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/ 
 /3 
 
 MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 
 
 »T 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS, 
 
 INTERSPERSED WITH 
 
 ANECDOTES AND CHARACTERS 
 
 OF SEVERAL OF 
 
 THE MOST DISTINGUISHED PERSONS OF HIS TIME, 
 
 9 ft m 
 
 '*'■% 
 
 WITH WHOM 
 
 HE HAS HAD INTERCOURSE AND CONNEXION. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 BRISBAN AND BRANNAN, 186 PEARL STREET, NEW YORK 
 
 1806. 
 
•At 
 
a.yvyts7v?f?^. 
 
 MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 
 
 AT the close of the year 1 804, whilst I am still in possession 
 of my faculties, though full of years, I sit down to give a history of 
 my life and writings. I do not undertake the task lightly and with- 
 out deliberation, for I have weighed the difficulties, and am prepared 
 to meet them. I have lived so long in this world, mixed so generally 
 with mankind, and written so voluminously and so variously, that I 
 trust my motives cannot be greatly misunderstood, if, with strict 
 attention to truth, and in simplicity of style, I pursue my narrative, 
 saying nothing more of the immediate object of these memoirs, than 
 in honour and in conscience I am warranted to say. 
 
 I shall use so little embellishment in this narrative, that if the 
 reader is naturally candid he will not be disgusted ; if he is easily 
 amused he will not be disappointed. 
 
 As I have been, through life, a negligent recorder of dates and 
 events relating to myself, it is very possible I may fall into errors of 
 memory as to the order and arrangement of certain facts and occur- 
 rences, but whilst I adhere to veracity in the relation of them, the 
 trespass, I presume, will be readily overlooked. 
 
 Of many persons, with whom I have had intercourse and con- 
 nection, I shall speak freely and impartially. I know myself inca- 
 pable of wantonly aspersing the characters of the living or the dead ; 
 but, though I will not indulge myself in conjectures, I will not turn 
 aside from facts, and neither from affectation of candour, nor dread 
 of recrimination, waive the privilege, which I claim for myself in 
 every page of this history, of speaking the truth from my heart : I 
 
 B 
 
■3 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 may not always say all that I could, but I will never knowingly say 
 of any man what I should not. 
 
 As I am descended from ancestors illustrious for their piety, 
 benevolence and erudition, I will not say I am not vain of that dis- 
 tinction ; but I will confess it would be a vanity, serving only to ex* 
 pose my degeneracy, were it accompanied with the inspiration of no 
 worthier passion. 
 
 Doctor Richard Cumberland, who was consecrated bishop of 
 Peterborough in the year 1691, was my great grandfather. He was 
 author of that excellent work entitled Be Legibus Natura, in which 
 he effectually refutes the impious tenets of Hobbes, and whilst he 
 was unambitiously fulfilling the simple functions of a parish priest 
 in the town of Stamford, the revolution having taken place, search 
 was made after the ablest Protestant divines to fill up vacancies in 
 the hierarchy, and rally round their late endangered church. — 
 Without interest, and without a wish to emerge from his obscurity 
 and retirement, this excellent man, the vindicator of the insulted 
 laws of nature, received the first intelligence of his promotion from 
 a paragraph in the public papers, and, being then sixty years old, 
 was with difficulty persuaded to accept the offer, when it came to 
 him from authority. The persuasion of his friends, particularly sir 
 Orlando Bridgeman, at length overcame his repugnance, and to that 
 see, though very moderately endowed, he for ever after devoted him- 
 self, and resisted every offer of translation, though repeatedly made 
 and earnestly recommended. To such of his friends as pressed an 
 exchange upon him he was accustomed to reply, that Peterborough 
 was his first espoused, and should be his only one ; and, in fact, ac- 
 cording to his principles, no church revenue could enrich him ; for 
 I have heard my father say, that at the end of every year, whatever 
 overplus he found upon a minute inspection of his accounts, was 
 by him distributed to the poor, reserving only one small deposit of 
 twenty -five pounds in cash, found at his death in his bureau, with 
 directions to employ it for the discharge of his funeral expenses ; a 
 sum, in his modest calculation, fully sufficient to commit his body to 
 the earth. 
 
 Such was the humility of this truly Christian prelate, and such 
 his disinterested sentiments as to the appropriation of his episcopal 
 revenue. The wealthiest see could not have tempted him to accu- 
 mulate, the poorest sufficed for his expenses, and of those he had 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 3 
 
 to spare for the poor. Yet he was hospitable in his plain and 
 primitive style of living, and had a table ever open to his clergy 
 and his friends : he had a sweetness and placidity of temper, tUat 
 nothing ever ruffled or disturbed. I know it cannot be the lot of 
 human creature to attain perfection, yet so wonderfully near did 
 this good man approach to consummate rectitude, that unless bene- 
 volence may be carried to excess, no other failing was ever known 
 to have been discovered in his character. His chaplain, Archdea- 
 con Payne, who married one of his daughters, and whom I am old 
 enough to remember, makes this observation in the snort sketch of 
 the bishop's life, which he has prefixed to his edition of The Sanr 
 choniatho. This and his other works are in the hands of the learn- 
 ed, and cannot need any effort on my part to elucidate what they 
 so clearly display, the vast erudition and patient investigation of 
 their author. 
 
 The death of this venerable prelate was, like his life, serene 
 and undisturbed : at the extended age of eighty-six years and some 
 months, as he was sitting in his library, he expired without a strug- 
 gle, for he was found in the attitude of one asleep, with his cap 
 fallen over his eyes, and a book in his hand, in which he had been 
 reading. Thus, without the ordinary visitations of pain or sick- 
 ness, it pleased God to terminate the existence of this exemplary 
 man. 
 
 He possessed his faculties to the last, verifying the only claim 
 he was ever heard to make as to mental endowments ; for whilst 
 he acknowledged himself to be gifted by nature with good wearing 
 parts, he made no pretensions to quick and brilliant talents, and in 
 that respect he seems to have estimated himself very truly, as we 
 rarely find such meek and modest qualities as he possessed, in men 
 of warmer imaginations, and a brighter glow of genius with less so- 
 lidity of understanding, and, of course, more liable to the influences 
 of their passions. 
 
 Bishop Cumberland was the son of a respectable citizen of 
 London, and educated at St. Paul's school, from whence he was ad- 
 mitted of Magdalen College in Cambridge, where he pursued his 
 studies, and was elected fellow of that society, to which I had the 
 honour to present a copy of that portrait from which the print here- 
 unto annexed was taken. 
 
4 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 In the oriental languages, in mathematics, and even in anatomy, 
 he was deeply learned ; in short, his mind was fitted for elaborate 
 and profound researches, as his works more fully testify. It is to 
 be lamented that his famous work, De Legibus JVatura, was allowed 
 to come before the pubiic with so many and such glaring errors of 
 the press, which his absence and considerable distance from London 
 disabled him from correcting. I had a copy interleaved and cor- 
 rected and amended throughout by Doctor Bentley, who, being on 
 a visit to my father at his parsonage-house in Northamptonshire, 
 undertook that kind office, and completed it most effectually.— This 
 book I gave, when kst at Cambridge, to the library of Trinity Col- 
 lege ; and if, by those means, it shall find a passport to the Univer- 
 sity press, I shall have cause to congratulate myself for having so 
 happily bestowed it. 
 
 Of Doctor Richard Bentley, my maternal grandfather, I shall 
 next take leave to speak. Of him I have perfect recollection. His 
 person, his dignity, his language and his love fixed my early atten- 
 tion, and stamped both his image and his words upon my memory. 
 His literary works are known to all, his private character is still 
 misunderstood by many ; to that I shall confine myself, and, putting 
 aside the enthusiasm of a descendant, I can assert, with the veraci- 
 ty of a biographer, that he was neither cynical, as some have repre- 
 sented him, nor overbearing and fastidious in the degree, as he has 
 been described by many. Swift, when he foisted him into his vul- 
 gar Battle of the Books, neither lowers Bentley 's fame nor elevates 
 his own ; and the petulant poet, who thought he had hit his manner, 
 when he made him haughtily call to Walker for his hat, gave a copy 
 as little like the character of Bentley, as his translation is like the 
 original of Homer. That Doctor Walker, vice-master of Trinity 
 College, was the friend of my grandfather, and a frequent guest at 
 his table, is true ; but it was not in Doctor Bentley's nature to treat 
 him with contempt, nor did his harmless character inspire it. As 
 for the hat, I must acknowledge it was of formidable dimensions, yet 
 I was accustomed to treat it with great familiarity, and if it had ever 
 been further from the hand of its owner than the peg upon the back 
 of his great arm-chair, I might have been dispatched to fetch it, for 
 he was disabled by the palsy in his latter days ; but the hat never 
 strayed from its place, and Pope found an office for Walker, that I 
 can well believe he was never commissioned to in his life. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 5 
 
 I had a sister somewhat elder than myself. Had there been any 
 of that sternness in my grandfather, which is so falsely imputed to 
 him, it may well be supposed we should have been awed into silence 
 in his presence, to which we were admitted every day. Nothing- 
 can be further from the truth ; he was the unwearied patron and 
 promoter of all our childish sports and sallies ; at all times ready to 
 detach himself from any topic of conversation to take an interest and 
 bear his part in our amusements. The eager curiosity natural to 
 our age, and the questions it gave birth to, so teazing to many pa- 
 rents, he, on the contrary, attended to and encouraged, as the claims 
 of infant reason never to be evaded or abused ; strongly recommend- 
 ing, that to all such inquiries answer should be given according to 
 the strictest truth, and information dealt to us in the clearest terms, 
 as a sacred duty never to be departed from. I have broken in upon 
 him many a time in his hours of study, when he would put his book 
 aside, ring his hand-bell for his servant, and be led to his shelves to 
 take down a picture-book for my amusement. I do not say that his 
 good-nature always gained its object, as the pictures which his books 
 generally supplied me with were anatomical drawings of dissected 
 bodies, very little calculated to communicate delight; but he had 
 nothing better to produce ; and surely such an effort on his part, 
 however unsuccessful, was no feature of a cynic : a cynic should be 
 made of sterner stuff. I have had from him, at times, whilst stand- 
 ing at his elbow, a complete and entertaining narrative of his school- 
 boy days, with the characters of his different masters very humo- 
 rously displayed, and the punishments described, which they at 
 times would wrongfully inflict upon him for seeming to be idle and 
 regardless of his task, " When the dunces," he would say, " could 
 " not discover that I was pondering it in my mind, and fixing it 
 " more firmly in my memory, than if I had been bawling it out 
 " amongst the rest of my school-fellows/' 
 
 Once, and only once, I recollect his giving me a gentle rebuke 
 for making a most outrageous noise in the room over his library 
 and disturbing him in his studies; I had no apprehension of anger 
 from him, and confidently answered that I could not help it, as I 
 had been at battledore and shuttlecock with Master Gooch, the 
 Bishop of Ely's son. " And I have been at this sport with his fa- 
 " ther," he replied; " but thine has been the more amusing game. 
 ** so there's no harm done." 
 
6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 These are puerile anecdotes, but my history itself is only in its 
 nonage ; and even these will serve in some degree to establish what 
 I affirmed, and present his character in those mild and unimposing 
 lights, which may prevail with those who know him only as a critic 
 and controversialist — 
 
 As slashing Bentley %vith his desperate hook, 
 
 to reform and soften their opinions of him. 
 
 He recommended it as a very essential duty in parents to be 
 particularly attentive to the first dawnings of reason in their chil- 
 dren ; and his own practice was the best illustration of his doctrine ; 
 for he was the most patient hearer and most favourable interpreter 
 of first attempts at argument and meaning that I ever knew. When 
 I was rallied by my mother, for roundly asserting that I never slept, 
 I remember full well his calling on me to account for it ; and when 
 I explained it by saying I never knew myself to be asleep, and 
 therefore supposed I never slept at all, he gave me credit for my 
 defence, and said to my mother, " Leave your boy in possession of 
 " his opinion ; he has as clear a conception of sleep, and at least as 
 " comfortable an one, as the philosophers who puzzle their brains 
 " about it, and do not rest so well." 
 
 Though Bishop Lowth, in the flippancy of controversy called the 
 author of The Fhiloleutherus Lijisiensis and detector of Phalaris aut 
 Ca/irimulgus aut Jbssor, his genius has produced those living wit- 
 nesses, that must for ever put that charge to shame and silence. 
 Against such idle ill-considered words, now dead as the language 
 they were conveyed in, the appeal is near at hand ; it lies no fur- 
 ther off than to his works, and they are upon every reading-man's 
 shelves ; but those, who would have looked into his heart, should 
 have stepped into his house, and seen him in his private and domes- 
 tic hours ; therefore it is that I adduce these little anecdotes and 
 trifling incidents, which describe the man, but leave the author to 
 defend himself. 
 
 His ordinary style of conversation was naturally lofty, and his 
 frequent use of thou and thee with his familiars carried with it a 
 kind of dictatorial tone, that savoured more of the closet than the 
 court ; this is readily admitted, and this on first approaches might 
 mislead a stranger; but the native candour and inherent tenderness 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 7 
 
 of his heart could not long be veiled from observation, for his feel- 
 ings and affections were at once too impulsive to be long repressed, 
 and he too careless of concealment to attempt at qualifying them. 
 Such was his sensibility towards human sufferings, that it became a 
 duty with his family to divert the conversation from all topics of 
 that sort ; and if he touched upon them himself he was betrayed 
 into agitations, which if the reader ascribes to paralytic weakness, 
 he will very greatly mistake a man, who to the last hour of his life 
 possessed his faculties firm and in their fullest vigour ; I therefore 
 bar all such misinterpretations as may attempt to set the mark of 
 infirmity upon those emotions, which had no other source and origin 
 but in the natural and pure benevolence of his heart. 
 
