportunities of employment. He obtained a seat in Parliament, he was
confidentially employed in some important offices by government, and
having retained his situation in the army, refused to resign it, when he
might, without the smallest imputation on his honour, or his courage,
have retired. He accordingly joined his regiment in the Peninsula,
and distinguished himself as well by his personal exertions, as by
testimonies of diplomatic skill and acuteness.

But his constitution had long been shaken; he had never entirely
recovered his wonted energy, after his second expedition to the court of
Ava. He was engaged in the unfortunate expedition of Sir John Moore, and
though he survived the battle of Corunna, and got safe back to England,
he died very shortly afterwards, really exhausted by debility and
fatigue. He certainly was one of those personages, of whom some memorial
should be preserved, and as none have preceded the present, imperfect and
inadequate as this may be, it will be far, it is hoped, from rendering
him dishonour.



    Ite nunc fortes ubi celsa magni
    Ducit exempli via.

CHAPTER XIII.


With no less degree of familiarity, and with an equal portion of esteem,
is represented the name and character of the Ambassador from the East
India Company, to the court of the Teesho Lama, in Tibet. Materials for
biographical sketches, are in general easily collected, and when used
with skill, importantly contribute both to information and amusement. But
it rarely happens, that the writer or compiler of such sketches has the
advantage which our Sexagenarian possessed, of a personal intimacy with
so many individuals, of such various talents, pursuits, and employments.

With this last traveller the intercourse appears to have been frequent
and familiar, and it should seem that he had been consulted on the
subject of one of the most curious and interesting works in our language.

What had been vaguely and imperfectly represented of Bootan, Tibet, and
its Lama, had, till this work appeared, rather the character of Oriental
fiction, than of grave, sober, and accurate narrative. Fiction itself,
indeed, can hardly proceed further than is exemplified in the Tibetian
idea of their Lama, who though he never ceases to exist, withdraws
himself from the world, when the body, which he has vouchsafed to
inhabit, decays from age or disease, and at a proper interval, again
makes his appearance, by animating an infant; his presence in whom is
unequivocally ascertained by certain well-known and characteristic
symbols.

Few more important volumes than this communication on the subject of
Tibet, have appeared in modern times, and our Sexagenarian has not failed
to express himself with particular self-complacency from the circumstance
of having rendered some service in its publication.

It is not on every occasion that due sagacity and wisdom is exercised
in selecting agents for remote political missions, but as in the former
instance of the Ambassador to Ava, so in this of the deputation to Bootan
and Tibet, the East India Company could not possibly have decided with
greater propriety, or with sounder wisdom.

The people of Ava were a lofty, ostentatious, and courtly race. The
Ambassador to that region had a proper sense of his own dignity, and of
that of the nation of which he was the representative, and at the same
time entered into all the splendid gaieties of a gaudy court, without
rendering any violence to his natural disposition.

The Tibetians were grave, formal, and reserved; marked by the strongest
peculiarities of manners, and of prejudices. The agent sent among
them, was grave, serious, sensible, properly tenacious of his personal
importance, without offending peculiarities, the extreme simplicity
and eccentricity of which, cannot, under a less sanction than that of
the Ambassador’s assertion of what he witnessed, easily obtain credit.
What to a European, and more particularly to an Englishman can be more
preposterous, than the Polyandry of Tibet, and to see “one female
associating her fate and fortune with all the brothers of a family,
without any restriction of age or of numbers.” Marriage, it is observed
by our Traveller, is in Tibet, considered as an odium, an heavy burden,
the weight and obloquy of which, a whole family are disposed to lessen,
by sharing it among them. Indeed the number of husbands to one female, is
not defined nor restricted within any limits. Mr T. mentions one family
in which five brothers were living very happily together with one female,
under the same connubial compact.

The termination of this valuable traveller’s life was extremely
melancholy. His health had long been impaired by climate, as well as
by his fatiguing exertions in the discharge of his functions. In his
progress one day from his apartments in the West end of the town to the
city, he was attacked in Fleet-street with an epileptic fit, and as no
papers were found on his person, to designate precisely who he was, he
was carried to the poor-house to be owned. It is more than probable, that
under these circumstances, he did not receive all the attention, which
his real rank in life claimed, and his immediate situation demanded;
but in this place he was not recognized till he was actually dead. His
publication will, however, always rank exceedingly high in the class
to which it belongs, and the memory of his accomplishments, and of his
amiable and conciliatory manners, can cease only with the lives of those
who enjoyed the advantages of his friendship.



    Et tamen hunc audes maculare et dicere nigrum
    Desine; habet certe numen et iste suum.

CHAPTER XIV.


The last traveller to distant regions, of whom there are notices in our
Sexagenarian’s Recollections, was a noble Lord, the history of whose
life involves many extraordinary particulars. The gay, the witty, but
depraved Lord ⸺, was his uncle, and he has often been heard to detail the
very mysterious circumstances of the death of his relation, with much
solemnity and pathos. He was at that time at school, his morals therefore
were not contaminated by his connection with that nobleman, though it
cannot be denied that he afterwards launched into the gaieties of youth,
and the dissipation of the times, with an ardour to which, unfortunately,
his rank and situation afforded too many and too great facilities.

Disappointed and injured in the domestic establishment he had formed, he
had, moreover, to contend with the most cruel and abominable aspersions
aimed at the very vitality of his character. These however, from the
cause which excited them, as well as from the source from which they were
circulated, were, by all those who were qualified to ascertain the facts
with precision, discovered ultimately to be the result of calumny and
malice. The late Lord Kenyon, as good a judge of evidence as the most
experienced lawyer could possibly be, avowed this opinion forcibly and
solemnly from the bench.

In the extreme perturbation of mind and spirits, naturally produced by
such circumstances, the noble Lord very judiciously determined to make
the experiment, how far change of scene, and the exploring of remote
regions, might tend to restore him to the tranquillity he had lost. At
this period he obtained an introduction to the Marquis W⸺, who filled
the high office of Governor General of India with great dignity and
splendour. To his hospitality he accordingly resolved to resort, and he
afterwards lived with the Marquis on terms of friendship.

He proceeded to India, where he enjoyed every facility which authority
could bestow, or curiosity require. He first visited Calcutta, on the Bay
of Bengal; he then went up to Lucknow, where he spent a month. He then
returned down the Ganges to Calcutta, sailed to Ceylon, thence coasted
the W. of Ceylon and the eastern shore of the Peninsula to Madras. He
afterwards crossed through the Mysore to Mangalore, sailed to the Red
Sea, and again returning to Bombay, proceeded to the Red Sea a second
time.

His Lordship had intended to have visited Agra, but he was prevented
by the war with the Mahrattas. Whilst at Bombay, however, he visited
Poonah, the capital of the Mahratta country, and such other places as
were deserving the investigation of an enlightened traveller.

From Bombay he crossed the Indian ocean, and arrived at Mocha, in the Red
Sea. After a certain sojourn at that place, he proceeded to Massouah, the
key by which means, Bruce was enabled to penetrate to Abyssinia. From
Massouah, Mr. Salt, Lord ⸺’s Secretary, was dispatched to visit the Ras
at Antalow. Mr. Salt having successfully accomplished this expedition,
joined his illustrious friend at Massouah, and after various perils and
difficulties, they arrived in safety at Suez. The rout from Suez was
that usually pursued by travellers from the East, namely, to Cairo,
Alexandria, Malta, &c.

The details published of these interesting travels, were not, however,
so popular as might reasonably have been expected, and as they actually
deserved. They certainly contained a great deal of original matter,
and a large mass of important information. They were more favorably
received on the continent. The translator of them into French has, in his
introduction, drawn a strong contrast between the reception Lord ⸺ met
with in his native country, and what would have been given in France to
a man of his Lordship’s situation in life, who would have performed such
a work. Bonaparte considered it so important as to the State of India,
that Notes were ordered to be inserted by the Police, as an antidote,
which was done; the original order is in his Lordship’s possession, and
it is curious that Lord V. has often been the subject of Napoleon’s
conversation with Englishmen.

They were considered by the very learned Editor of the voyage of
Nearchus, as entitled to the merit of having elucidated many abstruse
and complicated points in ancient geography, and in many parts as fairly
claiming the honour of actual discovery. Certain it is, that no modern
navigator has before taken an actual survey of that part of the African
coast, from the straits of Babulmandeb to the 26th degree N. &c. Perhaps
the principal cause which restrained their more extensive circulation,
is to be found in the first volume, where too great importance has been
given to trifles, and the work too much swelled out with circumstantial
representations of Oriental ceremonies, visits, dresses, and presents,
which scholars contemn, and which in fact had not the charm of novelty to
recommend them.

The work was afterwards published in a smaller compass, pruned of many of
these eccentricities and unnecessary appendages, and can never, in its
present form, be perused without much gratification and improvement.

Upon this work and its author, the following remarks subsequently occur
in our manuscript, and are evidently written in another hand, but
they well deserve preservation, as well from their erudition as their
sagacity.

Indiscriminate praise is of no value, but the sense of this noble Lord’s
merits as a traveller, arises from the consideration of his engaging
in such a service, at a time of life when young men of rank, think of
little but their pleasures. It arises, moreover, from his attention to
the manners of the nations which he visited, and from the judgment of the
plan, which he executed with so much ardour and perseverance.

The survey of the western coast of the Red Sea, was a grand desideratum
in geography, where nothing essential had been done since the voyage of
De Castro. It is not a speculation of curiosity, but a duty incumbent
upon a nation, possessed of the greatest maritime power that ever
existed, to explore every region, where the sea is navigable, and this
not only in a commercial view, but for the extension of science.

Lord ⸺’s coarse from the straits of Babulmandeb, up to Salaka, is a
survey, not only of importance to navigation and science, but of great
utility in shewing that there are means of approaching the most
barbarous inhabitants of the coast.

Many of the observations which are introduced upon the coast, above and
upon the country of Adel, are the best illustrations possible in regard
to ancient geography. They must have been peculiarly gratifying to the
very learned Dr. Vincent, as they coincide with the nature, both of the
natives and the countries which his pen had delineated from ancient
authority.

The trade and caravans of Adel, the intercourse of that country with
Arabia and Adooli, the western entrance of the Straits, the Opsian Bay,
the Bay of Adooli, the regal government of Axuma, the double sovereignty
of Suakin, the independent Bedoweens, above the Tahama, or Tessiborike,
the site of Berenice, in Foul Bay, the existence of the gold mines, and
the evidence of gold, still obtainable on the coast, all prove, whatever
may have been the revolution of governments, or the changes effected by
the lapse of time, that the general features are still indelible, and the
portrait true.

The bay to which the noble traveller has given the fantastic appellation
of “Botherem Bay,” with all its intricacies, shoals, and islands, will be
found perfectly consistent with both Agatharchides and Diodorus.

The Axumite inscription proves incontestibly the prevalence of the Greek
language in Abyssinia. The fact undoubtedly was, that as soon as Adooli
became a mart, approachable by the Greeks from Egypt, Greeks established
themselves there as residents. Thus they had formerly done all around the
Euxine, from the time of Herodotus, to the time when it was visited by
Arrian, in the reign of Adrian.

Greeks of this sort were not only merchants, but became ministers, or
agents for the native Sovereigns, such as Xenophon found in the time of
Scuthes, and by such a Greek, the inscription was doubtless drawn up for
Aeizaneus.

The whole work does the writer great credit. The style is unaffected;
and the commercial speculations, in regard to Arabia and Abyssinia,
of greater public importance, than they hitherto appear to have been
considered.



    You sign your place and calling, in full seeming
    With meekness and humility; but your heart
    Is crammed with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.

CHAPTER XV.


Our Memoirs are now drawing towards their close, for although numerous
recollections yet remain, they are rather of a miscellaneous and
desultory kind, consisting more of detached remarks and local anecdotes,
than of any regular and consistent narrative. Such parts of these shall
be selected and introduced, as appear best calculated to excite interest,
or promote entertainment.

To whom the following “Recollection” can apply, the editor has not the
remotest conception, but that the portrait was drawn from nature, is
evinced by the strength of the outline, the force of the colouring, and
the general appearance as a whole.

A Christian Bishop!—Much veneration has in various parts of these
Recollections been expressed for individuals filling this high and
important office, expressed too with an honest warmth, resulting
from a near contemplation, and personal experience of their virtues.
What ought the characteristics of a Christian Bishop to be?
Firmness—learning—charity—general benevolence—meekness—disposition to
forgive injuries—spirit of reconciliation—a love of peace, and desire to
ensue it.

Great and amiable qualities truly! Yet a Bishop did once present
himself in the progress of a literary life, who had not quite all these
peculiarly honourable distinctions. Firmness he had, if that term can in
justice be applied to him, who is _tenax propositi_—right or wrong. The
distinction of learning must be allowed him, without any qualification of
any kind. As to the rest—charity—general benevolence—meekness—disposition
to forgive injuries—spirit of reconciliation—love of peace—desire to
ensue it—a little reflection is necessary before the claim to these
qualities can be conceded.

Is it a proof of charity, or benevolence, or meekness, to provoke a large
body of united individuals by anonymous insinuations and attacks, which
there was a compulsory obligation subsequently to retract and disavow?

By which of the apostles or evangelists are maxims of persecution
inculcated? To admonish and advise, is certainly part of the episcopal
function, and as the very name denotes, to exercise a becoming vigilance
with respect to those who are comprehended in their flock. But suppose
an honest, industrious individual, proceeding in the line of his
professional duty, which he has invariably found to lead successfully to
the object desired, and suppose he declines from conscientious motives,
or from pride, or obstinacy, if you please, to deviate from this line,
or path, at the haughty suggestion of a superior, be he Dean, or even a
Bishop, is he to be persecuted, harassed, exasperated with unrelenting
malignity?

Lastly, supposing a professional brother, at the time, of equal
pretensions in rank, situation, connections, and accomplishments, from
whom attention and kindness had been previously received, and through
whom, and in concert with whom, a work of high importance to religion,
morals, and learning, had been prosecuted, should, in a thoughtless
moment, by a mere casual and inadvertent expression, give cause of
offence? Is such a trespass not only never to be forgotten or forgiven,
but is it compatible with those qualities, which ought to characterize
a Christian minister, whatever be his station, to retain a sense of
the transgression, implacable, and eternal; and forgetful of former
reciprocated kindness, to treat the offender as one deserving to be
deprived of “fire and water?”

Fye on such Christian ministers, bishops, or what not!!



    Cupit hic regi proximus ipsi:
    Clarusque latam via per urbem.

CHAPTER XVI.


Before the subject of Prelates and Prelacy is definitively concluded, it
may be as well to insert one anecdote from the manuscript, which stands
alone and unconnected, but which the Sexagenarian states he had from
authority not to be disputed.

It happened during the ministry of Pitt, that a vacant bishoprick was
kept for a long time in abeyance. Among the expectants (for we must
not say candidates) was one whose immoderate anxiety and eagerness on
the subject, was really ridiculous; (the word in the manuscript was
_contemptible_, but this had been erased.)

He used to write or send two or three times a day, to the Premier’s
Secretary, to learn whether any decision was yet made, and in one of
these _grandes epistolæ_, he ingenuously confessed that his solicitude on
the subject was so great, that it really deprived him of sleep.

It will hardly excite surprize to learn that the above gentleman was not
distinguished by greatness of mind, and that he was rather to be classed
among the _fruges consumere nati_, than among the _egregia semper patriæ
capita_.

The story is on record of the new married Lady Burlington, who when she
saw Swift for the first time, fancied from his dress and appearance,
that he was, to use the Dean’s own words, “some hedge alehouse parson,”
and accordingly resented his familiarity of address, as presumptuous and
insolent. He had asked her to sing, but instead of complying, she left
the room in disgust, and in tears. When, however, she next saw him, she
approached him with a graceful air and curtsey, and said “I will sing to
you Mr. Dean whenever you please.” Something not remarkably dissimilar,
happened between the great man above alluded to, and our Sexagenarian.

He had an appointment with a much greater man than either of them, and
was shewn into the private apartment of the person who had sent for
him, and here, by accident, he saw the anxious expectant for the mitre,
waiting also for an interview. The personal appearance of our friend
was not remarkably prepossessing, and he did not much sacrifice to the
graces in his dress; so that his attempts to enter into conversation were
resisted, and great talents for silence were exhibited on both sides, for
the space of half an hour.

At length the great man entered, who, as luck would have it, first
accosted the Sexagenarian, and with particular cordiality. The
consequence was electrical. The Doctor’s austerity of countenance in a
moment relaxed into the most complacent good humour. He was really much
concerned, not to have known who the gentleman was, with whom he had been
sitting. He should be proud to rank him among his acquaintance, was not
ignorant of his reputation, &c. &c.

That conjecture may not be directed to the wrong object, let it be
understood, that this person, though subsequently elevated to the
Episcopal dignity, was not Bishop A. or B. or C. or D. &c.

About Bishop H. there are a few scattered memoranda in the manuscript,
but though the Sexagenarian had occasionally met him, no acquaintance
subsisted between them, and though he most highly, on all occasions,
venerated his learning and talents, and gave public testimony that he
did so, he appears to have been by no means pleased with his personal
manners.



    Μονῃ θυτεον τῃ Αληθεια.

CHAPTER XVII.


In a far, far different spirit are written, in several portions of the
manuscript, certain notices of a very Reverend Dean, concerning whom
there appears to have been the intention of composing something more in
detail. How much and how greatly he was revered by the writer, appears
from the following quotation, with which the Recollections on this
subject are introduced.

    Locum virtus habet inter astra,
    Vere dum flores venient tepenti
    Et comam sylvis hyemes recident,
    Vel comam sylvis revocabit æstas,
    Pomaque autumno fugiente cadent,
    Nulla terris rapiet vetustas
    Tu comes Phœbo, comes ibis astris.

This venerable personage ought, with propriety, to have been introduced
in an earlier period of the work; he has indeed been casually mentioned,
but his talents and accomplishments were of so high and superior a
character, that it looks a little inconsistent with the profound respect
which he evidently inspired, not to have solicited attention to him
before.

He was one of the soundest scholars in Europe, certainly to be classed
among the most skilful and accomplished geographers, an admirable critic,
and in every character, and every relation of life, entitled to the most
exalted encomium.

With all these claims to esteem and love, he was of the greatest
simplicity of manners, unaffected, unassuming, powerful in argument, but
not like Johnson, overbearing; an excellent divine, steady patriot, and
unalterable friend.

His works will endure with the language in which they were written, and
in other languages also; his geographical researches, having necessarily
attracted the attention of those engaged in similar pursuits, in all
parts of civilized Europe. He seems to have had one talent in common
with Herodotus, that with respect to places hitherto partially known,
and imperfectly explored, further investigation generally proved his
conjectures to have been founded on the most substantial grounds, and
his conclusions true. This is more particularly the fact, with respect
to the Periplus of the Erythræan Sea, and the examination of the strange
hypothesis of Bryant, relating to the plain of Troy.

By the way, the name of Jacob Bryant occurs occasionally in our
Sexagenarian’s Recollections. It is stated that he once or twice
encountered him in literary societies. But he represents Bryant, allowing
him at the same time all that his warmest advocates can require, as
being very tenacious of his opinions, and impatient of contradiction.
Any opposition to his affirmations, however candidly or temperately
expressed, he was apt to consider as a declaration of hostility; and
on one in which the amiable personage was concerned, who forms the
immediate subject of this article, he degraded himself so far as to use
the coarsest terms of invective; nay, he even called his learned opponent
ASSASSIN.

Mark, reader, the contrast of the two characters. The person thus vilely,
as well as falsely stigmatized, merely in reply expressed “surprize
to find that a man of letters, of integrity, of talents, of refined
manners, of an understanding cultivated by all the studies, classical
and religious, which tend to soften asperity of mind, and severity of
judgment, should so far transgress the law of controversy, as to style
his adversary an assassin, because upon a question of literature, he
dared to be of a different opinion, and to assign some reasons for that
difference.”

That Bryant was vindictive whenever his literary reputation was impugned,
appears also from the following circumstance. He knew the Sexagenarian to
be concerned in a publication, in which some of his assertions and dogmas
had been dispassionately discussed, and though he met him at the house of
a common friend, who equally respected both parties, he declined entering
into conversation.

But to return to our first subject, the venerable Dean. Various are the
branches of science which his pen illustrated and adorned; indeed all his
publications may be considered as truly valuable, and highly important.
The intricacies of the Greek verb, peculiarities relating to the military
tactics of the ancients, many arduous and obscure points, both in ancient
and modern geography, a most powerful and effective vindication of the
system of national education, with various other contingent appendages to
learning, have been elucidated by his learning, and embellished by his
taste.

The question may naturally be asked why, with such an accumulation of
claims, did he not ascend to the highest gradation of his profession? The
interrogatory is more easily proposed than answered. Perhaps it is true,
that with all his great attainments, and love of literature, the Prime
Minister of that day was so occupied with political perplexities and
difficulties, that he considered the pursuits of the Muses, as trifling
and subordinate, and conferred distinction and reward on those only and
their connections, and adherents, who were most useful and necessary to
him in the prosecution of his views.

However, the honours which were bestowed, were communicated in the
handsomest manner possible, and if inadequate to the merits of the
receiver, there is great reason to presume that they satisfied his utmost
ambition.



    Bene navis agitatur—pulcre hæc confertur ratis
    Sed conticiscam: nam audio operiri fores.

CHAPTER XVIII.


We are again carried back to a remoter period; but these inequalities,
with respect to chronology, merely serve to confirm the opinion long
since given, that had life been spared, and opportunity allowed, the
Sexagenarian meditated a compact and regular whole.

In the part of the manuscript at which we are now arrived, are many
observations and anecdotes of an eccentric, but well-known character, of
considerable reputation for science in his day, an excellent antiquary, a
polite scholar, and accomplished gentleman.

Such was E. K⸺, of M⸺ S⸺. His taste was acute, refined, and multifarious,
his knowledge great and extensive, and on certain subjects profound. He
possessed some of the finest bronzes in the world, a few exceedingly
valuable pictures, beautiful specimens of Oriental curiosities, and
more particularly of rare and old china, and above all, a most numerous,
well-chosen, and costly library. He was bred to the profession of the
law, but becoming, by the death of a relation, possessed of such property
as made the continuance of his professional labours unnecessary, he
retired from it, and afterwards pursued a life of literary ease and
leisure.

He kept a hospitable table, to which he frequently invited the more
distinguished literary characters of the country. To these he always
shewed kindness and to some whose more necessitous circumstances required
it, he communicated more substantial assistance. In the margin opposite
to the place where the above sentence appears, the Sexagenarian had
written with a note of admiration thus—“We are a needy crew!”

One in particular, a foreigner, who was a Fellow of the Royal Society,
and had contributed very largely to the Philosophical Transactions, and
was also the author of many curious and profound works on philosophy
and chemistry, had perpetual welcome at his table, and received various
proofs of more solid regard.

His liberality also in accommodating those who were not fortunate enough
to possess literary stores, equal to his own, with the loan of his
treasures, and his readiness of communicating what he knew to those who
required it, were equally prompt, kind, and conspicuous.

He had, during that season of the year when the provinces pour their
more opulent, refined and enlightened inhabitants into the bosom of the
metropolis, weekly meetings of learned and eminent men, among whom were
always to be found some of the most distinguished characters of the
country.

He had much ardour of curiosity with respect to discoveries and
observations in foreign and remote countries, and particularly directed
his attention towards Africa. He was familiarly acquainted with all that
had, in ancient and modern times also, been published on the subject of
that country, which still seems to mock the unavailing efforts of all who
attempt to penetrate into its interior recesses. He did not, however,
live to see how much of this obscurity and darkness had been dissipated
by the generous and patriotic efforts of the African Association, and by
the result of the exertions of Browne, Hornemann, Park, and others.

Of all the books which our modern æra have produced on the subject of
foreign discovery, he principally avowed his admiration of Turner’s
Embassy to the court of the Dalai Lama, at Thibet, concerning which we
had previously very little, and indeed no satisfactory information. He
considered this work as highly valuable and important, and as filling
up an interesting desideratum in the philosophical history of man. The
extraordinary peculiarities of religious superstition, which prevail in
that country, the extreme singularity of manners, particularly those
relating to marriage, where it often happens that one woman is wife to
six or seven brothers in a family, had so much occupied his mind, that it
is more than probable, that his ideas on these subjects must have been
communicated to paper, and remain among his manuscripts.

Hospitable, kind, and generous, he had one marvellous weakness, which
often produced the most unpleasing consequences, namely, a childish
irritability of temper.

The wrong label accidentally put upon a decanter, on one occasion so
exasperated him against the offending servant, that much temporary
inconvenience was occasioned to a large and elegant party, who were at
dinner. These squalls, however, were short and transitory;—and perhaps
more tolerable than the grimace and adulatory obsequiousness of “the
Traveller,” whose name next succeeds.



    Opera haud fui parcus meâ. Nimis homo
    Nihili est, qui piger est, nimisque id genus odi ego male,
    Vigilare decet hominem qui volt sua tempori conficere officia.

CHAPTER XIX.


Louis has written his own life, restrained by no very strong
considerations of delicacy, nor at all abashed by the circumstantiality
of what he has disclosed. His parentage, his education, his early and
his late amours, the variety of his efforts to get on in the world, his
obsequiousness to his superiors, and his final arrival at wealth and
independence, are all communicated without the smallest reserve, as if
his object, aim, principle, first and last determination, was “_Quærenda
Pecunia_.” He does not seem much to have cared about the opinions of
mankind, and to have exclaimed with Horace, “_Populus me sibilet_,” &c.
“_ad cœlum jusseris ibo_.”

Our Sexagenarian, as appears from his notes, was very frequently in his
society, and though he expresses himself as greatly pleased and amused
with his vivacity, his inexhaustible fund of anecdotes, his knowledge of
the world, and it must be said of books also, indeed he knew something of
every thing, yet he evidently felt no strong disposition to give him his
esteem.

There was a man in the time of Gray, and of the same college with the
Bard, whose name was Etough, or Etoph. He had been brought up among the
most rigid Dissenters, but seeing better prospects before him in our
Church establishment, he took orders. This man, by some means or other,
had made himself acquainted with the secret history, connections, and
particularities, of all the great families in the kingdom.

On account of this knowledge, though exceedingly disliked, and indeed
despised, he was very much courted and invited to entertainments. Our
friend Louis greatly resembled him. He was for some years resident
abroad, in a situation which commanded respect, and in a place which all
our young nobility, who make the tour of Europe, never fail to visit. He
was necessarily introduced to their acquaintance, and thus in succession
became informed of the more important circumstances involved in the
history of their respective families.

This he turned to very good account, so good indeed, that his domestic
expences were always on a very limited scale. The invitations he
received to dinner, in the full season, were perpetual, and there were
many considerable houses, at which a place was always left for him,
without the formality of previous notice.

To the very last period of life, he retained his vivacity of intellect,
and great activity of body. When turned of seventy, he played billiards
with great spirit, and practised all the finesse of the Queue with
considerable success.

It was whimsical enough, that never having acquired a sufficient
knowledge of the English language, to read or converse in it without an
offensive intermixture of his foreign idiom, he should have valuable
preferment in the Church bestowed upon him. He had the good sense not to
attempt any professional duties, and some ludicrous stories are told of
the surprize and astonishment excited among his northern auditors, when
he first appeared among them to take possession of his living.

He died rich, which indeed might be expected, for he saved much and
spent little; independent of what he received from one noble family,
his pension, and his living, he did not inherit less than twenty-four
thousand pounds from two other personages of rank, to whom, for a
continued series of years, he had paid assiduous and obsequious
attention.

In his account of himself, he slurs over the circumstance of his being
most affectionately received, and most generously entertained, by his
relations in this country; but the fact is, on his arrival he went to
the house of his uncle, who had retired from the business of a jeweller
with a handsome fortune, and for many years resided in Leicester-square.
When the subject of this article died, he left a niece, who had kept his
house, but whether she was a daughter of this uncle above-mentioned, or
not, was not known to the writer. Whoever she might be, he left her but a
scanty provision.

Though frivolity and levity would better characterize him, than to call
him a lover of science and philosophy, yet the book he wrote on the
discoveries of the ancients, attributed to the moderns, and his edition
of the works of Leibnitz, demonstrate him capable of profounder thinking,
and evidently prove that he was well acquainted with books.

In the matter in which he was involved with the venerable Archbishop of
Moscow, he does not stand in quite so fair a light. He committed himself
unadvisedly, nor was his explanation quite perspicuous or satisfactory.
Take him for all in all, he was an eccentric character, and if we do not
meet with his like again, it is of no material importance.

Numerous are the anecdotes which occur in our manuscript, as communicated
by this singular personage, but lest our detail should be too far
extended, one only is inserted.

A society was established under the most fortunate auspices, of which,
the object was, to bring together individuals, who from their relative
situations in life, were otherwise less likely to meet upon equal and
familiar terms: men of rank, properly so denominated, and those who had
exhibited such unequivocal proofs of learning and of talent, as to claim
and deserve that countenance, which the conscious dignity of superior
intellect is seldom disposed to solicit. Accordingly, the first promoters
of the plan endeavoured, in the invitations which they circulated, to
assemble personages of distinction, who were universally considered and
acknowledged as friendly to the interests of literature, and men of
literary character, whose studies and productions had conciliated the
general esteem.

To Louis this seemed a mighty fantastical project, and as the invitation
immediately came from one, who, though much employed, and exceedingly
anxious in the business, did not add much to its allurement, from the
splendour of his rank, or the popularity of his name; he declined it with
a sort of faint praise and civil sneer, at the same time undertaking to
predict that the scheme would fall to the ground. But it turned out far
otherwise. The success exceeded the most sanguine hopes of the first
projectors. In a very short space of time, the society comprehended a
very large proportion of

    The great, and the good, and the learned, and the wise.

It would not be very easy to describe the mortification and chagrin which
was felt by him, who had rejected, what he would afterwards have made
great sacrifices to obtain. But it was too late. The door was shut, not
again to be opened to any force, within his power to apply.



    Τ. Αυτος μετειληφὼς της καλῆς εκεινής συνουσιας, η παρ αλλου
    μαθων τοις ετεροις διεξηεις;

    Α. Αυτος μετασχων.

CHAPTER XX.


The Sexagenarian has, in various parts of his manuscript, introduced
detached remarks and anecdotes on the subject of book clubs, literary
societies, and meetings of similar denomination.

He seems to have been a member of one in particular, which must have
communicated no ordinary satisfaction, as he has sketched a concise
delineation of the individuals of whom it was composed, which is here
introduced, to exercise the acuteness of those who may be disposed to
appropriate the several descriptions and portraits.

The first was a Barrister; a man of singular acuteness, great vigour
of intellect, extensive knowledge of modern languages, particularly
of French, a very subtle disputant, and never perhaps exceeded in
conversation talents. In the time of Louis XIV. it was notorious that
the great wits of the day, bestowed a portion of their morning hours, in
preparing themselves to shine in the parties they were to meet in the
evening, by making themselves familiar with such subjects as were likely
to be introduced, by contriving such verbal artifices as might afford
them the opportunity of introducing new jests, puns, jeux des mots, and
so forth.

Our legal friend laboured under a somewhat similar imputation, but
be this as it may, his talents were of the very highest order, and
though perhaps in many of his opinions, and more particularly in those
concerning politics, he did not coincide with any one member of the
Symposium, he was greatly acceptable to all, from the vivacity of
his communications, the easy flow of his eloquence, his diversified
narratives, and urbanity of manners.

He qualified himself for professional distinction by severe application,
and he long and patiently endured the “_res angusti domi_,” with the hope
of progressively making his way to more lucrative business. But this
seemed still to linger at a distance; he was, however, too high-spirited
to be easily turned aside from his purpose, and too confident in his own
natural and acquired attainments, to despair of finally accomplishing his
object. Two things occurred, which attracted the public attention towards
him, and made him the object of more general attention and curiosity.

He undertook to be the advocate of the French Revolution in its
primordial state, and produced a work upon the subject, which became the
fertile parent of disputation, replies, rejoinders, and commentaries.

He also read public lectures on legal subjects, which were numerously
attended, and exhibited unequivocal demonstration of his abilities.
He might probably not have been obliged to court the office which
he afterwards and honourably filled, but for the pertinacity of his
political opinions, and his strenuous opposition, on all occasions, to
the measures of government.

This pertinacity, however, so far, gave way at length, that he accepted
from ministers a judicial situation in one of the remote dependencies
of the empire, where he resided for several years. His acceptance of
this office was considered by his party as tergiversation, and he
was reproached by them accordingly. One example of this reproach is
commemorated as having been made by a very distinguished friend of
opposition, on the occasion of the trial of O’Connor and his friends at
Maidstone. It is too well known to require repetition.

At length he returned to his native country, and great were the political
changes which had occurred in the interval of his absence. What did he
do? It might have been supposed that government possessed some claims
upon his gratitude; it might have been presumed, that having witnessed
the follies and the pernicious effects of the revolutionary principles
he had once advocated, he would shrink from the peril of being even the
suspected partisan of a power which had been exercised to the destruction
of every thing, which by the wise and the good was contemplated with
the strongest attachment and sincerest veneration. He nevertheless went
back to the Magi, by whom he had formerly been deluded, and was quickly
initiated in all the greater and lesser ceremonies of the Gallic Eleusis,
Madame de S. being the high-priestess.

It was, however, reported of him, that even in the midst of his
wanderings in the labyrinths of politics, he not only meditated, but
actually commenced, a great and arduous historical labour, to which his
talents were fully adequate, and which promised to place his name on a
pedestal, far more lofty and substantial too, than any fabrick which
could possibly be raised by a subtle, ingenious, but powerless minority.

On the subject of this gentleman, with the exception of a few scattered
notices, nothing more of importance appears in our Recollections. There
is reason to apprehend, that at this period, the Sexagenarian retired
from the world, and totally lost sight of his former associates.



    Eam laudem hic ducit maximam, cum illis placet
    Qui vobis universis et populo placent,
    Quorum operæ in bello, in otio, in negocio
    Suo quisque tempore usus est sine superbia.

CHAPTER XXI.


Another individual of the society was a Member of Parliament, of
elegant connections, elegant manners, and elegant accomplishments. He
had travelled a great deal, and was familiarly acquainted with most
European languages, but he more particularly directed his attention to
the literature of his own country. In this he was pre-eminently skilled,
and has transmitted proofs of his knowledge and taste in this way, which
will probably endure as long as the language. His society was peculiarly
agreeable; he had seen a great deal of the world, was acutely observant,
had much to communicate, which he always was prompt to do, and which he
always did with vivacity, eloquence, and a considerable degree of _dry_
humour.

In earlier life he had attached himself to that party of which Mr. Fox
was the head, and he exercised his satirical vein at the expence of the
leading members of administration, in the miscellaneous volume of poetry
known by the name of “the Rolliad.” His first, however, and greatest
delight, was in old English poetry, which in the manner of Headley, he
collected, illustrated, and it may be said, adorned. His biographical
sketches are remarkable for neatness, precision, and accuracy. He
abounded in anecdote, which, when required, he detailed with great
felicity.

He was for some time in Russia, and had lived on terms of much
familiarity with Prince Potemkin; of whose luxurious and voluptuous style
of living, he would often relate many extraordinary particulars. This
Prince would have the fish called the Strelitz, a great delicacy of the
table, brought alive from the Crimea to Petersburg, in relays of fresh
water, stationed at different distances, by which means, and by the time
of their arrival, they must have cost a most prodigious sum of money.

It is not impossible that this gentleman’s health might somewhat suffer
from the above intimacy. He was a great valetudinarian, and obliged to
live with the extremest circumspection with regard to his diet, and to
abstain altogether from wine.

He used to tell a facetious story of himself in an adventure which he met
with in the north of Germany.

He was returning from Petersburg, when by some accident, he and his
servant were detained on the road, and with much difficulty reached a
miserable village late in the evening. They were almost famished, but
neither the master nor the servant could make the host comprehend their
wants. They tried all the languages of which they had knowledge, but none
could my host understand. At length, on looking out of the window, the
servant saw some poultry; on which he seized the landlord by the arm,
and, as loud as he could, imitated the crowing of a cock. The man took
the hint, and immediately twisted off the necks of two chickens, on which
the travellers supped deliciously.

His health continuing to decline, Mr. ⸺ found himself obliged to withdraw
from the different societies of which he was a member, and altogether
resided at an elegant retirement within twenty miles of the metropolis.
Here he died very prematurely, leaving behind him a strong impression of
some of the best and most pleasing qualities, which can and which ought
to characterize the English gentleman.

He was particularly partial to the Symposium, of which a brief account
is here given, and never failed, as long as it subsisted, to attend its
meetings. He used facetiously to call it his “Petit Baton.”



    C’est la qui fait peur aux esprits de ce tems,
    Qui tout blancs au dehors, sont tout noirs au dedans.
    Ils tremblent qu’un censeur, que sa verve encourage,
    Ne vienne en ses ecrits demasquer leur visage,
    Et fouillant dans leurs mœurs en tout liberté,
    N’aille du fonds du puits tirer la verité.

CHAPTER XXII.


A third member of this “Symposium” was perhaps superior to those who have
been already mentioned, in intellectual endowment. He has written the
circumstances of his early life with such a dignified simplicity, that
it is only necessary here to observe, that by the momentum of talent
alone, directed by discretion and sound judgment, he rose from the very
humblest station in life to an honourable and merited independence. He
was an excellent scholar, and had superintended the education of a young
nobleman with the highest credit to himself, and advantage to his pupil.
He afterwards accompanied him to the Continent, where he successfully
availed himself of the opportunities of his situation, to enlarge his own
stores of knowledge, as well as those of the individual under his care
and direction.

Of his first productions of a literary kind, nothing perhaps is known,
except by himself, and a very few; but at the period before us, he had
already, by the common acknowledgements of scholars, greatly adorned
the literature of his country. His primary distinction was a sort of
intuitive acuteness, which enabled him instantly to penetrate into the
real characters of those with whom he communicated, and to discern
the merits and defects of whatever was submitted to his perusal. This
acuteness, aided by a very strong judgment, gave him perhaps a particular
bias to criticism and to satire.

By one of his performances of this kind, he effectually put an
extinguisher upon a gaudy and meretricious taste, which, for too long
a period, had been permitted to intrude upon the regions of poetry,
and fraudulently under the guise of polish and softness, to substitute
sound for sense, tinsel for gold, and a profusion of false and garish
metaphors, for the best and truest embellishments of the art. Day after
day, even to fastidiousness, was the public nauseated with epistles,
odes, and sonnets, and canzonettas, under the signatures of Rosa,
Matilda, Laura, Yenda, and a hundred others. The honest indignation and
energy of this writer’s Satiric Muse, swept all these cobwebs away, and
they were visible no more.

By the fierce resentment of one of these offended parties, remarkable for
the licentiousness of his sentiments, and the indiscriminate abuse which
he scattered every where around him, our satirist was once involved in
a perilous, but whimsical predicament. The culprit felt so poignant by
the lash, which had been applied to his shoulders, that after brooding
over his wounds, in sullen, silent malignity, he determined upon taking
personal vengeance. He was led to this, from the mistaken apprehension,
that courage was proportioned to stature, and that a little body must
necessarily be the depository of a pusillanimous spirit. He, however,
found himself most egregiously mistaken.

Armed with “a dagger and a pall,” in other words with a bludgeon and
surtout, he contrived to watch the satirist to his bookseller’s shop,
which he was known to frequent regularly at a certain hour of the
morning. As soon as he had seen his foe enter, the exasperated poetaster
followed him in, and immediately, without a word of warning, in the most
base and cowardly manner, attempted to strike his adversary on the head.
But he reckoned without his host. The little man seeing what he was
about, caught his uplifted arm with one hand, and with the other actively
wrested the bludgeon from his grasp, which he managed with so much
dexterity and force upon his dastardly adversary, that the tables were
turned, and the assailant was fairly beaten out of the shop, with marks
of his discomfiture, which he carried for a long time afterwards manifest
on his visage.

Few things have been more extensively circulated than the satirical poem,
alluded to above. It passed through various editions, and still retains
the reputation it deserves. This effusion, which was limited to sonnet
writers, makers of odes, and Dilettanti scribblers of that class, was
succeeded by an attack managed with no less ability and skill, on certain
theatrical productions of similar tendency and character, which for a
long time usurped an undue possession of the stage. This met with the
same favourable reception from the public, and was productive of equally
good consequences.

But the “_magnum opus_” of this distinguished personage, is one that will
perish only with the language. It is one which occupied the thoughts of
his earliest years, and was progressively completed, in the full maturity
of his talents. It combines all the extensive and essential qualities of
deep erudition, acute criticism, sound observation, and exquisite taste.

In the character in which he is here introduced, namely, as a member of
the Symposium, it is impossible to conceive any thing more unassuming,
mild, and agreeable, than his manner and conversation. Never impatient of
contradiction, never dogmatical in his arguments, he always improved the
“olla podrida” of the meeting, without taking any merit from the flavour
of the sauces, which he himself contributed to the mess.

When the Sexagenarian retired from the world, the same personage was
still employed in the same honourable and useful pursuits, which had
occupied the whole of his life, and which had more peculiarly in view the
interest of literature, and the cause of truth.

At whatever point, and by whatever means, the evil disposed, were
exercising their machinations against what he conceived to be the honest
fame, and real interest of his country, wherever subtlety and artifice
were employed, by misrepresentations, to mislead, or by fallacies to
attempt imposition on the public, there was his vigilance prepared to
detect, and his firmness resolved to check any effectual operation of the
mischief. He obtained the meed he merited, “_laudari a laudatis_.”



    Non quisquam fruitur veris odoribus
    Hyblæos latebris nec spoliat favos,
    Si fronti caveat, si timeat rubos,
    Armat spina rosas, mella tegunt apes.

CHAPTER XXIII.


A fourth member of this society was an individual, than whom, no one’s
name has been more frequently before the public, or accompanied with more
general respect, at the same time, with much persecution, and great,
though undeserved, odium. Some there were, who, fancying that they saw
the vital spirit of genuine liberty, in the principles of the French
Revolution, were disposed to palliate enormities, at the bare memory of
which, every feeling heart revolts, under the impression that they must
ultimately lead to the melioration of man. These individuals reproached
our Symposiast with the imputation of spreading unnecessary alarms, from
an overweening zeal, and officious interference in political concerns.
But this zeal, these apprehensions, and this interference, contributed,
in the opinions of the majority of the best and wisest of our countrymen,
to the preservation of the country.

However this may be, the active and patriotic spirit exerted on the above
occasion, spread universally around, and collected a phalanx, which, from
its firmness, was capable of resisting all attack, from its vigilance
prevented surprize, and from its consciousness of supporting the good and
honest cause of religion and truth, despised and defied the artifices of
calumny, and the insinuations of malignity.

The prominent part taken by the gentleman, of whom we are speaking,
necessarily pointed him out to the government, as a fit object of their
protection and patronage. His abilities and integrity were accordingly
soon exercised in situations of confidence and honour. He well merited
the distinction, for few have ever been more steady, or more active in
discharging the obligations of official duty.

At the same time, these very qualities, added to his former exertions to
counteract the fermentation excited by the turbulent and the evil-minded,
created to him a numerous and formidable host of adversaries, who, by
a thousand means, endeavoured to disturb his repose and interrupt his
measures. At length a political pamphlet which he wrote, the admirable
distinction of which, was in the first place its loyalty, and in the
next, its “plain good sense,” attracted the notice of an eminent member
of the Opposition. To this person’s favourite hypothesis concerning
liberty and our constitution, the above publication appeared to contain
principles of the most dangerous and pernicious hostility. Nor did he
rest till, by his persevering activity, his eloquence, and his influence,
he procured a prosecution to be instituted against the author.

The result was, however, finally to his honour, and he was acquitted of
the enormous offences with which he had been charged.

One incident occurred on the occasion of this memorable trial, which is
related in our notes, and which, if the subject of this article should
survive to peruse these Recollections, he will probably not forget.

Our Sexagenarian called upon him one morning previous to the trial, when
he had before him a list of the persons who were summoned on the jury.
He accordingly asked our friend if he knew any thing of the private
characters, or political opinions, of any of these individuals. On
examining the names, the writer of these notes, fixed on one, to which
for reasons that he stated at length, he recommended him to desire his
counsel to object.

This, however, he either forgot, or was perhaps too indifferent as to
the event, or did not think the cause of objection on the part of the
Sexagenarian, valid. The result was, that this person was allowed to
sit on the jury, but it afterwards appeared that the only obstacle to
an immediate dismissal of the charge, arose from the persevering and
determined obstinacy of this individual against whose prejudices he had
been timely, but vainly forewarned.

How much he disregarded and indeed despised this attempt to lessen his
value in the estimation of the public, was sufficiently evident, indeed
somewhat ludicrously manifested. He never encountered his great opponent,
with whom he had some previous acquaintance, without forcing himself upon
his notice by exclaiming, how do you do Mr. ⸺? A salutation which the
other would gladly have avoided and excused.

The person of whom too slight a description is here given, was educated
at Eton, and afterwards at Oxford. He was called to the bar, and filled
for some time a dignified station in one of our foreign dependencies. He
has, at different times, published various works, all of which are in the
highest degree honourable to his literary reputation. He is, or was, a
good scholar, a very respectable lawyer, and had obtained considerable
proficiency in the Oriental languages. He was, moreover, remarkably well
versed in the modern Greek.

As to worldly matters, he certainly played his cards well with respect
to himself, and has proved to others also no contemptible patron. All
have their infirmities. It is imputed to him, that through fear of being
held up to public animadversion, by one great political hippopotamos,
he occasionally acquiesced in opinions, which he reprobated, and paid
obsequious attention to one, whom in his heart he detested. It has also
been said, that with a little exertion he might have rendered effectual
service to some who fought with him with equal resolution, and who were
exposed to equal danger, under the same honourable standard, but that his
benevolence ended where it began—namely, at home.

He was, however, in every particular, well qualified to be a member of
the society, the component individuals of which are here imperfectly
delineated.



    Davus sum, non Œdipus.

    Deum qui non summum putet
    Cui in manu sit quem esse dementem velit
    Quem sapere—quem sanari—quem in morbum injici.

CHAPTER XXIV.


Another considerable personage belonged to this Symposium, whose entrance
into life was marked with promises, which he subsequently failed to
fulfil. He had every advantage of family, education, connection, and
situation; he had considerable learning, and was by no means destitute
of talent. He was of very elegant and agreeable manners, and must
necessarily have been a very acceptable member of any society, which
assembled for the purpose of indulging enlightened and interesting
conversation.

But he was appointed to some diplomatic situation abroad, and he
continued for many years absent from England. Whether he had put the
poisoned chalice of infidelity to his lips before his departure, is
uncertain; but he appeared to have employed his leisure in searching for
objections and arguments, as they related to Scripture, which had been so
often refuted, that they were considered by the learned and the wise, as
almost exploded. This gentleman, however, collected, and made a book of
them, which certainly has done no honour to his reputation, in any sense
whatever.

He was, moreover, a poet, but here also he discovered a perverted and
fantastical taste, having dramatized one of the most exceptionable and
unnatural tales in the whole collection of Ovid’s Metamorphosis.

Notice is not pretended to be taken, in our memoranda, of the literary
productions of this gentleman with any thing like chronological accuracy;
they seem to have been written down merely as the recollection of them
presented itself. He got considerable credit, and deservedly too, by
a spirited translation of a very crabbed Latin poet, though severer
critics seemed inclined to consider it rather as a paraphrase than as a
translation. However this may be, the version was, undoubtedly, highly
spirited and poetical.

But an earlier, if not absolutely his first literary effort, was a
speculative investigation on the subject of ancient Greek politics.
This was characterized by much sound sense, and very extensive reading,
subject to the imputation of a style somewhat too inflated.

A later production exhibited a metaphysical labyrinth, in which the
author bewildered himself, and confused his readers. Among the more
remarkable paradoxes which this work contained, and it contained a great
many, was the preposterous supposition that Newton’s Principia, was an
Atheistical system, and that the philosophy of Bacon was unsound and
erroneous. His partiality to Helvetius, Delaplace, and the French school,
demonstrate the perverse tendency of his mind, on religious subjects,
which indeed, even in conversation, and it is even said in female
conversation too, he was at no pains to conceal.

As a Symposiast, however, his talents would have done honour to the
Athenian academy itself, and it is hoped that time and reflection may
have meliorated and amended those opinions, which it is impossible that
any religious character can approve.

Two other individuals compleated the number of Symposiasts, of one of
whom some mention has already been made, the other was the Sexagenarian
himself.

To the former, a tribute of affection has been paid, which he who
compiled the heterogeneous matter of these pages, can testify to have
been well-deserved. We are inclined to make some mention of the latter,
as we knew him in the decline of life.



    Nunc aliquis dicat mihi—quid tu?
    Sum cinis—ossa—nihil.

CHAPTER XXV.


His earlier years have been pourtrayed by himself in a preceding
part of the work, but ah! how changed was he in his latter days! His
characteristic of mind was an extraordinary quickness; his characteristic
of temper was cheerfulness. The first of these qualities he retained as
long as we knew him. He could compose any thing in prose or in verse, as
the physicians say, “_pro re nata_,” with a facility which seemed hardly
credible, and with an accuracy which excited surprize. He has been known
to write a sermon in the evenings which he preached on the following
morning. In four mornings he wrote a book, which he intended as an
amusement for his children. Some friends recommended him to print it, and
though many years have elapsed since it was written, it still continues
so great a favourite with younger readers, that an edition is every year
published.

In one morning, indeed in a few hours, he turned into verse that
beautiful chapter of Ecclesiasticus, in which Wisdom praiseth herself,
and expatiates on her accomplishments. Whoever is desirous of examining
with what effect this task was performed, has only to refer to the
translation of Bishop Lowth’s Lectures on Isaiah, by Dr. Gregory, at
whose request he so employed himself. Other examples might be specified,
but these seem enough.

With respect to his characteristic cheerfulness, sooth to say, he had
some hard trials; he had such an unsuspecting frankness of temper, that
there could not be an easier task than to impose upon him. In more
than one instance, he was defrauded of large sums of money, eventually
to have been received, by a hasty confidence in plausible manners and
fallacious representations. Knavery was greatly aided in every artifice
and stratagem against his interest, by two things. The first was his
necessities. He had a large family, and nothing to educate and maintain
them, but what his activity and abilities provided. Consequently, he had
never any thing in store, but as he used to say of himself, was obliged
to scramble on in life as well as he could. Under such circumstance, a
smaller immediate benefit was caught at, than one which, though splendid,
was only visible at a distance.

The other auxiliary of knavery, was our friend’s impatience of temper.
He could not endure delay, or any thing in the shape of procrastination.
Whatever was to be done, was to be done quickly. He considered any thing
like a process, as insupportable tediousness. There are many subtle
spirits on the watch for individuals of such infirmities; and of such
spirits, he was more than once the victim.

One other trial was bitterness itself, but as he himself has detailed it
with no ordinary pathos, the circumstances need not here be revived. This
also originated in a too easy disposition to believe every man honest who
appeared so, and from his never exercising his mind to discover, beneath
the veil of vivacity and good humour, the most nefarious intentions, and
most abominable dishonesty.

This last event certainly preyed upon his mind, broke his spirits,
impaired his health, and materially deteriorated his circumstances. Yet
through this dark and oppressive gloom, rays of cheerfulness would often
penetrate, enlivening himself and his connections with hopes of better
days to come.

As life continued to wear itself away, he appears to have had his full
share of those dark days, which, however, afflicting from their pressure,
tend to render the prospect of the grave less formidable. As was before
remarked, he abruptly withdrew himself from the ken of those, to whom his
society had been familiar, and not undesireable.

Where or when, or under what circumstances, he ultimately paid the last
awful tribute of nature, are not known with sufficient accuracy to admit
of being introduced in our narrative. He does not, however, appear to
have been altogether without consolation. Where a tree shoots out into
many branches, some will be goodlier, more vigorous, and more productive
than others. Some will bear fruit which is sweet and nutritious; some
will bear none at all. In this respect he shared the common lot of
humanity, but where he had cause he was, nevertheless, uncomplaining,
except in the soft whispers of family confidence. He used, however, a
bolder and a louder tone to one lofty personage, who volunteered to be
the instrument of obtaining for him compensation for one of the greatest
injuries and afflictions, which can either be encountered or sustained.
Great, certain, and immediate loss, as to property, was not the sorest
of the evils; this was exasperated by the sneers of the envious, the
insinuations of the invidious, the taunts of the malignant,

    The whips and scorns of time,
    The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
    The insolence of office, and the spurns
    That patient merit of the unworthy takes.

Conscious integrity, however, ere long, armed him with a dignified
confidence, but he never spoke without indignation of the great man above
alluded to, who after raising his hopes to the highest pitch, smiled, and
smiled, and smiled, and deserted him.

Of his talents and attainments, it is necessary to say but little. The
productions of his pen again and again appeared before the public, on
various occasions, and in a great multitude of shapes. Most of his works
were received with respect, and many are still popular. Some unfinished
things remained among his papers, and there are a few scattered memoranda
in our Recollections, from which it appears that he had others in
contemplation.

To specify some of these can do no harm, and may perhaps be the means of
inducing others to exercise their leisure on the different subjects.

He had commenced and prosecuted to some extent, an elaborate Essay on
the Revival of Learning, which he purposed to enliven by a variety of
literary anecdotes, illustrative of an æra so greatly, and so honourably
distinguished. He had also prepared biographical sketches of the most
eminent and learned of those Greeks, who, when Constantinople was taken
and plundered by the Turks, under Mahomet II. in 1453, took refuge in
Italy, and found a secure and hospitable asylum in the protection of the
illustrious house of Medici, at Florence.

The principal names of these accomplished exiles, with very learned
and interesting details concerning them, may be found in Hodius de
illustribus Græcis, a work not so well known as it deserves.

The Sexagenarian had also collected many curious particulars concerning
the celebrated Florentine library, the foundation of which was laid by
the learned Greeks above alluded to, who were sent back to their country,
by the magnificent Lorenzo, to rescue from barbarian hands, the literary
treasures, which they had been compelled to forsake. One anecdote occurs
among the memoranda, relating to this library, which seems to merit
insertion, and is detailed in the following words in the Recollections,
but without reference to the authority from whence it was taken.

On the expulsion of the house of Medici from Florence, that city was
occupied by the troops of Charles the VIIIth. and the library, with the
possessions of the illustrious owners, fell into the hands of the French.
The King of England at that time, Henry VIII., employed emissaries
to purchase of the French officers and soldiers, as many books and
manuscripts as they could possibly obtain. Whether before or after their
arrival in this country, has not been ascertained, but Catherine of
Medicis had the artifice and address to procure their restoration, on
the pretence of their being the property of her family; this portion,
therefore, whatever it might have been, now forms part of the royal
library at Paris.

The residue of this splendid library remained at Florence, till the
popularity of Cardinal John de Medicis, afterwards Pope Leo X. seemed
to open to him a reasonable prospect of succeeding to the papal throne.
At this juncture, Soderini was Dictator of Florence, who, anxious to
remove from the Cardinal every remaining temptation to revisit Florence,
collected what was yet left of the library, and dispatched the whole to
him at Rome, as a present, conceiving himself thus to have performed an
act of great political sagacity. Thus, therefore, the contents of this
magnificent repository of literary treasure was divided, and such a
proportion of them will be found in the Vatican, as the French, in their
different predatory excursions, suffered to remain.

Another of the Sexagenarian’s meditated works, was one or more
Dissertations upon Emblems, a species of literature which at one period
greatly occupied the attention of the curious, upon which the exalted
talents of the first poets and artists were formerly exercised, and of
which there are many specimens of extraordinary rarity and beauty. He had
evidently revolved the subject much in his mind, to which he was induced
by the consideration, that nothing of the kind had ever appeared in
the English language. Such a work certainly might be made a vehicle of
great and various entertainment, by a judicious introduction of literary
anecdotes, and by well-chosen specimens from the different performances.

It also appears that a work of some extent on the present state
of literature, and literary men, in this country, had been nearly
compleated. It was written in the administration of Mr. Pitt, and was
inscribed to the Right Hon. W. Windham. The idea originated, in what
was perhaps a misconception, that literature was on the decline among
us, from the want of patrons. As he advanced in life, he was probably
convinced that he was in error, for the work was never published, and as
it should seem, never finished.

Our friend had also prepared for publication, some notes on two plays
of Shakspeare. He, somewhere in “the Recollections,” confesses, that he
was prompted to this, by a wish to exercise the irritable curiosity of
George Stevens. He first began with intimating in some Morning Paper, the
intention of examining the edition of Shakspeare by Malone, then recently
published, with the hint that the critical attention of the author would
also be extended to all the other annotators. Several columns were
accordingly filled with notes on the Tempest. The bait took, Mr. S. ever
restless and impatient where Shakspeare was concerned, used every effort
in his power to discover the author, and even condescended to reply to
some of his observations, through the same channel of communication with
the public. But he did not succeed; the work, however, became, in its
progress, so very amusing, that annotations on two plays were ready for
publication. Something more serious, in all probability, diverted his
attention from this lighter employment, which he seems to have laid aside
altogether.

Preparations were also made for a publication of a facetious kind. He
proposed to give an account of the witty publications of earlier days,
and had taken as a motto,

    Jest and youthful jollity,
    Quips and cranks and wanton wiles,
    Nods and becks and wreathed smiles,
    Sport that wrinkled care derides,
    And laughter holding both his sides.

The following books formed part of the stores from which he intended to
have extracted his materials.

    “Dainty Conceits, with a number of rare and witty Inventions,
    never before printed. Made and invented for honest Recreation,
    to passe away idle Houres. By Thomas Johnson. 1630.”

    “Wit’s Private Wealth stored with Choice of Commodities to
    contente the Minde. 1639.”

    “Essays and Characters. By J. Stephens. 1615.”

    “Sir T. Overbury’s Characters. 1627.”

    “Coffee House Jests. 1677.”

    “Wit Restored. 1658.”

    “A Banquet of Jests. 1640.”

    “Micro-cosmographie, or Characters. By Earle. 1628.”

    “Pasquil’s Jests, with Mother Bunch’s Meriments. 1629.”

    “Wits, or Sport upon Sport. 1672.”

    “Richard Ward of Wit, Wisdom, Folly, &c. 1674.”

    “F. Mere’s Wits Commonwealth. 1636.”

    “Wits Recreation, ingenious Conceits, Medicines for Melancholy.
    1667.”

    “Ford’s Panegyrick, Apothegms, &c. 1660.”

    “The Book of merry Riddles. 1629.”

    “Rowland’s Doctor Merryman. No date.”

    “Taylor’s Wit and Mirth. 1629.”

    “Humourous Tracts, in a large quarto Volume. From 1629 to 1691.”

    “Flecknoe’s Characters of all Sorts. 1658.”

The motive for inserting the titles of the above books, was the
probability that others might be induced to prosecute what the
Sexagenarian contemplated.



    I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that
    has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he’s out of his
    guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him,
    he is gagged.

    Bonos dies.—For as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw her
    wink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, _That,
    that is, is_; so I being Master Parson, am Master Parson, for
    what is that but that, and is, but is.

CHAPTER XXVI.


THE MODERN PARSON ADAMS.

It has generally been believed, that the prototype of Parson Adams, as
delineated by Fielding in his Joseph Andrews, was Dr. Young, the author
of the Night Thoughts. The picture has been considered as outrageously
caricatured, and indeed it can hardly be conceived that such intellectual
qualities and attainments could possibly be accompanied by such total
ignorance of society, and such extreme and almost ridiculous simplicity
of mind and manners.

Yet from some detached and irregular memoranda in our manuscript, it
should seem that our Sexagenarian actually met with, and had frequent
and familiar communication with, a character, resembling in many of its
features and distinctions, the admirable portrait of the novelist.

Of his origin, or earlier life, nothing is remembered, nor is it
material. It appears, however, that having been educated at one of the
city public schools, Merchant Taylors’, or St. Paul’s, he removed from
thence to the University. He was nearly cotemporary with Porson, and
being of the same college, and with similar studious propensities, a sort
of intimacy took place between them. Their attainments, however, differed
very materially, both in quality and extent. Porson’s were exercised on
very various ramifications of knowledge; the individual, here alluded
to, confined his investigations, and employed all his talents, on one
object only, the Greek language, in which he was certainly and eminently
skilful. It might be said to him,

    Græcum te Albuti quam Romanum atque Sabinum
    Municipem Ponti, Titi, Anni, centurio num
    Præclarorum hominum, ac primum signiferumque
    Maluisti dici.

Soon after his leaving the University, he married, but never was wight
more remarkably unqualified for the superintendence of a family, and the
regulation of a limited income. The consequence may be easily imagined;
and in no long interval, he found himself so overwhelmed with pecuniary
obligations and perplexities, that ruin stared him in the face.

The venerable and excellent Bishop Porteus, estimating his literary
attainments in their due proportion, and perfectly satisfied that his
difficulties arose from no acts of personal indiscretion, or of moral
inaccuracy, but from entire ignorance of the world, and from his mind
being constantly absorbed in his favourite pursuits, gave him preferment.
Two other friends also evinced so much and such successful activity in
his behalf, that he was enabled to weather the storm, and he subsequently
retired to a situation, where he was not exposed to similar perplexities,
and was enabled, without molestation, to pursue the path in which he most
delighted.

It might be added, that the art of memory was not among those which he
most successfully cultivated. Upon some subsequent occasion, he to all
appearance forgot one at least of those friends, and the assistance which
their active kindness enabled them to administer to his necessities.

Perhaps enough has been said, but lest the subject of this notice, if he
survives, should feel his pride wounded on reading this narrative, it is
most willingly added in continuation, that more amiable manners could no
where be found. His mind always appeared, and really was, uncontaminated
by the dissimulation and hypocrisy of modern refinement; and it may be
affirmed, with the small exception above cited, that he was invariably
kind, friendly, and benevolent.

But his ignorance of the world, and of the human character, frequently
subjected him to be imposed upon. He was sincere himself, and
never suspected the deficiency of that quality in others. He was a
conscientious and pious Christian, and did not think it possible that
infidelity could lurk under the specious mask of liberality, candour,
a general taste for literature, a partiality for some of our popular
ecclesiastical writers, and an avowed zeal for moral order.

He would not indeed have exposed himself to the ribaldry and indignity
of a rabid Trulliber, but in the ordinary concerns of life, and in the
barters which necessarily occur in domestic economy, he was unable to
distinguish the genuine from the spurious commodity, and knew no more of
the mysteries of the drawing-room, or the sacred trifles of politeness,
than Slingsby of criticism, or Gabrielli of Greek. Could but these
worthies have seen him enter a room,

    Chromatic tortures soon would drive them thence,
    Break all their naves, and fritter all their sense.

Whilst, on the other hand, he would not fail to be received with
gratulation and applause by a hundred head of Aristotle’s friends.

    All who for Attic phrase in Plato seek,
    Or poach in Suidas for unlettered Greek.

This gentleman more than once appeared before the public as an author;
but such a style, at least when he wrote in English, was never
paralleled, except among the Houynhyms! There was much sound learning,
sense, judgment, and knowledge, at the bottom, but so thick a cloud
was suspended over the surface, that it was only here and there, at
intervals, through partial fissures of light, that what was valuable and
useful could be discerned. “It was like the gracious fooling when thou
spakest of the Pigrogromitus, and of the Vapians passing the equinoctial
of Quembus.”

Nobody was surely less qualified to be a biographical writer, for
reasons above stated; he was unable to discern the real character, or to
distinguish between the tinsel and embroidery of the courtier’s polish,
and the real and solid substance and qualities of the man.

There was one other person well known to the Sexagenarian, to whom the
above description will apply in so many particulars, that it is not
impossible but a false application might be made.

That other person was H⸺, a clergyman of Norfolk. He was alike versed
in the depths and intricacies of Aristotelian lore, and even knew the
opinion of Pythagoras about wild fowl; at the same time, he was equally
ignorant of the world, and unacquainted with the forms of polished
society. The style of writing in both, when they appeared as authors,
was alike uncouth, and regardless of the ornaments of composition. But
whilst the one, (that is, the individual first described) was perfectly
unoffending, and never violated, though he might not practise, the forms
and rules of good breeding, the latter was abrupt in his manner, rude and
disputatious in conversation, and exceedingly disgusting in his habits.

He would, without scruple or compunction, offend the delicacy of his
hostess by contaminating the hues of her carpets, the brightness of her
stoves, and the purity of her bed-curtains, by defiling each with the
distillations of tobacco. But he was, nevertheless, a truly good, and
amiable, and profoundly learned man. The few works he published continue,
and always will continue, in high estimation with the learned, for the
sagacity of his remarks, the acuteness of his discrimination, and the
depth of his erudition.



    Quicunque fuerit narrandi locus
    Dum capiat aurem, et servet propositum suum,
    Recommendatur, non auctoris nomine.

CHAPTER XXVII.


In no part of these pages will be found a more eccentric, and, at the
same time, accomplished scholar and amiable man, than the individual,
memorandums concerning whom, at this place present themselves.

His father was a sound theologian, and popular preacher. His various
works on subjects of divinity still continue of high reputation. He was
the intimate friend of Bishop Hoadley, Archbishop Herring, Dr. Clarke,
and other illustrious members of our Church.

He left three sons, all of whom were greatly distinguished as scholars
and divines. The youngest of these, Philip, with whom we have to do, was
for a number of years intimately known to the Sexagenarian, and may,
without impropriety, perhaps, be denominated his first literary patron.

Though considerably advanced in life, he took great pleasure in
conversing with our friend, then very young, upon scholastic subjects,
and afforded him much aid and encouragement in the prosecution of his
literary pursuits. He had a valuable collection of classics, with which
he was intimately conversant, many of the best of which he gave to
his _protegé_. With respect to literature, his mind was somewhat of a
singular cast. He knew nothing of modern languages, and in fact despised
them. He had the same feelings as to the Belles Lettres. Latin and Greek
authors comprised all that he studied; the Septuagint and Greek Testament
all that he venerated.

A few of our old divines, and more particularly Bishop Hoadley, Dr.
Clarke, and his father, were high in his estimation; but, generally
speaking, he had rather the disposition to despise all modern writers.

His habits of life partook of the singularities of his opinions. Every
day, when the weather permitted, he took a very long walk of many miles
with his wife, whose personal appearance, character, and manners, were
little, if at all less eccentric than those of her husband.

But the information or amusement communicated on either side could not be
very great, for the gentleman invariably walked at least a hundred yards
in advance.

He lived plainly, but exceedingly well, allowing himself a bottle of
wine every day, about his management of which, he was also remarkably
whimsical. He had no wine-cellar, but every day, within half an hour of
dinner, his servant went to the tavern for a bottle of port. This he
divided into two equal parts, one of which he drank at dinner, which at
that time was at three o’clock, the other at supper, which was precisely
at nine. His wife, he said, or any accidental guest, might have what they
pleased, but “not a drop of his” for any body.

He had the further peculiarity of drinking his wine out of a jelly glass,
with a large wide foot, and this he did from the apprehension that some
of the numerous four-footed animals which filled his house might throw it
down.

The fondness, which he and his wife encouraged for the feline species,
was really ridiculous. When the door was opened, it, in some degree,
resembled the opening of a dog-kennel, nor were the olfactory nerves less
annoyed. Black, white, tabbies, tortoise-shell, grimalkins of all kinds
and colours, rushed from every opening, to the great annoyance of the
visitor.

Unluckily, there was a large school of boys in the vicinity of the
old gentleman’s residence. There was, of course, an open declaration
of hostilities between the “young dogs” and these cats. He was often
exasperated almost to frenzy, by what he termed their abominable
barbarity, and used to indulge himself in severe reproaches against the
master, for not inculcating more forcible lessons of gentleness and
humanity. His acquaintances were very few, and his guests fewer. With
the exception of one old gentleman, a clergyman, of a character not less
whimsical than his own, and occasionally, but very rarely indeed, the son
of this friend, his dinners were invariably tête-a-tête.

He possessed in manuscript, sermons of his father, and of both his
brothers; he had also composed a considerable number himself. The
characteristic of them all was sound good sense, very seldom deviating
into the subtleties of speculation, but strongly and earnestly enforcing
religious and virtuous practice. It occurred to him, that the publication
of these discourses might produce a sum of importance to the assistance
of a County Hospital, then recently established. They were accordingly
printed, and so far succeeded, that the charity was benefited to the
amount of three or four hundred pounds. But the work appeared with
this peculiarity, that the reader was left to exercise his sagacity in
discovering what discourses were the composition of the father, and what
of the brothers.

In taking leave of this worthy character, it is observed in our
“Recollections,” that he was a man of strong mind, and sound judgment,
acute, and intelligent. Taste he had none, and indeed despised what is
commonly so called.

What is more to his honour is, that he was friendly, affectionate, prompt
in works of benevolence, and anxious to communicate assistance upon
whatever occasion it was required.

The old clergyman, his friend, above alluded to, as being of a like
eccentric character, was one of those personages who are not often met
with in society. He was an excellent scholar, and had much taste and
judgment, but he passed the whole of a long life in studied obscurity.
He had some paternal fortune, and he married a woman of considerable
property.

But from the habit of living in a retired village after the death of
his wife, with an old crone of a servant, he contracted habits of the
extremest parsimony, of which his son experienced the good effects, for
he died prodigiously rich. But mark, it was not till after his death. He
did indeed send his son to college, but his allowance was so niggardly
bestowed, that he was often put to his shifts. After taking his degree,
he was obliged to submit to the drudgery of being usher in a large
school. He afterwards married respectably, but nothing could he obtain
from his father.

There was one trait in the old gentleman’s character so highly to his
honour, that it may well be set as a counterpoise against his infirmity
of avarice. He had the most rigid sentiments of honour. He was connected
with a noble family, who offered him the living of the place where they
resided, but on this condition, that he should sign bonds of resignation
in case of being called upon to vacate his preferment: but he refused
the offer with disdain; and though he might eventually, perhaps, with
a little worldly management, have succeeded on his own terms, he never
condescended to take any step whatever in the business, but continued to
the end of life, curate of the village of which he might have been the
rector.



    Fortunam insanam esse et cæcam et brutam, perhibent philosophi,
    Saxique instar globosi, prædicant volubilem,
    Quia quo saxum impulerit fors, eo cadere fortunam autumant;
    Cæcam ob eam rem esse iterant, quia nihil cernit quo sese applicet
    Insanam autem aiunt, quia atrox, incerta instabilisque sit
    Brutam, quia dignum atque indignum nequeat internoscere.

CHAPTER XXVIII.


The remarks and sketches which are subjoined, appear to have been among
those which were last written in our Sexagenarian’s Recollections. They
were evidently written under strong emotions of mind, and to have been
intended for a longer and better digested dissertation. He observes in
a sort of concise introduction, that they were suggested in consequence
of a visit which he paid to the place of his nativity, after an absence
of twenty years. His astonishment was great, and his sympathy strongly
excited, by discovering on enquiry, that, with some few exceptions,
a total change had taken place among the persons whom he once more
familiarly knew. That the rich were become poor, and the poor rich; that
many who formerly had influenced the politics, directed the counsels, and
commanded the reverence of their fellow-citizens, had been precipitated
by Fortune to the bottom of her wheel. On the contrary, that others, who
had filled humble and even menial offices, were in lofty situations,
discharging the higher functions of their little Republic, building
palaces, and rolling in wealth.