 He was communicative to all without distinction, that sought 
 information, or resorted to him for assistance ; fond of his college 
 almost to enthusiasm, and ever zealous for the honour of the purple 
 gown of Trinity. When he held examinations for fellowships, and 
 the modest candidate exhibited marks of agitation and alarm, he 
 ^lever failed to interpret candidly of such symptoms ; and on those 
 occasions he was never known to press the hesitating and embar- 
 rassed examinant, but oftentimes on the contrary would take all the 
 pains of expounding on himself, aaid credit the exonerated candi- 
 date for answers and interpretations of his own suggesting. If 
 this was not rigid justice, it was, at least in my conception of it, 
 something better and more amiable ; and how liable he was to de- 
 viate from the strict line of justice, by his partiality to the side of 
 mercy, appears from the anecdote of the thief, who robbed him of 
 his plate, and was seized and brought before him with the very ar- 
 ticles upon him : the natural process in this man's case pointed out 
 the road to prison ; my grandfather's process was more summary, 
 but not quite so legal. While commissary Greaves, who was then 
 present, and of counsel for the college Ex officio, was expatiating 
 on the crime, and prescribing the measures obviously to be taken 
 with the offender, Doctor Bentley interposed, saying, " Why tell 
 " the man he is a thief? he knows that well enough, without thy 
 
 " information, Greaves. Harkye, fellow, thou see'st the trade 
 
 " which thou hast taken up is an unprofitable trade, therefore, get 
 " thee gone, lay aside an occupation by which thou can'st gain no- 
 <> thing but a halter, and follow that by which thou may'st earn an 
 
MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " honest livelihood." Having said this, he ordered him to be set at 
 liberty against the remonstrances of the bye-standers, and insisting 
 upon it that the fellow was duly penitent for his offence, bade him 
 go his way, and never steal again. 
 
 I leave it with those, who consider mercy as one of man's best 
 attributes, to suggest a plea for the informality of this proceeding, 
 and to such I will communicate one other anecdote, which I do not 
 deliver upon my own knowledge, though from unexceptionable 
 authority, and this is, that when Collms had fallen into decay of cir- 
 cumstances, Doctor Bentley, suspecting he had written him out of 
 credit by his Philoleutherus Lifisiensis, secretly contrived to adminis- 
 ter to the necessities of his baffled opponent, in a manner that did 
 no less credit to his delicacy than to his liberality. 
 
 A morose and over-bearing man will find himself a solitary be- 
 ing in creation ; Doctor Bentley on the contrary had many inti- 
 mates; judicious in forming his friendships, he was faithful in ad- 
 hering to them. With Sir Isaac Newton, Doctor Mead, Doctor 
 Wallis of Stamford, Baron Spanheim, the lamented Roger Cotes^ 
 and several other distinguished and illustrious contemporaries, he 
 lived on terms of uninterrupted harmony, and I have good authority 
 for saying, that it is to his interest and importunity with Sir Isaac 
 Newton, that the inestimable publication of the Principia was ever 
 resolved upon by that truly great and luminous philosopher. New- 
 ton's portrait by Sir James Thornhill, and those of Baron Spanheim 
 and my grandfather by the same hand, now hanging in the Master's 
 lodge of Trinity, were the bequest of Doctor Bentley. I was pos- 
 sessed of letters in Sir Isaac's own hand to my grandfather, which 
 together with the corrected volume of bishop Cumberland's Laws 
 of 'Nature ; I lately gave to the library of that flourishing and illustri- 
 ous college. 
 
 The irreparable loss of Roger Cotes in early life, of whom New- 
 ton had pronounced — Now the world will know something. Doctor 
 Bentley never mentioned but with the deepest regret; he had form- 
 ed the highest expectations of new lights and discoveries in philoso- 
 phy from the penetrating force of his extraordinary genius, and on 
 the tablet devoted to his memory, in the chapel of Trinity College, 
 Doctor Bentley has recorded his sorrows and those of the whole 
 learned world in the following beautiful and pathetic epitaph : 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 9 
 
 H. S. E. 
 
 " Rogerus Roberti filius Cotes, 
 
 "Hujus Collegii S. Trinitatis Socius, 
 
 " Et Astronomiae et experimentalis 
 
 " Philosophise Professor Plumianus ; 
 
 " Qui immatura Morte praereptus, 
 
 u Pauca quidem ingenii Sui 
 
 " Pignora reliquit, 
 
 u Sed egregia, sed admiranda, 
 
 a Ex intimis Matheseos penetralibus, 
 
 " Felici Solertia turn primum eruta ; 
 
 " Post magnum ilium Newtonum 
 
 " Societatis hujus spes altera 
 
 " Et decus gemellum ; 
 
 a Cui ad summam Doctrinae laudem, 
 
 « Omnes morum virtutumque dotes 
 
 " In cumulum accesserunt ; 
 
 " Eo magis spectabiles amabilesque, 
 
 M Quod in formoso corpore 
 
 " Gratiores venirent. 
 
 " Natus Burbagii 
 
 " In agro Leicestriensi. 
 
 "Jul. X. MDCLXXXII. 
 
 « Obiit. Jun. v. mdccxvi." 
 
 His domestic habits, when I knew him, were still those of una- 
 bated study : he slept in the room adjoining to his library, and was 
 never with his family till the hour of dinner ; at these times he seem- 
 ed to have detached himself most completely from his studies; never 
 appearing thoughtful and abstracted, but social, gay, and possessing 
 perfect serenity of mind and equability of temper. He never dic- 
 tated topics of conversation to the company he was with, but tool 7 
 them up as they came in his way, and was a patient listener to other 
 people's discourse, however trivial or uninteresting it might be. 
 When The Spectators were in publication I have heard my mother 
 say he took great delight in hearing them read to him, and was so 
 particularly amused by the character of Sir Roger de Coverley, that 
 he took his literary decease most seriously to heart. She also told 
 me, that, when in conversation with him on the subject of his works, 
 
 C 
 
10 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 she found occasion to lament that he had bestowed so great a portion 
 of his time and talents upon criticism instead of employing them 
 upon original composition, he acknowledged the justice of her regret 
 with extreme sensibility, and remained for a considerable time 
 thoughtful and seemingly embarrassed by the nature of her remark; 
 at last recollecting himself he said — " Child, I am sensible I have 
 " not always turned my talents to the proper use for which I should 
 " presume they were given to me : yet I have done something for 
 "the honour of my God and the edification of my fellow creatures; 
 " but the wit and genius of those old heathens beguiled me, and as 
 " I despaired of raising myself up to their standard upon fair ground, 
 " I thought the only chance I had of looking over their heads was 
 " to get upon their shoulders." 
 
 Of his pecuniary affairs he took no account ; he had no use for 
 money, and dismissed it entirely from his thoughts: his establish- 
 ment in the mean time was respectable, and his table affluently and 
 hospitably served. All these matters were conducted and arranged 
 in the best manner possible by one of the best women living; for 
 such, by the testimony of all who knew her, was Mrs. Bentley, 
 daughter of Sir John Bernard, of Brampton, in Huntingdonshire, a 
 family of great opulence and respectability, allied to the Cromwells 
 and Saint Johns, and by intermarriages connected with other great 
 and noble houses. I have perfect recollection of the person of my 
 grandmother, and a full impression of her manners and habits, which, 
 though in some degree tinctured with hereditary reserve and the 
 primitive cast of character, were entirely free from the hypocritical 
 cant and affected sanctity of the Oiiverians. Her whole life was 
 modelled on the purest principles of piety, benevolence and Christian 
 charity ; and in her dying moments, my mother being present and 
 voucher of the fact, she breathed out her soul in a kind of beatific 
 vision, exclaiming in rapture as she expired — <It is all bright, it is all 
 glorious ! 
 
 I was frequently called upon by her to repeat certain scriptural 
 texts and passages, which she had taught me, and for which I seldom 
 failed to be rewarded, but by which I was also frequently most com- 
 pletely puzzled and ^bewildered ; so that I much doubt if the good 
 effects of this practice upon immature and infantine understandings, 
 will be found to keep pace with the good intentions of those who 
 adopt it. One of these holy apothegms, viz: — The eyes of the Lord 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND, 11 
 
 are in every place, beholding the evil and the good, I remember to have 
 cost me many a struggle to interpret, and the result of my construc- 
 tion was directly opposite to the spirit and meaning of the text. I 
 was also occasionally summoned to attend upon the readings of long 
 sermons and homilies of Baxter, as I believe, and others of his period ; 
 neither by these was I edified, but, on the contrary, so effectually 
 wearied, that by noises and interruptions I seldom failed to render 
 myself obnoxious, and obtain my dismission before the reading was 
 over. 
 
 The death of this exemplary lady preceded that of my grand- 
 father by a few years only, and by her he had one son, Richard, and 
 two daughters, Elizabeth and Joanna. Richard was a man of various 
 and considerable accomplishments ; he had a fine genius, great wit 
 and a brilliant imagination ; he had also the manners and address of 
 a perfect gentleman, but there was a certain eccentricity and want 
 of worldly prudence in my uncle's character, that involved him in 
 distresses, and reduced him to situations uncongenial with his feel- 
 ings, and unpropitious to the cultivation and encouragement of his 
 talents. His connexion with Mr. Horace Walpole, the late Lord 
 Orford, had too much of the bitter of dependance in it to be gratify- 
 ing to the taste of a man of his spirit and sensibility ; the one could 
 not be abject, and the other, I suspect, was not by nature very liberal 
 and large-minded. They carried on, for a long time, a sickly kind 
 of friendship, which had its hot fits and its cold ; was suspended and 
 renewed, but I believe never totally broken and avowedly laid aside. 
 Walpole had by nature a propensity, and by constitution a plea, for 
 being captious and querulential, for he was a martyr to the gout. He 
 wrote prose and published it ; he composed verses and circulated 
 them, and was an author, who seemed to play at hide-and-seek with 
 the public. There was a mysterious air of consequence in his private 
 establishment of a domestic printing press, that seemed to augur 
 great things, but performed little. Walpole was already an author 
 with no great claims to excellence, Bentley had those powers in em- 
 bryo, that would have enabled him to excel, but submitted to be the 
 projector of Gothic embellishments for Strawberry Hill, and humble 
 designer of drawings to ornament a thin folio of a meagre collection 
 of odes by Gray, the most costive of poets, edited at the Walpolian 
 press. In one of these designs Bentley has personified himself as a 
 monkey, sitting under a withered tree with his pallet in his hand 
 
12 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 while Gray reposes under the shade of a flourishing laurel in all the 
 dignity of learned ease. Such a design with figures so contrasted 
 might flatter Gray and gratify the trivial taste of Walpole ; but in 
 my poor opinion it is a satire in copper-plate, and my uncle has most 
 completely libelled both his poet and his patron without intending 
 so to do. 
 
 Let this suffice at present for the son of Doctor Bentley ; in the 
 course of these memoirs I shall take occasion to recall the attention 
 of my readers to what I have further to relate of him. 
 
 Elizabeth Bentley, eldest daughter of her father, first married 
 Humphry Ridge, Esquire, and after his decease the Reverend Doctor 
 Fa veil, fellow of Trinity College, and after his marriage with my 
 aunt, Rector of Witton near Huntingdon, in the gift of Sir John 
 Bernard of Brampton. She was an honourable and excellent lady ; 
 I had cause to love her, and lament her death. She inherited the 
 virtues and benignity of her mother, with habits more adapted to the 
 fashions of the world. 
 
 Joanna, the younger of Doctor Bentley's daughters, and the Phoebe 
 of Byron's pastoral, was my mother. I will not violate the allegiance 
 I have vowed to truth in giving any other character of her, than what 
 in conscience I regard as just and faithful. She had a vivacity of 
 fancy and a strength of intellect, in which few were her superiors: 
 she read much, remembered well and discerned acutely : I never 
 knew the person* who could better embellish any subject she was 
 upon, or render common incidents more entertaining by the happy 
 art of relating them; her invention was so fertile, her ideas so ori- 
 ginal and the points of humour so ingeniously and unexpectedly 
 taken up in the progress of her narrative, that she never failed to 
 accomplish all the purposes, which the gaiety of her imagination 
 could lay itself out for : she had a quick intuition into characters, 
 and a faculty of marking out the ridiculous, when it came within her 
 view, which of force I must confess she made rather too frequent 
 use of. Her social powers were brilliant, but not uniform, for on 
 some occasions she would persist in a determined taciturnity to the 
 regret of the company present, and at other times would lead off in 
 her best manner, when perhaps none were present, who could taste 
 the spirit and amenity of her humour. There hardly passed a day, 
 in which she failed to devote a portion of her time to the reading of 
 the Bible ; and her comments and expositions might have merited 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 13 
 
 the attention of the wise and learned. Though strictly pious, there 
 was no gloom in her religion, but on the contrary such was the happy 
 faculty which she possessed, of making every doctrine pleasant, 
 every duty sweet, that what some instructors would have represent- 
 ed as a burden and a yoke, she contrived to recommend as a recrea- 
 tion and delight. All that son can owe to parent, or disciple to his 
 teacher, I owe to her. 
 