The contemplation of these events induced him to turn the matter more
seriously in his mind, and to exercise his memory upon such individuals,
as in the progress of life he had personally known, who from humble
origin, and no other pretensions than those which, though honourable in
themselves, are not always successful, namely, diligence and talent, had
risen to stations of great dignity and emolument.

Happy Britain! our Sexagenarian on this occasion exclaims, happy beyond
all other nations, where alone, between the lowest and most exalted
station, no obstacle is interposed, which genius cannot subdue, and
perseverance remove.

The Recollections next present us with a somewhat extended catalogue of
illustrious names, whose lives and success exemplify the above remark,
which perhaps exclusively applies to this our country. The following is
prefixed as a sort of preliminary observation.

The profession of arms is perhaps that alone, in which success and
exaltation, even to the loftiest height of rank, excites no surprize,
and provokes no envy. The qualities of personal valour combined with
military talent, is that which obtains, extends, and secures the glory
of a nation, in which every individual participates, and is more or less
anxious to reward.

From the time of the great Marlborough to the period of the immortal
Nelson, this sort of prepossession in favour of military valour has
existed, whether manifested by sea or by land.

Perhaps also great elevation to dignity and wealth in the profession
of the law, is contemplated with comparatively little jealousy, or
invidious feelings. There are certain stations to be filled, and certain
functions to be performed, which can only properly be sustained by
the momentum of sound professional knowledge, aided by great natural
ability. Little surprize or discontent was therefore excited or expressed
on the elevation of those great characters, personally known to the
Sexagenarian—Lords Thurlow, Rosslyn, Mansfield, Erskine, Bathurst,
Camden, Ashburton, and various others.

Nor in the list of names which follow, is any thing further presumed to
be intimated, than that good fortune came in aid of superior talents and
great real merit, with such exceptions and qualifications as readers may
choose to make, according to their respective feelings and prejudices, as
well as from the extent of their personal knowledge.

The first name which presents itself, is that of Lord S. Though being
educated in the profession of the law, he may in some degree be
considered as belonging to that class, whose elevation excites little
surprize, and seldom, if ever, provokes invidiousness of remark. Yet Lord
S. certainly does not come under the denomination of a Law Lord. He owed
his great elevation to political pursuits and connections, and by no
means to his professional acquirements, whatever these might be.

He was the son of a physician, which physician was not only the
professional adviser, but the confidential friend of the great Lord C.
The subsequent connection between the two sons of these personages, as it
commenced in youth, was cemented in the progress of years, and confirmed
by congenial propensities.

Through the influence and friendship of Mr. P. Mr. A. rose, in no very
dilatory succession, to the peerage, and to the very exalted station of
Prime Minister of the country, exhibiting, perhaps, what rarely occurs,
and never but in Britain, an instance, of prosperous fortune, the result
of unimpeachable integrity, and undeviating perseverance, rather than of
any very extraordinary intellectual endowments.

The two brothers also, who fill, honourably fill, the great and dignified
stations, one at the head of the law, the other of Judge of the High
Court of C⸺y, exhibit no less memorable examples of success and opulence.
Perhaps these distinguished persons might not improperly be classed among
those, whose elevation reasonably accompany their meritorious exertions.
But the fortunes of men sometimes turn upon very slight hinges; and of
the most illustrious of the two, it is reported, that after having for
a considerable time attempted, without success, to obtain business at
the bar in the metropolis, he had resolved to return to the place of
his nativity in the north, and there practice as a Chamber Counsellor.
Fortune, however, determined otherwise. The death, or the indisposition
of some eminent barrister, engaged in a cause of extraordinary interest
and importance, rendered it essential to the parties to employ
immediately as a substitute, one who had sufficient leisure to devote
himself to the business, and at the same time who possessed legal
character and knowledge adequate to the arduousness of the cause in hand.

Sir John (then Mr. S⸺) was distinguished by both these requisites, and so
distinguished himself upon the occasion, that all thoughts of removal
were instantly laid aside, and his progress to wealth, reputation, and
the highest dignities, were as rapid as can well be imagined.

The advancement of the second brother to dignity and wealth was continual
and uninterrupted, and perhaps, as far as riches are concerned, they
possess between them enough to satisfy even avarice itself.

The extraordinary rise of the present Earl to the elevated rank he now
holds, demonstrates the caprice of fortune, “ludum insolentem, ludere
pertinax,” as much perhaps, or more, than any other example that ever the
country can display.

He was first known to our Sexagenarian at College, and his prospects in
life were as humble as can well be imagined. His father was a Norfolk
clergyman, residing on a benefice of no very considerable value. His own
destination was that of a clergyman also, and he entered life with no
better hopes than present themselves to the generality of young men on
leaving the University, without the claims of high connection, or the
consciousness of extraordinary talents.

Luckily for him, his brother rapidly rose to the highest honours of his
profession, and in the progress of a most glorious career, too short,
alas! for his country, manifested such claims to the public gratitude,
that he was elevated to the illustrious distinction of an Earldom. In the
midst of this splendid scene, the present Lord N. who had retained his
College acquaintance with the Sexagenarian, applied to him for advice, as
to the surest means of obtaining ecclesiastical preferment, through the
interest of his brother, who was then only Sir H. N.

Such a procedure as suggested itself was accordingly recommended, and
whether it happened from the prosecution of this advice or not, is very
immaterial, but after no great lapse of time, a Prebendal stall in the
Cathedral Church of C. was obtained, of which by the way his Lordship
still retained possession, even after he had succeeded to the title, and
to the very noble provision bestowed by a generous and grateful nation
duly to support its honour.

Here let us pause. Providence, in such cases as this before us, as
indeed in every other, (for it is impiety to call it fortune) holds the
balance of good and evil with an equal hand. The noble Lord of whom we
are speaking, lost a darling son in the flower of youth, and as it has
been said of the most promising endowments—the branch is broken from his
hands. The dignity and accompanying opulence will be vested in the heirs
male of a sister. This also may fail, but the name will live for ever.

In the former periods of British history, the elevation of great
merchants, and of wealthy commercial men, to the dignity of the Peerage,
was not unfrequent. Pennant, in his History of London, mentions many
noble families of this description. That of the Duke of Leeds, for
example, of Coventry, of Essex, and of a great many others. But in more
modern times, wealth instead of accumulating in the persons of a few
fortunate individuals, has been more equally as well as, more generally
diffused. The examples accordingly of elevation to the honours of
nobility from the city have less frequently occurred.

Of the few which we have witnessed, perhaps the house of Thellusson is
that which may, with the greatest propriety and justice, be classed
among those, whose origin was as humble as their present condition is
illustrious. Prosperity is hard to bear, and honours not hereditary are
apt for a time to sit awkwardly on the wearer.

“And then to have the humour of state, and after a demure travel of
regard, telling them I know my place, as I would they should do theirs,
to ask for my kinsman Toby. Seven of my people, with an obedient start,
make out for him. I frown the while, and perchance wind up my watch,
or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches, curtsies there to me. I
extend my hand to him thus—quenching my familiar smile with an austere
regard of controul.”

It cannot but excite a smile to learn, that the first new fangled Baron
of R. having purchased the mansion of a nobleman, which was one of those
denominated by our French neighbours, “entre Cour et Jardin,” consecrated
the “Cour” with great solemnity. No carriages were permitted to enter
its mighty gates, except those of our brethren of noble rank, or such as
were stamped with bearings and quarterings from the Herald’s College. The
gates were Taboo to the more mean and vulgar visitors, whose finances
compelled them to avail themselves of the accommodation of hackneys.

The noble Baron, after a while, changed the place of his abode, and
his mansion was purchased by one of the Royal Family. The Prince, with
more good sense, and with more consideration for the feelings of his
countrymen, directed the ponderous gates to move on their hinges, as well
for the humble ensign, as for the greatest and proudest of the realm.

One act of modesty, however, on the part of the first Baron, ought to be
recorded, and this is the motto which he adopted for his arms:—

                            Labore et honore.


The next individual in our manuscript who was elevated to the Peerage,
from the midst of commercial connections and pursuits, was of a very
highly respectable, and ancient Dutch family. They came to England more
than a century ago, and very honourably and very successfully engaged in
commerce. So early as the year 1751, one of them was created a Baronet,
with the title of Sir Joshua Vanneck. The third Baronet in succession was
in the year 1796 raised to the rank of Baron H.

The next personage of this description exhibits perhaps the detached
and solitary example of the elevation of one of the tribe of Judah
to the honours of the British Peerage. Let it not be imagined that
any imputation or disparagement is intended by this observation on
the individuals of the family thus illustriously distinguished. Far
otherwise—are we not all brethren? but the circumstance is without
parallel.

The family name of Gideon was discreetly laid aside by the first Baron,
and that of Eardley assumed, the then Sir Sampson having married a
daughter of Sir John Eardley Wilmot, Lord Chief Justice, descended in the
female line from the ancient family of Eardley.

The last individual whom we shall mention of the above description, was
the intimate friend of Mr. Pitt, and in every particular deserving of the
honours which were bestowed upon him. This is Lord ⸺, whose ancestors
were all long and successfully engaged in the banking business, and in
other departments of commerce.

There are or were many other individuals of this family, all of whom rose
not only to affluence, but to considerable distinction in society. Two of
these were representatives of populous places in the House of Commons;
all were respected and esteemed for their irreproachable conduct in life,
and eminent for their liberality, benevolence, and courtesy.

Such results of talents and diligence, honourably and successfully
exercised, excite the wish that they might be enjoyed without
interruption.



    O! utinam præsens verba observare legentis
      Et frontis possem signa notare.

CHAPTER XXIX.


The names of several Bishops next occur, forming a separate class
of those, who, whatever they are, or may have been, certainly
exhibit examples of individuals whose ultimate success in life was
disproportionate to their first expectations on entering the great
theatre of the world.

The fair and reasonable presumption is, in the clerical profession, as in
that of the law—certain offices must be filled, to which it is natural to
suppose that the most eligible will be appointed. Moreover, the longer
the catalogue may happen to be, of ecclesiastics who have risen to the
most exalted stations from humble beginnings, the stronger the argument
will be, to disprove the assertion generally made, and too universally
believed, that such stations are only to be obtained by political
interest or intrigue.

Of these distinguished personages, many have before been more or
less circumstantially mentioned. The following is merely a sort of
recapitulation, bearing upon the single point of extraordinary success in
the procurement of worldly honours.

The circumstances and causes which led to the elevation of the late
venerable Archbishop Moore, are too well known to require repetition, and
the dignity which he obtained was too well merited to excite discontent,
or provoke invidious remark. His Grace’s ultimate station in life must
however far, very far, have exceeded his most sanguine expectations, when
first entering the world.

The honours also of the excellent Bishop Porteus, however well deserved
and beneficially exercised, beyond doubt, much exceeded all the possible
calculations and hopes of his early life. The successes of such an
individual command the greater admiration, because they were not obtained
by any interposition of the great, by any political connection, or
indeed by the exertion of interest of any kind. They were the result of
a zealous, pious, uninterrupted attention to the general duties of his
profession, with a particular regard to those of the stations, which
he immediately filled. He may nevertheless, with strict propriety, be
introduced in the class of those, who have eminently been distinguished
by good fortune.

The Bishop of L. has been already spoken of, and in terms with which it
is hoped his Lordship will express no dissatisfaction. He surely can have
no reluctance to confess, that his name is not improperly inserted in
this catalogue.

This may be no unsuitable place to insert a whimsical anecdote of his
Lordship, which though of a humble and indeed insignificant denomination,
may surely be called a fortunate incident.

Some time after his Lordship had been appointed to the Deanery of the
Metropolitan Church, he retained his confidential situation about the
person of Mr. Pitt, and regularly every morning attended the minister in
Downing-street, when in residence at St. Paul’s. Returning one evening
from Westminster to the city, he somewhere at the bottom of the Strand
pulled out his handkerchief, and with it, as afterwards appeared, his
purse. He heard it fall, and remarked the spot, but his natural shortness
of sight, added to the darkness of the evening, prevented his finding it.
On his walking the next morning to Westminster, his Lordship paused at
the place where the accident had happened the night before, and actually
saw his purse, which had just slipped off the curb-stone, and probably
had been overlooked by ten thousand passengers.

The two next examples of good fortune going as it were hand in hand
with merit universally allowed, reflect the highest honour upon Lord
Sidmouth, who was Prime Minister at the time. It is indeed no more than
an act of candour and justice to this noble Lord, to acknowledge, that
during the whole period of his enjoyment of power, short indeed, but in
this at least memorable, the ecclesiastical offices in the appointment
of the Crown, were well and honourably filled by individuals, whose sole
recommendations were their learning, their piety, and their virtue: of
which these two persons about to be mentioned, were conspicuous examples.

The first of these excellent men was Bishop H. who had for a long series
of years honourably and usefully distinguished himself in a great
seminary, by superintending the morals and the education of youth.

He was ever remarkable for his sound learning, and his conscientious,
firm, and consistent discharge of all his duties. It is therefore hardly
necessary to add, that his appointment to this high office, diffused
universal satisfaction among all the true friends of the church.

The next appointment of the kind is entitled to the same language
of panegyric, whether we consider the discernment and disinterested
generosity of the patron, or the great and various merits of the person
promoted.

Bishop B. was of respectable though humble origin, but was distinguished,
at a very early period, both for his love of learning, and his success in
the pursuit of it.

His accomplishments, added to his most truly irreproachable conduct,
soon recommended him to his superiors. Few names stood higher in the
estimation of scholars, and he was also classed among the ablest and most
zealous vindicators of our Church establishment, at a perilous period,
when it was in danger of being undermined by false brethren from within,
as well as threatened by formidable enemies from without. His promotion
was of course hailed by all, as an auspicious omen of the intention of
the Minister, to render the Episcopal Bench venerable for its piety,
admired for its talents, and respected for its erudition.

How Bishop B. has borne and exercised his faculties, has been
sufficiently observable. Upon this subject there is neither occasion or
opportunity here to expatiate. It is enough to be able to appeal to his
exemplary conduct in his diocese, which, from conscientious motives, he
has again and again refused to exchange for more lucrative situations, as
well as to numerous publications alike remarkable for their learning and
their piety.

The next Episcopal character who appears to merit a distinguished place
among the more successful adventurers in life, is one who did not
obtain this high station from his abilities, though of a superior kind,
nor from his literary productions, though of these there are many in
existence. He obtained his promotion from the friendship of a Minister,
discerning, cautious, accurate, and above all, strictly tenacious of the
characters of those whom he distinguished, and most strenuously resolute
in enforcing the rigid performance of all clerical duties, by whom of
course, his virtues must have been known, and his merits approved.

The appointment did certainly at first, excite some degree of surprize.
The venerable Bishop of Landaff, on being informed of the event, was with
difficulty prevailed upon to believe it; but perhaps there was an old
grudge, which on this occasion darted like a spectre on his recollection.
There is, however, neither the intention nor the desire to discuss in
this place either the merit of the receiver, or the sagacity of the
giver, of these honours; leave therefore is respectfully taken of them
both, with the simple remark, that Bishop ⸺ was certainly very, very
fortunate.

The elevation of those to the higher offices of the church, who have
been employed for a series of years in superintending the education of
the sons of our nobility, is honourable to all parties concerned, and
excites neither envy nor surprize. It implies on one side a consistent,
vigilant, and unvaried attention to the duties imposed and undertaken,
and on the other, a correspondent sense of services received, an
acknowledgment of merit, and a determination to reward it.

Many are the amiable and excellent individuals who, by pursuing this
path, have arrived at the most exalted honours of the profession, which
they have subsequently adorned by their virtues.

Nevertheless, whoever they may be, or may have been, all who have thus
risen to greatness, may, with the strictest propriety, be denominated
fortunate. Patrons sometimes either pay the tribute of mortality, or lose
their political influence, which in our country often changes hands,
before the opportunity presents itself, of rewarding the virtues they
have tried and approved. Differences of opinion may also eventually
arise, some “lis de tribus capellis” may intervene, abruptly to dissolve
connections, which in their origin afforded the strongest presumptions of
hope and advantage.

The persons of the description to which the above remarks allude, were
the bishops of E. and L. the first of whom owed his elevation to the
noble family of R. and the latter to that of A.

About twenty years since, it was a sort of fashionable amusement among
scholars, to translate the popular Elegy of Gray in a Country Church
yard, into Greek. There were some critics who doubted whether this
admirable composition was calculated to make its appearance in a Grecian
dress; nevertheless, the former of these Prelates was one of the more
successful adventurers, and he dedicated his translation to the Duke of
R. who was at that time become a member of the University of Cambridge.

Of the latter Prelate, the Sexagenarian appears to have had very little
knowledge.

We have now to cross the water, where we shall find some illustrious
members of the Episcopal Bench, who cannot reasonably be offended at
being classed among the favourites of fortune. But it is time to end this
chapter.



    Ut enim in corporibus magnæ dissimilitudines sunt, alios enim
    videmus velocitate ad cursum, alios viribus ad luctandum
    valere, itemque in formis, aliis dignitatem inesse, aliis
    venustatem, sic in animis exsistunt etiam majores varietates.

CHAPTER XXX.


Our first attention must necessarily be directed to the Bishop of ⸺.

The ancestors and family connections of this learned and accomplished
prelate, were of the Roman Catholic persuasion, and rigidly attached to
those tenets. His Lordship was himself educated in them, and if we are
not misinformed, actually studied in the college at St. Omer’s, with the
intention of becoming a priest.

It happened, at least so our Brief instructs us, that whilst in this
situation, his vivacity and parts attracted the notice of a near
connection of the late Duke of ⸺, and that on his expostulation,
and promises of protection and assistance, young ⸺ was without much
difficulty prevailed upon to read his recantation, and become a member
and a clergyman of our Protestant communion.

He came over to this country, and accompanied his patron to Ireland, but
during his Grace’s administration, it does not appear that any preferment
became vacant, becoming the patron to bestow, or the client to accept. He
nevertheless availed himself of this interval to ingratiate himself more
effectually with his patron, to whom he was enabled to render various
services by the skilfulness and dexterity of his pen. He returned to
England with the Duke, through whose good offices he was, after no great
lapse of time, appointed to valuable preferment in some of the northern
provinces. This however not exactly suiting him, he, through the same
channel of interest, obtained an exchange for a valuable benefice in
Ireland, upon which he fixed his residence.

When Lord Fitzwilliam, the great friend of the Duke of P. was made Lord
Lieutenant of Ireland, Dr. ⸺ was admitted to the same sort of confidence
as he had enjoyed with his predecessor; and short as the residence of
Lord F. was in his exalted station, a Bishopric became vacant, to which
the Doctor was appointed.

It is but rendering him strict justice to say, that from the moment of
his entering upon his functions, he discharged them invariably, with
great usefulness and honour. He has been rather considered as too severe
a disciplinarian, and a proposition which he made to his diocese, to
attend quarterly lectures on the Greek Testament at the palace, excited
much murmuring and discontent.

When translated to the more extensive and more valuable See of ⸺ he
exercised the same vigilance, among other examples of which, the
following anecdote is related.

A young dashing clergyman of high connections, who had a curacy in
the diocese, did not think it important to be particularly rigid and
punctual in the discharge of his duty, but was too easily detained by
the allurements and blandishments of Dublin, from his too indulgent
parishioners. This at length reached his Lordship’s ears, who determined
to ascertain the fact himself.

Accordingly, on a Sunday, he proceeded to the church, where he heard no
bell knolling to church, saw no parishioners chatting in the porch, nor
any preparation for divine service. With some difficulty the clerk was
found, to whom his Lordship was known.

“Why is there no preparation for divine service?” asked the Bishop. “My
Lord,” said the clerk, “our young master has not been among us this
fortnight.” “Ring the bell immediately,” said the Bishop. Upon this a
congregation was soon assembled, to whom his Lordship read prayers, and
preached.

The Bishop presumed that intelligence of this matter would be
communicated to the defaulting curate, but he nevertheless chose to make
a second experiment of the kind, and on the following Sunday repeated his
visit to the same village. Here he found things precisely as before—no
bell knolled to church—no peasants sitting on the grave-stones—no visible
signs of population. The Bishop a second time sent for the clerk,
assembled the congregation, and performed the duty as before.

It does not however appear, that he was again obliged to repeat his
visit, and the shame and consternation of the curate, on finding who had
been his substitute, may be easily imagined.

The Bishop had a sister, a very rigid Roman Catholic, who remained
immoveably fixed in her religious tenets. She had, however, a son, who
was prevailed upon to accept of an Archdeaconry, and other preferment,
to the amount of almost two thousand a-year. An uncle also and a brother
were frequent visitors at the palace, who nevertheless resisted all
importunity to change their religious creed, although accompanied by
assurances of the greatest temporal advantages.

All circumstances being dispassionately weighed, no apology seems
necessary to be made for introducing the above distinguished personage in
the class of those who may be denominated “fortunate.”

Not less so, perhaps, was the Bishop of ⸺. This prelate’s[2] name is ⸺.
In his earlier life, he officiated as private tutor in some distinguished
family, which he left, however, with some abruptness. It is by no means
to his dishonour, that his origin was very humble, but he was invariably
remarkable for his elegant appearance, and truly engaging manners. Not
succeeding in his profession at home, he resolved to try his fortune
abroad, and accordingly, in the beginning of the American contest,
accompanied Lord Cornwallis to that country as an army chaplain.

In America he obtained an introduction to Lord ⸺, a friend of whose he
married, and to this connection he was unquestionably indebted for his
subsequent elevation in life.

This Prelate, like the foregoing, was educated in the strictest
principles of the Roman Catholic persuasion.

Dr. F. Bishop of ⸺, was son to the Archbishop of Dublin, who himself
might be introduced in the class of the more fortunate, being of very
humble origin.

The B⸺p of ⸺ had formed a connection with a scyon of a noble house, whom
nevertheless his father, the Archbishop, did not approve, and accordingly
refused his consent to the marriage. The son was at that time Archdeacon
of Dublin, and persevering in his determination to marry the lady, had
the banns published in his own church. The report was circulated, that
his Grace resolved to attend, and forbid the banns, on the third time of
their publication. The novelty of the circumstance produced so great a
crowd, that there was hardly standing room in the church. The incident,
however, did not take place, and the parties were in due time married.

The Bishop of ⸺ was promoted to his high dignity by Lord C⸺n, to whom
he had formerly been private tutor. Lord C. had invited Dr. Powis, Dean
of Canterbury, to accompany him to Ireland. On his declining it, his
Lordship made the same offer to Dr. B⸺r, which was accepted.

The Primate of Ireland was brother to the late learned and excellent
Bishop of St. Asaph, and was elevated to that station by Lord B⸺.

The excellent and very learned Bishop of C. was the tutor of Emanuel
College when Lord Westmoreland resided there, and was his Lordship’s
private tutor also. He had previously received his education at Harrow,
and was in every respect a very learned and accomplished man. When Lord
W. was appointed to the Lord Lieutenancy of Ireland, he necessarily
remembered his old preceptor and friend. He was accordingly, on the first
opportunity, appointed to the Bishopric of C⸺k, and afterwards to the
more lucrative see of C⸺e.

Whoever knew this amiable prelate in his early life, or have been
honoured by his friendship in his progress to his present dignity, cannot
but experience the truest satisfaction, from seeing the benefits of
fortune so honourably bestowed, and so discreetly enjoyed.

The majority of the Episcopal Bench in our sister country, is composed
of the younger branches of the more illustrious families. Such as, for
example, Elphin, Derry, Kilmore, Down and Connor, Waterford, Kildare,
Killaloe, Raphoe, Cork and Ross, Fernes, &c. &c.

The Bishop of Clonfert is or was a gentleman of the name of Butson, of
whom the only memorandum in our notes, intimates, that he was in early
life one of the under masters of Winchester school. Beyond all doubt
indebted for his promotion to his conduct and learning. He was educated
at Oxford, and was the author of a very fine poem on the Love of our
Country, which in 1772 obtained a prize at that University.

With the above names, the catalogue of those prelates, who may without
impropriety be denominated fortunate, concludes.



                  Concursu adcedere magno
    Anthea, Sergestumque videt, fortemque Cloanthum
    Teucrorumque alios.

CHAPTER XXXI.


No order of precedence or regard to dates is observed in the Memoranda
which succeed. Many of the individuals here brought before the reader,
have before been introduced. They are now collected in the class of those
personally known to the Sexagenarian, the termination of whose career
seems to have been far more auspicious and fortunate than their origin,
connections, and first introduction into life, promised.

The first is a worthy Baronet. He has himself an honest and manly pride
in acknowledging, that his present distinction in life, his great
opulence, and extensive influence, is imputable alone to his determined
perseverance in industrious pursuits.

He was educated in the medical line, and in that capacity proceeded to
India, either there professionally to establish himself, or he might
perhaps have been a surgeon in a King’s ship, or in an East Indiaman.
This is not material. He by some means or other, most probably by some
commercial speculation, obtained possession of a very large quantity
of opium. He disposed of this, and as is believed, in China, to such
extraordinary advantage, that it produced a capital, on which he built
his future fortunes, and those of his house.

This house is of no ordinary dimensions. There are at least twenty
immediate descendants from him, all of whom have been successively
introduced into the path which leads to fortune, not only with liberality
but splendour.

He himself is a Baronet. His commercial engagements and concerns extend
to every quarter of the globe. His two eldest sons are in Parliament, and
fill the highest stations at the Bank and the East India-house. The rest
of his family are in situations of the greatest respectability. Although
this gentleman may very properly be ranked in the very first class of
successful adventurers in life, yet he bears his faculties meekly, and
does not, as in similar instances is too frequently the case, manifest
the insolence of wealth.

The next personage who claims a high place among those who have drawn
a capital prize in the lottery of life, has his portrait delineated in
a former part of the work. His entrance into life was, as the son of a
clergymen, respectable, but of no considerable eminence, and his claims
did not rise beyond what the exertion of moderate talents might promise
by persevering diligence at the bar. At the termination of life, he
found himself, in consequence of a most fortunate marriage, a Member of
Parliament, a considerable landholder, of extensive influence, and a
companion of the great and powerful. This is the individual who, in his
progress from mediocrity to affluence, had the misfortune to lose his
memory.

A third distinguished character, from a very humble origin, and
circumscribed education, after various experiments and vicissitudes, all
at once found himself, if not to his own surprize, certainly to that of
many, a Member of Parliament, and in a situation of great emolument, and
of high responsibility. His original connections were indeed humble, if
a certain lively lady may be credited, whose unembarrassed assurance,
night after night, considerably baffled and perplexed the wisest and
the gravest Members of Parliament. But so far his subsequent elevation
does him the greater honour. Without any pretensions to learning, he
possessed respectable talents and extensive accomplishments. He was a
fluent speaker, and enjoyed that characteristic self-confidence, which
neither could be disconcerted by the opposition, nor dismayed by the
numbers of his adversaries in debate. He certainly was an elegant poet,
and produced a poem in commemoration of a splendid victory, which was
exceedingly popular.

In one respect, he was, by universal consent, remarkably successful.
He was a member of various Symposiums, the principal object of whose
assembling was to have good talk. He never failed to have it all to
himself.

Fortune, who makes a lottery of life, has seldom exhibited greater
waywardness than in the personage whose portrait next appears. He was
an Irishman, of little or no hereditary property, but well educated,
handsome in his person, and agreeable in his manners. He was, it is
believed, called to the bar, but whether he ever practised is uncertain,
and of no consequence. The place of his practice, when known to the
Sexagenarian, was certainly not at the bar. He came over to this country,
it may be said, without any intended reflection, to seek his fortune.

In his progress, he caught the contagion of play, but at that period,
in all probability, his stake could not be high, nor the risk which he
encountered great. It was the pernicious principle and habit which was
to be reprobated. Most fortunately, for so the result might eventually
have proved, he met a young lady at a fashionable watering-place, who
attracted his immediate and serious attention. And well she might, for
the sun of Britain has hardly ever shone upon a lovelier object. Most
agreeable in her person, most captivating in her manners, of an intellect
very far superior to the generality of her sex, with a high principle of
honour, warm-hearted, generous, every thing indeed for which man could
wish. Add to all this, a circumstance probably neither undesireable, nor
entirely overlooked by our gentleman, she had a very large fortune, and
was entirely at her own disposal.

He succeeded in his addresses. The lady treated him with a generous
candour; and although not unacquainted with his characteristic foible,
believed in his solemn protestations of laying aside for ever the
dangerous propensities he had encouraged; and not improbably also
trusted, as well she might, in her powers of enabling him to find the
“Bathmendi[3],” of which he was in search, at home, in the reciprocation
of connubial confidence and love.

Things went on very smoothly for a considerable time. The lady’s good
sense, discretion, and engaging behaviour, appeared to have obtained
a memorable triumph. Old acquaintances were revived, and cordially
welcomed—new ones formed—the sweet ties of children promised to cement
and perpetuate the harmony of the establishment;—when suddenly a sort of
restlessness appeared on the part of the gentleman, and his absence from
home, and particularly in the evening, became more and more frequent. It
is in no circumstances whatever, an easy matter, to elude the vigilant
and anxious eyes of a mother and a wife; and the lady of whom we are
speaking, was remarkably acute, discerning, and sagacious. She evidently
perceived that he had betaken himself to his old haunts, and former
companions. Remonstrance she knew to be ineffectual, and she formed her
plan accordingly; which, though it could not be unattended with severe
mortification, she persisted in with firmness.

She shut herself up with her children, bestowing the whole of her time
and attention on the care of their health, the formation of their
manners, and the cultivation of their minds. She received not, as
heretofore, even the most intimate and the oldest of her friends, wisely
observing, that if the master of the house were not present to bid
welcome, the feast would resemble that, in which Banquo’s chair was empty.

The space of the theatre in which the hero of the drama, subsequently
exercised his talents, became very considerably enlarged. He was seen by
the side of Princes, and Dukes, and Peers were his companions. He was a
Member of the British Parliament, and inhabited a palace. He launched
into all the luxuries of a depraved metropolis, and seldom saw his almost
widowed wife except at the transient half hour of a two o’clock breakfast.

    Nil erit ulterius quod nostris moribus addet
    Posteritas.

The reader will not be unmindful that our Memoranda are still employed in
brief communications concerning certain individuals personally known to
the Sexagenarian, who, from the humblest beginnings, have risen from the
contingencies of life to situations of affluence and honour. We come now
to a Right Honourable—Aye!—a Right, Right Honourable!

His first origin could not possibly be very lofty, though it is not
pretended to assert what it was, but his first appearance on the public
stage was in the navy, and in its civil department; probably as captain’s
clerk. That he should ascend to the highest degree of the department,
and in due time become a purser, is in the natural order of things, and
necessarily implies steadiness and good conduct. But the individual under
review, had higher and greater qualities; and the next record concerning
him, is the fact of his having entered into the line of politics,
bustling among the great and powerful, and rendering himself serviceable
to one of the greatest ministers this country ever beheld, by his strong
sense, sagacity, powers of computation, and great expertness in all
arithmetical calculations.

He became a Member of Parliament—forward, prompt, and useful, wherever
and whenever the Minister required his assistance, which was principally
in matters relating to the business of the Exchequer.

The value of his services was felt, acknowledged, and rewarded—rewarded
indeed to no common extent. The advantages conferred at the time, and
the sinecures still retained, now that the giver is no more, constitute
no inconsiderable catalogue, and render the possessor one of the richest
and most powerful of our English commoners. These benefits also result
to the various branches of his family, who are all of them more or less
distinguished by situations of honour and emolument.

All intention of depreciating the sterling value of the individual, whose
portrait is here slightly delineated, is pointedly disavowed, nor indeed
are the cursory remarks which are subjoined at all likely to lessen his
currency.

But our friend adds drily, that if a treatise were to be elaborately
written on “Memory,” and the vicissitudes it undergoes, its degrees
of strength or weakness, as things turn out prosperous or adverse, he
thinks it will appear, that it is apt to grow progressively weaker and
more uncertain in those, whose elevation in life has exceeded their
early prospects and expectations, than in those who have passed quietly
and soberly along the middle path, neither drawn aside by ambition, nor
thrust down by misfortune.

Whether there is any physical reason which will account for this
phœnomenon, it is not pretended to conjecture; perhaps rapidity of ascent
may have some effect in confusing the intellect; perhaps glittering
scenes, constantly succeeded by still more gaudy and fascinating
spectacles, may dazzle the imagination. Be this as it may, the gentleman
before us, certainly laboured under the suspicion of being liable to this
infirmity.

Indeed, with respect to him, there was some aggravation in the
circumstances, for it has been said, that when he was most positive, and
vehement, and determined in his assertions, then it was that his accuracy
was most doubted.

One example occurred to our Sexagenarian of this great man’s being
occasionally at least, subject to this infirmity, and he has recorded it.

He made our friend, it seems, a promise positive and unequivocal,
clogged by no qualifications, and subject to no incidental occurrences.
Alas! a walk of about two miles dispelled every trace of the fabric in
his mind, nor did any image of it ever again appear to present itself
to his recollection. Honest pride prevented his being reminded of it
by the individual concerned, and so the matter passed away; indeed so
effectually, that the great man, at a subsequent period of no great
distance, had no remembrance even of the person of him, whose hopes had
been so agreeably, but so unfortunately raised, only to be disappointed.

The next personage who became of very great consequence from the
meanest origin, and whose fall was not less extraordinary than his
rise, was neither Right Honourable nor Honourable, but he did arrive at
the distinction of knighthood, and probably had yet higher titles in
contemplation.

His first appearance was as a common shop-boy to a retail grocer. He
remained in this situation for some years. Whilst in this employment,
he scraped an acquaintance with the niece of a decent man, who kept a
respectable inn in a provincial town. Allured by the encouragement of his
dulcinea, and probably with the prospect of ultimately bettering himself,
he became a waiter at this inn. He finally married the niece, became
master of the inn, and inherited from his wife considerable property.

He was a man of weak and confused intellect, and indeed could but just
read and write, yet he had a great deal of low cunning and sagacity,
and first suggested to his uncle by marriage, the idea of establishing
a Bank. This was accordingly accomplished, and on the death of the first
proprietor, was successfully, and for a very extended period, carried on
by the person whose portrait is here delineated.

Among his other qualities, he had all the pliancy and obsequiousness
to his superiors, which might be expected from a tavern-waiter, and by
some means got an introduction to G. Earl of O. to whom he made himself
so useful, and so acceptable, that through his influence he was made
Receiver-General of the County. The emoluments and reputation of this
office, were remarkably salutary in propping up, which it did for years,
the reputation of his Bank; and, as it is generally believed, enabled
him to administer to the necessities of his noble friend, who, in the
interval of his expecting remittances from Russia, in return for one of
the most valuable collection of pictures ever formed in this country, was
reduced to great pecuniary difficulties.

At length the Bank stopped payment, and his debts, including the claims
of government upon his house, amounted to 600,000_l._ It is very
extraordinary, that at this particular time, he had only 25,000_l._
of notes in circulation. It is no less singular, that this failure
did not occasion the bankruptcy, or cause stoppage of payment, in any
other house. Among his principal creditors were gentlemen who had made
considerable deposits, but who, by taking the concerns into their own
hands, at a most propitious period, when landed estates sold at the very
highest price, contrived to make a dividend of fourteen shillings in the
pound.

Luckily for the creditors, his son was made a partner during the life of
his father, or every shilling of the landed property would have gone to
him.

When the father died, or what became of the son, was unknown, but the
family fell back again to their original poverty.

A whimsical anecdote is recorded of the above individual. When riches
began to abound, he must needs set up his carriage, and he applied to
the parson of the parish to furnish him with a motto. This same person
was a most eccentric character. Very fond of his pipe—still more fond
of his bottle—but withal, was very learned, and had an abundant store
of facetiousness and humour. On his wealthy friend’s application for a
motto, he gave him the following—“Quo mihi fortunam?”

This was accordingly placed upon the carriage; but some of the banker’s
half-learned friends pretended to dispute its accuracy; upon which, out
of humour, he remonstrated with his clerical adviser for imposing an
incorrect motto upon him.—“Friend Roger,” replied the old gentleman,
“do you support your carriage, and I’ll support the motto.” The motto is
indeed remarkable for the seeming spirit of prophecy with which it was
communicated. The motto survives—the coach is no more.

The next two individuals, concerning whom notices present themselves,
were of the ecclesiastical profession, and both may surely be denominated
fortunate.

The one was in the humblest possible situation, compatible with the
character of a student, in one of the colleges of Oxford, but he carried
with him the best qualifications of steadiness of principle, thirst for
knowledge, and the seeds of an honourable ambition.

On his first leaving the University, no better occupation presented
itself than that of a humble curacy in a country village. But here
fortune befriended him. Among his auditors was a venerable nobleman,
who had himself risen to his wealth and dignities from no very splendid
beginnings, by the active use of considerable talents, and who
consequently had the sagacity to distinguish merit, and, as it appeared
from the consequences, had, also the liberality to assist and reward it.

This nobleman having received the young curate into his familiar
acquaintance, soon discovered that he had talents of the higher order,
and which merited a more spacious held for their display and exercise. A
very long period did not elapse, before a living of considerable value,
with no small degree of responsibility attached to it, was procured by
the nobleman for his friend.

In the discharge of this greater duty, he so well acquitted himself,
that ere long, a Prebendal stall was added to it, and at no very great
interval of time, he became a Dean, Bishop, perhaps hereafter ⸺

Let it not be supposed that this advancement to high ecclesiastical
dignities, was the mere result of noble and powerful influence. In
addition to private virtues and personal recommendations, claims to
preferment were enforced by various and profound erudition exercised on
professional subjects.

His first publication, if we mistake not, was some ingenious and learned
discourses, preached at his own parish church, containing the arguments
for and against the reception of Christianity by the ancient Jews and
Greeks.

He also preached a very powerful sermon, which he subsequently published,
on the Claims of the Establishment, in reply to the loud expostulations
every where circulated, on what were denominated the Claims of the Roman
Catholics.

But this personage’s great work was a volume of Dissertations or
Lectures, the subject of which was a comparison between Paganism and
Christianity. They were obviously intended for the benefit of a great
public seminary, to which among other things it had been objected, that
more was taught the pupils, of Heathen, than of Christian theology. The
avowed object of the work was to illustrate the Christian Religion, and
explain the errors and follies of Heathen superstition, and it is really
a powerful production.

The other successful candidate for clerical honours arrived at equal
dignities, but with claims very dissimilar. He was a servitor at one of
our universities, and though of remarkable steadiness and unimpeachable
conduct, discovered no talents which justified his expectation of college
distinctions.

He accordingly took orders, and went to a village remote from the
metropolis, to discharge the honourable and useful office of a curate.
Here fortune befriended him also. A noble family had a mansion in the
vicinity, the head of which laboured under a sort of imbecility, which
disqualified him for active business.

The curate, if respectable, always receives more or less notice from the
heads of a parish, and in this instance Mr. G. was found so attentive,
obliging, and assiduous, that great intimacy and confidence followed.
There was also a General election, in the event of which the family
greatly interested themselves, and the curate, by his zeal, activity, and
ardour, was very instrumental in procuring the matter to terminate, as
his patrons desired.

The first bonus received in testimony of their attachment, was the living
of the place where he had officiated as curate, which was worth little
less than twelve hundred pounds a-year. But this was far from all. The
intimacy was increased on one side, as the usefulness was experienced
on the other; and as the political influence of the family was very
considerable, one of the best Prebendal stalls in the kingdom was added
to the Rectory, and at no very great distance of time, a Deanery. But
here an act of justice remains to be done.

This ecclesiastical friend of the Sexagenarian, though not a man
remarkable for his learning, his talents, or his accomplishments, was
eminently so, for his mild and amiable manners. His memory does not
deserve to be followed with scorn or disdain, because he owed his
elevation to a concurrence of fortuitous and fortunate circumstances.
Rather let it receive the tribute of respect which it merits, from
his being, which he really was, friendly, benevolent, charitable, and
zealously anxious to promote the comforts and improve the interests of
his poor and dependent neighbours.

A third clerical personage may not improperly be introduced among those,
whose progressive success in life far surpassed their earlier claims and
expectations. His history is succinctly this.

He was the son of a country tradesman, who was sufficiently opulent to
give his two sons a University education. The elder became a Bishop,
and well merited, as he has honourably exercised, that exalted office.
The younger son had always infirm health, with the reputation, however,
of considerable talents. Of these, indeed, no specimen has been placed
before the public for their animadversion, but he has pursued through
life, the noiseless easy tenor of his way, enjoying the good things of
this world in no very limited proportion.

Ecclesiastical preferment was poured thickly upon him. The brother
truly acted a brother’s part. He might have been Fellow of his College,
and in due course, after a long series of years, might have succeeded
to a College living. More fortunately for him, high and lucrative
situations were ready for his acceptance, almost as soon as he was able
to sustain them. But this ought not to excite either envy or regret in
contemporaries, who have not met with so favourable a tide in their
affairs. He bears his faculties meekly, and his life is irreproachable.

This catalogue is continued much further, but the above examples may
perhaps be thought sufficient, and it really appears to be expedient to
think of shutting our tablets.

We will, however, venture to subjoin a brief account of another clerical
person, who arrived at equal dignities from a very humble beginning.

On leaving college, he accepted of the situation of assistant teacher in
a great public seminary. Here he continued steady and attentive to his
employment for a considerable number of years, rather remarkable for his
engaging and agreeable person and manners, than for splendour of talents,
or depth of erudition. Indeed he has never appeared before the public as
an author, except by the printing of a very few sermons, of which local
circumstances required the publication.

His first successful advance towards affluence was by an auspicious
marriage with a person who inherited considerable property, but he had
long been quietly yet effectually obtaining reputation as a preacher at
one of our popular charities.

He received his first reward for his excellence in this branch of his
profession, from a private individual. A lady of rank and fortune
bestowed a benefice of some value upon him, unsolicited and unexpected
on his part, solely from the favourable impression which his talents as a
preacher had made upon her.

His next piece of good fortune was alike unexpected, but still more
highly to his honour. One of the most lucrative, and one of the most
honourable, pieces of preferment in the metropolis, in the gift of the
Diocesan, became vacant, and which had always been held by individuals of
high character and pretensions.

Great interest was of course made to obtain this appointment; and
it was reported and believed, that Royalty itself interposed, under
circumstances which, in some degree, might be supposed to justify
such interposition. It proved, however, ineffectual; and the Bishop,
influenced by no other motive than the desire of having a zealous,
active, conscientious Pastor in a very large and populous parish, wrote
to the individual, the subject of this notice, and with no personal
knowledge of him, and without any other recommendation than that of his
professional character, offered the living to his acceptance. It was of
course accepted, and the good and pious intentions of the Bishop were
adequately fulfilled.

His good fortune, however, did not stop here. The character he had
established was confirmed, the reputation of his professional excellence
was extended, and finally, he rendered himself so acceptable to those
who have it in their influence to obtain, or in their power to confer,
ecclesiastical dignities, that a valuable Deanery was given; and it has
indeed further been reported, that if it had been agreeable to his views
and wishes, he might have obtained still higher honours.



    And now a bubble bursts, and now a world.

CHAPTER XXXII.


Detached from every other part of the Recollections, the following
anecdote appears by itself, and as it seems to have been communicated
from the very highest authority, may be recorded more particularly, as
its authenticity may be easily ascertained.

In the year 1720, celebrated for the bursting of the South Sea bubble,
a gentleman called late in the evening at the banking-house of Messrs.
Hankies and Co. He was in a coach, but refused to get out, and desired
that one of the partners of the house would come to him. Having
ascertained that it was really one of the principals, and not a clerk,
who appeared, he put into his hands a parcel, very carefully sealed up
and protected, and desired that it might be laid on one side till he
should call again, which would be in the course of a very few days. A
few days passed away—a few weeks did the same, and indeed some months
also, but the stranger returned no more.

At the end of the second or third year, the partners agreed to open this
mysterious parcel in the presence of each other. They found it to contain
thirty thousand pounds, with a letter, stating that it was obtained by
the South Sea speculation, and directing that it should now be vested in
the hands of three trustees, whose names were given, and the interest
appropriated to the relief of the poor.

What particular class of poor—whether the poor of London, or of
Westminster, or the poor sufferers by the bubble, was not specified,
and the vagueness of the instructions rendered the matter extremely
perplexing. Under this difficulty, the partners or the trustees very
properly applied to the Lord Mayor, and to the law officers of the
crown. If we are correct, Sir Dudley Ryder was Attorney-General at the
time. It was agreed, that the capital should be vested in the names of
the Lord Mayor, Recorder, and Attorney-General, for the time being and
to come, and that each of the three gentlemen nominated by the stranger
as trustees, should have the interest of ten thousand pounds, to be
distributed at his discretion for the use of the poor. The stranger was
never heard of afterwards.

One of the trustees was a gentleman of Norfolk, whose family was well
known to the Sexagenarian. During his life, he had a room fitted up with
cases, shelves, drawers, &c. which was called the Poors’ Room, and where
coats, waistcoats, shirts, shifts, shoes, blankets, &c. were deposited
for the use of proper applicants. The effect of this for the time, was
the total annihilation of the poor rates in the particular parish where
this trustee resided.



    Paucos enim qui sunt eminentissimi excerpere in animo est,
    facile est autem studiosis, qui sint his simillimi judicare,
    ne quisquam queratur omissos forte aliquos eorum quos ipse
    valde probet. Fateor enim plures legendos esse quam qui a me
    nominabuntur.

CHAPTER XXXIII.


If the Sexagenarian was not personally acquainted with all the learned
men and wits of his time, it will already have appeared that he was more
or less familiarly known to a great many.

A considerable list is still to be found of literary characters,
scattered among the Memoranda, some of whom are designated by their real
names, whilst others are only to be discovered from their portraits. As
it may afford matter of amusement to many readers to exercise conjecture,
a select number of authors is subjoined, certainly delineated from the
life, as all were personally known to the artist who has represented
their lineaments.

Our notations commence with honest, but unfortunate John ⸺. His original
designation and employment was that of a watchmaker, but his natural
propensities inclined him to a love of letters and the arts, and he
certainly discovered considerable taste for both. It is to be feared,
and perhaps on his account to be lamented, that when he should have been
investigating improvements in mechanics, he was to be found studying
criticisms on Shakespeare with Henderson, or conversing about Salvator
Rosa with Mortimer.

This was certainly not the road to affluence, and it was not a great
while before he found that he had lost his way, and got entangled in
briars and thickets beyond his skill and ability to remove. He withdrew
from his mechanical occupation, and was compelled to exercise his
ingenuity in a far less promising and lucrative pursuit. He became
first of all, a writer in the newspapers; and here let the pride of
affluence forbear to express scorn and contempt at this employment, as
being mean, ignoble, or disingenuous. Let such be informed, that it is
not the employment itself, but the spirit and the motive with which
it is undertaken and prosecuted, which entitles it to approbation or
censure. It may be rendered, as it often has been, the vehicle of moral
instruction, of useful information, of agreeable amusement. It has been
pursued sometimes as an amusement of leisure, and not unfrequently, from
the pressure of necessity, by some of the ablest and some of the most
amiable characters among us.

The exercise of John’s abilities in this line, procured him a scanty
provision for himself, his wife, and a sister. It is doing him an act of
justice to state, that he was no politician, and never dipped his pen in
the gall of party, or interfered with the measures of government or the
proceedings of any opposition. His productions were perfectly harmless,
and chiefly consisted of anecdotes of the stage, of pictures and artists,
with such other matters as he gleaned from an extensive range of
acquaintance. But he had also another resource, though this was but an
unsubstantial one also. He had a taste for engraving, and a particular
fondness for the works of Hogarth, in which perhaps he was more skilfully
conversant than almost any other contemporary. He had, if our information
does not deceive us, a slight knowledge of Hogarth himself, but after his
death, he became intimately acquainted with Mrs. Hogarth. He was useful
to the widow in assisting in the disposal of Hogarth’s prints, and he
learned from her a great many particulars of the artist and his works,
which he afterwards turned to account. It is this circumstance which
entitles him to a place in the catalogue of authors.

Under the auspices of the Boydells, he published a minute detail and
description of all Hogarth’s works, in three large volumes; a very
agreeable and amusing work, which was well received by the public, and
afterwards republished.

He was an amiable and unoffending man, and there were many families,
of which that of the Sexagenarian was one, in which he was constantly
received with hospitality and kindness. He repaid the welcome he found,
by his lively conversation, and abundance of anecdotes. Poor fellow! it
is to be feared, that in the decline of life, when his powers of mind
were too enfeebled to communicate the usual pabulum of intelligence to
his employers, and when his bodily powers became too infirm to go in
quest of it, that he had to endure many and serious privations.

The literary fund was not then established, or his latter days might
have been rendered more comfortable. This admirable institution, as is
very well known, has frequently administered, in hours of suffering and
anguish, substantial consolation to afflicted and expiring genius. It
is to be hoped that its powers may be yet further extended, and that
by timely interference the extreme of suffering may be prevented, that
talent may not be checked in its ardent career from the want of aid and
encouragement, nor undertakings suffered to fall to the ground, and be
the cause of ruin to the original contriver, merely from the want of oil
to facilitate the motion of the machine.

Where, or under what circumstances, the person of whom we are speaking,
paid the last debt of nature, is not recorded, but this slight tribute
seems affectionately paid by our Sexagenarian to his memory.

Among the various incidents of his wayward passage through life, he used
to relate one which appears worth commemorating. Whilst he exercised
his occupation of a watchmaker in Maiden-lane, he was on some occasion
or other in his shop at a very early hour in the morning, expecting any
thing but a customer. An old man, of very mean appearance as to dress and
person, presented himself, and desired to see one of the most valuable
watches in his possession, and one that without any consideration of
price, he could conscientiously recommend. Our friend John happened to
have a repeater by him, made by one of the first artists, and of the
goodness of which he thought very highly. This he accordingly produced.
The old man, after taking a few minutes to examine it, enquired the
price.—“Fifty guineas.”—“Is that the lowest?”—“It is.” The money was
immediately paid, and the old gentleman, on leaving the shop, gave his
card of address.

He turned out to be the celebrated Mr. Elwes of avaricious memory, and he
frequently called afterwards in Maiden-lane, to express his satisfaction
with his purchase.



    Utrumque in alto ventus est exin velum vertatur.

CHAPTER XXXIV.


“Many are the characters who pass through the vale of life, who in their
time contributed to the improvement of society by their accomplishments,
rendered service to literature by their learning, and enlivened and
delighted numerous circles by their wit, who have been suffered to pass
away, as though they had never been, without any memorial of their
talents, or their virtues. To plant one slip of myrtle or of laurel round
the graves of such, to rescue from ‘dumb forgetfulness’ even the few who
have been comprehended within the limited circle of our own personal
knowledge, cannot surely be deemed an unamiable, nor altogether a useless
office.”

With such an apostrophe, the Sexagenarian commences the notes, which are
here modified and curtailed, of the individuals next introduced. Two of
the same name first present themselves—_sed valde dissimiles_.

Both of them were highly estimable as men, desireable as companions,
accomplished and valuable as authors, though in very different ways.
One was facetiousness and good humour personified, the other was
grave and saturnine: the conversation of the one was full of vivacity
and mirth-inspiring anecdote, animated by much reading and extensive
knowledge of the world; the other instructed his hearers by his
diversified knowledge, which he readily communicated, and although there
were some “pursuers of literature,” who affected to ridicule his talents,
no insinuation could be more injurious or false. Even on the very subject
which provoked the aspersions of the satirist, sounder critics allowed
that he had the best end of the staff. He got the better of an adversary
elated with popular favour, presumed to be at the head of one particular
branch of criticism, in which indeed he had spent a long and laborious
life.

The publications of these two namesakes, as might be imagined, were alike
different. One was a very entertaining and instructive essayist, a most
skilful and accomplished biographer, an editor of various popular works,
in which office he evinced a perfect knowledge of our language in all
its stages from barbarity to refinement, great sagacity, sound judgment,
and a cultivated taste. But neither did he escape the merciless rage of
critics. What author can expect it? Who that writes a book may not at
the same time exclaim,

    Ut quidem Hercle in medium hodie processerim
    Væ illis Virgis miseris quæ hodie in tergo morientur meo.

But however the critic might gratify some latent spleen, the author’s
reputation did not in the smallest degree suffer, nor was his zeal
diminished. When the Sexagenarian retired from the world, he left his
friend in the plenitude of honest fame, successfully pursuing his
accustomed labours.

The works of the other nameless namesake were of a more profound and
solid character. They embraced the large circle of politics, history,
biography, language, and various criticism. They are as numerous and
elaborate as those of the Spanish Cervantes, or of our own Philemon
Holland. But they evinced deep research, extensive investigation,
profound thinking, great judgment, and, it might almost be said,
uncircumscribed knowledge.

Different as they were in talents, in their pursuits, dispositions
and manners, both distinguished the Sexagenarian with their intimate
acquaintance, and both continued with him, as long as he remained near
them, a pleasing interchange of such literary stock as they severally
possessed.



    Vere mihi hoc videor esse dicturus, ex omnibus iis qui in
    harum artium studiis liberalissimis sint, doctrinisque versati
    minimam copiam poetarum egregiorum extitisse.

CHAPTER XXXV.


In turning over the pages of the manuscript which has afforded the
materials for these Volumes, it excited no little surprize, that in a
literary life so extended and diversified, there seemed to be no mention
of poetry or poets. It was notorious that the Sexagenarian had a sort of
propensity for the art, and had dabbled in it himself; but it seemed odd
that having lived with most of those, who, in his day, were considered as
more or less accomplished in this way, he should no where notice either
them or their productions.

But surprize had hardly subsided, when in one of the covers, carefully
secured by a wafer, some memoranda on this subject were discovered, to
which the motto which heads this Chapter was prefixed. They were written
in a very small hand, and like many other portions of the manuscript,
appeared like hasty notes to be revised at some more favourable
opportunity. They are, however, subjoined with little, indeed with no
other alteration, than not allowing the introduction of the first person.

It is remarkable, observes the writer, in the experience of a tolerably
protracted life, how few examples have presented themselves of
individuals avowing a devotion to the poetic art, and cultivating it with
persevering diligence, who have really deserved the appellation of poets.
Cicero thus remarks—“Sæpe audivi poetam bonum neminem id quod a Democrito
et Platone in scriptis relictum esse dicunt, sine inflammatione animorum
existere posse et sine quodam afflatu quasi furoris.”

The “Furor” has been sufficiently conspicuous within the last thirty
years, but the genuine “Afflatus” has been rarely communicated.

From what principle, or rather from what infirmity of man’s nature can it
proceed, that the writer of poetry is endowed with a greater portion of
self-complacency, with respect to his own compositions, than any other
author. Yet the fact is so, and the affirmation that it is, is as old as
the age of Augustus. May not the appeal too safely be made, even to the
present æra, whether the same self-confidence does not still characterize
the poetic tribe.

Cicero had no possible pretensions to the character of a poet, yet
there is sufficient evidence that he thought very well of his own
poetical compositions. It is his remark, that every poet thinks his own
productions better than those of any other person.

After relating the beautiful story of Damocles and the tyrant Dionysius,
speaking of the latter he says,

“Musicorum vero perstudiosum accepimus, poetam etiam tragicum: quam bonum
nihil ad rem. In hoc enim genere nescio quo pacto magis, quam in aliis
suum cuique pulchrum est. Adhuc neminem cognovi poetam, et mihi fuit cum
Aquinio amicitia, qui sibi non optimus videretur. Sic se res habet. Te
tua, me delectant mea.”

But enough of this digressive excursion. The following are rough outlines
of modern poets, personally known to, and more or less familiarly
connected with the author.

With respect to one or two of the first and earliest, there appears no
manner of necessity for concealment or disguise. They have long settled
their accounts with respect to reputation, and their names are not yet
quite forgotten.

The first introduction of the kind was to John Home, the author of
Douglas, who was then, on account of the success of this tragedy, in
considerable reputation as a dramatic author. He was an enlightened
and agreeable man; and though he had not the dexterity or the power to
conciliate the good graces of Garrick, he had the better fortune of
being complimented by Hume the historian on his rivalling Shakespeare in
genius. Alas! neither his contemporaries, nor posterity acceded, or will
accede to this eulogium. He wrote other things for the stage, but this
of Douglas alone succeeded, and this, it is to be apprehended, will not
perpetuate his name.

The communication with the amiable and accomplished translator of Ariosto
and Tasso, was much more frequent, as well as more familiar. When his
disadvantages of early education are taken into consideration, for as
Dr. Johnson facetiously observed, he was _regularly_ brought up in Grub
street, it may reasonably excite surprize, that his progress in knowledge
should be so considerable and so diversified.

He was a very respectable scholar, and his acquaintance with the Italian
language in particular was remarkably accurate. His versions of the three
great Italian poets, still retain no contemptible portion of the public
favour; his Metastasio more than either, attracted notice and obtained
applause. But his original compositions were few, and not very much
distinguished by the animation of genius. His name has not undeservedly
found a place in the annals of modern biography, but they who are most
partial to his memory, however they may have been delighted with his
mild and engaging manners, must be satisfied with having their favourite
comprehended in the class of our minor poets.

The next person who was classed among the poets of his day, and rather in
the first rank than the second, should perhaps in point of accuracy have
preceded those who are here placed before him. This was Soame Jenyns. It
would be superfluous to say any thing here of his literary character or
pretensions. The public taste has long since decided upon the station to
which he is entitled among authors. But he was a poet, and personally
known to the Sexagenarian, and therefore not improperly introduced on
this occasion.

His appearance, dress, manner, and conversation, were very eccentric, and
those of his wife, who generally accompanied him on his visits, were no
less so. The lady here alluded to was his second wife, who entertained so
exalted an idea of her husband’s accuracy and propriety of conversation,
that she acquired the habit of always repeating the last sentence of any
thing he said. Thus when the gentleman observed, we had a disagreeable
journey to town, the roads were bad, we were sadly jolted, the lady would
immediately repeat the observation, “Yes, as Mr. Jenyns says, we were
sadly jolted.”

But we have nothing to do here but with his merits as a poet, and
his claims to permanent reputation in that character. His poems were
published collectively in the volumes of Dodsley, and whoever pleases,
may judge of their value. But they excited no great interest when
originally written; they excite less at the present period, and will
probably glide down the stream of time, till, with the mob of gentlemen
who write with ease, they sink into the waters of oblivion.

Much of the same class and pretensions as to poetical merit, though in
other respects with less various, and much more limited intellectual
powers, was Jerningham.

With this gentleman there was a personal acquaintance of many years
continuance, and it was impossible not to be pleased with his amiable and
elegant manners. Whilst he lived he was highly respected for his very
cultivated mind, and for a long series of years he was ranked in the
first class of his contemporary poets. Unluckily for the fabric of his
poetical fame, two ill-betiding lines from a wicked satirist overset it
almost in a moment.

Nobody was presumptuous enough to praise the versification of this
unfortunate bard, after reading in the Baviad,

    “See snivelling Jerningham at fifty weep
    O’er love-lorn oxen and deserted sheep.”

Yet perhaps this was somewhat too harsh. Jerningham did write some
things which were marked with good sense, good feeling, and polished
versification. Unhappily he was considered as forming one of the
fraternity, whose labours in this way tended to the corruption of the
public taste, and the scythe of the all-potent satirical mower, cut him
down with the rest, never to rise again.

Nevertheless, in opposition to the censures, which it cannot be denied,
were injurious to his reputation, the poet had to produce the strong and
powerful commendation of Burke; no mean testimony surely. Neither can it
be supposed that living familiarly as he did, and continued to do till
the end of his life, in familiar intimacy with the noble and the great,
his tranquillity was materially discomposed by an assault, to which every
literary adventurer is alike exposed.



    Οινος τοι χαριεντι μεγας πελει ιππος αοιδῳ
    Υδωρ δε πινων χρηστον αν ουδε τεκης.

CHAPTER XXXVI.


The individual next in succession was, and perhaps is, (for he may yet
survive) a man of unquestionable genius; capable of high undertakings,
both in prose and verse; but it is only with his qualifications and
claims as a poet, that we have anything here to do.

Strange to say, but such is the perverseness of human nature, that the
wisest among us, are sometimes apt to mistake our talents, and to plume
ourselves most, upon those qualities, from the exercise of which, in the
opinions of the more discerning and judicious, we are least entitled to
applause.

This remark is in some degree applicable to our present subject. The
person to whom the attention of the reader is now invited, had certainly,
when very young, a great taste and talent for poetical composition,
and produced, almost before manhood, a poem which obtained the strong
commendations of Dr. Johnson. This valuable praise, added to the delight
which every youthful poet feels from the exercise of so agreeable an
accomplishment, induced him probably to persevere in this particular
pursuit.

Nevertheless, his talents of this kind, however exercised, cultivated,
and improved, would never have placed him in the first rank of British
poets; whereas, by study and by discipline, he might have rivalled the
best of our historians.

This was manifestly proved by the execution of a work which will
outlive all his poetry. A subject was proposed to him, by a great and
accomplished character, long since no more, with which he was not in
the smallest degree acquainted, except as a man of general information.
It presented itself to him, clouded and perplexed with obscurity and
difficulty; but he sat sturdily to work, and produced at intervals an
historical performance of several volumes, which, as it richly deserved,
was exceedingly well received by his countrymen.

When once the subject had occupied his mind, and fixed his studious
attention, it is really wonderful with what sagacity, acuteness, and
effect, he pursued it in all its ramifications. Nothing relating to
it was unexplored, and the result of the whole will perpetuate his
name. Yet would it have excited no surprize in him who made the above
observations, to have been told, that his old friend, (and we may add one
of his oldest) was by no means satisfied with the above determination
with regard to his literary claims. The appellation of poet, first given
him among his school-fellows, was dear, as it was familiar from his
boyhood. It grew with his growth. It was universally bestowed upon him
through the progress of life, as an acknowledged Prænomen, and it is more
than probable that he considered it at least of equal value, with any
other which could possibly have been conferred, from his most successful
prosecution of any different branch of literature.

Subjoined to the above observations is the following apostrophe:—

Yes! my old friend ⸺ was a character of no ordinary calibre, eccentric
as a boy, eccentric as a man; nor at all less so, as life appeared to
decline. But his eccentricity was injurious only to himself. His heart
was warm, perhaps too susceptible, and too prone to yield to first
impressions. But he was generous even to excess, nor could any length
of time obliterate his sense of favours received. His hospitable spirit
could hardly be circumscribed within any limits; his cheerfulness almost
always uninterrupted. The most untoward incidents threw no more than a
transient cloud over his countenance, and he frequently could observe of
himself, with the greatest good-humour, that he never was unhappy after
dinner. Of his failings, nothing will here be observed. Such would not be
the office of a friend, who for a long series of years had received from
him the most affectionate attention, had passed the most pleasing hours
and days in his society, delighted with his good-humour, cheered by his
vivacity, and perhaps not unimproved by the collision of their mutual
talents and interchange of the knowledge, in which they were severally
proficient.

Of his talents, perhaps, sufficient may have been said; of these,
he, who knew him for the space of no less a period than forty years,
who was generally acquainted with his mode of occupying his time,
his studious pursuits, and literary employments, may be supposed no
incompetent judge. He was acute, prompt, active, and persevering, in
all he undertook; perhaps somewhat to be censured for not more duly
observing the Horatian axiom, of submitting for a longer period, the
productions of his pen to the last examination of his judgment. He
thus exposed himself to the attacks of the critical tribe, of whom the
greater number are alike acute in detecting, and severe in censuring,
the errors of authors. Notwithstanding this, however, and other checks
and impediments, he pursued the usual tenor of his way, unintimidated
and undisturbed, dividing his time as usual, between poetry and prose
compositions, cheered as he went along by a numerous circle of friends
and acquaintance; nor when he who wrote the above withdrew from his ken,
had there existed any occasion to whisper in his ear the warning which
Gil Blas felt it his duty to suggest to the Archbishop of Salamanca.



    Et vitula tu dignus et hic.

CHAPTER XXXVII.


The next personage, had he yet lived, would have been seriously offended
at being classed only in the middle rank of poets; but great as his
genius actually was, with a fine and cultivated taste, founded on
classical knowledge, and improved by almost uninterrupted exercise,
will posterity allow the best of Cumberland’s poetical productions, a
loftier station? It may, nevertheless, be questioned whether he did not
as much pride himself upon “Calvary,” as upon the best of his dramatic
productions, or upon his excellent collection of Essays in his Observer.

He could not easily endure a rival in any branch of literature, but,
without entering into his failings, it may easily be conceded that he had
not in his time many equals. His talents were so various, his productions
so numerous, and of many of them it may truly be asserted, that they were
so valuable and so instructive, that who can call to memory without a
sigh that his latter hours were darkened by poverty.

He excited in the writer of these brief notices the sincerest esteem
and regard, notwithstanding that, after having for years enjoyed his
most intimate familiarity, he by an untoward accident provoked his
displeasure. The accident was this.

When employed in writing the incidents of his own life, with the view of
publication, Mr. C. applied to the Sexagenarian to revise the manuscript
and correct the press. This appeared to be both a difficult and a
perilous office; the well-known irritable temper of the author presented
itself as a frightful spectre to the imagination, breathing discontent,
impatience, and dispute. The same misfortune, however, ensued from
declining, as perhaps would have resulted from the performance of the
task. Mr. C. was much offended, and the intimacy became less and less
cordial. Alas, poor ghost!

Mild, good, amiable, and ingenious, another personage presents himself;
but however earnest the disposition might be to increase, rather than
detract, from his honours, candour and truth compel the peremptory
decision, that he can only be classed among the minor poets. He was
an elegant scholar, and his versification evinced much facility of
composition, and no inconsiderable portion of taste; but his translation
of Horace was never exceedingly popular, nor did it pass, it is believed,
to a second edition. It may appear singular, but it is nevertheless true,
that though sometimes heavy and prosaic, and defective in energy, the
work of old Francis is still referred to, and keeps its place in our
libraries.

Subsequently to the Horace, a volume of poems was published by this
author, which were characterized by the same qualities of good taste, by
easy and often elegant versification, but the reader would look in vain
for “thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.”

Another friend and contemporary might, if he had so pleased, have
asserted higher claims as a poet, but he exercised the talent for
amusement only, though he sometimes made use of it as an accompaniment
to labours of a more serious and exalted kind. He was a philosopher in
every sense of the word; a most elegant classical scholar; and there were
few branches of science in which he was not well versed. But his great
distinction was an accurate and familiar knowledge of natural history in
all its branches.

In this line of science he was pre-eminently accomplished, not only
in the opinion of his countrymen, but of all Europe. He was of a
truly manly mind and character, and but little regarded the occasional
opposition to his opinions, though urged with all the force of
aristocratical influence, and all the vehemence of personal dislike.
He pursued the even tenor of his way unintimidated and unshaken. One
inconsiderate disregard of some established regulation, by which he
could have no possible object in view, but the extension and benefit of
science, placed him for a time in an awkward and unpleasant predicament.
When envy is armed with power, woe be to the ill-fated wight against
whom its arrows are directed. Yet in this instance they were aimed in
vain. The sevenfold shield of superior attainments, wielded by the strong
arm of unimpeached integrity, proudly defied all the malice of his
adversaries. It is, indeed, observes the writer, pleasing to remember
the dignified contempt, with which he received and returned certain
salutations of constrained civility from a lofty personage, to whom he
was confessedly superior in every thing but rank.

Although not a few memoranda still remain on the subject of poetical
contemporaries, it seems time to pause. Let it suffice to observe that
the following personages are mentioned in terms of esteem and regard,
and as authors of various elegant compositions in verse—Sotheby, the
Translator of Persius, Bowles, Park, Farhill, John Anstey, Serjeant, Sir
James Burges, W. Spencer, Kett, with a train of etceteras.

The following, by one of those above described, may, perhaps have been
printed before. Its elegance merits perpetuity, and is here given from
the Author’s own manuscript.


LIMODORUM.

    Sweet flow’r, whose modest beauties blow
      Deep in the green and silent vale,
    Where willows, bending o’er the stream,
      Wave gently to the passing gale!

    So, in thy native Sina’s shades
      Like thee sequester’d and serene,
    Soft smiling sit her pensive maids,
      Pleas’d with the solitary scene.

    There, listening to some magic tale
      Of fabled bliss, or fancied woe,
    They deck with art the silken veil,
      Or tend the flowers that round them blow.

    From moss-clad rocks and tangled shades
      The murmuring waters roll around;
    Sweep thro’ the garden’s green arcades,
      And shine along the varied ground.

    On waving boughs the plumy race
      Sweet carol from the blossom’d spray;
    While, glittering in each pictur’d vase,
      The golden-scaled beauties play.

    Domestic cares and duteous love
      In turn their tender thoughts employ;
    And form within their green alcove
      A happiness that cannot cloy.



    Και λεγει ως υπο φιλοτιμιας πολλους των απο παιδειας συνα
    θροιζων ου μονον τοις αλλοις αλλα και λογοις ειστια, τα μεν
    προβαλλων των αξιων ζητησεως.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.


The Chapter which is now about to succeed, is to us incomprehensible.
It is literally transcribed from the manuscript, and the reader is at
liberty to make what he can of it.

“Pray my dear, addressing myself in a very soft tone to “the Lady,” when
will it be convenient for you to suffer me to invite a select party of
brother authors, to partake of a humble repast?

Whom in particular do you wish to ask?

You know all my literary friends and connections, and I think I cannot do
better than to leave the selection to yourself.

Well then I have no objection, provided you do not invite the RICH AUTHOR.

Whom is it you mean?

I am surprized at your dullness. Pray are there many rich authors?

Certainly not.

Well, then, I mean that man who, because he has a great command of money,
and has written some trifling pieces of poetry, assumes great personal
importance, and crosses on the other side to avoid the salutation of men
far superior to himself in genius and learning, who having heard from one
of your old poets, that I have heard you talk about, that they who drink
water can never produce a good poem, conceives himself to be a solitary
exception, and that the pure stream of Helicon is reserved exclusively
for him.

Enough, my dear, the Rich Author shall not break bread with us.

Neither would I have you ask the NOBLE AUTHOR. Him, I mean, who is
certainly possessed of great intellectual powers, and a peculiar turn for
a certain line of poetry; but whose bad passions so perpetually insinuate
themselves in every thing which he writes, that it is hardly possible to
escape the injury of his venom, and scarcely worth while to separate the
gold from the dross. His volatile mind thinks it an act of manliness to
sneer at religion, and if on any occasion provoked to resentment, his
malignity becomes fury, and there is no object either too high or too low
upon which he does not vent his rancour.

Agreed—neither shall he eat our salt.

On no account send an invitation to the VAIN AUTHOR.

I fear too many of my brethren fall under that denomination; but whom is
it that you more particularly wish to except?

I mean him to whom I very willingly concede the most perfect good-nature,
the most friendly disposition and no mean portion of ability. But,
indeed, my dear friend, he is so tiresome with his long eternal stories,
that he imposes a restraint upon that variety of conversation which is
the great charm of an amicable meeting. I have no other fault to find
with him. I would rather however have him, than the POMPOUS AUTHOR.

I do not immediately comprehend to whom you allude.