 My paternal grandfather Richard, only son of Bishop Cumber- 
 land, was rector of Peakirk in the diocese of Peterborough and 
 Archdeacon of Northampton. He had two sons and one daughter, 
 who was married to Waring Ashby, Esquire, of Quenby Hall in the 
 county of Leicester, and died in child-birth of her only son George 
 Ashby, Esquire, late of Haselbeach in Northamptonshire. Richard, 
 the eldest son of Archdeacon Cumberland, died unmarried at the 
 age of twenty-nine, and the younger, Denison, so named from his 
 mother, was my father. He was educated at Westminster school, 
 and from that admitted fellow-commoner of Trinity College, in Cam- 
 bridge. He married at the age of twenty -two, and though in pos- 
 session of an independent fortune, was readily prevailed upon by his 
 father-in-law Doctor Bentley, to take the rectory of Stanwick in the 
 county of Northampton, given to him by Lord Chancellor King, 
 as soon as he was of age to hold it. From this period he fixed his 
 constant residence in that retired and tranquil spot, and sedulously 
 devoted himself to the duties of his function. W T hen I contemplate 
 the character of this amiable man, I declare to truth I never yet 
 knew one so happily endowed with those engaging qualities, which 
 are formed to attract and fix the love and esteem of mankind. It 
 seemed as if the whole spirit of his grandfather's benevolence had 
 been transfused into his heart, and that he bore as perfect a resem- 
 blance of him in goodness, as he did in person : in moral purity he 
 was truly a Christian, in generosity and honour he was perfectly a 
 gentleman. 
 
 On the nineteenth day of February 1732, I was born in the Mas- 
 ter's Lodge of Trinity College, inter silvas Academic under the roof 
 of my grand-father Bentley, in what is called the Judge's Chamber. 
 Having therefore prefaced my history with these few faint sketches 
 of the great and good men, whom I have the honour to numbei 
 amongst my ancestors, I must solicit the condescension of my rea- 
 
14 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ders to a much humbler topic, and proceed to speak professedly 
 of myself. 
 
 Here then for awhile I pause for self-examination, and to weigh 
 the task I am about to undertake. I look into my heart; I search 
 my understanding ; I review my life, my labours, the talents I iiave 
 been endowed with, and the uses I have put them to, and it shall 
 be my serious study not to be found guilty of any partial estimates, 
 any false appretiations of that self, either as author or man, which 
 of necessity must be made to fill so large a portion of the following 
 pages. When from the date, at which my history now pauses, I 
 look forward through a period of more than seventy and two years, 
 I discover nothing within my horizon, of which to be vain-glorious ; 
 no sudden heights to turn me giddy, no dazzling gleams of fortune's 
 sunshine to bewilder me ; nothing but one long laborious track, not 
 often strewed with roses, and thorny, cold and barren towards the 
 conclusion of it, where weariness wants repose, and age has need of 
 comfort. I see myself unfortunately cast upon a lot in life neither 
 congenial with my character, nor friendly to my peace ; combating 
 with dependence, disappointment and disgusts of various sorts, trans- 
 planted from a college, within whose walls I had devoted myself to 
 studies, which I pursued with ardent passion and a rising reputation, 
 and what to obtain ? What, but the experience of difficulties, and 
 the credit of overcoming them ; the useful chastisement, which un- 
 kindness has inflicted, and the conscious satisfaction of not having 
 merited, nor in any instance of my life revenged it ? 
 
 If I do not know myself I am not fit to be my own biographer ; 
 and if I do know myself I am sure I never took delight in egotisms, 
 and now behold 1 I am self-devoted to deal in little else. Be it so ! 
 I will abide the consequences ; I will not tell untruths to set myself 
 out for better than I have been, but as I have not been overpaid by 
 my contemporaries, I will not scruple to exact what is due to me 
 from posterity. — I/ise de me scribam. fCic.J 
 
 I have said that I was born on the 19th of February 1732; I 
 was not the eldest child, though the only son, of my mother ; my 
 sister Joanna was more than two years older than I, and more than 
 twice two years before me in apprehension, for whilst she profited 
 very rapidly by her mother's teaching, I by no means trod in her 
 steps, but on the contrary after a few unpromising efforts peremp- 
 torily gave up the cause, and persisted in a stubborn repugnance to 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 15 
 
 all instruction. My mother's good sense and my grandfather's 
 good advice concurred in the measures to be taken with me in this 
 state of mutiny against all the powers of the alphabet ; my book was 
 put before me, my lesson pointed out, and though I never articulat- 
 ed a single word, I conned it over in silence to myself. I have 
 traces of my sensations at this period still in my mind, and perfectly 
 recollect the revolt I received from reading of the Heathen Idols, 
 described in the 1 1 5th psalm as having eyes and not seeing, ears, 
 and not hearing, with other contrarieties, which between positive 
 and negative so completely overset my small stock of ideas, that I 
 obstinately stood fast upon the halt, dumb and insensible to instruc- 
 tion as the images m question. Of this circumstance, exaetly as I 
 relate it, with those sensations, which it impressed upon my in- 
 fantine mind, I now retain, as I have already said, distinct recollec- 
 tion. 
 
 If there is any moral in this small incident, which can impart a 
 cautionary hint to the teachers of children, my readers will forgive 
 me for treating them with a story of the nursery. I have only to 
 add, that when I at length took to my business, I have my mother's 
 testimony for saying that I repaid her patience. 
 
 My family divided their time between Cambridge and Stanwick 
 so long as my grandfather lived, and when I was turned of six years 
 I was sent to the school at Bury Saint Edmund's, then under the 
 mastership of the Reverend Arthur Kinsman, who formed his scho- 
 lars upon the system of Westminster, and was a Trinity College 
 man, much esteemed by my grandfather. This school, when I 
 came to it, was in high reputation, and numbered a hundred and 
 fifty boys. Kinsman was an excellent master, a very sufficient 
 scholar, and had all the professional requisites of voice, air and 
 aspect, that marked him out at first sight as a personage decidedly 
 made on purpose — habere imperium in fiueros. In his hands I can 
 truly witness the reins of empire never slackened, but we did not 
 murmur against his authority, for with all his warmth of temper he 
 was kind, cordial, open-hearted and an impartial administrator of 
 punishments and praises, as they were respectively deserved. His 
 name was high in the counties of Suffolk and Norfolk, and the chief 
 families in those parts were present with him in the persons of their 
 representatives, and some yet living can bear witness to the vigour 
 of his arm. He was fierv zealous for the honour of his school, 
 
16 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 which by the terms of its establishment was subject to the visitation 
 of those who were in the government of it, and I remember upon a 
 certain occasion, when these gentlemen entered the school-room, in 
 the execution of their office, (I being then in the rostrum in the act 
 of construing Juvenal) he ordered me to proceed without noticing 
 their appearance, and something having passed to give him ofFence 
 against one of their number in particular, taking up the passage then 
 under immediate recitation, he echoed forth in a loud and pointed 
 tone of voice — 
 
 
 JVbs, nostraque lividus odit. 
 
 It must be confessed that my good old master had a vaunting 
 land of style in setting forth his school, and once in conversation 
 with my grandfather in Trinity Lodge, he was so unaccountably 
 misled by the spirit of false prophecy, as to venture to say in a ral- 
 lying kind of way — " Master, I will make your grandson as good a 
 " scholar as yourself." — To this Doctor Bentley in the like vein of 
 raillery replied — " Pshaw, Arthur, how can that be, when I have 
 " forgot more than thou ever knew'st ?" Certain it is that my in- 
 auspicious beginnings augured very ill for the bold prediction, thus 
 improvidently hazarded ; for so supremely idle was I, and so far 
 from being animated by the charms of the Latin grammar, that the 
 labour of instruction was but labour lost, and it seemed a chance if I 
 was destined to arrive at any other acquirement but the art of sink- 
 ings in which I regularly proceeded till I found my proper station at 
 the very bottom of my class, which, as far as idleness could be my 
 security, I was likely to take lasting possession of. 
 
 I am persuaded however that the tranquillity of my ignorance 
 would have suffered no interruption from the remonstrances of the 
 worthy usher of the under-school, who sate in a plaid night-gown 
 and let things take their course, had not the penetrating eye of old 
 Kinsman discovered the grandson of his friend far in the rear of the 
 line of honour, and in a fair train to give the flattest contradiction to 
 his prophecy. Whereupon one day, which by me can never be for- 
 gotten, calling me up to him in his chair at the head of the school, 
 lie began with much solemnity and in a loud voice to lecture me 
 very sharply, whilst all eyes were upon me, all ears open, and a 
 dead silence, horrible to my feelings, did not leave a hope that a 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. If 
 
 single word had escaped the notice of my school-fellows. I well 
 remember his demanding of me what report I could expect him to 
 make of me to my grandfather Bentley. I shuddered at the name, 
 even at that early age so loved and so revered : I made no defence ; 
 I had none to make, and he went thundering on, farther perhaps 
 than he need to have gone, had he given less scope to his zeal, and 
 trusted more to his intuition, for the keenness of his reproof had 
 sunk into my heart ; I was covered with shame and confusion ; I 
 retired abashed to my seat, which was the lowest in my class, and 
 that class the lowest save one in the under-school : I hid my face 
 between my hands, resting my head upon the desk before me, and 
 gave myself up to tears and contrition : when I raised my eyes and 
 looked about me, I thought I discovered contempt in the countenan- 
 ces of the boys. At that moment the spirit of emulation, which had 
 not yet awaked in my heart, was thoroughly roused ; but whilst I 
 was thus resolving on a reform I fell ill, whether from agitation of 
 mind, or from cause more, natural 1 know not : I was, however, 
 laid up in a sick bed for a considerable time, and in that piteous si- 
 tuation visited by my mother, who came from Cambridge on the 
 alarm, and under her tender care I at length regained both my spi- 
 rits and my health. 
 
 My mother now returned to Cambridge and I was taken into 
 Kinsman's own house as a boarder, where being associated with boys 
 of a better description, and more immediately under the eye of my 
 most timely admonisher, I took all the pains that my years would 
 admit of to deserve his better opinion and regain my lost ground. 
 My diligence was soon followed by success, and success encouraged 
 me to fresh exertions. 
 
 I presume the teachers of grammar do not expect boys of a 
 very early age to understand it as a body of rules, but merely as an 
 exercise of memory ; yet it is well to imprint it on their memories, 
 that they may more readily apply to it as they advance in their ac- 
 quaintance with the language. I had naturally a good memory, and 
 practice added such a facility of getting by heart, that in my repeti- 
 tions, when we challenged for places, I entered the lists with all 
 possible advantages, and soon found myself able to break a lance 
 with the very best of my competitors. The good man in the plaid 
 gown now began to regard me with less than his usual indifference, 
 
 and my early star was evidently in the ascendant- Such were to 
 
 D 
 
18 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 me the happy consequences of my worthy master's seasonable ad- 
 monition. 
 
 After the decease of Mrs. Bentley, my mother, whose devotion 
 to her father was returned by the warmest affection on his part, 
 passed much of her time, as my father did of his, at Cambridge ; 
 there I also passed my holidays, and the undescribable gratification 
 those delightful seasons gave me, hath left traces of the times long 
 past and the persons now dead, that can only be effaced by death, 
 and of their surviving even that I should be loth to lose the hope. 
 I was become capable of understanding my grandfather to be the 
 great man he really was, and began to listen to him with attention, 
 and treasure up his sayings in my mind. I was admitted to dine at 
 his table, had my seat next to his chair, served him in many little 
 offices, and went upon his errands with a promptitude and alacrity 
 that shewed what pride I took in such commissions, and tempted 
 his good nature to invent occasions for employing me. 
 
 One day I full well remember my old master Kinsman walked 
 into the room, and was welcomed by my grandfather with the cor- 
 diality natural to him. In the mean time my heart fluttered with 
 alarm and dread of that report, which he had once threatened to pre- 
 fer against me : nothing could be further from his generous thoughts, 
 and as soon as ever he was at leisure to notice such an insignificant 
 little being, it was with the affection and caresses of a father; when 
 I looked in his face there was no longer any feature of the school- 
 master in it, the terrors of the ferula and the rod were vanished 
 out of sight, and that upright strutting little person, which in au- 
 thority was so awful, had now relaxed from its rigidity, and no longer 
 strove to swell itself into importance. Arthur notwithstanding was 
 a great man on his own ground, and though he venerated the mas- 
 ter of Trinity College, he did not renounce a proper self esteem 
 for the master of Bury School, and the dignity appertaining to that 
 office, which he filled, and to which Bentley himself had once 
 stooped for instruction. He was a gay social fellow, who loved 
 his friend and had no antipathy to his bottle ; he had then a kind of 
 dashing discourse, savouring somewhat of the shop, which trifles 
 did not check, and contradiction could not daunt. He had at this 
 very time been recreating his spirit with the company in the com- 
 bination room, and was fairly primed with priestly port. My grand- 
 father I dare say discovered nothing of this, and Walker, who ac« 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 19 
 
 companied Kinsman to the lodge, was exactly in that state when si- 
 lence is the best resort : Arthur in the mean time, whose tongue 
 conviviality had by no means tied up, began to open his school books 
 upon Bentley, and had drawn him into Homer ; Greek now rolled 
 in torrents from the lips of Bentley, and the most learned of mo- 
 derns chanted forth the inspired rhapsodies of the most illustrious 
 of ancients in a strain delectable indeed to the ear, but not very edi- 
 fying to poor little me and the ladies ; nay, I should even doubt if 
 the master of Bury School understood all that he heard, but that the 
 worthy vice master of Trinity was innocent of all apprehension, and 
 clear of the plot, if treason was wrapped up in it, I can upon my 
 knowledge of him confidently vouch. This, however, I remember, 
 and my mother has frequently in time past refreshed my recollec- 
 tion of it, that Joshua Barnes in the course of this conversation 
 being quoted by Kinsman, as a man understanding Greek, and 
 speaking it almost like his mother tongue — " Yes," replied Bent- 
 ley, " I do believe that Barnes had as much Greek, and understood 
 " it about as well, as an Athenian blacksmith.'* Of Pope's Homer 
 he said that he had read it ; it was an elegant poem, but no transla- 
 tion. Of the learned Warburton, then in the outset of his fame, 
 he remarked that there seemed to be in him a voracious appetite 
 for knowledge ; he doubted if there was a good digestion. This is 
 an anecdote I refer to those who are competent to make or reject 
 the application. 
 