To whom can I allude but to that big man who, you all agree, could have
done so much, and has actually done so little. Who upon ten pages of
letter press hangs a large volume of notes; whose political creed always
obtruded, has been at perpetual war with his real interests; and whose
style delights so in antithesis, that it seems to himself imperfect
without it; who delivers his opinions with a sort of pedagogical
authority, and brow-beats those whom he is unable to confute; who has
wasted much of his time and talent in individual disputation, and at a
considerably advanced period of life, finds that from some cause or
other he has made but little progress towards that rank, in which, as far
as talents, improved by much and deep learning, are concerned, he might,
by the easy restraint or chastisement of his opinions, have enlightened
and adorned society.

But my dear child your negative catalogue is so extensive that I begin to
fear I shall not make up a party.

Oh yes you may, but for heaven’s sake do not let us have the BLAND AUTHOR.

Bless me, whom can you mean?

Nay, nay, you know well enough—Whom can I possibly mean but that eternal
writer of poetry, who composes verses upon every trifling incident which
occurs in the circles of fashion; prints whatever he composes, and
recites them gratuitously both before and afterwards; whose collected
works would fill half your library, but if they had been compelled to
keep their peace nine years, would, in all probability, have never spoken
at all. Who, if—

Stop, stop, I entreat you, look on the other side of the picture, and
candidly allow that a better tempered creature never breathed; kind,
benevolent, and friendly; and whatever may be your opinion, allowed by
most people to possess an excellent memory, happy articulation, and no
inconsiderable portion of taste. However, we will ask him on some other
occasion.

But my dear have you any other exceptions to make?

No I think not—Yes, yes, I would on no account have that DULL AUTHOR.

Now, my good child, you are entirely incomprehensible, or rather perhaps
you mean delicately to intimate that I am not to have my meditated
Symposium. Have not all authors their intervals of dullness? Has not
Homer himself been accused of occasionally nodding? Well, but to whom do
you immediately look?

Why to that bonny man who has printed as many thick quartos as would
outweigh himself, comprehending etymology, criticism, politics,
geography, antiquity, poetry, nay, the whole circle of the sciences. I
have no particular, and certainly not any personal, objection to his
society, but as you do me the favour to admit me of your parties, I
think it would be possible to find an individual of better conversation
talents, of more interesting, if not of more diversified information.

See how it is—Whilst we have been deliberating about whom we shall invite
to our party, without fixing even upon one, the whole morning has slipped
away, and I have a particular engagement with my bookseller. We will talk
the matter over again to-morrow, and I hope you will then be prepared to
determine upon a few at least, from whose society we may derive mutual
gratification. I fear we shall agree but on a few, for our board is small
and our taste fastidious.

One thing has occurred this morning which will prevent my inviting
the BIGOT AUTHOR. You know his religious creed, and with that we have
no right to interfere; but a friend of his lately though of the same
persuasion, sent his son as a student to Trinity College, Cambridge. The
alarm was spread throughout the sect, and the Bigot Author was deputed
to remonstrate, first on the impropriety of the thing itself, and, above
all, on the very gross and obvious offence to the society, in confiding
the main branch of so distinguished a member to the possible influence of
a seminary bearing so odious an appellation as that of TRINITY.”



    Οποτε ους ταυτα και τα τοιαυτα ηκουες, εωρων οπως εκεχηνεις
    προς αυτα, και πανυ σφοδρα προς δελεαρ αναπηπταμενον παρειχες
    το στομα.

CHAPTER XXXIX.


The parties, as it should appear, entered again upon the subject of the
Symposium on the following morning, when the subsequent dialogue took
place.

“Now, my dear child, let us come to some determination, and either
decline the matter altogether, or fix upon the time, circumstance, and
persons to be invited to our social repast.

Well then, that you may not think me capricious and fantastical, I will
propose no other exceptions. Pray let us ask the WITTY AUTHOR.

I think I guess whom you mean, but do you apply those epithets to the
individual himself, and his powers of conversation, or to his works?

Why to say the truth, I more immediately thought of his lively,
agreeable, and interesting company and conversation, than I did of his
works. For, although he has certainly written many things, which may
reasonably claim the character both of wit and humour, I well know his
works are of the more solid and substantial kind, works of importance to
religion, to morals, and to literature.

Enough, enough, you well know he may have as much of our salt as he
pleases.

We will also invite, if you please, THE SATIRIST.

That word is generally used, among us, in a harsh sense. But you know my
opinion on the subject of satire, and must remember, that when satire
is moderated by candour, and regulated by the mere desire of reforming
error, without being stimulated by personal dislike, or individual
resentment, it is alike honourable and salutary.

You describe the character of our Satirist very accurately. I know not
which of his qualities inspires most approbation, the placid, instructive
tenor of his conversation in private society, or the dignified and
spirited demeanour with which he mounts his Pegasus, to restrain folly,
chastise error, and disperse the gaudy mob of poetasters.

Who next? though these two are of themselves a host.

Why we will have ONE NOBLE AUTHOR.

I cannot be much at a loss to know whom you intend, as our acquaintance
in that line is not very extensive. What is the cause of your partiality
to him?

I like him, in the first place, because he never presumes upon his rank
and title; because he descends to easy and elegant familiarity with every
guest; and, moreover, because he has seen much, travelled much, and knows
much; he neither arrogantly intrudes in conversation, or petulantly
withholds the information he is so qualified to communicate.

We get on so smoothly now that it seems necessary to remind you of the
smallness of our apartment. Have you any body else to name?

Oh yes, by all means, let us have the FACETIOUS AUTHOR.

Mean you a writer of facetious books?

Why, yes, that may be said, and said truly. He has been a _projector_ of
many truly facetious and original schemes, which he has detailed for the
advantage, as well as amusement, of the public. I rather, however, thus
designated him on account of the unvaried pleasantry and good-humour of
his conversation. This has long been the delight of his friends, for it
is always the same, always flows in the same even channel of ingenuous
mirth. He never fatigues you with the repetition of what you have heard
a thousand times before, but has a perpetual supply from his stores of
memory for the promotion of cheerfulness.

Now you have proceeded thus far without interruption or contradiction,
you will, I hope, permit me to name one of our guests, to whom I think it
impossible you should object.

I don’t know that. But—

You know how I abominate that monosyllable _But_—I must insist upon
asking my very old friend, and your’s also, Sylvanus Urban.

You really anticipate me. He is worthy of a place at any table, and
I should no more think of selecting a party from those whom I most
esteemed, and best love, without soliciting his presence, than I would
have our turbot (_Husband_ aside—_mem_, there _must_ be a turbot!)
without lobster, or partridges without bread-sauce.

You are perfectly right, yet pray tell me under what description of
authors would you rank our old friend? What epithet would you apply to
him?

Why I think Sylvanus Urban may be termed the UNIVERSAL AUTHOR.

I agree with you entirely, for few indeed are the branches of science, to
the extension and improvement of which, his labours have not contributed.
Voluminous as are the productions of his pen, and consisting, as they do,
of historical and antiquarian researches, in almost every ramification
of the Belles Lettres, envy itself can hardly single out one which has
not obtained the gratitude of the particular class of readers, for whose
amusement and benefit, they were more immediately intended.

But this is not all, and abruptly to break off the delineation of the
portrait here, would be ungenerous and unjust. He has done more; he has
not only contributed to the interests of literature by his own individual
exertions—he has been a patron to others. If his means did not permit
him to be munificent, he was steady and constant in his assistance to
those who wanted and required it. The benefit of his experience, of his
advice and judgment, was at the service of every less practised writer.
If a wrong path had been pursued, he pointed out the right, and thus
has often prevented the waste both of time and talent. His benevolence
was uncircumscribed, guided by no prejudice, restrained by no feelings
of party. His patience and fortitude, and christian resignation, in the
greatest trials to which humanity can be exposed, was almost without
parallel, firm and unshaken. In return he has experienced universal
sympathy and esteem, and will descend to his last home revered, honoured,
and beloved.

Well, but our table is not filled yet. Suppose we invite the LEARNED
AUTHOR.

Alas! so many of my learned friends, properly thus called, have paid the
tribute of mortality, that I cannot be at a loss to know whom you mean.
An admirable guest must he needs be at any table, for to the profoundest
learning and acutest discernment, he joins the most affable and lively
powers of conversation, and easily and cheerfully abstracts himself from
the more abstruse objects of his thoughts, to contribute to the general
festivity.

Memory loves to retrace the earlier and brighter scenes of life, when the
gratification now proposed was repeatedly enjoyed with this and other
learned men, of whom many have fallen asleep. Where wit and humour, and a
reciprocity of communication, not easily paralleled, diffused universal
complacency. Where—

Stop, stop—a truce to this melancholy mood, and let us consider the
number of our party.

The WITTY AUTHOR—THE SATIRIST—THE NOBLE AUTHOR—THE FACTIOUS
AUTHOR—SYLVANUS URBAN—THE LEARNED AUTHOR.

Six—with ourselves—Eight. Shall we not ask a female?

Run over in your mind the Female Authors with whom we have acquaintance,
and determine which of them you will invite. Shall it be Mrs. ⸺.

Oh! no, no. She is certainly exceedingly clever and accomplished, and
can be very agreeable; but she values herself so highly on her musical
talents, that she will be affronted, if not entreated to sing one of her
Bravura songs, which to me are detestable, nor do I think them so very
delightful to you. Besides she expects to be first fiddle, and demands
from the celebrity of her name, more attention, than is consistent with
that equality which ought invariably to prevail in friendly meetings.

Will you ask Miss ⸺?

No, I think not. She is a mighty good sort of person, and nobody
disputes her cleverness; but she is suspected of taking notes of the
conversations, at which she may be present, and you must not be surprized
if, when you least expect it, you find some observation, or anecdote,
or chit chat, gravely inserted in some note in an original novel, or
translation from some of the books vended at Leipsic fair.

But why must this female be an author? Need we go far to find one,
who though she has never written any thing for publication, has one
of the finest understandings in the world, a correct taste, admirable
judgment, refined manners, joined to the sweetest temper in the world;
whose conversation is far preferable to the pedantry of any half-learned
_Precieuse_, or the confidence which has been inspired by flattery unduly
bestowed.

You need say no more. Eliza shall complete our party.



    Neque ad vos quæ ignoravi possum enuntiare, sed quæ plane
    comperi ad istas literas proferam.

CHAPTER XL.


He, who like our friend, shall have consumed a life of some considerable
length, in the professed service of literature, must necessarily have
had much and familiar connection with a class of men, among whom will be
found as great a variety of character, as can possibly distinguish any
individuals of any profession—BOOKSELLERS.

Innumerable anecdotes, observations, and matters of fact, concerning
Booksellers, were found scattered among the Sexagenarian’s papers. If
they were to be arranged in a connected form, they would probably form
an amusing and interesting narrative. But such is neither the office of
the Editor, nor if it were, has he the adequate ability to perform it in
a manner which might do credit to the original author. The reader must,
therefore, be satisfied with some selected scraps, which are placed in a
tolerably chronological order, and which exhibit the first feelings and
first adventures of a young author, in the mysterious arcana of copy,
proofs, printing, and publishing.

The proudest and the most celebrated writers, whose productions adorn
our annals, would, if earnestly interrogated, candidly, without doubt,
acknowledge, that the warmest and most anxious wish of early genius is to
see its first effusions in print.

Those compositions, which in the beginning, perhaps, celebrate the
irresistible fascination of a mild blue eye, the more than ambrosial
sweetness of a ruby lip, or the extacy beyond description, of a stolen
kiss, are folded with a tremulous hand, and dispatched in an envelope to
a magazine or newspaper, with a humble note, purporting, that “the Author
of this specimen, if it shall be approved, will be happy to become a
regular and frequent correspondent.”

What an awful interval between the first birth of a juvenile composition,
and its last solemn reception or rejection! Who can tell but he
who has experienced similar emotions, the anxious expectancy, when
sentence is to be pronounced? The delight of reading, the favour of
“Juvenis” is received, and will be inserted: we shall be glad of this
correspondent’s communications in future.” Delight! only to be exceeded
by the mortification and abasement of perusing words of the following
import:—“We would advise our correspondent, who signs himself Oxon, to
read, and not to write at present.”

At this place, our Sexagenarian candidly relates the following anecdote
of himself:—When as yet almost _imberbis_, he had translated into Latin
hexameters and pentameters, the celebrated ballad from the Spanish, thus
rendered by Garrick.

    For me my fair a wreath had wove,
      Where rival flowers in union meet,
    Oft as she kiss’d the gift of love,
      Her breath gave sweetness to the sweet.

    A bee beneath a damask rose
      Had crept, the liquid dew to sip,
    But lesser sweets the thief foregoes,
      And fixes on Louisa’s lip.

    Then tasting all the bloom of spring,
      Waked by the ripening breath of May,
    Th’ ungrateful spoiler left his sting,
      And with the honey flew away.

He had taken sufficient pains to satisfy himself, and with some particles
of vanity, showed them to two or three of his friends, who praised the
composition, and recommended him to send it to the editor of a popular
publication. This was accordingly done, and long and irksome did the
interval appear, till the solemn period of his fate arrived. It came
at length, and with no ordinary exultation he beheld himself in print.
His ambition from this moment began to soar; in imagination he already
saw poetic crowns soliciting his acceptance, and the wondering crowds
pointing and exclaiming—That is he!

Alas! the most exalted of human enjoyments are subject to diminution from
envy or from malice. In the very next magazine which succeeded, was a
pert and saucy letter signed Aristarchus, purporting, that in the Latin
translation of Garrick’s version from the Spanish, which appeared last
month, there were two false quantities, for which a boy in the fourth
form, either at Eton or Westminster, would deservedly have been flogged.

The cud was chewed upon this most ungracious verberation for a
considerable time, nor was complacency fully restored, till in
acknowledgment of a prose essay inserted in the same journal, a handsome
set of books was conveyed to the author.

But to return to BOOKSELLERS. The first resort of young men who
possess any literary curiosity is usually a bookseller’s shop, and
if the proprietor be a man of experience in his business, and of a
courteous communicative disposition, an acquaintance with him may
prove of considerable benefit to the student. He learns from him the
value, not in a professed collector’s sense of that word, but the
relative excellence of different editions. He hears also of new works
in contemplation; he meets individuals of similar propensities with
himself, and an agreeable interchange of knowledge and information
is thereby promoted. Above all, he obtains the enviable privilege of
seeing publications which his finances will not suffer him to purchase,
and enjoys the no small indulgence of an early sight of the periodical
publications.

In the provincial town where our friend in early life resided, there were
three booksellers of very different characters and attainments. One was
a shrewd, cold, inflexible fellow, who traded principally in old books,
and held out but little encouragement to a youth who rarely had money to
expend, to become a frequenter of his shop. Of course, frequent visits
were not paid by out Sexagenarian to him. The principal feature of this
man’s character was suspicion of strangers, and a constant apprehension
lest he should dispose of any of his “Libri Rarissimi” to some cunning
wight, or professed collector. If any Customer was announced as coming
from the Metropolis, he immediately added at least one-third to his
price.

The second of this fraternity was a sharp, chattering, clever fellow
in his way, but he wanted ballast, and was suspected of paying more
attention to conviviality out of doors, than to ledgers and catalogues
within. No great temptation was here held out to intimacy.

The third, who enjoyed the best business, and the best customers, was
a facetious, jolly, honest sort of body, who welcomed every visitor to
his shop, and with great good-nature accommodated his youthful customers
with the loan of books, which they did not deem it necessary, or find
it convenient, to buy. This was a period, when on the decease of some
neighbouring clergyman, or of provincial collector, his library, whatever
might have been its original cost, or real value, was generally disposed
of to the nearest bookseller, for such a sum as his conscience might
induce him to give. By many such speculations, and by one in particular,
this same bookseller was able to live very reputably, and became
ambitious of extending his concerns, and of becoming a Publisher.

To him, therefore, the Sexagenarian, on his desire of first appearing in
the character of a professed author, eagerly applied. He had completed a
composition of no great importance indeed in extent, but which, having
perused it with great complacency himself, he thought might produce
reputation, at least, if not emolument. An interview was appointed to
discuss the subject. But here Alps upon Alps seemed to arise, Pelion
on Ossa mounted. The minor questions—What size? how many copies? what
price? were got over without much difficulty. But the final determination
of—Who is to run the risk, and advance the money? was a matter of solemn
deliberation and of awful solicitude. The author had no money—the
bookseller no inclination to incur any risk. Good-nature and familiar
acquaintance, at length, got the better of every more sordid feeling, and
the publisher consented to take the pecuniary part of the business upon
himself, provided, that in case of loss, the author should agree to pay
his moiety of it, by such instalments as his means might permit.

Who shall attempt to describe the exultation and self-complacency which
followed this definitive arrangement, concerning a brochure of less than
fifty pages? Who but he, who inflamed by the ambition of authorship,
practices, for the first time in his life, the mysterious characters of
the printer, (the deles, the stets, the transfers, N. P. bring down, &c.)
and for the first time contemplates the harbinger of that awful charta,
ycleped a proof, in the hands of the devil?

It may be questioned whether our great and venerable painter, West, first
rushed from the forests of his native America, to enjoy the splendid
glories of the Vatican; first beheld the Belvidere Apollo with greater
enthusiasm, than our friend experienced, when anxiously expecting his
approach, he ran to meet the devil at his door.

Alas! he little knew the sea of troubles into which he was about rashly
to plunge. His imagination did not present to him to “grieve his heart,”
like the apparitions which disturbed Macbeth, in long succession; a
crabbed publisher, a mean bookseller, a fraudulent bookseller, a sneaking
bookseller, or what is as troublesome as any of the rest, a Coxcomb
Bookseller, &c. &c.

He never anticipated those solemn and afflicting moments of care
and anguish, when the repose and indulgence necessary after severe
intellectual fatigue, was to be harshly and abruptly interrupted by
the appearance of a terrific spectre, begrimed with printer’s ink, and
vociferating these words, so torturing to an author’s ear, “More Copy.”

His fancy never brought before him those irritating and vexatious
emotions, when having covenanted with a greedy and avaricious publisher
to produce a certain number of sheets, and having, to the satisfaction of
his judgment, filled up the outline he proposed, he is compelled to brood
over some such pithy billet as the following:—

    Sir,

    Having advanced you the sum agreed upon for two octavo volumes,
    each containing thirty-five sheets, we find that Vol. II.
    wants a sheet and a half of the proposed quantity. Partner and
    self therefore consider you as indebted to us in the sum of
    twenty-five pounds, which you will forthwith please to return.

                               I am, Sir,

                     For Partner and self, &c. &c.

Base caitiff! but a truce to such miserable dreams. Let us resume the
issue of our friend’s first literary adventure. For the first month after
publication, the stature was more erect, the ears remarkably vigilant and
on the stretch, the visits to the bookseller’s shop perpetual.

After an interval of a fortnight, with a tremulous voice the question was
proposed, How do we get on? The reply was not the most exhilarating; I
know not how we _get on_, but I know we do not _go off_. It was, however,
subjoined in a consolatory tone, “Perhaps when we shall be noticed in the
reviews, things may do better.”

Here a new string was vibrated upon. Those Gorgonian monsters, whose
visionary aspect presented the dogs of Scylla, with more hands than
Briareus, more eyes than Argus, to the disturbed imagination of the
inexperienced author. He fancied to himself a solemn and formidable
conclave of grave, severe, and profound scholars, with bushy wigs and
frowning brows, formally assembled to pronounce their irreversible
sentence upon every production of literary adventurers. The abrupt and
sarcastic irony with which the efforts of some unfledged authors were
dismissed, haunted him in his sleep, and appalled his very soul.

He knew better afterwards, being himself admitted behind the curtain, but
in this dreadful interval, his anxiety was of no ordinary kind. He had
perpetually before his eyes Homer’s description of Scylla and Charybdis.

    No bird of air, no dove of swiftest wing,
    That bears ambrosia to the ethereal king,
    Shuns these dire rocks—in vain she cuts the skies,
    The dire rocks meet, and crush her as she flies.
    ...
    Here Scylla bellows from her dire abodes,
    Tremendous pest, abhorred by men and gods,
    Hideous her voice, and with less terrors roar
    The whelps of lions in the midnight hour.

His bookseller usually received the magazines and reviews on the evening
before their general publication, and had the good nature to indulge the
Aspirant after literary distinction, with a previous of these arbiters of
destiny.

No sooner had the bugle of the guard announced the arrival of the mail,
than, with hurried step and nervous solicitude, a visit was paid to
the bookseller. Alas! the poor author’s fame had not yet reached the
cognizance of those, whose determination was to fix its value. Another
month succeeded, and yet another, and a similar disappointment and
mortification was experienced. At length, in the latter part of the
monthly catalogue of one of these Lunar oracles, the following remark
appeared.—

“This is a work not entirely without merit, but it is evidently the
production of a youthful author, who will write better when he shall have
read more.”

Nothing was to be done but to put it up, and say no more about it. The
only perplexity was to settle matters with the bookseller, who, after
producing accurate accounts of advertisements, paper, printing, and
cancels, was enabled to pay the author the sum of thirteen shillings and
eightpence!

Before we change the scene from provincial to metropolitan booksellers,
something is to be said of an individual, mentioned in our notes under
the appellation of the Dirty Bookseller.

Our friend, in his youthful rambles, on some occasion or other, found
himself in a country town, where his curiosity was attracted by the
sight of some books at the window of a shop of humble appearance, in the
corner of a street. A temptation of this kind was, through the whole
of his life, irresistible. He accordingly entered, and found a round
faced, mean looking, old man, with a small table before him, examining
some catalogues, and surrounded by book-shelves, on which were some very
curious and very scarce volumes. The old man with a small capital had
watched his opportunity, and by purchasing the libraries of deceased
clergymen and private gentlemen in his neighbourhood, and by living
with the most parsimonious frugality, had gradually accumulated very
considerable property.

The incident, perhaps, would hardly have been worth recording, except
from the circumstance that this humble nest, built in a very obscure part
of the kingdom, subsequently produced a splendid bookseller, who was
succeeded by one equally splendid, but who might also be termed a Coxcomb
Bookseller.



    Possum etiam pergere sed non est operæ in istis diem terere, et
    sit mihi tempus aggredi ad cætera.

    Jam ergo lector optime scito te non fabulam legere et a socco
    ad cothurnum ascendere.

CHAPTER XLI.


Surely, exclaims our Sexagenarian, in continuance of his scraps upon
the subject, I shall find in the Metropolis, booksellers of a different
calibre, men of enlarged minds, liberal ideas, and ample property, who,
even for their own sakes, will be glad to promote literary industry, and
encourage literary talent. To the metropolis he came, and almost the
first person to whom he was introduced was a Dry Bookseller.

He was an extensive publisher on all subjects, and of all parties, from
the most subtle and profound speculations on mathematics and philosophy,
to the humble translation from a French romance.

His own principles were immutable, nor did he take any pains to conceal
them. He was of the old Presbyterian school, and had imbibed its sourest
manners. Yet he was far from wanting benevolence, though he generally
wore a sort of Sardonic grin on his countenance; he often shewed kindness
to needy authors, was not over hard in his bargains with them, and, what
is matter of no trifling importance, would often give them a dinner.

His feelings on the subject of religion, and his political opinions,
may as well be let alone. His principal fault, as far as authors were
concerned, was a sort of reluctance to come to a final settlement, which
on some occasions, of which our friend met with one example, was deferred
to the Greek Calends.

Three different works were published by the S. in conjunction with this
personage. The two first were of no particular interest. They were
proposed on the one part from the _res angusta domi_, and acceded to
on the other, because, from their subjects, they offered a reasonable
probability of being, in some degree, successful.

This publisher had a peculiar way of expressing his decided and
peremptory rejection of any work proposed to him, and this was by one of
those Sardonic grins above-mentioned, which was succeeded by a sort of
sneering laugh. It was not necessary, indeed it would have been perfectly
useless, to have urged the matter further. He would hardly condescend to
assign motives; this was the sign of his condemnation. He was an honest
man; there was a consistency in his principles and conduct which claimed
respect. In adherence to these he was exposed to losses, great personal
sacrifices, and personal sufferings. But on this subject enough has been
said. Let us turn now to the FINICAL BOOKSELLER.

Finical he certainly was and very finical too, but he had many good
points about him, and independent of the peculiar interests of his
profession, had a taste for literature, and a friendly disposition
towards literary men. Unluckily he had _a bit of blood_ in him, and
the consciousness of this rare distinction elevated him somewhat above
THE TRADE, among whom, however, he possessed a considerable influence
and ascendency. Our friend formed a connection with him, of no mean
importance, nor does he appear to have had any just cause of complaint,
either with respect to his sagacity or liberality. On the occasion
of their first introduction to each other, our bookseller appears
to have given demonstrative testimony of both the above qualities.
The undertaking proposed to his consideration, was one of no very
limited extent, requiring, on the part of the author, continued labour
and perseverance, and promising the publisher a tardy sale, remote
advantages, and requiring, moreover, the immediate advance of no small
sum of money.

In behalf of the publisher’s liberality it may be more immediately
and forcibly urged, that the author was at that time an obscure,
unpatronized, young man, who had given no remarkable testimony of more
than common learning, and ordinary abilities. Nevertheless a mutual
confidence was inspired, and the work proceeded to its successful
conclusion. Till this conclusion there was no interruption of that
harmony and friendship, with which the undertaking was commenced; but
on this occasion the poor author, for the first time, experienced
that though _self_ might be a very honest fellow, ready to fulfil his
engagements to the very letter, “partner and self” made a prodigious
alteration in the matter, and threatened the compact with premature
dissolution.

This same partner had not been regularly bred to the business, and indeed
knew but little of the matter, but he had the money; and though he
expressed the most complacent satisfaction with the undertaking itself,
and great confidence in its successful execution, when he found that it
must of necessity be extended beyond the limits originally proposed,
he took, or pretended to take alarm, and to understand that the sum
first agreed upon, was to cover all damages; in other words, that the
poor author was to receive no compensation for his extra labour on two
additional volumes. The matter was, however, compromised, and the parties
brought their _opus magnum_ to a desirable termination.

Let it not by any means be understood, that by the epithet Finical, as
here applied, any disrespect is intended, or unkind feeling indulged,
with respect to the individual thus imperfectly delineated. His coxcombry
was of a very harmless kind, and consisted principally in his adroit
and whimsical exercise of his snuff-box. It was observed on particular
occasions, in his fondness of conversing about his family, and above all,
in his assumed consequential importance and gestures, when any thing very
rare and choice passed through his hand, which indeed was often the case.

Come we now to the OPULENT Bookseller.—Our friend’s connection with this
personage was but slight, and rather amounting to a skirmish about terms,
than to any serious engagement. The house of which this bookseller was
the head, had been singularly fortunate in their purchases of copy-right,
and there were certain books of which they were the sole proprietors,
and of which a large impression was annually called for, and which thus
entailed a perpetual and hereditary opulence upon the establishment.

Among the authors, of whose works they were the publishers, were numbers
of the Great, and Rich, and Powerful, from many of whom they had obtained
the reputation of being very liberal. But let it be remembered, that
the sum which appears considerable, when paid as a remuneration to Noble
or Episcopal gentlemen, who write for amusement only, becomes relatively
small, when apportioned to an author by profession, whose comforts and
conveniences of life are obtained principally by the labour of his brains.

With this latter description of writers, this opulent personage had a
great deal more to do, and with such he invariably attempted to drive a
hard bargain. Our friend once, it appears, was about to enter into an
engagement with him, of no inconsiderable magnitude: great labour and
perseverance were required on one part, with the employment of three
years at least, whilst a scanty and parsimonious remuneration was held
out by the other. However, as the intellectual powers were then in full
vigour, the ardour of literary ambition progressively increasing, and
what perhaps had no small weight, a number of little people incessantly
crying out for “Crowdy,” the terms, though hard, were acceded to. A
professional gentleman was employed to draw up the agreement, and a
time was fixed for the signatures of the different parties. But when
the agreement was produced, the reader may guess the Sexagenarian’s
astonishment, at perceiving a clause of which no warning had been given,
purporting, that if any other publication, or rather translation, of the
same work, should appear before the final completion and printing of the
present, then the agreement was to be null and void.

A most notable example of liberality truly! A poor author was to beat
his brains, confine himself to one arduous labour for two years or more,
and then if a similar work, no matter whence or where, should steal from
its retirement on the eve of the publication of that in question, there
was to be no compensation, acknowledgment, or reward, for so much time
irretrievably lost. It cannot be a matter of wonder, that the poor author
left the worshipful bookseller in disgust, (for worshipful he afterwards
became) and never afterwards sought a renewal of his acquaintance.

It may perhaps in some degree satisfy the reader’s curiosity, to be
informed, that what was thus prudently guarded against by this cautious
man of wealth, actually took place. In the course of the two years which
immediately succeeded, a precisely similar work had silently advanced
to its accomplishment, and was suddenly and unexpectedly announced.
Whether this would have superseded the necessity of the other, or have
claimed a larger share of public approbation, is a matter which cannot be
determined.



    Non existimavi me salvo jure nostræ veteris amicitiæ,
    multorumque inter nos officiorum, facere posse, ut honori tuo
    deessem.

    Placet Stoicis suo quamque rem nomine appellare.

            Faithful found
    Among the faithless.

CHAPTER XLII.


Let us now introduce our reader to an honest Bookseller. Let it not be
supposed that there exists any document among our manuscripts to intimate
that it was the author’s intention to designate an honest bookseller as a
non-descript bird, though perhaps to be classed among the Raræ Aves.

There are among our papers several memoranda in the highest degree
honourable to many individuals of this numerous fraternity. But certainly
it is not a very usual thing in any of the professions to have the
epithet of “honest” so entirely hereditary, as to be allowed, not by
common, but by universal consent, to descend, without any bar of
bastardy, from father to son.

Our friend was much acquainted and connected with both these worthies. He
highly esteemed the father, and much loved the son. Both had the common
qualities of frankness, with somewhat of bluntness, and both were ready,
on every occasion, to befriend and assist the followers of literature. In
the immediate line of their profession, they were alike satisfied with
the most reasonable advantages, and were even remarkable for the moderate
prices which, in their well-stored catalogues, were fixed to the rarest
and the choicest articles.

As publishers they were liberal in their engagements, and punctual in the
performance of them. Our friend had not many adventures of this kind in
conjunction with them; they were confined, there is reason to believe,
to two, which were, in their commencement, progress, and conclusion,
satisfactory to all the parties.

One was rather of a ticklish kind; it was full of hard words, and harsh
words, replete with delineations of certain leading political characters,
which were on one side varnished and beautified in all the gaudy
vestments of flattery, and on the other depressed with no ordinary weight
of acrimony.

Better not attempt it, says one; it is not practicable, exclaimed
another; is it not poaching on another’s manor, cried a third; expect an
Aristarchus in every page, observed a fourth. At length an experiment
was made, and a specimen inserted in one of the most popular periodical
productions of the day. This specimen reached the eye of the mighty
Porson, that Coryphæus of learning. Who may this wight be, observed the
Professor, I should like to be acquainted with him. An acquaintance
accordingly took place, which continued till dissolved by death.

The labour was great, the difficulties formidable, the compensation very
scanty, but the work was not in the nature of things likely to have a
popular sale. The publishers readily gave what the author demanded, and
so, like other things of the kind, it floated for a while upon the stream
and then sunk to the bottom.

The other literary adventure was of a more extensive and important
kind, in which the two honest gentlemen, above pourtrayed, bore only a
part in common with many others. It is observed in our notes, that of
all the literary undertakings in which our friend was concerned, this
communicated the least complacent feelings on reflection. A considerable
portion of certainly a curious and interesting publication was assigned
to him, but he was limited to space, and confined to time. He was on
no account to exceed a given number of pages, and he was compelled to
produce these ready cut and dried, at a period specified. A writer
of any taste, or learning, or genius, disdains fetters of every kind,
and it may reasonably be questioned whether it is not, after all, the
wisest policy to leave the author, at least, greater freedom in these
particulars. Nobody was more sensible of this than our great moralist
Johnson, who might, perhaps confiding in the weight and value of his
name, and yielding to his constitutional indolence of temper, presume to
require somewhat too much of indulgence. Yet when, on finishing the Lives
of the Poets, he exclaimed, “Now a fig for Mr. Nichols,” although he
loved Mr. Nichols, as indeed well he might, it may be fairly questioned,
whether there was not a little inkling of tartness rising about the
præcordia. The interest of publishers ought, without doubt, to have due
consideration, and they, of course, are the most adequate judges how
far this is obstructed or promoted by activity or delay on the part of
authors.

But it is a question not altogether unworthy of discussion, whether they
sufficiently consult their true and real interests, if by vexatious
importunity they intrude upon the sacred recesses of the scholar,
gathering the produce of his vineyard in a crude and immature state,
before a few more progressive suns shall have mellowed it to ripeness.

An honest bookseller surely deserves an appropriate chapter. Let us then
proceed to another, honest also, nobody will deny, but marked by many
whimsical peculiarities of character.



    Acumen sæpe stomachosum, nonnunquam frigidum, interdum etiam
    facetum.

CHAPTER XLIII.


The professional character who next comes under review, is termed by the
Sexagenarian, in his notes, the Queer Bookseller. By the way, our friend
appears to have been irresolute in the usage of the term professional. It
has been erased, and afterwards re-written, with a quere annexed. Whether
it should be exclusively confined to the higher professions of the
church, law, and medicine, may admit of doubt, but that some limitation
is necessary, appears from the following anecdote.

A country cousin visited a relation in the metropolis of some
respectability, with the desire of soliciting his aid and advice as to
his views in life. He was received by his relative with kindness, who
having elsewhere heard that the young man was of a mechanic taste, and
that he meditated being a maker of watches, complimented him on his
supposed talent, and was leading the conversation to the subject of
mechanism and the arts. The youth, in high dudgeon, disdained the idea
and drudgery of a tradesman’s life, and interrupted his relative by
exclaiming, What, Sir, do you think me a tradesman?

Why I must confess that such a suggestion had been communicated to me.

No, Sir, you need not be ashamed of your relationship; I am not a
tradesman; I am a Professor of Dancing; which being interpreted, was
found to mean neither more nor less than a Country dancing master.

Fortunate was it for the old gentleman and his wife, that this
eclaircissement took place in the evening, for on the morning following,
they were awakened at an early hour by a most unaccountable noise in the
chamber above that in which they slept, which would greatly have annoyed
them, had they not conjectured, what in reality proved to be the fact,
that their country cousin was practising the last new waltz, with one of
the bed-room chairs.

But to return to our Queer Bookseller. The epithet is not intended
to express the smallest disrespect, but the person in question was
characterized by a dryness of manner peculiarly his own. He was seldom
betrayed into a smile, nor did he ever appear particularly exhilarated,
even when the greatest wits of the day assembled at his house. He had to
boast of the familiar acquaintance of Wilkes and Boswell, and Johnson
and Cumberland, and Parr and Steevens, and a numerous tribe of popular
writers. No one could exercise the rites of hospitality with greater
liberality, and when enabled from success, to retire from the world with
great opulence, he retained his kind feelings towards those, who had
formerly been connected with him as authors, and gave them a frequent and
cordial welcome at his table.

But to evince the powerful effect of habit, he retained so strong a
partiality for the situation in which he had passed the greatest part of
his life, and where he had accumulated his wealth, that though it was in
the very noisiest part of the noisiest street in the city, he invariably,
and for ever afterwards, made it the standard by which he estimated how
far any thing was handsome, convenient, or agreeable. “My house in the
city” comprised every thing which was animating and delightful without,
and comfortable and exhilarating within.

With the dry manner above described, there was united an extraordinary
simplicity, which, where this individual’s better qualities were not very
well known, frequently gave offence. Our friend had never any intercourse
with him on matters of business but once. In conjunction with a friend,
whose works are now under more solemn and awful criticism elsewhere,
he was prevailed upon to print a book on speculation, presuming, which
indeed turned out to be the fact, that the booksellers would subscribe
for the impression. The dry bookseller was, among others, applied to, but
he returned the letter of application to the writer, simply writing under
it, A. B. will not subscribe.