 At no great distance of time from this period, which I have 
 been now recording, Doctor Bentley died and was buried in Trinity 
 College chapel by the side of the altar table, where a square black 
 stone records his name and nothing more. It remains with the 
 munificence of that rich society to award him other monumental 
 honours, whenever they may think it right to grace his memory 
 with a tablet. He was seized with a complaint that in his opinion, 
 seemed to indicate a necessity of immediate bleeding ; Dr. Heber- 
 den, then a young physician practising in Cambridge, was of a con- 
 trary opinion, and the patient acquiesced. His friend, Dr. Wallis, 
 in whose skilful practice and experience he so justly placed his con- 
 fidence, was unfortunately absent from Stamford, and never came 
 upon the summons for any purpose but to share in the sorrows of 
 his family, and lament the non-compliance with the process he had 
 
 % 
 
20 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 recommended, which, according- to his judgment of the case, was 
 the very measure he should himself have taken. 
 
 I believe I felt as much artiiction as my age was capable of when 
 my master Kinsman imparted the intelligence of my grandfather's 
 death to me, taking me into his private chamber, and lamenting the 
 event with great agitation. Whilst I gave vent to my tears, he 
 pressed me tenderly in his arms, and encouraging me to persist in 
 my diligence, assured me of his favour and protection. He kept 
 me out of school for a few days, gave me private instruction, and 
 then sent me forth ardently resolved to acquit myself to his satis- 
 faction, from this time I may truly say my task was my delight. 
 I rose rapidly to the head of my class, and in the whole course of 
 my progress through the upper school never once lost my place of 
 head boy, though daily challenged by those, who were as anxious to 
 dislodge me from my post as I was to maintain myself in it. As 
 I have the honour to name both Bishop Warren, and his brother 
 Richard, the physician, as two amongst the most formidable of my 
 form-fellows, I may venture to say that school-boy must have been 
 more than commonly alert, whom they could not overtake and de- 
 pose ; but the exertion of my competitors was such a spur to my 
 industry and ambition, that my mind was perpetually in its business. 
 Had I in any careless moment suffered a discomfiture, my mortifi- 
 cation would have been most poignant, but the dread I had of that 
 event caused me always to be prepared against it, and I held pos- 
 session of my post under a suspended sword, that hourly menaced 
 me without ever dropping. 
 
 Whilst I dwell on the detail of anecdotes like the above I must 
 refer myself to the candour of the reader, but though it behoves me 
 to study brevity, where I cannot furnish amusement, it would be 
 totally inconsistent with the plan I have laid down, to pass over in 
 totai silence this period of my life ; an oera in the history of every 
 man's mind and character, only to be omitted when it is not to be 
 obtained ; a plea, which those, who are their own biographers, are 
 not privileged to make. 
 
 My good old master was a hospitable man, and every Wednes- 
 day held a kind of public day, to which his friends and neighbours 
 usee' to resort. On that day he drank his bottle of port and played 
 his game of back-gammon^ after which he came in gaiety of heart 
 to evening-school for one hour only. It was a gala day for all the 
 
 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 21 
 
 boys, and for me in particular, as I was sure on all those occasions 
 to be ordered up to the rostrum to recite and expound Juvenal, and 
 he seldom failed to keep me so employed through the whole time. 
 He had a great partiality for that nervous author, and I remember 
 his reciting the following passage in a kind of rapturous enthusiasm 
 in the ears of all tLe school, crying out that he defied the writers of 
 the Augustan age to produce one equal to it. The classical read- 
 er very probably will not second his opinion, but I dare say he will 
 not tail to anticipate the passage, which is as follows — 
 
 Esto bonus miles, tutor bonus, arbiter idem 
 Integer ; ambigua siquando citabere causa, 
 Incertaque rei, Phalaris licet imperet ut sis 
 Falsus, et admoto dictet perjuria Tauro, 
 Summum crede nefas animam preferre padori, 
 Et propter vita?n vivendi perdere causas. 
 
 This is unquestionably a fine passage and a sublime moral, but 
 I rather suspect there is a quaintness, and something of what the 
 Italians call concetto, in the concluding line, that is not quite in the 
 style and cast of the purer age. 
 
 The tasks of a school-boy are of three descriptions; he is to give 
 the construction of his author, to study his repetitions, and to write 
 what are called his exercises, whether in verse or prose. In the 
 former two, the tasks of construing and saying by heart, it was the 
 usage of our school to challenge for places : In this province my good 
 fortune was unclouded; in my exercises I did not succeed so well, 
 for by aiming at something like fancy and invention I was too fre- 
 quently betrayed into grammatical errors, whilst my rivals presented 
 exercises with fewer faults, and, by attempting scarcely any thing, 
 hazarded little. These premature and imperfect sallies, which I 
 gave way to, did me no credit with my master, and once in particular 
 upon my giving in a copy of Latin verses, unpardonably incorrect, 
 though not entirely void of imagination, he commented upon my 
 blunders with great severity, and in the hearing of my form-fellows 
 threatened to degrade me from my station at their head. I had 
 earned that station by hard labour and unceasing assiduity ; I had 
 maintained it against their united efforts for some years, and the 
 dread of being at once deprived of what they had not been able to 
 
 > 
 
&2 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 take From me, had such an effect on my sensibility, that I never 
 perfectly recovered it, and probably should at no time after have gain- 
 ed any credit in that branch of my school business, had I not been 
 transplanted to Westminster. 
 
 The exercise, for which I was reprehended, I well remember 
 was a copy of verses upon Phalaris's bull, which bull I confess led 
 me into some blunders, that my master might have observed upon 
 with more temper. I stood in need of instruction, and he inflicted 
 discouragement. 
 
 Though I love the memory of my good old master, and am under 
 infinite obligations to his care and kindness, yet having severely ex- 
 perienced how poignant are the inflictions of discouragement to the 
 feelings, and how repulsive to the efforts of the unformed embryo 
 genius, I cannot state this circumstance in any better light than as 
 an oversight in point of education, which, though well-intentioned on 
 his part, could only operate to destroy what it was his object to 
 improve. 
 
 When the talents of a young and rising author shall be found to 
 profit by the denunciations and brow-beatings of his hypercritical 
 contemporaries, then, and not till then, it will be right to train up 
 our children according to this system, and discouragement be the 
 best model for education, which the conductors of it can adopt. 
 
 As our master had lately discontinued his custom of letting his 
 boys act a play of Terence before the Christmas holidays, after the 
 example of Westminster, some of us undertook without his leave, 
 though probably not without his knowledge and connivance, to get 
 up the tragedy of Cato at one of the boarding-houses, and invite the 
 gentry of the town to be present at our childish exhibition. We 
 escaped from school one evening, and climbed the wall that inter- 
 cepted us from the scene of action, to prepare ourselves for this 
 goodly show. A full-bottomed periwig for Cato, and female attire 
 for Portia and Marcia borrowed from the maids of the lodging 
 house, were the chief articles of our scanty wardrobe, and of a piece 
 with the wretchedness of our property was the wretchedness of our 
 performance. Our audience, however, which was not very select, 
 endured us and we slept upon our laurels, till the next morning 
 being made to turn out for the amusement of the whole school, and 
 go through a scene or two of our evening's entertainment, we ac- 
 quitted ourselves so little to the satisfaction of Mr. Kinsman, that 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 2.3 
 
 after bestowing some hearty buffets upon the virtuous Marcia, who 
 had towered above her sex in the person of a most ill-favoured wry- 
 necked boy, the rest of our dramatis fiersona were sentenced to the 
 fine of an imposition, and dismissed. The part of Juba had been 
 my cast, and the tenth satire of Juvenal was my portion of the fine 
 inflicted. 
 
 It was about this time I made my first attempt in English verse, 
 and took for my subject an excursion I had made with my family 
 in the summer holidays to visit a relation in Hampshire, which en- 
 gaged me in a description of the docks at Portsmouth, and of the 
 races of Winchester, where I had been present. I believe my poem 
 was not short of a hundred lines, and was written at such times as I 
 could snatch a few minutes from my business or amusements. I 
 did not like to risk the consequences of confiding it to my school- 
 fellows, but kept it closely secret till the next breaking up, when I 
 exhibited it to my father, who received it after his gracious manner 
 with unreserved commendation, and persisted in reciting it to his 
 intimates, when I had gained experience enough to wish he had 
 consigned it to oblivion. 
 
 Though I have no copy of this childish performance, I bear in 
 my remembrance two introductory couplets, which were the first 
 English lines I ever wrote, and are as follows — 
 
 Since every scribbler claims his share of fame, 
 And every Cibber boasts a Dryden's name, 
 Permit an infant Muse her chance to try ; 
 All have a right to that, and why not I? 
 
 One other lame and miserable couplet just now occurs to me, 
 as being quoted frequently upon me by my mother as an instance 
 in the art of sinking, and it is clear I had stumbled upon it in my 
 description of the dock -yard, viz.—. 
 
 " Here they weave cables, there they main-masts form., 
 " Here they forge anchors — useful in a storm" 
 
 My good father however was not to be put by from his defences 
 by trifles, and stoutly stood by my anchors, contending that as they 
 were unquestionably useful in a storm, I had said no more of them 
 
24 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 than was true, and why should I be ashamed of having ipoken the 
 truth? Yet ashamed I was some short time after, not indeed for 
 having violated the truth, but for suppressing it, and my dilemma 
 was occasioned by the following circumstance. I had picked up an 
 epigram amongst my school fellows, which struck my fancy, and 
 without naming the author, (for I knew him not,) I repeated it to 
 my father — it was this — 
 
 Poets of old did Argus prize 
 Because he had an hundred eyes, 
 But sure more praise to him is due, 
 Who looks an hundred ways with two. 
 
 In repeating this epigram, which perhaps the reader can find 
 an author for, I did not give it out as my own, but it was so under- 
 stood by my father, and he circulated it as mine, and took pleasure 
 in repeating it as such amongst his friends and intimates. In this 
 state of the mistake, when his credit had been affixed to it, I had 
 not courage to disavow it, and the time being once gone by for sav- 
 ing my honor, I suffered him to persist in his error under the con- 
 tinual terror of detection. The dread of thus forfeiting his good 
 opinion hung upon my spirits for a length of time; it passed how- 
 ever undiscovered to the end of his life, and I now implore pardon 
 of his memory for the only fallacy I ever put upon him to the con- 
 viction of my conscience. 
 
 After the death of Doctor Bentley my family resided in the par- 
 sonage house of Stanwick near Higham Ferrers in Northampton- 
 shire ; it had been newly built from the ground by my father's pre- 
 decessor Doctor Needham, from a plan of Mr. Burroughs of Caius 
 College, an architect of no small reputation ; it was a handsome 
 square of four equal fronts, built of stone, containing four rooms on 
 a floor, with a gallery running through the center; it was seated on 
 the declivity of a gentle hill, with the village to the south, amongst 
 trees and pasture grounds in view, and a small stream in the valley 
 between ; on the north, west and south were gardens, on the east 
 the church at some little distance, and in the intermediate space an 
 excellent range of stables and coach houses, built by my father, and 
 forming one side of a square court laid out for the approach of car- 
 riages to the house. The spire of Stanwick Church is esteemed 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 25 
 
 one of the most beautiful models in that style of architecture in the 
 kingdom ; my father added a very handsome clock and ornamented 
 the chancel with a railing, screen and entablature upon three-quar- 
 ter columns with a singing gallery at the west end, and spared no 
 expense to keep his church not only in that neatness and decorum, 
 which befits the house of prayer, but also in a perfect state of good 
 and permanent repair. 
 
 Here in the hearts of his parishioners, and the esteem of his 
 neighbours, my good father lived tranquil and unambitious, never 
 soliciting other preferment than this for the space of thirty years, 
 holding only a small prebend in the church of Lincoln, given to 
 him by his uncle, Bishop Reynolds. He was in the commission of 
 the peace, and a very active magistrate in the reconcilement of 
 parties, rather than in the commitment of persons : in those quiet 
 parts offences were in general trivial, and the differences merely 
 such as an attorney could contrive to hook a suit upon, so that with 
 a very little legal knowledge, and a very hospitable generous dispo- 
 sition, my father rarely failed to put contentious spirits to peace by 
 reference to the kitchen and the cellar. In the mean time his 
 popularity rose in proportion as his beer-barrels sunk, and as often 
 as he made peace he made friends, till, I may say without exagge- 
 ration, he had all men's good word in his favour and their services 
 at his command. In the mean time such was the orderly beha- 
 viour and good discipline of his own immediate flock, that I have 
 frequently heard him say he never once had occasion during his 
 long residence amongst them to issue his warrant within the pre- 
 cincts of his own happy village, which being seated between the 
 more populous and less correct parishes of Raunds and Higham- 
 Ferrers, he used appositely to call Little Zoar, but made no further 
 allusions to the evil neighbourhood of Zoar. 
 