Upon another occasion an author who lived at a distance from the
metropolis, at that period a great patriot, and flaming politician, had
written a book of biography, the sale of which was to pour unheard-of
riches into his bosom; guineas, for it was then the time of guineas,
glittered in brilliant heaps before his warmed imagination. He employed
a common friend to entreat the interposition of the Sexagenarian with
some publisher, as being better acquainted with the nature of such
negociations.

The office was readily accepted, and this same Queer gentleman was
the person fixed upon to become the purchaser of the copy-right of
this inestimable treasure. A meeting was appointed, the circumstances
explained, the copy produced, was cast off, and agreed to be comprised in
an octavo volume. Then succeeded the anxious moment of expectation of the
reply to be given to, “How much will you advance for the copy-right?”

The author had doubtless heard of the large sums given per volume to
Gibbon, Robertson, Blair, Beattie, and other writers of that calibre;
and though perhaps neither his pride nor his ambition carried his
expectations quite so far as to suppose that he should be placed on
a parallel with these illustrious names, yet his disappointment (and
disappointment is always in proportion to the hopes indulged) cannot
easily be described, when, in a dry, grave, and inflexible, tone, he
heard the words “Twenty pounds and six copies.”

Thus was the flattering hope of authorship nipped in the bud; the labour
of many successive months, in a moment rendered unavailing, and the fond
dreams of fame and emolument made to vanish as by the wand of a sorcerer.

There are sundry other booksellers upon our list; for example, the
Splendid Bookseller, the Cunning Bookseller, the Black Letter Bookseller,
the Comical Bookseller, the Dirty Bookseller, the Fine Bookseller, the
Unfortunate Bookseller, &c. &c.

The Splendid Bookseller, by patient and persevering frugality, with
high connections, which seemed entailed upon his house, was enabled to
retire to tranquillity and independence, long before the decline of life,
or infirmities of age, rendered it necessary to do so. He was highly
respectable, but could drive a hard bargain with a poor author, as well
as any of his fraternity.

The Cunning Bookseller lived within a hundred miles of the preceding
personage, but in pursuit of the main chance, would condescend to do,
what his neighbour would have disdained. He would attend in person at
the little auctions in the metropolis and its environs, where effects
were distrained for rent or taxes, but among which, by chance, some less
common books had found their way. In making a bargain with an author, he
was dry and cold, and hard and sharp, as flint. He had also another way
of getting on. If he saw those who frequented his shop, and whose means
he knew to be less abundant, express any earnestness of curiosity about
either his own publications, or books newly imported or published, he
would, with great apparent civility, encourage them to become purchasers,
by observing, that he should not be in a hurry to call for payment. But
alas! the poor wights hardly had time to peruse their new acquisitions,
before this sharp-faced dealer and chapman would call for a settlement,
and either urge the having a bill at short date given him, or would
provoke the pride of the poor scholar to part with other books, dear
perhaps as the apple of his eye, to cancel the debt and get rid of his
importunity.

By such modes of conduct, and by extraordinary success in various
publications, and in one more particularly, he accumulated very large
property, and retired. After his retirement, however, the “_auri sacra
fames_” still continued to agitate him, nor had he entirely got the
better of this infirmity, when death called upon him finally to settle
all his accounts at once.

The Black Letter Bookseller was also somewhat of a singular character in
his way, and in his day. He was a perfect master of his business, and of
that part of it more immediately which related to the earlier productions
of the English press. He was, moreover, acute, active, and obliging.

It was in his time that old English books, of a particular description
both in prose and verse, were, from some cause or other, principally
perhaps as they were of use in the illustration of Shakespeare, beginning
to assume a new dignity and importance, and to increase in value at
the rate of five hundred per cent. Tracts which for a long preceding
interval, produced no more than eighteen-pence, now began to sell for
more than as many shillings. This rage often extended to the whimsical
titles, which it was the fashion of our forefathers to prefix to their
publications; and it may perhaps be said truly of most of them, that
in this, and this only, their principal value consisted. It must be
allowed, that ingenuity must frequently have been put to the full
stretch, to have devised such appellations as the following.

Hoplocrisma Spongus; or, a Sponge to wipe away the Weapon Salve. 1631.

An answer to this was published with the title of the Squeezing of Parson
Foster’s Sponge. 1631.

Have with you to Saffron Walden.

Parthenia; or, the Maidenhead of the first Music that ever was printed
for the Virginity. By John Bull.

The Seven Planets; or, wandering Motives of Will Alabaster’s Wit,
retrograded and removed by John Raislor.

A Looking-glass for the Pope, wherein he may see his own Face, the
express Image of Antichrist, by Lionel Sharp.

Work, more Work, and yet a little more Work, for a Mass Priest, by Alex.
Cook, D.D.

Herba Parietis; or, the Wall-flower, as it grows out of the Stone Chamber
belonging to the Metropolitan Prison, being a History which is partly
true, partly romantick, morally divine; whereby a Marriage between
Reality and Fancy is solemnized by Divinity, by Lewis Bayly, D.D.

The Parliament of Bees; or, a Bee-hive furnished with Twelve Honeycombs,
by John Day.

A sorrowful Song for sinful Souls, by John Carpenter.

Humour, Heaven on Earth, with the Civil Wars of Death and Fortune, by
John Davies.

A Counter Snarl for Ishmael Rabshakeh, a Cecropedian Lycaonite, by Edward
Hoby.

The Horn-blast; a Reply to R. Horne, Bishop of Winchester, by Th.
Stapleton, D.D.

Roaring Megg planted against the Walls of Melancholy, by Tho. Tyro. 1598.

A Mastiff Whelp, with other Ruff-Island-like Curs from among the
Antipodes, alias London, in 85 Satires.

The Saint’s Soul excelling Humiliation, or Soul fatting Fasting. 1634.

Humour out of Breath; a Comedy.

The Foot out of the Snare.

Rub and a great Cast, in 100 Epigrams, by Freeman.

A Dechachordon of ten Quodlibetical Questions, by R. Persons. 1602.

Niobe dissolved into a Violin, or his Age drowned in his own Tears.

These are a few quaint things taken at hazard out of the Black Letter
Bookseller’s catalogue; and it may be further observed on the subject,
that all the books by Nash, Green, Withers, &c. then becoming very dear
and rare, were distinguished by similarly eccentric appellations. Our
Bookseller, with great sagacity and diligence, availed himself of the
prevailing phantasy, and thus laid the foundation of emoluments which he
did not live to enjoy.

A whimsical anecdote of this personage will serve to illustrate the
temper of the times, as demonstrated among us at the commencement of the
French Revolution.

On the murder of the unfortunate King of France, the Sexagenarian wrote
a pamphlet, which he entitled “Brief Memoirs of the Chief of the French
Regicides,” for which at that time he had access to curious and authentic
documents. He offered it to the Black Letter Bookseller and his partner,
who accepted it, paid the sum agreed upon, and advertised it for sale on
a certain day.

A short time, however, before this day arrived, the more active of the
partners called upon the author, and informed him, that they should feel
themselves much obliged if he would change the title-page of the intended
pamphlet. Our friend expressed great surprise, and desired an explanation
of the motives which induced such a request. The reply was to this
effect:—That it was hardly possible then to foresee how matters would
ultimately turn out; that they had among their best customers individuals
of STRONG political opinions, who might hereafter take great offence at
their publishing a pamphlet with such a title. The author, who was loyal
to the very core, endeavoured to argue and remonstrate, but all in vain.
A new title was prefixed, the old one at some expence cancelled, and the
brochure made its appearance with the more harmless and less offensive
inscription of “Brief Memoirs of the Leaders of the French Revolution.” A
large impression was very soon sold.

The scrupulous feelings on matters which regarded politics, rather
increased than diminished on the part of this house. The author
afterwards composed a waggish sort of parody, or rather commentary, on
Paine’s Rights of Man, in which many of that writer’s doctrines and
positions were turned to ridicule. He offered it to the Black Letter
Bookseller, who ingenuously acknowledged that such was the spirit of the
times, as to compel him to decline being the publisher of any works of a
political tendency.



              Adde vultum habitumque hominis.
    Nam neque chorda sonum reddit quem vult manus et mens,
    Nec semper feriet quodcunque minabitur arcus.

CHAPTER XLIV.


We have now to introduce a Bookseller of a very singular description, who
in our notes is termed the Exotic Bookseller. He was the introducer of a
new æra in the profession of which he was so successful a member, and the
anecdotes of his rise, from a humble station to great opulence, and to a
familiar communication with the noble and the great, would of themselves
form a very interesting and entertaining narrative. Equidem plura audivi
quam credo, sed nec affirmare sustineo de quibus dubito, nec subducere
quæ accepi.

His father honourably and successfully pursued the occupation, which
descended to the son, in a remote provincial town, and had deservedly
obtained great reputation from the elegance and neatness of his bindings.
If the intelligence received by the Sexagenarian be not fallacious, he
was the inventor of the art of painting landscapes on the edges of the
external leaves of a book, which only became visible when unfolded to a
certain distance.

Be the above as it may, the son was the first person who professedly
displayed in the metropolis shelves of valuable books in splendid
bindings, and having taken a large house in one of the most frequented
and fashionable streets, it soon became the resort of the gay morning
loungers of both sexes. At the same time also invitation was held out to
students and scholars, and persons of real taste, from the opportunity of
seeing and examining the most curious and rare books, manuscripts, and
missals.

His success at home of itself seemed sufficient to satisfy any ordinary
speculator in this sort of commerce, but this was not enough for the
personage of whom we are speaking. He determined to make a circuit of
Europe, and proceeding from his native island with abundance of money,
great acuteness, the most intimate and familiar acquaintance with the
objects of his research, and above all, choosing the most auspicious
moment for his purpose, when by following the rear of the French armies,
he might on easy terms obtain his choice of what he most wanted, he had
abundant cause on his return to felicitate himself on his success. Other
speculations also connected with his profession, proved alike fortunate,
and ere long elevated the subject of these remarks to considerable
distinction and opulence. He became a sort of literary oracle, and was
consulted by the grave and the gay, the lively and severe, the scholar
and the sciolist; and truth to say, his manner was so inimitably fine,
that he had as much to say on an illuminated missal, and an Etruscan
vase, as on the books printed at the Sabiaco monastery, or the Florence
Homer of 1488.

The solemn hour of retirement from the world at length approached, that
crisis of such rare occurrence, when the votary of wealth exclaims with
sincerity, “Have I not enough?” Mr. ⸺ married, and became a country
gentleman. Many whimsical stories are to be found in books, which detail
particular cases of hypochondriacal and nervous disorders, of men who
having been occupied in the vigorous part of life in active business,
have found retirement from employment not only tedious and uncomfortable,
but exceedingly painful.

One is recorded of a great shoemaker, who purchased a villa upon
Blackheath, to which he retired with great exultation and delightful
views of promised pleasure. A summer-house was to be erected, in
which our friends from Aldgate were to enjoy their refreshing pipes;
fruit-trees of every kind were to be planted; the flag held out on
Sundays as a signal of welcome to all old acquaintances passing that
way; politics discussed, and the nation saved from almost irretrievable
ruin. Alas! alas! how soon a thing when once in our possession, loses
its lustre, its beauty, and its value. After the short experiment of a
few months, Mr. Last began to think that something was the matter with
him, though he did not know exactly what. The walk on the heath lost its
interest, the views from Greenwich-hill ceased to delight, the appetite
was not so good, sleep was broken, and a general low-spiritedness ensued,
which began to wear a formidable appearance.

A celebrated physician was sent for from the metropolis. His sagacity
soon found out the cause of the malady, and prescribed a simple but
certain remedy. It appeared evident to the medical gentleman, that the
mischief originated in the privation of those employments for which the
mind of the patient was so constituted, as to be not only the best, but
alone adapted. After a minute enquiry into what hands the business, so
inauspiciously quitted, had fallen, and ascertaining the practicability
of the patient’s being thankfully welcomed as an occasional visitor, to
give the benefit of his advice and experience, it was determined that he
was regularly to go to town by the stage three times a week, to assist
in “cutting out.” The experiment succeeded, and health and cheerfulness
were restored.

It is by no means intended to insinuate, that our retired bookseller
became a victim of similar infirmities, or if he had the propensity to
imbibe the miasma, he took care to guard against its pernicious effects.
He continued now and then, at intervals, by way of amusement, and at
the desire of friends, to dabble a little in the way of his former
occupation, and was said, on some critical occasion, to have made a trip
to the Continent, partly on the account of declining health, and partly
to avail himself of a tempting opportunity to pick and choose, from a
very select collection of rare things _in his way_.

Who shall pretend to say that there was any harm in all this? But does
it not serve to verify the old and homely proverb, “What is bred in the
bone is never out of the flesh?” And does it not tend to prove the almost
impossibility of blending the love of gain, inherent in a tradesman, with
the disregard of it, which is the proud distinction of the gentleman?

As to external manners, the person in question was both courteous and
courtier-like. They who were less favourably inclined towards him,
complained that his enunciation was affectedly soft, and that he had
too much of the air and grimace of a Frenchman; and by the shrug of his
shoulders, and his facility in speaking the language, has more than
once been mistaken for a native of that country. But his peculiarities
were harmless, his knowledge of all the mysteries of his craft, more
extensive, perhaps, than that of any of his contemporaries, his merits
considerable, and death might easily have spared a less amiable character.

The few remaining scraps on the subject of booksellers may be summarily
brought together. There is some account of a Snuffy Bookseller, a man
of great singularity of life and manners. He had a university education
originally, with a view of taking orders. Why he changed his purpose is
unknown. It has been whispered that an eminent female personage, long
since deceased, to whom he had been useful in collecting and arranging
books of prints and engravings, had promised to procure him preferment.
His next occupation was that of an engraver, in which art he became no
mean proficient. His final employment was that of a bookseller, in which
mystery also he had obtained no inconsiderable degree of knowledge. The
last fatal catastrophe of his life was truly lamentable, occasioned in
all probability from disappointed hopes, and the horrors of approaching
penury.

There was also a bookseller to whom the epithet of B⸺d is attached, but
anecdotes of vulgar rudeness, over-reaching cunning, and total disregard
of the civilities of life, would only deform these pages.

Some remarks are also to be found on a Cunning Bookseller, who, at a
very early period of life, had obtained the most extensive knowledge of
his business in all its branches, which he did not fail to turn to good
account.

Attention also is invited to a sketch of a Godly Bookseller, a worthy and
conscientious man, whose principal dealings were in religious books and
tracts, and chief correspondence with individuals of that description.

In conclusion, there are some not unentertaining notices of a Superb
Bookseller. This personage seems not altogether to have disdained
genius in its humbler garb and more retired walks, yet the whole of his
establishment, his mansion, his furniture, his symposia, seemed intended
for the noble and the great alone. A great and popular house, he was well
aware, would at any time sell a considerable impression of any thing. On
such occasions he was splendidly liberal; and as theatrical managers,
when they get up a new play, are careless of the expence of decorations,
dresses, and scenery, so would our Superb Bookseller give a great and
noble author every advantage of the finest wire-wove paper and Bulmer’s
typography, He nevertheless had the character of a disposition to drive
a hard bargain with such authors as were untitled, unbeneficed, (or if it
may be permitted to coin a word) unincomed. He is said to have laboured
under the imputation of having sacrificed at the shrine of _greater_
friends, it may not be said on the score of lucre, the claims of an
individual, whose worth, talents, and amiable manners, had been long
known and acknowledged by continued experience of their value. He was
accused of having sanctioned, at least by his connivance, an _ex post
facto_ attack, written in all the gall of bitterness, and dictated by
personal spleen, rather than by an ingenuous spirit of fair criticism,
upon a work of great labour and merit, which has hitherto stood, and will
continue to stand, the test of time.

Here our manuscript seems brought to a conclusion, for after a few
desultory hints, of which some are perfectly unintelligible to the
Editor, the following quotation occurs in a larger hand-writing.

    Habeo Neptune gratiam magnam tibi
    Quam me amisisti a te vix vivum modo
    Verum si posthac me pedem latum modo
    Scio imposisse in undam, haud causa ilico ’st
    Quod nunc voluisti facere, quin facias mihi.
    Apage, apage te a me—nunc jam post hunc diem
    Quid crediturus tibi fui, omne credidi.



PORSONIANA.

Quanquam non commisi quidem ut defensore mihi opus sit adversus
obtrectatos, neminem enim dicto quidem læsi, sed adversus obtrectatores,
quibus orbis literatus passim infestatur, sicuti suis via insidiatoribus,
forum vililitigatoribus, militia provocatoribus.


By far the greater part of the pieces which follow are printed from
Professor Porson’s own manuscripts. Those which are not so, were either
written from his personal dictation, or copied by his permission.

The subjoined is, perhaps, the earliest specimen of Porson’s Latinity
which has hitherto appeared. The Proemium to the Notes, which, at the
request of Maps, alias Nicholson, the Cambridge Bookseller, and which
commences facetiously “Lectori si quis erit” was written two years
afterwards. This Oration was probably delivered in the Chapel of Trinity
College, at the time when it is dated.


MAII 29ᵒ 1784.

Quamvis super Caroli secundi meritis hodie privatorum hominum multæ sint
et discrepantes sententiæ, tamen si publicum istius sæculi Ecclesiæ
totiusq; populi suffragium respicimus, hunc diem non modo cretâ notandum
sed et dignum judicabimus, qui solenni gratiarum actione quotannis
celebretur. Et cum nulla neq; lex neq; consuetudo altius radices agat,
aut diutius floreat, quam quæ religionis nomen prætendat; operæ pretium
sit propius inspicere et exigere Caroli mores atq; ingenium; sine irâ et
studio inquirere, quantum reipublicæ contulerit; quibus sive privatim
sive publice virtutibus eminuerit; quantis libertatem et religionem
beneficiis auxerit; quam bene denique cum regis tum hominis partes
impleverit.

Si qui rex unquam fuit, qui optimis et felicissimis avibus regnum suum
auspicatus est, is profectò fuit Carolus, qui tanto tamq; unanimi totius
imperii consensu, in solium hæreditarium escenderit. Et quemadmodum
amantium iræ (aiunt) amoris integratio est, quicquid in Carolum
patrem populus deliquerat, aut quodcunq; in officio erga eum fungendo
desiderari potuerat, id omne effusissimâ est, quâ filium prosequebatur
benevolentiâ pensare aut supplere adnixus. Qui per tot annos sub crudelis
et suspicacis tyranni dominatione gemuissent, expectatione melioris
fortunæ nunc se consolabantur, si princeps ab exilio revocaretur;
satiusq; duxerunt, etiam si tyranni potestatem iterum experiri necesse
esset, ejus arbitrium agnoscere, ad quem lege hereditariæ successionis
regnandi jus aliquatenus pertinere videretur. Cromwello igitur tandem
mortuo, omnes sectæ et factiones certatim se regi restituendo accinxêre.
Sperabant scilicet, fore, ut novus rex, quantum patriæ favori deberet,
gratus memoriæ mandaret, et aliquando tam re quam verbis ostenderet; ut
patris sui miserabili fortunâ et immaturo exitu admonitus, scopulos et
syrtes in quas ille impegisset, ipse gubernator factus, cautâ et prudenti
navigatione evitaret; ut neq; communia jura deminueret, neq; præter jus
fasq; prærogativæ suæ fines propagaret; ut adversis rebus diu multumq;
conflictatus, humanè et sine insolenti lætitiâ secundis frueretur.

His freti cogationibus regni hæreditatem stabilem et perpetuam videntur
reddidisse; tantamq; vectigalium partem regiis sumptibus suppeditandis
destinâsse, quanta magni principis splendori et dignitati non solum
tutandæ, sed etiam ostentandæ sufficeret. Neq; de suo tantum largiti
sunt, quippe qui hæc præclara propensæ in regem voluntatis argumenta
ediderint, ne minimâ quidem conditionum ab ipso servandarum mentione
factâ. Adeo enixe studium, suum et obedientiam probare aggressi sunt,
ut quid majorum suorum memoriæ, quid sibi ipsi, quid posteritati
deberent, pariter obliti essent. Sed ne quicquam requiri posset, quo
se regi dicto audientes et morigeros præberent, iidem homines penes
quos potissimum restituti regis gloria esset, totius gentis personâ
susceptâ perduellionis erga beatum (quem vocabant) martyrem se ipse
reos profitebantur et admissi facinoris a clementissimo domino veniam
impetrabant. Non tamen rex eo usq; clementiâ suâ abusus est, ut neminem
omnino veniâ indignum judicaret, sed lenitatem suam justâ severitate
temperavit, in eosq; judices qui ex animi sententiâ et quoniam è rep.
fore censuerunt, patrem suum capitis damnâssent, omnibus exemplis
animadvertendum statuit. Qui autem temporis causâ hoc parricidium
perpetrâssent, iis quod sibi videretur fidelibus consiliorum suorum
ministris olim usurus, generosâ et sapienti sententiâ pœnam condonavit.
Sed ut quod sentio liberè et sine ambagibus dicam; fatendum est ab
iis quorum affectus in neutram partem proclivior est, contra regiam
dignitatem, contra civilem prudentiam peccâsse Carolum, quod non
præteritorum omnium facinorum memoriam penitus aboleret. Sin autem hoc
fautores Stewartorum negabunt; illud certè non negabunt (neq; enim vel
possunt vel audent;) suppliciorum qua a perduellibus leges exigunt,
crudeliorem partem, utpote exempli parum memoris legum humanarum, remitti
oportuisse.

Quanquam autem, ut supra demonstravimus, quod satis superq; esset frugali
regiæ donâsset, tamen ut amoris quo novum regem amabant, locupletissimum
darent testimonium, plures extraordinarias pensiones in ipsius fratrisq;
loculos contulerunt. Ac nè quid deesset quod civium bene sentientium
animos indicaret, decreto incertum magis ridiculo an absurdo, omnia
quæ Senatus aut Cromwellus per viginti annos egerant, abrogabantur. Si
historici hujus temporis audiendi sunt, hæc flagitia quodammodo excusari
possunt, propterea quod ab ebriis ferè et discinctis nebulonibus admissa
essent, quanquam facilitas ea, quæ hujusmodi homines in supremum pene
gentis concilium adsciverit, non omnino laudanda videtur.

Est et alia res, levicula quidem illa, neq; tamen prorsus negligenda,
cædis nempe cupido quædam et aviditas, quâ per totum regni tempus
Carolus tam vehementur flagravit, ut vix suspicari possis in genitâ
ejus crudelitate factum ut tot innocentes homines contra leges sanctas
et jura imo interdum contra ipsius pollicitationes capite plecterentur.
Verisimilius videtur talia spectacula huic principi ludi jociq; instar
fuisse. Neq; equidem valdè miror, si Carolus, qui Galliæ sæpe vidisset,
quantâ ibi facilitate rex morte, exilio, aut bonorum publicatione cives
afficiat, quemq; Angli non minori adulatione, quam Galli Ludovicum
mulcere solerent, regis Gallici potestatem in hâc quoq; parte usurpare
vellet. Certè nisi pondus aliquod his excusationibus subesse concedamus,
agnoscendum erit vix quicquam in omni historiâ, quod ab humanitate
alienius sit de pessimis et odiosissimis tyrannis narrari, neq; quod
ab omni lenitate et prudentià, ut legum violationem omittam, magis
abhorreat. Inter nobiles hujus temporis reos, Vanius, Russelius et
Sidneius præcipuè eminent, quorum injusta et crudelis mors Caroli
memoriæ æternam dedecoris atq; intamiæ notam inuret. Si horum exemplorum
atrocitatem eâ quâ par est, indignatione contemplabimur, Tiberii alterius
aut Neronis scelera legere videbimur.

Quod si de domestica rerum administratione nihil quod quereremur,
haberemus, bellorum à Carolo gestorum et fœderum ictorum tanta est
ignominia, quantam vix Joannes noster suscepit cum a Pontifice Romano
coronam precario acciperet. Misso primum contra Belgas, a quibus
magnificentissimo fuerat hospitio exceptus, exercitu, avaræ et ingratæ
mentis justissimas pœnas persolvit. Cum enim res Belgarum superior
evasisset, iniquis Carolus est pacis conditionibus acquiescere coactus.
Ut bellum gereret, spoliorum cupiditas, si verum amamus, primo regem
pepulerat, quam non frustatus est eventus. Quamvis enim ex Belgio
Fœderato nihil præter dedecus, reportaret, pecuniam quam in sumptus belli
erogandam civium liberalitas dedisset, in rem suam ipse catus convertit.
Multa vero delicta, quæ in alio quovis flagitia essent, ut in Carolo
leviore nomine notentur, facit præcipuorum ejus facinorum magnitudo;
quorum in numero principem locum merito obtinet, quod duo maxima totius
imperii robora et firmamenta, Dunquercam et Tingen hosti turpiter
prodiderit. Illud autem consilium palmam cœteris præripit, quod inter eum
et Ludovicum mercenariis conditionibus convenerat.

Satis jam notum est regem clam se eidem religionis sectæ, cui fratrem
Jacobum, Romanæ nempe, addixisse: Hanc quoq; per Britanniam, Ludovici
auxilio, ubicunq; tempus sineret, propagare, veterem constitutionem
delere, pro libertate tyrannidem, pro reformatâ religione, Catholicam
invehere decreverat. Sed tam timide gelideq; hanc rem ministravit, tantâ
solertiâ dicam an malitiâ, animi cogitata celavit, ut multis Catholicorum
gravissimis suppliciis afficerentur, ipso rege, qui eandem fidem amplexus
erat, approbante.

Hæc pauca ex innumeris publicarum Caroli virtutum exempla selegimus.
Videamus si privati mores cæteros defectus compensent. Etiam pater ejus,
regni errores cæteris virtutibus partim redemit. Sed in hâc parte valdè
dissimilem et degenerem filium reliquit. Vix ullam Europæ regionem
peragravit, quin ex eâ novas ineptias, nova vitia reportaret. Avus ejus
Jacobus ab adulatoribus suis appellari solitus est Salomon secundus. Quæ
una res ei defuit ad perfectam similitudinem Carolus supplevit, quem nemo
Salomonis simillimum fuisse negabit, qui immensum utriusq; concubinarum
numerum reputaverit. Cum hujusmodi mulierculis et viris non honestioribus
otium suum omni luxus et libidinis genere oblectavit. Qualis vir fuisset,
indicio fuerunt, (ut quidam non ineptè observavit) ultima ejus extremâ
in morte verba, quibus neq; reip. neq; amicorum cujus aut propinquorum,
sed meretricis meminerat. At forsan, inquies, opum suarum facultatibus
ad patris suiq; comitum et defensorum inopiam sublevandam usus est, et
hanc occasionem testandi quam bene adversus omne qui alterius utrius
causam fortunis, manu, scriptis adjuvissent, avidè arripuit. Nihil minus;
fidelissimos regiæ potestatis servos aut neglexit, ut inter mille alios
Couleium et Butlerum nominem, aut, sicut Clarendonum, à se et patriâ
removit, exiliiq; periculis et laboribus objecit.

Qui omnes nervos contendunt, ut Caroli memoriam qua jure qua injuriâ
aliquatenus ab infamiâ quâ premitur liberent, regis comitatem atq;
hilaritatem prædicant; quamq; facetus et lepidus conviva esset, libenter
narrant. Et sanè disertus fuit leporum et facetiarum, si modo pro
leporibus et facetiis scurrilis dicacitas sumatur. Hujus enim uberrimâ
abundabat copiâ; nihil unquam facetè dixit, quod salvo pudore; nec
liberè, quod salvâ religione dici posset. Per totum hujus principis
regnum, modestiæ, pudoris, sinceritatis, temperantiæ, religionis deniq;
nulla habita est ratio; neq; certior aut expeditior ad regis favorem
patebat aditus, quam si quis, scurra, impius, vinosus et prodigus
audiret. Ut quisq; ipse erat simillimus, ita carissimus. Ut breviter
absolvam, antequam coronam adeptus esset, mendicus fuit; postquam adeptus
esset, rex non fuit: sine dignitate sapientiâ aut fortitudine; sine
amicitiâ; sine fide et amore connubiali; sine fraternâ pietate, atheus
vivebat, Papista moriebatur. Talis fuit Carolus secundus.

                    ⸺manibus date lilia plenis;
    Purpureos spargam flores, animamq; tyranni
    His saltem accumulem donis⸺

The subjoined Preface is printed from the Professor’s first copy, in his
own hand-writing, which he permitted to be prefixed to Toup’s Emendations
of Suidas.


LECTORI

S.

Cum nuper audivissem, TOUPII Emendationes in Suidam prælo Oxoniensi
mox prodituras, Viros doctissimos, qui laborem edendi suscepissent,
certiores feci, me non indiligenter opus illud aureum perlegisse, et
notarum mearum, quas hic illic adscripsissem, modo dignæ viderentur, quæ
TOUPII scriptis pro appendice adjungerentur, copiam iis facturum. Habes
igitur breves hasce notas; quas tu, qualescunque tandem sunt fructu
leges. Sed duo sunt, quæ abs te mihi ignosci pervelim. Unum est, quod
plerumque censoris personam gero, sæpiusque TOUPIUM reprehendo, quam
laudo; alterum, quod libros alios haud raro indicavi, in quibus idem
jam ante TOUPIUM observatum sit. De priori, ita res erat, faciundum
fuit. Neque enim hoc juvenili jactantia feci, nec quo viris me longe
majoribus vellicandis laudem mihi comparare vellem; sed semper ab eorum
consuetudine valde abhorrui, qui nihil aliud quam _pulchre_, _bene_,
_recte_, tertio quoque verbo ingerunt. Ego sane, nisi TOUPII ingenium et
doctrinam maximi facerem, nunquam in eum, ne hæc quidem, quantulacunque
sunt, scriberem. Sed editoris aut commentatoris officium esse duco,
auctoris sui errores corrigere, delectus supplere. Vix unquam igitur
TOUPII sententiam calculo meo comprobavi, nisi ubi novis argumentis
confirmari posse, aut ab aliis criticis nullo jure impugnata esse
videretur. Quod ad alterum attinet, neminem opinor adeo iniquum fore, ut
credat me TOUPIO, quoties ejus cum aliis consensum memoro, plagii vel
minimam suspicionem inustam velle. Sed cum duo scriptores idem tradant,
mihi non alteruter, ab altero ideo sumpsisse, sed uterque rem recte
reputantes, veritatis vi coacti, in eandem sententiam devenisse videntur.
_Omnes enim_, inquit BENTLEIUS[4], _in multa incidimus, nescientes, illa
jam ab aliis esse occupata_. Quæ observatio ut et mihi prosit rogo, si
quid in his notulis, quod dictum sit prius, ipse dixisse inveniar.

_Dabam Londini, 1 Julii, 1787._

       *       *       *       *       *

The Professor once kindly undertook to write down, for a young friend who
was preparing to make a collection of classical and philological books, a
list of such works as he conceived to be indispensable in a well-chosen
library.

A paper book was provided, in which the Professor first wrote, Libri
Desiderati in Museo. A.B.

The two first pages of this Manuscript are subjoined.

    Euripidis Hippolytus Valckenærii cum Diatribe in perditas
    Tragædias, &c.

    Euripidis Phœnissæ Valckenærii Ursini Collatio Græcorum cum
    Virgilio, cui accedunt Valckenærii Epistola ad M. Röverum et
    Dissertatio de Scholiis in Homerum ineditis, &c.

    Ammonius de differentia Vocum et alia ad Grammaticam spectantia
    cum Animadversionibus Valckenærii.

    Thomas Magister Bernardi, Oudendorpii et aliorum.

    Gregoriùs Corinthi Episcopus de Dialectis per Gisbertum Koënium.

    B. Brissonius de Formulis et solennibus verbis populi Rom.

    Dion Cassius J. A. Fabricii et H. S. Reimari, 2 vol. fol.
    Hamburgi.

    Fax Artium Gruteri, 7 vol.

    Selecta Theocriti Idyllia, a Valckenærio.

    Gatakeri Opera Critica Trajecti ad Rhen. 2 vol. fol. interdum
    in 1.

    Dion Chrysostomus Reiskii, 2 vol. 8vo.

    Arnobius Heraldi, 4to.

    Clemens Alexandrinus Potteri.

    Eusebii Præparatio    } Evangelica a Fr. Vigero
    Eusebii Demonstratio  }

    Ecclesiasticæ Historiæ Scriptores a Valesio, 3 vol. fol. (ed.
    opt. Reading)

    Pollux Hemsterhusii.

    Philostratus Olearii.

    Libanius.

    Miscellaneæ Observationes a Britannis cœptæ, a Belgis
    continuata.

    Aristides Jebbii, 2 vol. 4to.

    Beausobre Histoire du Manicheisme, 2 vol. 4.

    Menagiana, 4 vol. ed. opt. 1729.

    Mœris Atticista, 1759, Piersoni.

    Ursini Fragmenta Lyricorum.

    Artemidorus Rigaltii, Par. 1603. 4to.

       *       *       *       *       *

The subjoined are specimens of Porson’s familiar Letters. The person
to whom they were addressed negotiated, at Porson’s desire, with the
bookseller, for the publication of the Letters to Travis. It is correctly
stated in the Athenæum that the prize given was thirty pounds. That the
publisher lost money by it can hardly be conceived. The book is now out
of print and numbered among the scarcer books.

    Dear ⸺

    Settle the matter of publication for me in any way that you
    think reasonable, or that would be satisfactory to yourself.
    If you agree upon the terms that you mention in your letter,
    inform me when they would wish to begin. For, as the Preface
    will of course be printed last, I could send them a copy of
    the Letters in the Magazine, properly corrected, within a few
    days. With respect to the Lay Fellowship, I thank you for the
    information, but if it is already vacant, you need not doubt of
    its being given away. If you see the Rev. Mr. W. tell him the
    same from me, which will be equivalent to an acknowledgement of
    his letter, and tell him besides that Mr. Goodall is extremely
    flattered by the attention of a person so much his superior in
    dignity: συγκαθημενων, I would render the women who live with
    him. The literal sense is, without doubt, “who sit together;”
    but this expression refers to what was generally the case,
    not what was the case in this particular instance, for we
    are informed that it was quite the contrary. See Dorville on
    Chariton, which I have not by me here.

                      I am, with compliments to ⸺

                                Your’s,

                                                          R. PORSON.

    _Eton, 17 Sept. 1789._

The Clergyman alluded to in the above Letter, was the Rev. Dr. Wingfield,
for a time head master of Westminster School, and since that period,
Prebendary of Worcester, with whom Porson subsequently spent a great deal
of his time. Mr. Goodall is the present worthy Provost of Eton College.

    Dear ⸺

    I think you may tell Mr. Egerton that I accept his proposals,
    which appear to me liberal enough. I find upon a review of my
    Letters in the Magazine, that besides changing the form of the
    Address, I shall make several alterations and additions that
    will render it necessary for me to write the whole over again.
    I shall return to London some time next week with the first
    part, fairly written for the press. I suppose that will be time
    enough. Συγκατημένων is Ionic, as κατιεις for καθιεις, &c. Your
    ⸺ packed up in a small parcel, and directed as before, will
    come safe.

                      I am, with compliments to ⸺

                              Your’s, &c.

                                                          R. PORSON.

    _Eton, 28 Sept. 1789._

There are two things obvious from the above short Epistle, namely, that
the Professor did not accustom himself to overrate the value of his
talents, and that he was ready, at all times, to communicate, to those
who required it, the benefit of his superior erudition.