 In this peaceful spot with parents so affectionate I was the hap- 
 piest of beings in my breakings-up from school. Those delightful 
 scenes are fresh in my remembrance, and when I have occasionally 
 revisited them, since the decease of objects ever so dear to me, the 
 sensations they have excited are not for me to describe. I had in- 
 herited an excellent constitution, and, though not robust in make, 
 was more than commonly adroit in my athletic exercises. In swift- 
 ness of foot for a short distance no boy in Bury School could match 
 
 ■B 
 
U MEMOIRS OF 
 
 me, and, when at Cambridge, I gave a general challenge to the col- 
 legians, which was decided in Trinity Walks in my favour. 
 
 Those field sports, of which the young and active are naturally 
 so fond, I enjoyed by my father's favour in perfection, and in my 
 winter holidays constantly went out with him upon his hunting days, 
 and was always admirably mounted. He was light and elegant in 
 his person, and had in his early youth kept horses and rode matches 
 at Newmarket after the example of his elder brother ; but though 
 his profession had now put a stop to those levities, he shared in a 
 pack of harriers with a neighbouring gentleman, and was a bold 
 and excellent rider. In my first attendances upon him to the field, 
 the joys of hunting scarcely compensated for the terrors I some- 
 times felt in following him against my will upon a racing galloway, 
 which he had purchased of old Panton, and whose attachment to 
 her leader was such as left me no option as to the pace I would 
 wish to go, or the leaps I would avoid to take. At length when age 
 added strength and practice gave address, falls became familiar to 
 me, and I left both fear and prudence behind me in the pleasures 
 of the chace. 
 
 It was in these intervals from school that my mother began to 
 form both my taste and my ear for poetry, by employing me every 
 evening to read to her, of which art she was a very able mistress. 
 Our readings were with very few exceptions confined to the chosen 
 plays of Shakspeare, whom she both admired and understood in the 
 true spirit and sense of the author. Under her instruction I be- 
 came passionately fond of these our evening entertainments ; in the 
 mean time she was attentive to model my recitation, and correct my 
 manner with exact precision. Her comments and illustrations were 
 such aids and instructions to a pupil in poetry as few could have 
 given. What I could not else have understood she could aptly ex- 
 plain, and what I ought to admire and feel nobody could more hap- 
 pily select and recommend. I well remember the care she took to 
 mark out for my observation the peculiar excellence of that unri- 
 valled poet in the consistency and preservation of his characters, 
 and wherever instances occurred amongst the starts and sallies of 
 his unfettered fancy of the extravagant and false sublime, her dis- 
 cernment oftentimes prevented me from being so dazzled by the 
 glitter of the period as to misapply my admiration, and betray my 
 want of taste. With all her father's critical acumen she could trace. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 27 
 
 and teach me to unravel, all the meanders of his metaphor, and point 
 «ut where it illuminated, or where it only loaded and obscured the 
 meaning ; these were happy hours and interesting lectures to me, 
 whilst my beloved father, ever placid and complacent, sate beside 
 us, and took part in our amusement : his voice was never heard but 
 in the tone of approbation ; his countenance never marked but with 
 the natural traces of his indelible and hereditary benevolence. 
 
 The effect of these readings was exactly that, which was natu- 
 rally to be foreseen. I began to try my strength in several slight 
 attempts towards the drama, and as Shakspeare was most upon my 
 tongue and nearest to my heart, I fitted and compiled a kind of cento, 
 which I intitled Sliaksfieare in the Shades, and formed into one act, 
 selecting the characters of Hamlet and Ophelia, Romeo and Juliet, 
 Lear and Cordelia, as the persons of my drama, and giving to Snak- 
 speare, who is present throughout the piece, Ariel, as an attendant 
 spirit, and taking for the motto to my title-page— 
 
 Ast alii sex, 
 Rt filures, lino conclamant ore — 
 
 I should premise that I was now at the head of Bury School, 
 though only in my twelfth year, and not very slightly grounded in 
 the Greek and Latin classics, there taught. 
 
 The scene is laid in Elysium, where the poet is discovered and 
 opens the drama with the following address — 
 
 " Most fair and equal hearers, know, that whilst this soul inha- 
 " bited its fleshy tabernacle, I was called Shakspeare ; a greater 
 " name and more exalted honours have dignified its dissolution. 
 " Blest with a liberal portion of the divine spirit, as a tribute due 
 " to the bounty of the gods, I left behind me an immortal monu- 
 " ment of my fame. Think not that I boast ; the actions of departed 
 " beings may not be censured by any mortal wit, nor are account- 
 u able to any earthly tribunal. Let it suffice that in the grave — 
 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coyle— 
 
 " All envy and detraction, all pride and vain-glory are no more ; 
 " still a grateful remembrance of humanity and a tender regard for 
 " our posterity on earth follow us to this happy seat ; and it is in 
 
28 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " this regard I deign once more to salute you with my favoured 
 " presence, and am content to be again an actor for your sakes. I 
 " have been attentive to your sufferings at my mournful scenes ; 
 " guardian of that virtue, which I left in distress, I come now, the 
 " instrument of Providence, to compose your sorrows, and restore 
 " to it the proportioned reward. Those bleeding characters, those 
 " martyred worthies, whom I have sent untimely to the shades, shall 
 " now at length and in your sight be crowned with their beloved re- 
 " tribution, and the justice, which as their poet I withheld from them, 
 « as the arbiter and disposer of their fate, I will award to them ; but 
 " for the villain and the adulterer — 
 
 The perjured and the simular man of virtue — 
 
 " the proud, the ambitious, and the murderer, I shall— - 
 
 Leave such to heaven^ 
 And to those thorns, that in their bosoms lodge 
 To prick and sting them. — 
 
 " But soft ! I see one coming, that often hath beguiled you of your 
 " tears-^-the fair Ophelia — " 
 
 The several parties now make their respective appeals, and 
 Shakspeare finally summons them all before him by his agent Ariel, 
 for whose introduction he prepares the audience by the following 
 soliloquy — 
 
 " Now comes the period of my high commission : 
 
 « All have been heard, and all shall be restor'd, 
 
 " All errors blotted out and all obstructions, 
 
 " Mortality entails, shall be remov'd, 
 
 " And from the mental eye the film withdrawn, 
 
 <• Which in its corporal union had obscur'd 
 
 " And clouded the pure virtue of its sight. 
 
 " But to these purposes I must employ 
 
 " My ready spirit Ariel, some time minister 
 
 u To Prospero, and the obsequious slave 
 
 " Of his enchantments, from whose place preferr'd 
 
 " Pie here attends to do me services, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 29 
 
 " And qualifies these beings for Elysium — 
 « Hoa I Ariel, approach my dainty spirit I 
 
 (Ariel enters.) 
 
 All hail, great master, grave Sir, Iwil I I come 
 
 To answer thy best pleasure ; be it tojly, 
 
 To swim, to dive into thejire, to ride 
 
 On the curled clouds — to thy strong bidding task 
 
 Ariel and all his qualities— 
 
 Shaksfieare. 
 
 " Know then, spirit, 
 " Into this grove six shades consign'd to bliss 
 " I've separately remov'd, of each sex three ; 
 " Unheard of one another and unseen 
 " There they abide, yet each to each endear'd 
 " By ties of strong affection : not the same 
 " Their several objects, though the effects alike, 
 " But husband, father, lover make the change. 
 " Now though the body's perish'd, yet are they 
 " Fresh from their sins and bleeding with their wrongs ; 
 " Therefore all sense of injury remove, 
 " Heal up their wounded faculties anew, 
 " And pluck affliction's arrow from their hearts : 
 " Refine their passions, for gross sensual love 
 " Let it become a pure and faultless friendship, 
 " Raise and confirm their joys, let them exchange 
 " Their fleeting pleasures for immortal peace : 
 u This done, with speed conduct them each to other 
 " So chang'd, and set the happy choir before me." 
 
 I have the whole of this puerile production, written in a school- 
 boy's hand, which by some chance has escaped the general wreck, 
 in which I have lost some records, that I should now be glad to re- 
 sort to. I am not quite sure that I act fairly by my readers when I 
 give any part of it a place in these memoirs, yet as an instance of 
 the impresion, which my mother's lectures had made upon my 
 
30 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 youthful fancy, and perhaps as a sample of composition indicative of 
 more thought and contrivance, than are commoniy to be found in 
 boys at so very early an age, I shall proceed to transcribe the con- 
 eluding part of the scene, in which Romeo has his audience, and can 
 truly affirm that the copy is faithful without the alteration or addition 
 of a single word— 
 
 Romeo. 
 
 " — O thou, the great disposer of my fate, 
 " Judge of my actions, patron of my cause, 
 " Tear not asunder such united hearts, 
 " But give me up to love and to my Juliet. 
 
 Shaksft. eare. 
 
 " Unthinking youth, thou dost forget thyself ; 
 
 " Rash inconsiderate boy, must I again 
 
 " Remind thee of thy fate ? What ! know'st thou not 
 
 " The man, whose desperate hand foredoes himself, 
 
 " Is doom'd to wander on the Stygian shore 
 
 " A restless shade, forlorn and comfortless, 
 
 " For a whole age ? Nor shall he hope to sooth 
 
 « The callous ear of Charon, till he win 
 
 a His passion by repentance and submission 
 
 « At this my fixt tribunal, else be sure 
 
 « The wretch shall hourly pace the lazy wharf 
 
 « To view the beating of the Stygian wave, 
 
 * And waste his irksome leisure. 
 
 Romeo. 
 
 Gracious powers, 
 
 Is this my doom, my torment — ? Heaven is here 
 
 Where Juliet lives, and each unworthy thing 
 
 Lives here in heaven and may look on her, 
 
 But Romeo may not: more validity, 
 
 More honourable state, more worship lives 
 
 In carrion Jlies than Romeo; they may seize 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. SI 
 
 On the white wonder of my love's dear handy 
 And steal immortal blessings from her lifis y 
 But Romeo may not; " He is doom'd to bear 
 « An age's pain and sigh in banishment, 
 " To drag a restless being on the shore 
 "Of gloomy Styx, and weep into the flood, 
 " Till, with his tears made full, the briny stream " 
 Shall kiss the most exalted shores of all. 
 
 Shaksfieare. 
 " Now then dost thou repent thy follies past*? 
 
 Romeo. 
 
 " Oh, ask me if I feel my torments present, 
 
 " Then judge if I repent my follies past. 
 
 " Had I but powers to tell you what I feel, 
 
 " A tongue to speak my heart's unfeign'd contrition, 
 
 " Then might I lay the bleeding part before you; 
 
 « But 'twill not be — something I yet would say 
 
 " To extenuate my crime ; I fain would plead 
 
 " The merit of my love — but I have done — 
 
 " However hard my sentence, I submit. 
 
 " My faithless tongue turns traitor to my heart, 
 
 " And will not utter what it fondly prompts ; 
 
 " A rising gust of passion drowns my voice, 
 
 a And I'm most dumb when I've most need to sue. 
 
 (Kneels. J 
 
 Shaksfieare. 
 
 " Arise, young Sir I before my mercy-seat 
 
 " None kneel in vain ; repentance never lost 
 
 " The cause she pleaded. Mercy is the proof, 
 
 a The test that marks a character divine ; 
 
 " Were ye like merciful to one another, 
 
 " The earth would be a heaven and men the gocFs. 
 
 " Withdraw awhile ; I see thy heart is full ; 
 
32. MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " Grief at a crime committed merits more 
 " Than exultation for a duty done. 
 
 (Romeo withdraws.) 
 
 Shakspeare remains and speaks — 
 
 6 What rage is this, O man, that thou should'st dare 
 
 " To turn unnatural butcher on thyself, 
 
 " And thy presumptuous violent hand uplift 
 
 " Against that fabric which the gods have rais'd ? 
 
 w Insolent wretch, did that presumptuous hand 
 
 " Temper thy wond'rous frame ? Did that bold spirit 
 
 " Inspire the quicken'd clay with living breath ? 
 
 " Do not deceive thyself. Have the kind gods 
 
 ft Lent their own goodly image to thy use 
 
 u For thee to break at pleasure ?— 
 
 u What are thy merits ? Where is thy dominion ? 
 
 * If thou aspir'st to rule, rule thy desires. 
 
 a Thou poorly turn'st upon thy helpless body, 
 
 " And hast no heart to check thy growing sins : 
 
 " Thou gain'st a mighty victory o'er thy life, 
 
 " But art enslaved to thy basest passions, 
 
 « And bowest to the anarchy within thee. 
 
 " O ! have a care 
 
 " Lest at thy great account thou should'st be found 
 
 " A thriftless steward of thy master's substance. 
 
 " 'Tis his to take away, or sink at will, 
 
 " Thou but the tenant to a greater lord, 
 
 " Nor maker, nor the monarch of thyself." 
 