    Dear ⸺

    I wrote to you last Monday, but as I suppose my Letter might
    miscarry, I shall repeat the substance of it. I authorized you
    to accept Mr. Egerton’s terms; to which I shall only add, what
    I then omitted through haste, a request that you would stickle
    for half a dozen copies to be thrown into the bargain. As I am
    obliged to write over all my Letters that have been printed,
    to prevent mistakes and confusion, I cannot let them have
    any part of the copy before next week, when I expect to have
    the pleasure of seeing you and ⸺ in town, to whom present my
    compliments, and believe me to be

                           Your’s sincerely,

                                                          R. PORSON.

    _Eton, 30 Sept. 1789._


PORSONIAN LEVITIES.


ÆNIGMA.

Ex eo genere quod ex duabus vocibus monosyllabis unam vocem disyllabon
efficit.

Primum, secundum, tertium, sive totum, sive integrum.

    Te primum incauto nimium, propiusque tuenti
      LAURA, mihi furtim surrippuisse queror,
    Nec tamen hoc furtum tibi condonare recusem
      Si pretium simili solvere merce velis
    Sed quo plus candoris habent tibi colla secundo
      Hoc tibi plus _primum_ frigoris intus habet,
    Jamque sinistra cava cantavit ab ilice _totum_
      Omina, et audaces spes vetat esse ratas.

_On the Publications of_ Mrs. THRALE (PIOZZI), Mr. BOSWELL, _and_ Sir
JOHN HAWKINS, _on the Subject of_ Dr. JOHNSON.

    Lexiphanem fatis functum, qua fœmina, qua vir
      Certain indignis dedecorare modis,
    Hic quantum in Scotos fuerit testatus amorem
      Enarrat, fatuos vendidit illa sales.
    Fabellas Eques ede tuas, seu Musice mavis,
      Si famæ Herois vis superesse nihil.

    At Johnson’s death both sexes join,
    His character to undermine,
    Proclaim his courtesy to Scots,
    And print his stupid anecdotes,
    ’Tis now thy turn musician knight,
    Publish and damn his fame outright.

Porson one day visiting his brother-in-law Mr. P⸺, who at that time lived
in Lancaster-court, in the Strand, found him indisposed, and under the
influence of medicine. On returning to the house of a common friend, he
of course expected to be asked after the health of his relation. After
waiting with philosophic patience, without the expected questions being
proposed, he reproached the company for not giving him an opportunity of
giving the following answer, which he had composed on his walk.

    My Lord of Lancaster, when late I came from it,
      Was taking a medicine of names not a few,
    In Greek an emetic, in Latin a vomit,
      In English a puke, and in vulgar a ⸺.

The following humourous verses were undoubtedly composed by Porson, but
they are not copied from his own hand-writing, which most of the things
here inserted are. He, however, repeated them to the person from whose
manuscript they are now printed.


ON THE POPULAR PLAY OF PIZARRO.

    As I walked through the Strand so careless and gay,
      I met a young girl who was wheeling a barrow,
    Choice fruit, Sir, said she, and a bill of the play,
      So my apples I bought, and set off for Pizarro.

    When I got to the door, I was squeezed, and cried dear me,
      I wonder they made the entrance so narrow,
    At last I got in, and found every one near me
      Was busily talking of Mr. Pizarro.

    Lo! the hero appears, what a strut and a stride,
      He might easily pass for a Marshal to-morrow,
    And Elvira so tall, neither virgin nor bride,
      The loving companion of gallant Pizarro.

    But Elvira, alas! turned so dull and so prosy,
      That I longed for a hornpipe by little Del Caro;
    Had I been ’mong the Gods I had surely cried Nosy,
      Come play up a jig, and a fig for Pizarro.

    On his wife and his child his affection to pay,
      Alonzo stood gazing, and straight as an arrow;
    Of him I have only this little to say,
      His boots were much neater than those of Pizarro.

    Then the priestess and virgins, in robes white and flowing,
      Walked solemnly on like a sow and her farrow,
    And politely informed the whole house they were going
      To entreat heaven’s curses on noble Pizarro.

    Rolla made a fine speech with such logic and grammar,
      As must sure raise the envy of Counsellor Garrow;
    It would sell for five pounds were it brought to the hammer,
      For it raised all Peru against valiant Pizarro.

    Four acts are tol lol, but the fifth’s my delight,
      Where history’s traced with the pen of a Varro,
    And Elvira in black, and Alonzo in white,
      Put an end to the piece by killing Pizarro.

    I have finished my song if it had but a tune,
      Nancy Dawson won’t do, nor the sweet banks of Yarrow,
    I vow I would sing it from morning till noon,
      So much am I charmed with the play of Pizarro.

Porson’s fondness for Algebra was universally known, but perhaps a more
singular proof of this can hardly be adduced than is exhibited in the
following equation, composed by him in Greek. The original is comprized
in one line.

    Τις ὁ αριθμος ον τεμνομενον εις δυο ανισεις μερεις η του
    μειζονος μεριδος δυναμις μετα του ελαττονος μεταλαμβανομενη
    ισος εσσεται του ελαττονος δυναμει μετα του μειζονος
    μεταλαμβανομενῃ.

Required the number, which being divided into two unequal parts, the
square of the greater added to the less shall be equal to the square of
the less added to the greater. Let the numbers be _x_ and _y_.

    _x_² × _y_  = _y_² × _x_
    _x_² - _y_² = _x_  - _y_
    _x_  + _y_  = _1_.


CHARADES AND RIDDLES.


I.

    If Nature and Fortune had plac’d me with you,
      On my first, we my second might hope to obtain;
    I might marry you, were I my third, it is true;
      But that marriage would only embitter my pain.


II.

    My first is the lot that is destin’d by fate,
    For my second to meet with in every state:
    My third is by many philosophers reckoned,
    To bring very often my first to my second.


III.

    My first, though your house, nay your life, he defends,
      You ungratefully name like the wretch you despise;
    My second, I speak it with grief, comprehends
      All the brave, and the good, and the learn’d, and the wise.
    Of my third I have little or nothing to say,
      Except that it tells the departure of day.


IV.

    The child of a peasant, Rose thought it no shame
      To toil at my first all the day;
    When her father grew rich, and a farmer became,
      My first to my second gave way:

    Then she married a merchant, who brought her to town;
      To this eminent station preferr’d.
    Of my first and my second unmindful she’s grown,
      And gives all her time to my third.


V.

    My first is the nymph I adore,
      The sum of her charms is my second,
    I was going to call it my third,
      But I counted a million and more,
    Till I found they could never be reckoned;
      So I quickly rejected the word.


VI.

    My first in ghosts, ’tis said abounds,
    And wheresoe’er she walks her rounds,
    My second never fails to go,
    Yet oft attends her mortal foe.
    If with my third you quench your thirst,
    You sink for ever in my first.


VII.

    My first is expressive of no disrespect,
      Yet I never shall call you it while you are by;
    If my second you still are resolv’d to reject,
      As dead as my third I shall speedily lie.


VIII.

    My first of unity’s a sign;
      My second ere we knew to plant,
    We us’d upon my third to dine,
      “If all be true that poets chant.”


IX.

    Your cat does my first in your ear,
    O that I were admitted as near;
    In my second I’ve held you my fair
    So long that I almost despair;
    But my prey if at last I o’ertake,
    What a glorious third I shall make.


X.

    My first with more than quaker’s pride,
      At your most solemn duty,
    You keep, nor deign to throw aside,
      E’en though it veils your beauty.
    My second on your cheek or lip,
      May kindle Cupid’s fire,
    While from your eye or nose’s tip
      It ne’er provokes desire.
    But if your third you entertain
      For your unhappy poet,
    In mercy Chloe spare his pain,
      Not ever let him know it.

The following specimens of good-natured levity and humour were also
produced by him, without any study or previous meditation.

The little girl, who was his favourite, as has before been mentioned,
one day led him by the hand into the kitchen, to deliver a message to a
servant. A young woman who had lived long in the family, and was much
respected, was ironing linen. Her name was Susan, and the child desired
Porson to write some verses upon her. Porson, as soon as he returned to
the parlour, pronounced the following lines.

    When lovely Susan irons smocks,
      No damsel ere looked neater,
    Her eyes are brighter than her box,
      And burn me like a heater.

On the extravagant terms of flattery, which Mr. Hayley and Miss Seward
used in compliments to one another, Porson frequently indulged much
satirical observation. The following dialogue is supposed to take place
between the parties.

    MISS SEWARD _loquitur_.

    Tuneful Poet, Britain’s glory,
    Mr. Hayley that is you.

    HAYLEY _respondet_.

    Ma’am, you carry all before you,
    Trust me Lichfield Swan you do.

    MISS SEWARD.

    Ode, didactic, epic, sonnet,
    Mr. Hayley you’re divine.

    MR. HAYLEY.

    Ma’am, I’ll take my oath upon it,
    You yourself are all the Nine.

Copied from Porson’s Manuscript, but whether his own or not is uncertain.

     DE
     CE
    LIEU
    DIEU
    SORT
    MORT
    SORT
    FORT
    DUR
    MAIS
    TRES
    SUR

    Qu    a       d      t       d          p
       os   nguis   irus   risti   ulcedine   avit.
     H    sa      m     Ch       m          l

    Mors mortis morti mortem nisi morte dedisset,
    Aeternae vitæ janua clausa foret.


FRENCH CHARADES.

    A Lise fais tu mon premier,
    Qui prend le vrai pour le grossier,
    Ne traite ne de gris ses yeux,
    Ni de mon second ses cheveux,
    On Lise en mon tout se mettra,
    Et tes cheveux arrachera.


CHARADE BACCHIQUE.

    Je reçu hier de mon cousin,
    Pour etrennes tonneau de vin,
    C’est mon premier lui m’en repond,
      Pour la douceur et pour l’esprit,
    Mais puisqu’au au moins c’est mon second,
      Car c’est gratis comme j’ai dit.
    Ouvrons mon tout, rien ne me coute,
    Et buvons jusque a ne voir goutte.
    ...
    Quand vous me fites mon premier,
    En ravissant mon cœur, Iris,
    Je jurai de vous adorer,
    Malgre votre orgueilleux mepris,
    Et voici ce que je promis,
    J’amuserai jusqu’au dernier point.
    Maintenant je ne songe point,
    Aux sermens que je violés,
    Ai je tort? vous en jugerez
    Vous etes mon entier toujours.
    Plus mon entier encor que belle,
    Vous me jouez cent mauvais tours,
    Du beau sexe trop vrai modele,
    Doit ma constance etre eternelle?


ON THE ENQUIRIES MADE AFTER THE WRITER OF A CERTAIN LEARNED PREFACE.

    Perturbed spirits spare your ink,
      Nor beat your stupid brains no longer,
    Soon to oblivion then shall sink
      Your persecuted Preface-monger.


INCERTI AUCTORIS.


RIDDLE.

    In every gift of Fortune I abound,
    In me is every vice and virtue found,
    With black and blue and green myself I paint,
    With me an atheist stands before a saint;
    Far above Nature, I make Art precede,
    And before sovereigns give the poor the lead.
    Many who bear the name of learned and wise,
    Did I not help them, you would oft despise;
    Nay more, within my grasp together bound
    The king, the beggar, and the harlot’s found;
    In one thing I excel the proudest lords,
    You always may depend upon my words.


RIDDLE.

    I’m sometimes very honest, sometimes not,
    And less sincere at court than in a cot;
    Sometimes I pleasure give, and sometimes pain,
    And now I praise bestow, and now disdain;
    The lovelier I appear when small my throne,
    Enlarge but this, and all my beauty’s gone;
    Sullen and silent when my friends are gone,
    I’m e’en invisible if left alone;
    Few things there are, at least but few I know,
    Which cost so little, and so much bestow.


RIDDLE.

    Tho’ so light is my weight that no strength is required,
    They who take me about are oftentimes tired;
    Short, long, narrow, broad, of materials not strong,
    The forms I assume to rude fingers belong;
    Under thousands of names I am every day seen,
    And of very great use to dull people have been;
    Nay! often the vulgarest creatures on earth
    Take me from the hands of the noblest in birth;
    Me the folks of the country in general disown,
    So civil and gay, I’m fit only for town;
    In the coldest of winters my back is quite bare,
    Yet so little I find of compassion or care,
    That as soon as I’m seen I’m thought worthy of none,
    My service is past, and my business is done.


RIDDLE.

    What could man do without my aid?
    Or what each fair industrious maid?
    I lead the first o’er sea and land,
    The second takes me by the hand,
    Presses me close with care and skill,
    And makes me do whate’er she will.
    I cannot boast of many charms,
    I’ve neither feet, nor legs, nor arms,
    But all allow I have an eye
    So fine, it may with beauty vye;
    I fear I many wounds impart,
    Shed blood, but never touch the heart.
    They who would contemplate my end,
    For that’s the point where I offend,
    Sharply to look about must mind,
    Or me much sharper they will find.

It has been mentioned that Porson wrote some notes for Nicholson, to be
prefixed to the edition of Xenophon’s Anabasis, published at Cambridge,
in 1786. One of the copies of that work, given him by the bookseller,
he presented to the writer of this article, with an inscription in
Latin, written in his most beautiful manner, and expressed in the most
flattering terms. A great many years afterwards he happened to take this
particular Volume into his hands, and on looking at the inscription,
hastily tore it out, promising the owner to write another. He never
could be prevailed upon to explain his motive for this act, but it was
conceived that some particular form of expression or disposition of
the words had appeared erroneous to his better judgment. His friendly
sentiments were certainly unchanged, which he manifested by subsequently
writing another inscription in the book, expressed in terms, to the full
as flattering as those which preceded. The words were these.

                             Viro doctissimo
                                  atque
                                Amicissimo

                                 Amicitiæ
                                   Ergo
                                  Donat.
                             RICARDUS PORSON.
                                  1789.

That he was friendly and social, many examples have already been adduced,
sufficiently strong and numerous to prove that Gilbert Wakefield’s
application to him of the term “Misanthrope” was absurd and unjust. But
he was occasionally very playful, and once in a very merry mood, being
in company with the young lady, of whom we have before spoken, and for
whom he wrote most of the Charades, (printed in this work) he offered a
trifling wager, that he could carry her round the room in his teeth. This
was accordingly accepted. He fixed a handkerchief round her waist, and
by first obtaining a nice balance he actually accomplished his purpose,
without any seeming inconvenience.

Upon the tendency of his politics it is not intended to expatiate. It
never interrupted an harmonious intercourse of more than twenty years
with him, who pays this tribute to his memory, and to whom, in a moment
of confidence, he gave, in his own hand-writing, a Pamphlet written in
answer to Mr. Burke’s Reflections on the French Revolution. It is termed,
A new Catechism for the use of the Natives of Hampshire. It is written
with much vivacity and humour, but strongly marks the incorrigible
bitterness of his political prejudices.

The humour of the Tract consists in playing upon the expression of the
Swinish Multitude, said to have been applied by Burke to the common
people. The beginning and conclusion are inserted as a sufficient
specimen.

    _Q._ What is your name?

    _A._ _Hog_ or _Swine_.

    _Q._ Did God make you a _Hog_?

    _A._ No. God made me man in his own image; the _Right Hon._
    SUBLIME BEAUTIFUL made me a _Swine_.

    _Q._ How did he make you a Swine?

    _A._ By muttering obscure and uncouth spells. He is a dealer in
    the black art.

    _Q._ Who feeds you?

    _A._ Our Drivers, the only real _men_ in this COUNTY.

    _Q._ How many Hogs are you in all?

    _A._ Seven or eight millions.

    _Q._ How many Drivers?

    _A._ Two or three hundred thousand.

    _Q._ With what do they feed you?

    _A._ Generally with husks, swill, draff, malt, grains, and now
    and then with a little barley-meal and a few potatoes, and when
    they have too much butter-milk themselves they give us some.

The following must be allowed not to be destitute of humour.

    _Q._ What are the _Interpreters_[5] called?

    _A._ The BLACK LETTER SISTERHOOD.

    _Q._ Why do they give the office to women?

    _A._ Because they have a fluent tongue, and a knack of scolding.

    _Q._ How are they are dressed?

    _A._ In gowns and false hair.

    _Q._ What are the principal orders?

    _A._ Three—_Writers_, _Talkers_, and _Hearers_, which last are
    also called _Deciders_.

    _Q._ What is their general business?

    _A._ To discuss the mutual quarrels of the hogs, and to punish
    their affronts to any or all of the drivers.

    _Q._ If two hogs quarrel, how do they apply to the sisterhood?

    _A._ Each hog goes separately to a _Writer_.

    _Q._ What does the _Writer_?

    _A._ She goes to a _Talker_.

    _Q._ What does the _Talker_?

    _A._ She goes to a _Hearer_ (or _Decider_.)

    _Q._ What does the _Hearer_ decide?

    _A._ What she pleases.

    _Q._ If a hog is decided to be in the right, what is the
    consequence?

    _A._ He is _almost_ ruined.

    _Q._ If in the _wrong_, what?

    _A._ He is _quite_ ruined.

After some facetious sneers at the clergy, who are termed peace-makers,
the dialogue proceeds.

    _Q._ How are these peace-makers rewarded?

    _A._ With our potatoes.

    _Q._ What with all?

    _A._ Ten per cent. only.

    _Q._ Then you have still ninety left in the hundred?

    _A._ No, we have only forty left.

    _Q._ What becomes of the odd fifty?

    _A._ The drivers take them, partly as a small recompence for
    their trouble in protecting us, and partly to make money of
    them, for the prosecution of law-suits with the neighbouring
    farmers.

    _Q._ You talk very sensibly for a hog; whence had you your
    information?

    _A._ From _a learned Pig_.

The following is given by way of answer to the question by what ceremony
the hog is disenchanted, and resumes his natural shape.

    _A._ The hog that is going to be disenchanted, grovels before
    the _Chief Driver_, who holds an iron skewer over him, and
    gives him a smart blow on the shoulder, to remind him at once
    of his former subjection and future submission. Immediately
    he starts up, like the devil from Ithuriel’s spear, in his
    proper shape, and ever after goes about with a nick-name. He
    then beats his hogs without mercy, and when they implore his
    compassion, and beg him to recollect that he was once their
    _Fellow Swine_, he denies that ever he was a hog.

This curious dialogue thus concludes:—

    _Q._ What is the general wish of the hogs at present?

    _A._ To save their bacon.

                            Chorus of hogs.

                                 Amen.

It may be observed of Porson, as Junius heretofore remarked of himself,
that perhaps his own recollection could not always bring before him
the numerous things he had written at various times, and on different
occasions. Two learned articles of great judgment and acute criticism,
may be pointed out, which not improbably Porson never communicated,
except to the individuals for whose immediate service they were intended;
more particularly as those individuals proudly pursued and sturdily
avowed principles and sentiments, in the most determined opposition to
those with whom the Professor lived with greater familiarity and intimacy.

The first of these was an article containing very learned and ingenious
observations on the Codex Theodori Bezæ Cantabrigiensis, published by Dr.
Kipling in 1793.

The reader may remember, that this MS. was so printed, that every page,
line, word, letter, and point, as far as types can imitate hand-writing,
corresponded with the original. Dr. Woide had done the same thing before
with respect to the celebrated Alexandrian MS. But of the two works, the
Professor remarks, “that as much as Kipling’s work is superior to Dr.
Woide’s in its outside, so does it appear to be below it in intrinsic
merit.”

The Professor objects, in the first instance, to the title prefixed by
Dr. Kipling, viz. Codex Theodori Bezæ Cantabrigiensis. It is argued that
an ambiguity is here involved, and that the natural construction of the
words would make Bezæ, a Cambridge man at least, if not a member of the
University. The whole, however, forms a fair and candid specimen of
criticism, though the writer persists to the last in assigning the higher
rank in point of merit to Dr. Woide’s most valuable publication.

The other Critical Essay, to which the Professor materially contributed,
was a series of remarks on Wakefield’s Lucretius. It could not escape the
discernment of so sagacious an observer as Porson manifestly was, that
even when performing the office merely of editing a classical author,
Wakefield could not resist the impulse he always obeyed of obtruding
his opinions on subjects no more connected with Lucretius than with the
history of China; and this has extorted the following sentence, sharp
enough it must be acknowledged, but unquestionably true. “Mr. W.’s notes
are very numerous and various; philological, critical, illustrative, and
political, such as he always pours forth with a facility which judgment
sometimes limps after in vain.”

It is well known to scholars, that the undertaking of collating
manuscripts is very far from being an easy task, but in this labour
the Professor was remarkably well skilled. It will appear from the
observations here alluded to, that Porson actually submitted to the
drudgery of collating three of the manuscripts employed by Wakefield.
These MSS. were as follows:—

A MS, belonging to the public library at Cambridge, designated in
Wakefield’s edition by the Greek letter Ω.

A MS. belonging to Edward Poore, Esq. of no great value or antiquity,
referred to by Ο.

And three Harleian MSS. preserved in the British Museum, respectively
called in the edition Δ. Π. Σ.

These three last MSS. being immediately within his reach, the Professor
carefully collated, and the result of his conclusion was, that Wakefield
cannot receive the palm of a skilful and scrupulously accurate collator.
It is not intended to assert that the passage which follows, came from
Porson’s pen, but it is so perfectly true in itself, and characteristic
of Wakefield, that it is here inserted.

“In thus examining the present Edition of Lucretius, we feel a strong
confidence that we shall not be suspected of being actuated by any
resentment against a person, who must himself feel the chief evils of
a restless, impatient, intolerant, mind. We think it, indeed, most
lamentable, that a man, whose proper occupations are study and polite
literature, should be so little able to command himself, as to fall into
extravagances of political conduct, injurious ultimately to himself and
family. Too many instances of this spirit appear completely out of their
places in this Edition of Lucretius, in the form of political verses,
allusions to the glories of France, and aspirations after similar changes
here, with prophetic intimations of their approach.

“In such a farrago, abuse of us and our work, as supporting all that
Mr. W. wishes to see overthrown, is virtually the highest compliment,
and though we owe no gratitude to the author, we cannot but approve the
tendency of his conduct towards us.

“We see, however, in his pages not the slightest tincture of that
character, which he has, very early in his Preface, bestowed
upon himself. ‘Si quis unquam diffidens mei.’ A most extravagant
self-confidence, on the contrary, is every where conspicuous, except in
a few of the prefatory flourishes; and though his maturer judgment has
enabled him to see in his own ‘Silva critica plurima quæ sint juveniliter
temeraria απροσδιονυσα prorsus et homine critico indigna,’ yet the very
same character unimproved, will be found to prevail in his critical
conjectures, scattered abundantly throughout the notes to his work, and
readily accessible by means of his critical index. No author escapes his
rage for correction, and Horace and Virgil in particular would have as
little knowledge of their own works, were they presented to them reformed
à la Wakefield, as we should of the British constitution were it given
to his emendation. We can, however, pity while we censure, and most
sincerely wish that with a more temperate mind, even in literature, he
would give himself exclusively, and without mixture, to those studies,
in which, with all his failings, he has certainly made a proficiency not
common among scholars of this country.”

Whether the miscellaneous articles which follow be worthy of insertion,
may by some be doubted, but they are genuine, and asperity may be
softened by the consideration that they are the last.

If the reader will refer to the edition of Demosthenes, by Wolfius,
printed at Frankfort, 1604, at p. 470, he will find the Oration of
Æschines contre Ctesiphontem to conclude thus:

    Και ειμεν καλως και αζιως του αδικηματος κατηγορηκα, ειπον ως
    εβουλομην, ειδε ενδεεστερως ως εδυναμην.

Porson has noted a singular coincidence of expression to be found in the
38th verse of the last chapter of the second book of Maccabees.

“And if I have done well and as fitting the story it is that which I
desired, but if slenderly and meanly, it is that which I could attain
unto.”

Part of a humourous and satirical copy of verses addressed to Dr. W⸺, on
his being appointed Tutor to the D⸺ of G⸺ by some attributed to Porson,
by some to a hand now Right Reverend.


A POETICAL ADDRESS.

PART I.

    Sage W⸺, Royal William’s Tutor,
    Thou reverend dilettanti Fluter,
    His voice an humble poet raises
    To celebrate thy Pupil’s praises;
    The lovely Boy and senior Gloster,
    Shall condescend my muse to foster
    With praise—not pay; for you and I know
    Our patron’s not too full of rhino;
    You for a paltry pimping payment,
    That scarce will find you food and raiment,
    Give up your talents, freedom, leisure,
    To do the Royal folks a pleasure;
    _I_, for we poets in all ages,
    Have scorned to do our work for wages,
    Waste pen, wit, rhyme, and why? the cause is
    An hungry hope of lean applauses.
    ...
    Now W⸺ swears, so goes the rumour,
    These squibs more scandal have than humour.
    “Oh! curse the rascal, did I know him, (_aside_)
    “I’d maul him for his doggrel poem[6].”
    Yet W⸺, should ill-tempered satire,
    Prince William’s character bespatter,
    Fret not, but check thy rising choler,
    For I’ll defend thy Royal Scholar.

END OF PART I.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Essay which succeeds was discovered after his decease among the
manuscripts of the elegant and accomplished youth, whose character will
be found in Vol. I. p. 173, et seq. It is supposed to be descriptive of
his own particular situation.

                Goodness wounds itself,
    And sweet affection proves the spring of woe.

                                     SHAKESPEARE.

The character of Timon of Athens presents a delineation of sudden
change in the principles of human action, which, though drawn by the
pen of Shakespeare himself, whose knowledge of the heart appears almost
intuitive, has been censured as extravagant and unnatural. The glowing
generosity, the indefatigable friendship, the expansive openness of
soul, which mark the earlier features of the character of Timon, are
suddenly, on a change of fortune, which discover treachery in his
supposed friends, subverted to their foundation. The whole mental scene,
shifting with rapidity and violence, presents in their room the most
inveterate and ferocious detestation directed against all mankind. In my
mind, the poet has here only afforded another proof of the keenness of
that penetration, which, glancing through all the springs and mazes of
the human soul, fixes the changing features of the mental portrait, and
holds a mirror to nature herself. He perceived that on the ruins of our
best feelings the temple of misanthropy is ever erected, the force of
this truth he has exemplified by characters stamped with the kindliest
affections of nature, containing those propensities on which the fairest
structure of human happiness is raised, in which those benefits, so far
from tending to their proper end, ill-managed and abused, involve their
possessors in delusion and misery, and naturally end in a frame of mind
inimical to mankind, and incapable of felicity.

Of these Timon is one; although inconsiderate ostentation forms a
striking feature in the delineation of Shakespeare, the violence of
misanthropy is to be traced to other causes, and we are led to exclaim,
from a thorough knowledge of his character, with the faithful Flavius,

    Poor honest Lord, brought low by his own heart;
    Undone by goodness.

To follow the general idea of the poet more closely, to apply it more
generally to human nature at large, will probably reward our labour. For
this purpose, we may call up before our eyes the painful, though too
common picture, which the mind, where the glow of fancy triumphs over
reason, and the mere impulse of sensibility supersedes reflection and
settled principle, exhibits in its progress through the world.

To a mind of high wrought feelings, and heated imagination, the entrance
of life is fairy ground. The objects which solicit attention, viewed
through the medium of that elevated hope which youth alone inspires,
shine with a brilliancy of tint not their own. The face of universal
nature impresses the soul with secret influence, a delicious rapture,
which gives a new charm to being, and the heart, intoxicated with its own
sensations, expands with an unbounded warmth to all existence.

The desert of the world is decorated with the fleeting visions of a
raised and glowing fancy, while the eye rests, with unsuspicious wonder,
on the splendid prospects which the magic of early expectation calls
up on every side. Filled with that strong enthusiasm which elevates
whilst it deludes, the mind soon is taught to feel, that in the crowd
of pleasures, which court her acceptance, something is still deficient.
The finer and more exalted ideas, which stimulate incessantly to action,
are still without an object worthy of all their energy. The powers of
the soul languish, and are depressed, from the narrowness of the sphere
in which they have yet moved, the master strings of the heart are yet
untouched, the higher, stronger passions of the breast are to be rouzed
before the keenness of expectation can be gratified. The charms of
friendship, the delicate and intoxicating sensations which attend the
first delicious emotions of the tender passion, rush on the imagination
with violence, to which even the energy of youthful ambition is feeble
and impotent in comparison. It seems that but a dream of pleasure, a
prospect of bliss, has been presented to the view, which friendship and
love alone can realize and render perfect.

The enthusiast now looks eagerly around for the objects, which a heart,
yet unacquainted with the realities of things, and wound up to its
highest pitch, tells him are alone able to fill that void which still
aches within the bosom. In the moment of delusion, the connections are
formed which are to stamp existence with happiness or misery in the
extreme. A blind impulse overpowers deliberation, and the heart expands
itself for the reception of inmates, whose value it has not for a moment
paused to ascertain. The measure of happiness is now for a moment full.
The mind, conscious that the energy of sentiment no longer languishes
in inaction, feels those wishes compleated, which the vividity of
imagination had before but imperfectly suggested, and yields without
reserve to the novel emotions, which begin to make part of its existence.
On every side the heart is cheered by the smile of affection, on every
side the arms of friendship are expanded with inviting openness.

The wand of deception creates a little world around, where nothing meets
the eye but the mutual efforts of emulative exertion, and the smile of
beneficence exulting over its own work. And love! sacred love! who that
has truly felt thy first pure, and delicious influence, but learns, even
if the object be delusion, that the few moments which thy power can
confer, are of more value than whole existences unanimated by thy holy
and vital flame.

But this rapture is not to last. The time is to come when the prospect
which depended on the influence of passion, however noble, and prejudice,
however honest, shall melt away from the view. The mind, raised to a
pitch of enjoyment above the reality of sublunary happiness, is in
danger when the faces of things appear at once in their proper colours,
of sinking to a degree equally below it. He, who in the glow of his
earlier feelings, feasted his eye with increasing transport, on the gay
and captivating scenery, with which the creative power of an ardent
imagination had overspread the barrenness of reality, now begins to find
a thousand little deceptions wear away. The insipidity and nakedness of
many an object, which, at a distance, had attracted his eagerness, and
roused the keenness of his passions, press so close upon him, that even
prejudice and enthusiasm fail to operate the accustomed delusion.

The little vanity, so often interwoven with the best natures, receives
a variety of unexpected and grievous wounds. As the mists which clouded
his better judgment retire, on every side he discovers with astonishment,
that a dupe to self-deception, he has, like a blind idolator, fallen
prostrate before the gaudy images his own hands have formed and
decorated. He perceives that he has walked in a world of his own
creation, that life and man are still before him to study, and he only
recovers his cooler reason to feel the loss of that mental elevation,
that brilliant perception of things, which, though ideal, were so dear to
him.

But perhaps this is not all, nor does the discovery which scourges
vanity, and detects the harmless fallacies of judgment, alone await him.
Perhaps the hour of deception has treasured up disappointment more heavy
and intolerable. What are his sensations, if the truth he now begins
anxiously and fearfully to learn, is brought immediately home to his own
bosom, and he is doomed to feel that the exalted and glowing ideas of
friendship, which first expanded his soul, shrink even in his view, and
leave his breast void and desolate. When in the heart, which his earliest
ideas had imaged as the residence of that sacred passion, the trial of
experience detects hollowness and falsehood. When it is his bitter lot
to mark the progress of alienated affection, to watch the subsidence
of cooling attachment, to feel the ties connected in an honest and
unsuspicious bosom with all his first enjoyments of happiness, beginning
one by one to untwine. When he is to groan under the pang of the heart,
which accompanies the tearing out of the thousand little habits of
confidence, the innumerable kindly affections, which long custom had
rooted in the soul, and made a part of the pleasantness of existence; or
when he is to experience the agony of the moment, when he, in whom the
bosom fondly trusted, insults the confidence he has cruelly violated, and
aggravates by unfeeling mockery the distress his perfidy has excited.

But if this can be borne, perhaps the last and most fearful shock awaits
him; the tenderest strings of his soul are to be more cruelly rent, and
the wound, which before smarted almost to madness, rendered at once
incurable. There are finer and more exalted ties, comprehending the
best feelings, the dearest relations of which our natures are capable.
Their severing is accompanied by sensations to which the wound of
violated friendship itself is feeble, and, to minds of a certain frame,
communicates that deadly stroke, to which the power of all other human
evils, would have been inadequate. Such are those which unexpected
treachery, from that quarter where the soul had gathered up its best
and tenderest hope, must call forth, and few are the hearts, round the
ruggedness of whose nature so little of the softer feelings are entwined,
as not to feel the full keenness of that wound which the tearing of the
ties of love inflicts, though its firmness had been inaccessible to the
force of common calamities. The distress is more complicated and hopeless
from its nature than any other, and the pangs of a thousand discordant
passions are crouded and concentrated into that terrible moment which
discovers infidelity, where the confiding heart had fondly rested all its
prospects of happiness. Under other strokes of calamity the soul gains
force and dignity from the greatness of unmerited misfortunes, and rouses
every latent power to combat against evil fate.

In the school of distress the energies of the mind are disclosed, and,
learning our own powers, we combat against the impression of adversity
till we are able to contemn it. But here the sufferer finds himself as it
were waked suddenly from a dream of happiness to intolerable misery; with
his mind unnerved and weakened by passion, all the resources of fortitude
lying dormant, every tender sensation doubly acute, every softening
feeling alive. From the object of tenderness and idolatry of one, who
was the world to him, he at once finds himself a deserted and despised
being; he sees his best and finest feelings blasted for ever, his honest
sources of pleasure and peace cut off at one stroke, with the terrible
aggravation that the hand to which alone he could look for comfort and
healing under the wound of calamity, instead of being stretched out to
save him, itself lodges the dagger in his breast.

He is now alone. The ties which bound him to existence, cruelly loosened
before, are torn for ever by this last, worst stroke. The prospect which
before warmed his heart, is narrowed and darkened on every side. The
journey of life is before him dreary and comfortless. The weary path
of rugged labour remains to be trodden, when the motives of activity
and the rewards of exertion have ceased to exist, when the keenness of
expectation can no longer be stimulated, and the spirit of enterprize
has subsided into sullen indifference. While he ruminates with agony
on the past, he cheerlessly looks forward to a gloomy futurity, and
his foreboding mind sees, in the ruin of his first and fondest hopes,
the nothingness of the visions of imagination, the destruction of the
thousand little schemes and prospects suggested by an honest ambition,
which the exultation of an heart untouched by calamity had fondly and
fearlessly indulged. The recollection of those delusions, which cheated
his unsuspecting youth, whispers for ever that safety is alone compatible
with _apathy_, and cases his heart in impenetrable suspicion. A line of
separation is drawn between him and his species.

_Deceived, insulted, wounded, from that quarter where his heart had
treasured up all hope_, where his ideas of human excellence had all
concentred confidence in mankind, is in his eyes the weakness of
despicable folly, or the extreme of desperate madness. The principles of
the soul, already unsettled, are soon shaken to their foundation. The
milk of human kindness turns fast to gall; while those very passions,
that frame of mind, which operated the first delusion, which stamped the
features of unbounded friendship, of enthusiastic beneficence, now all
subverted, are applied to exalt the violence of the opposite character.
Under this stroke the self-love, which might bear up against the common
weight of calamity, receives an incurable and rankling wound, over which
the soul gloomily broods. The passions of the misanthrope still flaming
with violence, tend, as to a centre, to the aggravation of abhorrence
and distrust of his species, and he hates with a keenness and acrimony
proportioned to the strength of disappointed feeling which marked his
entrance into life.

                                                                        H⸺


The following Imitations of the Ancients, by Milton and Pope, are printed
from a Manuscript of Gilbert Wakefield’s, dated Warrington, April 20,
1783.


MILTON’S IMITATION OF THE ANCIENTS.


Book I. l. 594.

    As when the sun
    In dim eclipse, _disastrous twilight sheds_
    _On half the nations_—


LUCAN. PHARSAL. I. 542.

    Involvetque _orbem tenebris, gentesque coegit_
    _Desperare diem_—


Book I. v. 665.

                          The sudden blaze
    Far round illumined hell; highly they raged
    Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms
    Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war.


LUCRET. L II. 325.