 I select these extracts, because what is within hooks is of my 
 own composing, whereas in the preceding scenes, where the char- 
 acters make their appeal, I perceive I had in general contrived to 
 let them speak the language, which their own poet had given to 
 them. I presume to add that the passages I have extracted from 
 their parts, as they stand in the originals of their great author, are 
 ingeniously enough chosen and appositely introduced ; I likewise 
 take the liberty to observe, that where I have in those scenes above 
 alluded to, connected the extracts with my own dialogue, consider- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 33 
 
 ing it as the work of so mere a novice, it is not contemptibly exe* 
 cuted. As I have solemnly disavowed all deception or finesse in 
 the whole conduct of these memoirs, so in this instance I have not 
 sought to excite surprise by making my years fewer, or my verses 
 better, than they strictly and truly were, having faithfully attested 
 the one, and correctly transcribed the other. 
 
 My worthy old master at Bury, now in the decline of life, inti- 
 mated his purpose of retiring, and my father took the opportunity 
 of transplanting me to Westminster, where he admitted me under 
 Doctor Nichols, and lodged me in the boarding house, then kept by 
 Ludford, where he himself had been placed. He took me in his 
 hand to the master, who seemed a good deal surprised to hear that 
 I had passed through Bury School at the age of twelve, and imme* 
 diately put a Homer before me, and after that an ode in Horace. I 
 turned my eyes upon my father, and perceived him to be in consi- 
 derable agitation. There happened to be no occasion for it, as the 
 passages were familiar to me, and my amiable examiner seemed 
 perfectly disposed to approve, cautioning me however not to read in 
 too declamatory a style, " which," said he, " my boys will call con- 
 " ceited." It was highly gratifying to me to hear him say, than he 
 had found the boys, who came out of Mr. Kinsman's hands, gene- 
 rally better grounded in their business than those, who came from 
 other schools. The next day he gave me a short examination for 
 form-sake at the table, and placed me in the Shell. As I was then 
 only twelve years old, and small in stature for my years, my loca- 
 tion in so high a class was regarded with some surprise by the 
 corps, into which I was so unexpectedly enrolled. Doctor Johnson, 
 afterwards Bishop of Worcester, was then second master; Vincent 
 Bourne, well known to the literary world for his elegant Latin verses, 
 was usher of the fifth form, and Lloyd, afterwards second master, 
 was at the fourth. Cracherode, the learned collector and munificent 
 benefactor to the Royal Museum, was in the head election, and at 
 that time as grave, studious and reserved as he was through life ; 
 but correct in morals and elegant in manners, not courting a promis- 
 cuous acquaintance, but pleasant to those who knew him, beloved 
 by many and esteemed by all. At the head of the town boys was 
 the Earl of Huntingdon, whom I should not name as a boy, for he 
 was even then the courtly and accomplished gentleman such as the 
 world saw and acknowledged him to be. The late Earl of Bristol, 
 
 F 
 
54 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the late Earl of Buckinghamshire, and the late Right Honorable 
 Thomas Harley were my form-fellows, the present Duke of Rich- 
 mond, then Lord March, Warren Hastings, Colman and Lloyd were 
 in the under school, and what is a very extraordinary coincidence, 
 there were then in school together three boys, Hinchliffe, Smith 
 and Vincent, who afterwards succeeded to be severally head masters 
 of Westminster School and not by the decease of any one of them. 
 
 Hinchliffe might well be called the child of fortune, for he was 
 born in penury and obscurity, and was lifted into opulence and high 
 station, not by the elasticity of his own genius, but by that lucky 
 combination of opportunities, which merit has no share in making, 
 and modesty no aptitude to seize. At Trinity College I knew him 
 as an under-graduate below my standing; in the revolution of a few 
 few years I saw him in the station aforetime filled by my grand- 
 father as master of the college, and holding with it the bishoprick 
 of Peterborough ; thus doubly dignified with those preferments 
 which had separately rewarded the learned labours of Cumberland 
 and Bentley. 
 
 Smith laboured longer and succeeded less, yet he wisely chose 
 his time for relaxation and retirement, whilst he was yet unexhausted 
 by his toils, sufficiently affluent to enjoy his independence, and, with 
 the consciousness of having done his duty, to consult his ease, and 
 to dismiss his cares. 
 
 Vincent, whom I love as a friend and honour as a scholar, has 
 at length found that station in the deanery of Westminster, which, 
 whilst it relieves him from the drudgery of the school-master, keeps 
 him still attached to the interests of the school, and eminently con- 
 cerned in the superintendence and protection of it. As boy and man 
 lie made his passage twice through the forms of Westminster, rising 
 step by step from the very last boy to the very captain of the school, 
 and again from the junior usher through every gradation to that of 
 second and ultimately of senior master ; thus, with the interval of 
 four years only devoted to his degree at Cambridge, Westminster 
 has indeed kept possession of his person, but has let the world par- 
 take with her in the profit of his researches. Without deserting the 
 laborious post, to which his duty fettered him, his excursive genius 
 led him over seas and countries far remote, to follow and develop 
 tracts, redeem authorities and dig up evidences long buried in the 
 grave of ages. This is the more to his honour as his hours of study 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. U 
 
 were never taken but from his hours of relaxation, and he stole no 
 moment from the instruction of the boy to enrich the understanding 
 Of the man. His last work, small in bulk, but great in matter, was 
 an unanswerable defence of public education, by which, with an 
 acuteness that reflects credit on his genius, and a candour that does 
 honour to his heart, he demonstrates the advantages of that system, 
 which had so well prospered under his care, and generously forbears 
 to avail himself of those arguments, which in a controversy with 
 such an opponent some men would have resorted to. Let the 
 mitred preacher against public schools rejoice in silence at his 
 escape, but when the yet un-mitred master of the Temple, indisput- 
 ably one of the first scholars and finest writers of his time, leaves the 
 master of Westminster in possession of the field, it is not from want 
 of courage, it less can be from want of capacity, to prolong the con- 
 test ; it can only be from the operation of reason on a candid mind, 
 and a clearer view of that system, which whilst he was denouncing 
 he probably did not recollect that he was himself most unequivocally 
 patronizing in the instance of his own son. Diversion of thought I 
 well know is not uncommon with him, perversion never will be im- 
 puted to him. 
 
 When I found upon coming into the Shell, that my station was 
 to be quiescent, and that all challenging for places was at an end, 
 I regretted it as an opportunity lost for turning out with new com- 
 petitors, so much my seniors in age, and who seemed to regard me 
 with an air of conscious superiority. I sate down, however, with 
 ardor to my school business and also to my private studies, and I 
 soon perceived that I had now no discouragements to contend with 
 in my attempts at composition, for the very first exercise in Latin 
 verse, which I gave in, gained the candid approbation of the master, 
 and from that moment I acquired a degree of confidence in myself, 
 that gave vigour to my exertions ; and though I bear all possible re- 
 spect and gratitude to the memory of that kind friend of my youth, 
 whose rigour was only the effect of anxiety for my well-doing, yet 
 1 cannot look back to this period of my education without acknow- 
 ledging the advantages I experienced in being thus transplanted to 
 Westminster, where to attempt was to succeed, and placed under a 
 master, whose principle it evidently was to cherish every spark of 
 genius, which he could discover in his scholars, and who seemed 
 determined so to exercise his authority, that our best motives for 
 
36 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 obeying him should spring from the affection, that we entertained 
 for him. Arthur Kinsman certainly knew how to make his boys 
 scholars ; Doctor Nichols had the art of making his scholars gen- 
 tlemen ; for there was a court of honour in that school, to whose 
 unwritten laws every member of our community was amenable, and 
 which to transgress by any act of meanness, that exposed the offen- 
 der to public contempt, was a degree of punishment, compared to 
 which the being sentenced to the rod would have been considered 
 as an acquittal or reprieve. 
 
 Whilst I am making this remark an instance occurs to me of a 
 certain boy from the fifth, who was summoned before the seniors in 
 the seventh, and convicted of an offence, which in the high spirit of 
 that school argued an abasement of principle and honour : Doctor 
 Nichols having stated the case, demanded their opinion of the crime* 
 and what degree of punishment they conceived it to deserve ; their 
 answer was unanimously — " The severest that could be inflicted "— 
 " I can inflict none more severe than you have given him," said the 
 master, and dismissed him without any other chastisement. 
 
 It was not many days after my admission that I myself stood 
 before him as a culprit, having been reported by the monitor for 
 escaping out of the Abbey during divine service, and joining a party 
 of my school-fellows for the unjustifiable purpose of intruding our- 
 selves upon a meeting of quakers at their devotions. We had not 
 been guilty of any gross impertinence, but the offence was highly 
 reprehensible, and when my turn came to be called up to the mas- 
 ter, I presume he saw my contrition, when, turning a mild look 
 upon me, he said aloud — 'Erubuit, salva est res, — and sent me back 
 to my seat. 
 
 Was it possible not to love a character like this ? Nichols cer- 
 tainly was a complete fine gentleman in his office, and intitled to 
 the respect and affection of his scholars, who in his person found 
 a master not only of the dead languages, but also of the living man- 
 ners. As for me, who had experienced his lenity in the instance 
 above related, it cannot be to my credit that I was destined to put 
 his candour once more to the proof, yet so it was that in an idle 
 moment I was disingenuous enough to give in an exercise in Latin 
 verse, every line of which I had stolen out of Duport, if I rightly 
 recollect. It passed inspection without discovery, and Doctor Ni- 
 chols, after commending me for the composition, read my verses 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 37 
 
 aloud to the seniors in the seventh form, and was proceeding to re- 
 new his praises, when being touched with remorse for the disgrace- 
 ful trick, by which I had imposed upon him, I fairly confessed that 
 I had pirated every syllable, and humbly begged his pardon — he 
 paused a few moments, and then replied — " Child, I forgive you ; 
 " go to your seat, and say nothing of the matter. You have gained 
 " more credit with me by your ingenuous confession, than you could 
 " have got by your verses, had they been your own — " I must be 
 allowed to add, in palliation of this disreputable anecdote, that I had 
 the grace to make the voluntary atonement next morning of an ex- 
 ercise as tolerable as my utmost pains and capacity could render it. 
 I gave it in uncalled for ; it was graciously received, and I took occa- 
 sion to apprize the seniors in the seventh, that I had repented of 
 my attempt. 
 
 About this time the victory of Culloden having given the death's- 
 blow to the rebel cause, the Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino were 
 beheaded upon Tower Hill. The elegant person of the former, and 
 the intrepid deportment of the latter, when suffering on the scaffold, 
 drew pity even from the most obdurate, and I believe it was at that 
 time very generally lamented, that mercy, the best attribute of 
 kings, was not, or could not be, extended to embrace their melan- 
 choly case : every heart that felt compassion for their fate could find 
 a plea for their offence ; amongst us at school we had a great majo 
 lity on the side of mercy, and not a few, who in the spirit of those 
 times, divided in opinion with their party. In the mean while it 
 seemed a point of honour with the boys neither to inflame nor insult 
 each other's feelings on this occasion, and I must consider the de- 
 corum observed by such young partisans on such an occasion as a 
 circumstance very highly to their credit. I don't doubt but respect 
 and delicacy towards our kind and well-beloved master had a leading 
 share in disposing them to that orderly and humane behaviour. 
 
 When the rebels were in march and had advanced to Derby ap- 
 pearances were very gloomy ; there was a language held by some, 
 who threw off all reserve, that menaced danger, and intimidated 
 many of the best affected. In the height of this alarm, the Honor- 
 able Mrs. Wentworth, grandmother of the late Marquis of Rock- 
 ingham, fearing that the distinguished loyalty of her noble house- 
 might expose her to pillage, secured her papers and buried her 
 plate, flying to my father's house for refuge, where she remained an 
 
38 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 inmate during the immediate pressure of the danger she apprehend- 
 ed. Here I found her at my breaking up from school, a fugitive 
 from her mansion at Harrowden, and residing in the parsonage 
 house at Stanwick. She was a venerable and excellent lady, and re- 
 tained her friendship for my family to her death : she gave me a 
 copy of the great Earl of Strafford's Letters in two folio volumes, 
 magnificently bound. 
 
 This was the time for my good father, who I verily think never 
 knew fear, to stand forward in the exertion of that popularity, 
 which was almost without example. He had been conspicuously ac- 
 tive in assembling the people of the neighbouring parishes, where 
 his influence laid, and persuading them to enroll and turn out in the 
 defence of their country. This he did in the very crisis of general 
 despondency and alarm, whilst the disaffected in a near-neighbour- 
 ing quarter, abetted by a noble family, which I need not name, in the 
 height of their exultation were burning him in effigy, as a person 
 most obnoxious to their principles and most hostile to their cause. 
 In a short time, at the expense merely of the enlisting shilling per 
 man, he raised two full companies of one hundred each for the regi- 
 ment then enrolling under the command of the Earl of Halifax, and 
 marched them in person to Northampton, attended by four picked 
 men on his four coach horses, where he was received on his entrance 
 into the town with shouts and acclamations expressive of applause 
 so fairly merited. The Earl of Halifax, then high in character and 
 graceful in his person, received this tribute of my father's loyalty as 
 might naturally be expected, and as a mark of his consideration in- 
 sisted upon bestowing one of these companies upon me, for which I 
 had the commission, though I was then too young to take the com- 
 mand. An officer was named with the approbation of my father, 
 to act in my place, and the regiment set out on their route for Car- 
 lisle, then in the hands of the Highlanders. There many of them 
 lost their lives in the siege, and the small pox made such cruel 
 havock amongst our young peasantry, that, although they had in 
 the first instance been cheaply raised, the distresses of their families 
 brought a very considerable and lasting charge upon the bounty of 
 my father. 
 
 I remained at Westminster School, as well as I can recollect, 
 half a year in the Shell, and one year in the sixth form, and I can- 
 not reflect upon this period of my education without acknowledging 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 3* 
 
 ihe reason I have to be contented with the time so passed. I did not 
 indeed drink long and deeply at the Helicon of that distinguished 
 seminary, but I had a taste of the spring and felt the influence of the 
 waters. In point of composition I particularly profited, for which I 
 conceive there is in that school a kind of taste and character, pecu- 
 liar to itself, and handed down perhaps from times long past, which, 
 seems to mark it out for a distinction, that it may indisputably 
 claim, that of having been above all others the most favoured cradle 
 of the Muses. If any are disposed to question this assertion, let 
 them turn to the lives and histories of the poets and satisfy their 
 doubts. I know there is a tide, that flows from the very fountain- 
 head of power, that has long run strongly in another channel, but the 
 vicinity of Windsor Castle is of no benefit to the discipline and good 
 order of Eton School. A wise father will no more estimate his son's 
 improvement by the measure of his boarding house bills and pocket 
 money amount, than a good soldier will fix his preference on a 
 corps, because it happens to figure in the most splendid uniform, and 
 indulge in the most voluptuous and extravagant mess. 
 
 When I returned to school I was taken as a boarder into the 
 family of Edmund Ashby, Esquire, elder brother of Waring, who 
 had been married to my father's sister. This gentleman had a wife 
 and three daughters, and occupied a spacious house in Peter Street, 
 two doors from the turning out of College Street. Having been set 
 aside by the will of his father, he was in narrow circumstances, and 
 his style of living was that of (Economy upon the strictest scale. 
 No visitor ever entered his doors, nor did he ever go out of them in 
 search of amusement or society. Temperate in the extreme, placid 
 and unruffled, ho simply vegetated without occupation, did nothing, 
 and had nothing to do, never seemed to trouble himself with much 
 thinking, or interrupt the thoughts of others with much talking, and 
 I don't recollect ever to have found him engaged with a newspaper, 
 or a book, so that had it not been for the favours I received from a 
 few Canary birds which the ladies kept, I might as well have boarded 
 in the convent of La Trappe. I confess my spirits felt the gloomy 
 influence of the sphere I lived in, and my nights were particularly 
 long and heavy, annoyed as they were by the yells and howlings of 
 the crews of the depredators, which infest that infamous quarter, 
 and sometimes even roused and alarmed us by their pilfering at- 
 tacks. In some respects however I was benefited by my removal 
 
4.0 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 from Ludford's, as I was no longer under the strict confinement of 
 a boarding house, but was once or twice allowed to go, under proper 
 convoy, to the play, where for the first time in my life I was treated 
 with the sight of Garrick in the character of Lothario ; Quin played 
 Horatio, Ryan Altamont, Mrs. Gibber Calista and Mrs. Pritchard 
 condescended to the humble part of Lavinia. I enjoyed a good 
 view of the stage from the front row of the gallery, and my atten- 
 tion was rivetted to the scene. I have the spectacle even now as it 
 were before my eyes. Quin presented himself upon the rising of 
 the curtain in a green velvet coat embroidered down the seams, an 
 enormous full-bottomed periwig, rolled stockings and high-heeled 
 square-toed shoes : with very little variation of cadence, and in a 
 deep full tone, accompanied by a sawing kind of action, which had 
 more of the senate than of the stage in it, he rolled out his heroics 
 with an air of dignified indifference, that seemed to disdain the 
 plaudits, that were bestowed upon him. Mrs. Cibber in a key, high- 
 pitched but sweet withal, sung or rather recitatived Rowe's harmo- 
 nious strain, something in the manner of the Improvisatories ; it 
 was so extremely wanting in contrast, that, though it did not wound 
 the ear, it wearied it ; when she had once recited two or three 
 speeches, I could anticipate the manner of every succeeding one ; it 
 was like a long old legendary ballad of innumerable stanzas, every one 
 of which is sung to the same tune, eternally chiming in the ear with- 
 out variation or relief. Mrs. Pritchard was an actress of a different 
 cast, had more nature, and of course more change of tone, and va- 
 riety both of action and expression : in my opinion the comparison 
 was decidedly in her favour; but when after long and eager expec- 
 tation I first beheld little Garrick, then young and light and alive in 
 every muscle and in every feature, come bounding on the stage, and 
 pointing at the wittol Altamont and heavy -paced Horatio — heavens, 
 what a transition !— « it seemed as if a whole century had been stept 
 over in the transition of a single scene ; old things were done away, 
 and a new order at once brought forward, bright and luminous, and 
 clearly destined to dispel the barbarisms and bigotry of a tasteless 
 age, too long attached to the prejudices of custom, and superstitious- 
 ly devoted to the illusions of imposing declamation. This heaven- 
 born actor was then struggling to emancipate his audience from the 
 slavery they were resigned to, and though at times he suceeded in 
 throwing in some gleams of new born light upon them, yet in gene^ 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 41 
 
 ral they seemed to love darkness better than light, and in the dialogue 
 of altercation between Horatio and Lothario bestowed far the great- 
 er show of hands upon the master of the old school than upon the 
 founder of the new. I thank my stars, my feelings in those mo- 
 ments led me right ; they were those of nature, and therefore could 
 not err. 
 
 At the house of Mr. Ashby I had a room to myself, a solitude 
 within it, and silence without ; I had no plea for neglecting my 
 studies, for I had no avocations to draw me off, and no amusements 
 to resort to. I pressed my private studies without intermission, 
 and having taken up the Georgicks for recreation -sake, I began to 
 entertain myself with a translation in blank verse of Virgil's beauti- 
 ful description of the plague amongst the cattle, beginning at verse 
 478 of the third book, and continued to the end of the same, viz— 
 
 Hie quondam morbo cceli rniseranda coorta est 
 Temfiestas — &c. &c. 
 
 As this is one of the very few samples of my Juvenilia, which I 
 have thought well enough of to preserve, I shall now insert it ver- 
 batim from my first copy, and, without repeating former apologies, 
 submit it unaltered in a single instance to the candour of the read- 
 er—. 
 
 " Here once from foul and sickly vapours sprung 
 " A piteous plague, through all th' autumnal heats 
 " Fatally raging : not a beast throughout, 
 " Savage or tame, escap'd the general bane. 
 " The foodful pasture and frequented pool 
 " Lay charg'd with mischief; death itself assum'd 
 " Strange forms of horror, for when fiery drought 
 " Pervasive, coursing through the circling blood, 
 " The feeble limbs had wasted, straight again 
 " The oozy poison work'd its cursed way, 
 u Sapping the solid bones ; they by degrees 
 " Sunk to corruption. Oft the victim beast, 
 " As at the altar's sacred foot it stood, 
 " With all its wreathy honours on its head, 
 " Dropt breathless, and escap'd the tardy blow. 
 
 Cx 
 
4*2 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " Or if its lingering spirit might chance t' await. 
 " The priest's death-dealing hand, no flames arise 
 " From the disposed entrails ; there they lie 
 " In thick and unpresaging smoke obscur'd. 
 " The question'd augur holds his peace, and sees 
 " His divination foil'd ; the slaughtering blade 
 " Scarce quits its paly hue, and the light sand 
 « Scarce blushes with the thin and meagre blood. 
 
 " Hence o'er the pasture rich and plenteous stalls 
 " The tender herd in fragrant sighs expire ; 
 " Fell madness seizes the domestic dog; 
 " The pursy swine heave with repeated groans, 
 " A rattling cough inflames their swelling throats : 
 " No toils secure, no palm the victor-horse 
 " Availeth, now no more the wholesome spring 
 " Delights, no longer now the once-lov'd mead; 
 " The fatal ill prevails ; with anguish stung, 
 " Raging he stamps, his ears hang down relax'd; 
 " Sometimes an intermitting sweat breaks forth, 
 " Cold ever at th' approach of death ; again 
 " The dry and staring hide grows stiff and hard, 
 " Scorch'd and impasted with the feverish heat. 
 " Such the first signs of ruin, but at length 
 " When the accomplish'd and mature disease 
 « With its collected and full vigour works, 
 " The red'ning eye-balls glow with baneful fire, 
 " The deep and hollow breath with frequent groans, 
 " Piteous variety—* ! is sorely mix'd, 
 <• And long-drawn sighs distend the labouring sides: 
 " Then forth the porches of the nose descends, 
 " As from a conduit, blood defil'd and black, 
 " And 'twixt the glew'd and unresolved jaws 
 " The rough and clammy tongue sticks fast — at first 
 " With generous wine they drench'd the closing throat- 
 " Sole antidote, worse bane at last — for then 
 " Dire madness — such as the just Gods to none 
 « Save to the bad consign ! — at the last pang 
 " Arose, whereat their teeth with fatal gripe, 
 « Like pale and ghastly executioners, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. . 43 
 
 « Their fair and sightly limbs all mangled o'er. 
 
 " The lab'ring ox, while o'er the furrow'd land 
 u He trails the tardy plough, down drops at once, 
 « Forth issues bloody foam, till the last groan 
 « Gives a long close to his labours: The sad hind 
 " Unyokes his widow'd and complainful mate, 
 " Leaving the blasted and imperfect work 
 " Where the fix'd ploughshare points the luckless spot. 
 " The shady covert, where the lofty trees 
 " Form cool retreat, the lawns, whose springing herb 
 " Yields food ambrosial, the transparent stream, 
 " Which o'er the jutting stones to th' neighb'ring mead 
 " Takes its fantastic course, these now no more 
 " Delight, as they were wont, rather afflict, 
 " With him they cheer'd, with him their joys expir'd, 
 " Joys only in participation dear : 
 " Famine instead stares in his hollow sides, 
 " His leaden eye-balls, motionless and fix'd, 
 " Sleep in their sockets, his unnerved neck 
 " Hangs drooping down, death lays his load upon him, 
 " And bows him to the ground — what now avail 
 " His useful toils, his life of service past ? 
 " What though full oft he turn'd the stubborn glebe, 
 " It boots not now—yet have these never felt 
 " The ills of riot and intemperate draughts, 
 " Where the full goblet crowns the luscious feast: 
 " Their only feast to graze the springing herb 
 " O'er the fresh lawn, or from the pendant bough 
 " To crop the savoury leaf, from the clear spring, 
 " Or active stream refined in its course, 
 " They slake their sober thirst, their sweet repose 
 " Nor cares forbid, nor soothing arts invite, 
 " But pure digestion breeds and light repast. 
 
 " 'Twas then great Juno's altar ceas'd to smoke 
 " With blood of bullocks, and the votive car 
 " With huge mis-shapen buffaloes was drawn 
 " To the high temples. Each one till'd his field, 
 " Each sow'd his acres with their owner's hand, 
 " Qr, bending to the yoke with straining neck.. 
 
44 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " Up the high steep dragg'd the slow load along. 
 
 " No more the wolf with crafty siege infests 
 
 " The nightly fold ; more pressing cares than these 
 
 " Engage the sly contriver and subdue. 
 
 " The fearful deer league with the hostile hound, 
 
 " And ply about the charitable door 
 
 " Familiar, unannoy'd. The mighty deep 
 
 " At every mouth disgorg'd the scaly tribe, 
 
 " And on the naked shore expos'd to view 
 
 " The various wreck : the farthest rivers felt 
 
 " The vast discharge and swarm'd with monstrous shapes. 
 
 " In vain the viper builds his mazy cell ; 
 
 " Death follows him through all his wiles : in vain 
 
 " The snake involves him deep beneath the flood, 
 
 " Wond'ring he starts, erects his scales and dies. 
 
 " The birds themselves confess the tainted air, 
 
 " Drop while on wing, and as they soar expire. 
 
 " Nought now avails the pasture fresh and new ; 
 
 " Each art applied turns opposite ; e'en they, 
 
 " Sage Chiron, sage Melampus, they despair, 
 
 « Whilst pale Tisiphone, come fresh from hell, 
 
 « Driving before her Pestilence and Fear, 
 
 « Her ministers of vengeance to fulfil 
 
 " Her dread commission, rages all abroad, 
 
 " And lifts herself on ruin day by day 
 
 " More and more high. The hollow banks resound, 
 
 " The winding streams and hanging hills repeat 
 
 " Loud groans from ev'ry herd, from ev'ry fold 
 
 " Com plaintive murmurs; heaps on heaps they fall, 
 
 « There where they fall they lie, corrupt and rot 
 
 " Within the lothsome stalls, filFd and dam'd up 
 
 " With impure carcases, till they perfom 
 
 " The necessary office and confine 
 
 " Deep under ground the foul offensive stench : 
 
 " For neither might you dress the putrid hide, 
 
 « Nor could the purifying stream remove, 
 
 " The vigorous all-subduing flame expel 
 
 " The close incorporate poison : none essay'd 
 
 « To shear the tainted fleece, or bind the wool, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 45 
 
 « For who e'er dar'd to cioath his desp'rate limbs 
 « With that Nessean garment, a foul sweat, 
 " A vile and lep'rous tetter barked about 
 " All his smooth body, nor long he endur'd, 
 " But in the sacred fire consum'd and died." 
 