    Fulgur ibi ad cœlum se tollit, totaque circum
    Ære renidescit tellus, subterque, virûm vi,
    Excitur pedibus sonitus, clamoreque montes
    Ictei rejectant voces ad sidera mundi.


Book II. 220.

    This horror will grow mild, this darkness light.


SOPHOC. AJAX. 397.

    Ιω σκοτος εμον φαος·
    Ερεβος ω φαεννοτατον.


Book III. v. 39.

                    As the wakeful bird
    Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid
    Tunes her nocturnal note—


MOSCHUS. Id. III. 9.

    Αδονες αἱ πυκινοισιν οδυρομεναι ποτι φυλλοις.


Book III. v. 217.

    He asked, but all the heavenly quire stood mute,
    And silence was in heaven.


IL. κ. 218.

    Ὡς ἔφαθ. οι δε αρα παντες ακην εγενοντο σιωπῆ.

See also Revelations, chap. viii. v. 1.

“There was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour.”


Book IV. v. 323.

    Adam the goodliest man of men.


VIRG. ÆN. VII. 55.

        Ante alios pulcherrimus omnes
    Turnus.


V. 677.

    Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
    Unseen.


HESIOD, OP. et DI. I. 250.

    Τρις γαρ μυριοι εισιν επι χθονι πολυβοτειρῃ

    Αθανατοι Ζηνος, φυλακες θνητων ανθρωπων.


V. 764.

    Here Love his golden shafts employs, here lights
    His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings.


OVID AMOR. L. II. 9. 34.

    Notaque purpureus tela resumit amor.

Again,


ART. AMAND. I. 232.

    Purpureus Bacchi cornua pressit amor.


V. 985.

                Satan alarmed,
    Collecting all his might dilated stood
    Like Teneriffe or Atlas unremoved.


VIRG. ÆN. VI. 49.

    Rabie fera corda tument, majorque videri
    Nec mortale, &c.


Book V. 11.

    Sowed the earth with orient pearl.


APUD ARISTOT. POET. β. ωδ. ED. OX.

    Σπειρων θεακτιστον φλογα.


V. 7.

          And the shrill matin song
    Of birds on every bough.


SOPHOC. ELECT. 18.

    Εωα κινει φθεγματ’ ορνιθων σαφη.


V. 165.

    Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.


THEOG. SENT. V. 3.

    Αλλ’ αιει πρωτοντε, καὶ υστατον εντεμεσοισιν
    Αεισω.


V. 205.

    Be bounteous still
    To give us only good.


THEOG. V. 4.

    Κλυθι καὶ εσθλα διδου.


Ver. 896.

            Abdiel faithful found
    Among the faithless, faithful only he.


SOPHOC. ELECT. 1367.

    Ουτος ὁν ποτ’ εκ πολλων εγω
    Μονον προσευρον πιστον.


Book VI. 233.

                    Expert
    When to advance or stand.


HOM. IL. Η. 237.

    Αυτὰρ ἐγών εὖ οῖδα μάχαστε ανδροκτασίαστε
    Οἶδ επι δεξια, οἶδ επαριστερα.


V. 695.

    War wearied hath performed.


VIRG. ÆN. VII. 582.

    Martemque fatigant.


V. 710.

            Go then thou mightiest,
    Ascend my chariot, guide the rapid wheels,
    That shake heaven’s basis, bring forth all my war,
    My bow and thunder, my almighty arms
    Gird on, and sword upon thy puissant thigh.


HOMER. IL. XVI. 64.

    Τυνη δ’ωμοιιν μεν εμα κλυτα τευχεα δυθι, &c. &c.


Book VII. v. 422.

    With clang despised the ground.


HORAT. OD. III. 2. 24.

                  Udam
    Spernit humum fugiente pennâ.


V. 430.

            Over lands with mutual wing
    Easing their flight.


CICERO DE NAT. DEOR. II. 49.

    Pennis cursus avium levatur.


Book VIII. 221.

    Speaking or mute all comeliness and grace
    Attend thee, and each word each motion forms.


TIBULL.

    Illam quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia vertit
      Componit furtim subsequiturque decor.


V. 316.

    Whom thou soughtst, I am.


VIRG. ÆN. I. 599.

    Coram quem quæritus, adsum.


V. 430.

    Canst raise thy creature to what height thou wilt.


HOR. OD. I. 35. 2.

    Præsens vel imo tollere de gradu
    Mortale corpus.


V. 513.

                  The earth
    Gave sign of gratulation.


VIRG. ÆN. IV. 166.

          Tellus et pronuba Juno
    Dant signum.


V. 606.

    More grateful than harmonious sound to th’ ear.


HOR. SAT. II. 5. 93.

        Carmine gratior aurem
    Occupat humanam.


Book XI. v. 505.

            Would either not accept
    Life offered, or soon beg to lay it down.


GR. EPIG.

    Τοινδε δυοιν ἑνος ἁιρεσις, η το γενεσθαι
    Μηδεποτ’ η το θανειν αυτικα τικτομενον.


V. 657.

    Others from the wall defend
    With dart and javelin, stones.


VIRG. ÆN. X. 130.

    Hi jaculis, illi certant defendere saxis.

We could subjoin many other instances, but these may suffice to prove,
that he who marked them was not confined to a very circumscribed path of
reading. There are, however, some imitations by Pope, which appear worth
preserving.


PROLOGUE TO SAT.

    Pretty in amber to observe the forms
    Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms,
    The things we know are neither rich nor rare,
    But wonder how the devil they came there.


MARTIAL. VI. 15.

    Dum Phaetonteâ formica vagatur in umbrâ
      Implicuit tenuem succina gutta feram,
    Sic modo quæ fuerat vitâ contempta manente,
      Funeribus facta est nunc pretiosa suis.


ESSAY ON MAN, B. IV.

    Or why so long, if long in life can be,
    Lent heaven a parent to the poor and me.


VIRG. ÆN. X. 861

    Phœbe diu, res si qua diu mortalibus ulla est
    Viximus.


MORAL ESSAYS, II.

    Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air,
    Chuse a firm cloud, before it fall and in it
    Catch e’er she change this Cynthia of the minute.


COWLEY’S DAVID.

    He took for skin a cloud most soft and bright,
    Of a new rainbow ere it fret or fade,
    The choicest there cut out.


MORAL ESSAYS, III.

            Nature, as in duty bound,
    Deep hid this shining mischief under ground,
    But when by man’s audacious labour won,
    Flamed forth this rival to its sire the sun.


COWLEY’S DAVID.

    Where the sun’s fruitful beams give metals birth,
    Where he the growth of fatal gold does see,
    Gold which alone more influence has than he.


DUNCIAD, Book IV.

    Tis true on words is still our whole debate,
    Dispute of me or te, of aut or at.


GR. EPIG. IN ATHEN. Lib. V.

    Φευγετ Ἀρισταρχειοι
    Γωνιοβομβυκες, μονοσυλλαβοι, οισε μεμηλε
    Το σφιν, καὶ σφωιν, καὶ το μιν, ηδε το νιν.


WINDSOR FOREST.

    Hills, vales, and woods, appear already crost,
    And e’er he starts a thousand steps are lost.


LUCRET. II. 263.

    Nonne vides etiam patefactis tempore puncto
    Carceribus, non posse tamen prorumpere equorum
    Vim cupidam tam desubito quam mens avet ipsa,
          Et seq.


RAPE OF THE LOCK.

    Trivial the subject, but not so the praise.


VIRG. GEORG.

    In tenui labor, et tenuis non gloria.


WINDSOR FOREST, 337.

    First the famed authors of his ancient name,
    The winding Isis and the fruitful Thame;
    The Kennet swift, for silver eels renowned,
    The Lodden slow with verdant alders crowned;
    Cole whose dark streams his flowery islands lave,
    And chalky Wey that rolls a milky wave;
    The blue transparent Vandalis appears,
    The gulphy Lee his sedgy tresses rears;
    And sullen Mole, that hides his diving flood,
    And silent Darent stained with Danish blood.


CLAUDIAN IN PROB. ET OLYB. CONS. V. 254.

    Indigenas fluvios, Italis quicunque suberrant
    Montibus, Alpinasque bibunt de more pruinas,
    Vulturnusque rapax, et Nar vitiatus odoro
    Sulfure, tardatisque suis erroribus useus,
    Et Phætonteæ perpessus damna ruinæ,
    Eridanus, flavæque terens querceta Maricæ
    Liris et Æbaliæ qui temporat arva Galesus.


ART. OF CRIT.

    Shakes off the dust, and rears his reverend head.


CLAUDIAN. I. STEL. CONS. II. 127.

              despectaque Musæ
    Cella levant.

To revert for a moment to Milton, the following similitude will appear
very remarkable.


Book IV. v. 159.

              As when to them who sail
    Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past
    Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow
    Sabean odours from the spicy shore
    Of Araby the blest, with such delay
    Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league
    Cheered with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles.


DIODORUS SICULUS, L. III. c. 45.

    Θεια γαρ τις φαινεται και λογου κρειττων ἡ προς πιπτουσα
    και κινοῦσα τας εκαστων αισθησεις εοωδια. Και γαρ τους παρα
    πλεοντας, καιπερ πολυ της χερσου κεχωρισμενους, ουκ αμοιρους
    ποιει της τοιαυτης απολαυσεως—κατα γαρ την εαρινην ωραν, οταν
    αμενος απογειος· γενηται, συμβαινει τας απο των σμυρνοφορων
    δενδρων και των αλλων των τοιαυτων αποπνεομενας εοωδιαδ
    διικνεισθαι προς τα πλησιον μερη της θαλαττης.

For the variety of fragrances which here is perpetually exhaled seems
somewhat divine, and beyond the power of description; for they who are
sailing by, although at a considerable distance from the coast, cannot be
insensible of this delight; for in the season of Spring, when the wind
blows from the land, it brings with it to the contiguous parts of the
sea, the sweet fragrance of myrrh, and other aromatic shrubs.

One more resemblance shall suffice.


Book VII. v. 438.

            The swan with arched neck
    Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows
    Her state with oary feet.


SILIUS ITALICUS, XIV. 190.

    Haud secus Eridani stagnis ripâve Caystri
    Innatat albus olor, pronoque immobile corpus
    Dat fluvio, et pedibus tacitas eremigat undas.

The lines which are subjoined are among the very first poetical
productions of the late amiable Mr. Jerningham.


AN IRREGULAR ODE IN HONOUR OF MISS CAMPBELL,

BY MR. J⸺M,

_Written Impromptu at Lady J⸺’s Tea Table_.

    1.

    Oh the pride
    Of Lord Hyde,
    And the care
    Of Lord Clare,
    And the darling
    Of Alderman Starling.

    2.

    For Venus oft art thou mistaken,
    In Bruton-street, by Teddy Bacon[7].

    3.

    Sir Armine[8], when he looks at thee,
    Forgets his house of Industry.

    4.

    One touch of thy celestial hand,
      Tho’ shaded by thy brownest glove,
      (Such is the power of mighty Love)
    Consumes to atoms Mr. Brand[9].

    5.

    Thy rising charms spread such alarms,
    That when of late to Berkeley-square[10],
    (With conquests big) thou didst repair,
    Intent thy skill in dancing to display,
    The amorous youth for fear kept all away.

    6.

    In prose or rhyme it cannot told be,
    How deep you’ve wounded Mr. Bowlby.

    7.

    One of the valiant sons of war
    Still wears thy deep imprinted scar,
    ’Tis Captain—what d’ye call him—Pshaw!
    The little Adjutant—Fanshaw[11].

    8.

    Then to Squallini Brooke[12] thou’rt such a treat,
    The Doctor _sweetly_ smiles, and does not—eat.

    9.

    And when you come to Grosvenor-square,
    You make no small confusion there,
    Thy beauteous form too briskly urges
    The throbbing pulse of Mr. Burges[13].

    10.

    To Mr. Lombe[14] you give a fever,
    For thee he quits his lovely B⸺r.

    11.

    Thy beauty casts so warm a ray,
    That hearts and bowels melt away,
    On warlike Alpe[15], of the Militia,
    It had th’ effect of strong magnesia.

    12.

    On Wisdom’s calm sequester’d seat,
    Thou’st dared to rush with impious feet,
    And there thou hast been fondly thieving
    The heart that’s due to Madam Stephen[16].

    13.

    Now cease, oh Muse, thy too ambitious strain,
    To count her charms thou still wouldst strive in vain,
    Were you blest with the pen of the Bard of Fernay[17],
    [Sidenote: _Quick time._]
    Or the still keener wit of Sir Hanson Berney[18].



MOTLEY CONTENTS OF TWO NOTABLE VOLUMES.


When this same eccentric work was drawing very near to its conclusion, it
was objected by a friend, that something more explanatory of the contents
of each chapter than the motto prefixed, appeared to be necessary.

The Sexagenarian had himself already done this in numerous instances;
the Editor has supplied the rest, and the reader will be at no loss to
distinguish the hand of the master from the humble one of the copyist.

Transcriber’s Note: The references below are to the chapters of Vol. I.


CHAP. I. P. 1.

A Tale of a Tub.


CHAP. II. P. 8.

A Tendency to the Rhapsodical; or, Much ado about Nothing.


CHAP. III. P. 13.

A Friend in need is a Friend indeed, yet nothing but what might very well
have happened.


CHAP. IV. P. 18.

Introduction to a rough Diamond, and experience for almost the first time
of a rude trial.


CHAP. V. P. 26.

View of Terra Incognita—Abuses, absurdities, irregularities there
prevalent.


CHAP. VI. P. 33.

Proves that Montaigne was probably in the right, when he observed, that
“there should be some restraint of law against foolish and impertinent
scribblers, as well as against vagabonds and idle persons.”


CHAP. VII. P. 38.

Of High Folks and Low Folks—Rich People and Poor People—with certain
facts which demonstrate that splendid talents and profound knowledge are
not limited to rank or station.


CHAP. VIII. P. 48.

    Variety—as is the gardener such is the garden.
    A wicked woman and an evil.
    Is three halfpence worse than the evil.


CHAP. IX. P. 56.

    ’Tis true ’tis pity, pity ’tis, ’tis true.

First appearance of a really great man.

                Sapiens, sibique imperiosus
    Quem neque pauperies, neque mors, neque vincula terrent,
    Responsare cupidinibus, contemnere honores.
    Fortis et in seipso totus teres atque rotundus
    Externi ne quid valeat per leve morari
    In quem manca ruit semper Fortuna.


CHAP. X. P. 64.

Great merit greatly rewarded.

’Tis a rare fortune (says Montaigne) but of inestimable solace, to have a
worthy man, one of a sound judgment, and of manners conformable to your
own, who takes delight to be in your company.


CHAP. XI. P. 71.

Shakespeare’s words true—

            There is a tide in the affairs of men
    Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune.


CHAP. XII. P. 75.

Brings to mind honest Joe Miller. A Bishop in one of his visitations
noticed a fine healthy chubby boy playing in the church-yard. His
Lordship chucked him under the chin, and asked him of what trade he
should like to be. A Bishop, replied the boy. A very good trade, returned
the Bishop, provided you can set up for yourself, when you are out of
your time.


CHAP. XIII. P. 80.

Introduction to a physician, to whom what Cicero, in one of his letters
to Atticus, has observed of his favourite physician Alexion, may be truly
applied by all who knew him. Cicero is communicating to his friend the
news of Alexion’s death.

    O factum male de Alexione! Incredibile est quantâ me molestiâ
    affecerit, nec mehercule ex ea parte maxime quod plerique
    mecum: ad quem igitur te medicum conferes? Quid mihi jam
    medico? aut si opus est tanta inopia est? Amorem erga me,
    humanitatem suavitatemque desidero.


CHAP. XIV. P. 84.

Treats of a certain personage who despised the good old proverb,

    Nunquam enim tacuisse nocet, nocet esse locutum.

In other words,

    If a word be worth one shekel, silence is worth two.


CHAP. XV. P. 92.

Professes to be unintelligible to the Editor. The author might have in
mind a saying of the Jews:

    Thy secret is thy prisoner; if thou let it go, thou art a
    prisoner to it.


CHAP. XVI. P. 96.

Silly enough—First Love soon cured.

The cheese was soft, and the hook would not stick in it; a proof of the
adage, that

    Prosperity is very hard to bear.


CHAP. XVII. P. 102.

    _Wellborn_—No liquor! nor no credit!

    _Tapwell_—None Sir. Your dead father,
    My quondam master, was a man of worship,
                                            But he dying,
    And the twelve hundred a-year coming to you,
    Late Mr. Francis, now forlorn Wellborn,
    You had a merry time of ’t; hawks and hounds,
    With choice of running horses, mistresses,
    And other such extravagances.
    Your lands gone, and your credit not worth a token,
    You grew the common borrower; no man escaped
    Your paper pellets,—I in time
    May rise to be overseer of the poor,
    Which if I do, on your petition Wellborn,
    I may allow you thirteen pence a quarter.


CHAP. XVIII. P. 107.

The good effects of method exemplified, with a serious warning against
being entangled in law-suits, which “catch flies, and let hornets go
free.”


CHAP. XIX. P. 113.

The misery of one false step—a modern Messalina.—“She first made love in
private as is the common use, but bringing her business about with too
much ease, she soon scorned that way, and presently fell to making open
love.”


CHAP. XX. P. 118.

Concessa pudet ire via.—Least said soonest mended.—Early prejudices not
easily forsaken.


CHAP. XXI. P. 123.

    A very interesting and amiable character—
    Who would not sing for Lycidas?


CHAP. XXII. P. 131.

    Fortune’s favours not always ill bestowed.

    Sœpius Pol ipse fingit fortunam sibi.


CHAP. XXIII. P. 136.

A very whimsical, but most improbable collection of “Supposes.”

“If he be Cæsar, let him boldly think himself the greatest captain in the
world.”

“Presumption is divided into two parts: the one in setting too great a
value upon ourselves, and the other in setting too little a value upon
others.”


CHAP. XXIV. P. 141.

The reader is introduced to a phœnomenon of a very different kind from
the Comet which blazed and scorched in the last chapter.


CHAP. XXV. P. 147.

A Blue Stocking Dame of the very highest order, yclept Huniades.—“Her
humour as fantastic as her diet. Nothing that is English must come near
her. All her delight is in foreign impertinencies. She’s for any thing
that comes from beyond sea. She must have some decayed persons of quality
about her, for the Commons of England are the strangest creatures.”


CHAP. XXVI. P. 154.

    A young gentleman born to nothing,
    Forty marks a-year, which I call nothing,
    Enough now to buy a Barony.
                Present him with a chair,
    The best attendance—the best drink—sometimes
    Two glasses of Canary—
    The purest air, and the sharpest knife.


CHAP. XXVII. P. 157.

Proves the old Erasmian adage—Mus non uni fidit antro.


CHAP. XXVIII. P. 164.

The world is (says Montaigne) a school of inquisition. It is not who
shall carry the ring, but who shall run the best courses.


CHAP. XXIX. P. 168.

A new path opened in the pilgrimage of life—Beggars must not be
choosers—rather rhapsodical in parts. An old saw exemplified, “Chi ha
amor nel petto ha le sprone ne i franchi.” Aliter.

He who has love in his breast has spurs in his side.


CHAP. XXX. P. 173.

    The tear my Laura sheds is true,
      For seldom shall she hear a tale
    So sad, so tender, and so true.


CHAP. XXXI. P. 180.

Fox-hunting parsons not always coarse, rude, or illiterate. Men of
elegant birth, education, and accomplishments, not always polished in
their manners, or attractive in their outward appearance.


CHAP. XXXII. P. 189.

    Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
    The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear,
    Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
    And waste its sweetness in the desert air.


CHAP. XXXIII. P. 194.

Miles Romane, Ægyptum cave, say the Sybilline books. There are who apply
the phrase to Pompey alone, who lost his life by trusting himself in
Egypt. Its better interpretation seems to be, that the effeminacy and
luxury of this enervating country was likely to prove pernicious to
the Roman veterans, accustomed to hard fare, and rigid discipline; and
in this sense, may be applied to the arrival for the first time of any
inexperienced young man in the English metropolis.


CHAP. XXXIV. P. 199.

A new Dramatis Persona introduced upon the stage, who in his time
subsequently proved the Roscius of his day. No preternatural appearances
marked the infancy of Porson, though it is told of Roscius, that when in
his cradle, his nurse discovered a serpent twined round his bosom, which
of course induced the Haruspices to foretell, nihil illo puero clarius,
nihil nobilius fere.


CHAP. XXXV. P. 204.

CHAP. XXXVI. P. 211.

CHAP. XXXVII. P. 219.

CHAP. XXXVIII. P. 228.

CHAP. XXXIX. P. 236.

On the same subject. “I knew him well Horatio.”


CHAP. XL. P. 245.

Wherein is demonstrated the truth of the proverb,

    “Qui cum sapientibus versatur, sapiens erit,”

as well as that saying among the Jews,

    If I had not lifted up the stone, you would not have found the
    jewel.


CHAP. XLI. P. 257.

A modern Gracchus.

See Gifford’s Juvenal, p. 38, note.

The Gracchi were brothers, nobly descended, and virtuously educated,
but unfortunately too ambitious. Cæsars in short born near a century
before their time. They proposed an Agrarian law (Spencean) and to
get it passed, struck at the root of that liberty of which they
professed themselves the champions, conceiving, perhaps, with other
hasty reformers, that the end justified the means. They were murdered
with every circumstance of barbarity; Tiberius G. in the midst of his
followers, by Scipio Nasica, and Caius G. some time after, by a mob more
powerful and more profligate than his own. The hero of this chapter died
miserably in banishment at Botany Bay, a just victim to the offended laws
of his country.


CHAP. XLII. P. 266.

The subject of this chapter is well explained by an old Greek ceremony.
It was the custom at Athens to introduce at the marriage ceremony a boy
who was covered with prickly branches, and the common acorn, and carrying
in his hand baskets full of bread; he was taught to exclaim, εφυγον
κακον, ευρον αμεινον, as much as to say, I have exchanged the bad, that
is, thorns and acorns, for good, or in other words, for bread. Nor is it
less to the purpose to add, that these also were the terms used by those
who were initiated into the Eleusinian mysteries—εφυγον κακον, ευρον
αμεινον.


CHAP. XLIII. P. 275.

The same subject continued.

    “There could be no great ones if there were no little.”


CHAP. XLIV. P. 282.

The same subject.

Familiar Epistles.

By the way, it is an error to call Cicero’s Epistles, Familiar Epistles.
Epistolæ ad familiares, has a distinct meaning.


CHAP. XLV. P. 296.

A really great man.

With a fair wind how steadily and cheerily the vessel scuds along. It
is not easy to estimate the value of the help of Theseus; did he not
assist Meleager in the destruction of the Caledonian boar? What, without
his aid, could Perithous have done in his battle with the Centaurs, or
Hercules in his contest with the Amazons?


CHAP. XLVI. P. 307.

Virgil tells us that Jupiter was so indignant with Esculapius for
restoring Hippolitus to life, that he struck him dead with his thunder.

    Nam Pater Omnipotens aliquem indignatus ab umbris
    Mortalem infernis ad lumina surgere vitæ,
    Ipse repertorem medicinæ iratus et artis
    Flumine Phœbeginam Stygias detrusit ad undas.

What rare punishments would he not have devised for the accomplished
individuals here recapitulated.


CHAP. XLVII. P. 315.

The same subject.

The first personage who is here introduced might exclaim,

                  Laborum (morborum)
    Nulla mihi nova nunc facies inopinaque surgit
    Omnia præcepi atque animo mecum ante peregi.

Of the rest, of all of whom it is well known how much their skill and
experience have contributed to sooth and soften the calamities of their
contemporaries, it is impossible not to be a little out of humour with
that surly old fellow, Cato the Censor. Till his time the Romans knew
nothing of physicians or physic. They were introduced when he was in
office, and after a trial banished at his interposition. Here (says the
veteran) have I lived to be fourscore and five, and here too is my wife
in extreme old age, and we neither of us ever had or wanted physician or
physic. Let them go about their business.


CHAP. XLVIII. P. 324.

To this part of the work, and to this, and some of the subsequent
chapters, the title of one of the comedies of Aristophanes might
not unaptly be applied, viz. The Ecclesiazuræ, or Women assembling
themselves together. Here they will be found assembled of all ages,
ranks, conditions, and talents, in almost every variety of that various
sex: Widows, Matrons, Virgins, Philosophers, Politicians, and Poets.
The Sexagenarian was a well-known advocate for the sex, the reader
must not therefore expect any of those hard, wicked, and abusive
adages about them, such as the three greatest evils, are Fire, Water,
Woman. There are three things which are good for nothing without much
beating, a walnut-tree, an ass, and a woman. A man of straw is worth a
woman of gold. Three women and a goose make a market. Fie on such vile
slanderers!!!—No! no! different opinions will be found here: the maxim
here prevalent is, that there is no paradise without women, and that
England is the paradise of women. But here a paradox occurs. There is no
country in which women have so much influence, nor any language which
contains such numerous and abusive reproaches upon women as our own.


CHAP. XLIX. P. 334.

Striking contrasts to the Portrait exhibited in the former chapter.


CHAP. L. P. 339.

The same subject, with a representation of similar virtues exemplified in
such trials,

    As may startle well but not astound
    The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended
    By a strong siding champion Conscience.


CHAP. LI. P. 344.

Might not she who is concisely characterized in this chapter have
exclaimed,

    Mortals that would follow me,
    Love Virtue, she alone is free;
    She can teach you how to climb
    Higher than the sphery chime;
    Or if Virtue feeble were,
    Heaven itself would stoop to her.


CHAP. LII. P. 348.

That same Mr. Pope, who was an arch slanderer of the sex, impudently
says, that most women have no characters at all. Here we are introduced
to a lady who appears to have combined almost every character in one. A
Philosopher, and at the same time obedient to the first impulse of the
passions. A writer on the subject of education, and yet violating in her
own person the ties of moral obligation, as established in society. An
advocate for the best principles that can direct the human heart, and
a slave to the worst. Some of the sages of old held that the body of
woman was formed by the good, and her mind by the evil Principle. Such
heretical doctrines will find no advocates here, although the chapter and
character before us may bring them to remembrance.


CHAP. LIII. P. 357.

The reader will here be reminded of the story of Narcissus, so
prettily told by Ovid in the third book of his Metamorphoses, and more
particularly of his soliloquy on contemplating his own image in the
fountain. The lady whose portrait is given in the chapter which precedes,
and she who is here first introduced, may be supposed to address to one
another the following words of Narcissus, having been as it were, μια
ψυχη.

    Cum risi arrides, lacrymas quoque sæpe notavi
    Me lacrymante tuas, nurtu quoque signa remittes—
    In te ego sum, sensi—
    Nunc duo concordes anima moriemur in una.

Nay, it is not quite impossible, but as it is an observation of one of
the old commentators upon Plato, that “Furicus Triplex indissolubilis
est,” but that the third lady also may exult at being considered as one
of the honourable fraternity.

    Hoc est quod dicitur illud
    Fraternum vere dulce sodalitium.


CHAP. LIV. P. 368.

CHAP. LV. P. 376.

CHAP. LVI. P. 378.

These three chapters contain ample matter for a modern novel, at least
of three volumes. It would be easy to introduce a few episodes of
great, and proud, and unfeeling relations, of prospects blighted, hopes
disappointed, ambition marred, and so forth, and many a circulating
library would be made to rejoice. The only objection seems to be, that
what is here related, is true. There actually was a female so various, so
eccentric, and yet so lovely. A doughty candidate for a generalship as
fantastical, as conceited, and as amorous; a poet, so characterized by
ingenious frenzy; relations as proud, as stupid and as unfeeling, with
under Dramatis Personæ of corresponding peculiarities.


CHAP. LVII. P. 385.

The ancients had some very perverse and out of the way phrases about
women. They would sometimes talk of a Chalcidian wife, which is variously
interpreted, as meaning a very prolific wife, or as applying to one who
is the cause of much contention and animosity. They had also a saying of
a Thessalian wife, which meant neither more nor less than a witch. They
would also wickedly say, that a woman never did any thing in moderation,
and that if she played at dice, she always threw worse or better than any
body else. But of all their pithy sayings on this pithy subject, it is
not easy to find one which will apply to the character here introduced.
Terence may perhaps help us—“O pergin mulier esse.”


CHAP. LVIII. P. 389.

_Devil._—Master bid me not come without the proof. There’s Mr. Guzzle,
the translator, never keeps me a minute, unless the poor gentleman
happens to be fuddled.

_Author._—Why you little sooty, snivelling, diabolical puppy, is it not
sufficient to be plagued with the stupidity of your absurd master, but I
must be pestered with your impertinence.

_Devil._—Impertinence! Marry come up, I keep as good company as your
worship every day in the year. There’s Mr. Clench, in Little Britain,
does not think it beneath him to take part of a pot of porter with me,
though he has wrote two volumes of lives in quarto, and has a folio
a-coming out in numbers.


CHAP. LIX. P. 395.

A female introduced who cares for no man, but boasts that her protectors
are Title-page the publisher, Vamp the bookseller, and Index the printer.
A most noble triumvirate!


CHAP. LX. P. 400.

                    Is aught so fair
    In all the dewy landscapes of the Spring,
    In the bright eye of Hesper in the morn,
    In Nature’s fairest forms is aught so fair
    As Virtue’s friendship.

                    More sublime
    The queen-like partner moved; the prime of age
    Composed her steps; the presence of a god,
    High on the circle of her brow enthroned,
    From each majestic motion darted awe,
    Devoted awe!


CHAP. LXI. P. 406.

The quotation above is intended to comprehend the subject of this chapter
also.

The parties may be conceived as addressing one another in the words of
Plautus.

    Certe ego quod te amo, operam nusquam melius potui ponere,
    Bene igitur ratio accepte atque expensi inter nos convenit
    Tu me amas—ego tu amo; merito id fieri uterque existumat
    Hæc qui gaudent, gaudeant perpetuo suo semper bono.


CHAP. LXII. P. 410.

    “That little which is good fills the trencher.”


CHAP. LXIII. P. 412.

Moliere ⸺ furnishes us with a very apt motto for the portrait here
delineated.

    Que du nom de savante on honore en tous lieux,
    Fachez ainsi que moi de vous montrer sa fille
    Aspirez aux chartes qui sont dans la famille,
    Et vous rendez sensible aux charmantes douceurs,
    Que l’amour de l’etude epanches—dans les cœurs;
    Loin d’etre aux loix d’un homme en esclave asservie,
    Mariez vous, ma sœur a la philosophie,
    Qui nous monte au-dessus de tout le genre-humain,
    Et donne a la raison l’Empire Suverain.


CHAP. LXIV. P. 416.

    Ambo florentes ætatibus. Arcades ambo
    Et certare pares et respondere paretiæ.

By the way it may be asked, as a sort of desultory question, at what
period did these same Arcadians redeem their character? In primitive
times, they were considered as a mighty stupid people, celebrated, as
they afterwards became, as poets. Athenæus tells us, that they despised
music, and refused to receive the art among them. Lucian also, in his
Treatise on Astrology, relates that they were the only people who refused
and despised it, and professed themselves to be of greater antiquity than
the moon.

The Tragi-Comedy of the Fœminæ Concurientes, or women assembling
themselves together, here concludes.


CHAP. LXV. P. 421.

Of the venerable personage here depicted, it may be truly said, that he

    Sinks to the grave by unperceived decay,
    While resignation gently slopes the way,
    And all his prospects brightning to the last,
    His heaven commences ere this world be past.


CHAP. LXVI. P. 427.

    “As one who destin’d, from his friends to part,
    Regrets his loss, yet hopes again, erewhile
    To share their converse, and enjoy their smile,
    And tempers, as he may, affliction’s dart.
    Thus loved associates,
    Teachers of wisdom,
    I now resign you, nor with fainting heart,
    For pass a few short years, or days, or hours,
    And happier seasons, may their dawn unfold,
    And all your sacred fellowship restore,
    When freed from earth, unlimited its powers,
    Mind, shall with mind, direct communion hold,
    And kindred spirits, meet to part no more.”



POSTSCRIPT.


It will not perhaps be a very easy matter, at this period of the work, to
recall the mind of the reader from fiction to reality, and to persuade
him of the melancholy truth, that THE SEXAGENARIAN IS NOW NO MORE.
The circumstances attending this event are of an interesting, almost
even of an awful nature. To engage the attention more deeply in his
narrative, and to relieve it of the egotism attached to self-biography,
the Sexagenarian had adopted the third person instead of the first in
many parts of the work. He had supposed that after his death a friend
had discovered a number of scattered materials, from which these volumes
were to be formed, and had so supplied the connecting links as to make
the history complete. In adopting this plan, he was enabled to give the
narrative many little lively turns, which the natural playfulness of his
mind suggested. In this manner he had proceeded, sustaining the character
of himself and his friend, within a few pages of the conclusion of his
work, and had even corrected the press down to the present sheet. Little
perhaps did he think how prophetic was his plan, and that on his own
death-bed he should in reality entrust to a friend that office, which in
fiction he had supposed to have been committed to his care. To present
these Memoirs to the world, and explain the peculiar circumstances under
which they are published, was the dying request of the Sexagenarian to
one who knew and who valued his worth. He had scarcely entered upon his
sixtieth year, and had just entitled himself to the appellation which in
his work he had assumed, when he was suddenly called from an existence of
much bodily pain and suffering. His life had been chequered by various
events both of a prosperous and of an adverse nature. In the paths of
literature his exertions had been attended with the most gratifying
success. He had moved in the first circles of life; he had been fostered
by the great, and rewarded by the good. No man, perhaps, of his age,
possessed larger or more varied resources of curious and entertaining
scholarship. In literary anecdote, he was rich and fertile; in neat and
appropriate citations, he was unrivalled. His conversation was easy,
elegant, and communicative; and no scholar could leave his company
without an addition to his stock of knowledge. As a friend, he was
respected and beloved; among his acquaintance, indeed, his good-humour
was almost proverbial. His open and generous nature was too often a dupe
to the treacherous, and a prey to the designing. His latter days were
spent in retirement from those busy scenes, in which he had formerly
borne a conspicuous part. In the last two years of his life, he amused
himself with the composition of the preceding Memoirs, which display an
extensive knowledge of the events and the characters of a former day.
Many of the personages there described, like the hand which records them,
are now in the dust, and have left their name only and their memories
behind.

Would the reader enquire the end of the Sexagenarian; would he know how a
life so spent was concluded; let him be assured, that his last hours were
those of a good and pious man; that he departed in the same faith and
fear in which he had lived. And happy will he be, who, after a life so
actively and so usefully employed, shall repose upon a death-bed so calm,
and so Christian, as that of the SEXAGENARIAN.



FOOTNOTES


[1] Pergræcari means to spend the day and night in drinking.

[2] Here is an hiatus in our manuscript.

[3] “Tranquillity.” See the tale called “Bathmendi,” in Popular Tales.

[4] Emendat. in Ciceronis Tusc. Quæst. iv. 21.

[5] Judges.

[6] A scurrilous Ballad, entitled _Christmas Gambols_.

[7] Edward Bacon, Esq. Member for Norwich.

[8] Sir Armine Wodehouse, Bart.

[9] The Rev. Mr. Brand.

[10] Alluding to a ball at the Duchess of Beaufort’s, at which Miss C.
assisted, and to which her Grace invited no young men, for fear they
should captivate the heart of Lady Eliz. Compton.

[11] Mr. Fanshaw, of the Guards.

[12] The Rev. Dr. Brooke.

[13] Lady J⸺’s old butler.

[14] John Lombe, Esq. of Melton.

[15] Mr. Hamond Alpe, of Fransham.

[16] A piece of scandal on Mr. Leonard Buxton, of Easton.

[17] The celebrated Voltaire.

[18] Sir H. B. of Kirby, Bart.




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