 A great and heavy affliction now befel my parents and myself. 
 A short time before my holidays in autumn my father and mother 
 came to town, and brought my eldest sister Joanna with them, a 
 very lovely girl, then in her seventeenth year. She caught the 
 small-pox, and died in the house of the Reverend Doctor Cutts Bar- 
 ton, Rector of Saint Andrew's, Holborn, who kindly permitted my 
 father to remove thither, when she sickened with that cruel disease. 
 She was truly most engaging in her person, and, though much ad- 
 mired, her manners were extremely modest, and her temper mild 
 and gentle. When I first visited her, after the symptoms of the 
 disease were upon her, she told me she was persuaded she had 
 caught the small-pox, and that it would be fatal to her. Her augu- 
 ry was too true ; it was confluent, and assistance was in vain ; the 
 regimen then followed was exactly contrary to the present improved 
 method of treating that disease, which, when it had kept her in tor- 
 ments for eleven days, having effectually destroyed her beauty, fi- 
 nally put an end to her life. My father, who tenderly loved her, 
 submitted to the afflicting dispensation in silent sadness, never 
 venting a complaint ; my mother's sorrows were not under such 
 controul, and as to me, devoted to her as I had been from my cradle, 
 the shock appeared to threaten me with such consequences, that 
 my father resolved upon taking me out of town immediately, and 
 we went down to our abode at Stan wick, a sad and melancholy party, 
 while Mr. Ashby, my father's nephew, staid in town and attended 
 the body of his lamented cousin to the grave. My surviving sisters, 
 Elizabeth and Mary, the elder of whom was six years younger than 
 myself, had been left in the country ; the attentions, which these 
 young creatures had a claim to, the consolatory visits of our friends, 
 and the healing hand of time by degrees assuaged the keenness of 
 affliction, and patient resignation did the rest. 
 
 The alarm, which my father had been under on account of my 
 health upon my sister's death, and the abhorrence he had conceiv- 
 ed of London since that unfortunate event, determined him against 
 
46 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 my return to Westminster, and though another year, which my 
 early age might well have dispensed with, was recommended by 
 Doctor Nichols, and would most probably have been so employed 
 with advantage to my education, yet the measure was taken, and, 
 though only in my fourteenth year, I was admitted of Trinity Col- 
 lege in Cambridge. There were yet some months of the vacation 
 unexpired, and that I might pass this time at home with the more 
 advantage, my father prevailed upon a neighbouring clergyman, the 
 Reverend Mr. Thomas Strong, to reside with us and assist me in 
 my studies. A better man I never knew, a brighter scholar might 
 easily have been found, yet we read together some few hours in every 
 day, and those readings were almost entirely confined to the Greek 
 Testament : there I had a teacher in Mr. Strong well worthy of my 
 best attention, for none could better recommend by practice what he 
 illustrated by precept, than this exemplary young man. He some- 
 time after married very happily, and resided on his living of Har- 
 grave in our neighbourhood universally respected, and I trust it is 
 not amongst my sins of omission ever after to have forgotten his 
 services, or failed in my attention to him. 
 
 When the time came for me to commence my residence in 
 College, my father accompanied me and put me under the care of 
 the Reverend Doctor Morgan, an old friend of our family, and a 
 senior fellow of that society. My rooms were closely adjoining to 
 his, belonging to that staircase which leads to the chapel bell ; he 
 was kind to me when we met, but as tutor I had few communica- 
 tions with him, for the gout afforded him not many intervals of ease, 
 and with the exception of a few trifling readings in Tully's Offices, 
 by which I was little edified, and to which I paid little or no atten- 
 tion, he left me and one other pupil, my friend and intimate, Mr. 
 William Rudd of Durham, to choose and peruse our studies, as we 
 saw fit. This dereliction of us was inexcusable, for Rudd was a 
 youth of fine talents and a well-grounded scholar. In the course of 
 no long time, however, Doctor Morgan left college, and went to 
 reside upon his living of Gain ford, in the bishoprick of Durham, 
 and I was turned over to the Reverend Doctor Philip Young, pro- 
 fessor of oratory in the University, and afterwards Bishop of Nor- 
 wich ; what Morgan made a very light concern, Young made an 
 absolute sinecure, for from him I never received a single lecture, 
 and I hope his lordship's conscience was not much disturbed on my 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 47 
 
 account, for, though he gave me free leave to be idle, I did not make 
 idleness my choice. 
 
 In the last year of my being under-graduate, when I com- 
 menced Soph, in the very first act that was given out to be kept in 
 the mathematical schools, I was appointed to an opponency, when 
 at that time I had not read a single proposition in Euclid ; I had 
 now been just turned over to Mr. Backhouse, the Westminster tu- 
 tor, who gave regular lectures, and fulfilled the duties of his charge 
 ably and conscientiously. Totally unprepared to answer the call 
 now made upon me, and acquit myself in the schools, I resorted to 
 him in my distress, and through his interference my name was 
 withdrawn from the act ; in the mean time I was sent for by the 
 master Doctor Smith, the learned author of the well known Trea- 
 tises upon Optics and Harmonics, and the worthy successor to 
 my grandfather Bentley, who strongly reprobated the neglect of 
 my former tutors, and recommended me to lose no more time in 
 preparing myself for my degree, but to apply closely to my acade- 
 mical studies for the remainder of the year, which I assured him I 
 would do. 
 
 As I did not belong to Mr. Backhouse till I had commenced 
 Soph, but nominally to those, who left me to myself, I had hitherto 
 pursued those studies that were familiar to me, and indulged my 
 passion for the classics, with an ardor that rarely knew any inter- 
 mission or relief. I certainly did not wantonly misuse my time, or 
 yield to any even of the slightest excesses, that youth is prone to : 
 I never frequented any tavern, neither gave nor received entertain- 
 ments, nor partook in any parties of pleasure, except now and then 
 in a ride to the hills, so that I thank God I have not to reproach 
 myself with any instances of misconduct towards a generous father, 
 who at this tender age committed me to my own discretion and 
 confided in me. I look back therefore upon this period of my life 
 with a tranquil conscience ; I even dwell upon it with peculiar de- 
 light, for within those maternal walls I passed years given up to 
 study and those intellectual pure enjoyments, which leave no self- 
 reproach, whilst with the works of my ancestors in my hands, and 
 the impression of their examples on my heart, I flattered myself in 
 the belief that I was pressing forward ardently and successfully to 
 follow them in their profession, and peradventure not fall far be- 
 hind them in their fame. This was the great aim and object of 
 
48 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 my ambition ; for this I laboured, to this point I looked, and all my 
 world was centered in my college. Every scene brought to my 
 mind the pleasing recollection of times past, and filled it with the 
 animating hope of times to come : as my college duties and at- 
 tendances were occupations that I took pleasure in, punctuality and 
 obedience did not put me to the trouble of an effort, for when to be 
 employed is our amusement, there is no self-denial in not being 
 idle. If I had then had a tutor, who would have systematized and 
 arranged my studies, it would have been happy for me ; but I had 
 no such director, and with my books before me, (poets, historians 
 and philosophers) sate down as it were to a ccena dubia, with an ea- 
 ger, rather than a discriminating, appetite ; I am now speaking of 
 my course of reading from my admission to my commencing Soph, 
 when I was called off to my academical studies. In that period my 
 stock of books was but slender, till Doctor Richard Bentley had the 
 goodness to give me a valuable parcel of my grandfather's books 
 and papers, containing his correspondence with many of the foreign 
 literati upon points of criticism, some letters from Sir Isaac New- 
 ton, a pretty large body of notes for an edition of Lucan's Pharsalia, 
 which I gave to my uncle Bentley, and were published under his 
 inspection by Dodsley, at Mr. Walpole's press, with sundry other 
 manuscripts, and a considerable number of Greek and Latin books, 
 mostly collated by him and their margins filled with alterations and 
 corrections in his own hand, neatly and legibly written in a very- 
 small character. The possession of these books was most gratify- 
 ing and acceptable to me ; some few of them were extremely rare, 
 and in the history I have given in The Obsei-vers of the Greek 
 Writers, more particularly of the Comic Poets now lost, I have 
 availed myself of them, and I am vain enough to believe no such 
 collection of the scattered extracts, anecdotes and remains of those 
 dramatists is any where else to be found. The donor of these books 
 was the nephew of my grandfather, and inherited by will the whole 
 of his library, which at his death was sold by auction in Leicester- 
 shire, where he resided in his latter years on his rectory of Nail- 
 stone : he was himself no inconsiderable collector, and it is much 
 to be regretted that his executors took this method of disposing of 
 his books, by which they became dispersed in small lots amongst 
 many country purchasers, who probably did not know their value. 
 He was an accurate collater, and for his judgment in editions much 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 49 
 
 resorted to by Doctor Mead, with whom he lived in great intima- 
 cy. During the time that he resided in college, for he was one of 
 the senior fellows of Trinity, he gave me every possible proof, not 
 only in this instance of his donation, but in many others, of his fa- 
 vor and protection. 
 
 At the same time Doctor Richard Walker, the friend of my 
 grandfather, and vice-master of the college, never failed to distinguish 
 me by every kindness in his power. He frequently invited me to 
 his rooms, which I had so often visited as a child, and which had the 
 further merit with me as having been the residence of Sir Isaac 
 Newton, every reiick of whose studies and experiments were respect- 
 fully preserved to the minutest particular, and pointed out to me by 
 the good old vice-master with the most circumstantial precision. He 
 had many little anecdotes of my grandfather, which to me at least 
 were interesting, and an old servant Deborah, whom he made a kind 
 of companion, and who was much in request for the many enter- 
 taining circumstances she could narrate of Sir Isaac Newton, when 
 she waited upon him as his bedmaker, and also of Doctor Bentley, 
 with whom she lived for several years after Sir Isaac left college, 
 and at the death of my grandfather was passed over to Doctor 
 Walker, in whose service she died. 
 
 My mind in these happy days was so tranquil, and my time 
 passed in so uniform a tenor of study and retirement, that though it 
 is a period pleasing to me to reflect upon, yet it furnishes little that 
 is worthy to be recorded. I believe I hardly ever employed myself 
 upon English composition, except on the event of the Prince of 
 Wales's death, when amongst others I sent in my contribution of 
 elegiac verses to the university volume, and very indifferent ones 
 they were. To my Latin declamations I paid my best attention, for 
 these were recited publicly in tlffe chapel after evening prayers on 
 Saturdays, when it was open to all, who chose to resort thither, and 
 we were generally flattered by pretty full audiences. 
 
 The year of trial now commenced, for which, through the neg- 
 lect of my tutors, I was, as an academical student, totally unprepared. 
 Determined to use every effort in my power for redeeming my lost 
 time, I began a course of study so apportioned as to allow myself 
 but six hours sleep, to which I strictly adhered, living almost en- 
 tirely upon milk, and using the cold bath very frequently. As I was 
 
 H 
 
50 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 then only seventeen years old, and of a frame by no means robust, 
 many ot my friends remonstrated against the severity of this regimen, 
 and recommended more moderation, but the encouragement I met 
 in the rapidity of my progess through all the dry and elementary 
 parts oi my studies, determined me to persist with ardour, and made 
 me deaf to their advice. In the several branches of the mechanics, 
 hydrostatics, optics and astronomy, I consulted the best treatises, 
 and made myself master of them ; I worked ail propositions, formed 
 all my minutes, and even my thoughts, in Latin, whereby I acquired 
 a facility of expounding, solving and arguing in that language, in 
 which I may presume to say I had advantages, which some of the 
 best of my contemporaries in our public disputations were but too 
 sensible of, for so long as my knowledge of a question could supply 
 matter for argument, I never felt any want of terms for explanation. 
 When I found myself prepared to take my part in the public 
 schools, I thirsted for the opportunity, which I no longer dreaded, and 
 with this my ambition was soon gratified, being appointed to keep, an 
 act, and three respectable opponents singled out against me, the first 
 of which was looked up to as the best of the year. When his name 
 was given out for disputation the schools never failed to be crowded, 
 and as I had drawn my questions from Newton's Principia, I gave 
 him fair scope for the display of his superiority, and was by all con- 
 sidered, (for his fame was universal) as a mere child in his hands, 
 justly to be punished for my temerity, and self-devoted to complete 
 confutation. I was not only a mere novice in the schools but also a 
 perfect stranger to the gentlemen opposed to me ; when therefore 
 mounted on a bass in the rostrum, which even then I could scarcely 
 overtop, I contemplated, in the person of my antagonist, a North- 
 country black-bearded philosopher, who at an advanced age had ad- 
 mitted at Saint John's to qualify for holy orders, (even at that time 
 a finished mathematician and a private lecturer in those studies,) I 
 did not wonder that the contrast of a beardless boy, pale and emaci- 
 ated as I was then become, seemed to attract every body's curiosity ; 
 for after I had concluded my thesis, which precedes the disputation, 
 when he ascended his seat under the rostrum of the Moderato r 
 
 With grave 
 Aspect he rose, and in his rising secni'd 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 51 
 
 A pillar of strength ; deep, in his front engraven 
 Deliberation sate — sage he stood 
 With Atlantean shoulders Jit to bear 
 The weight of mightiest argument 
 
 Formidable as he appeared, I did not feel my spirits sink, for 1 
 bad taken a very careful survey of the ground I was upon, and thought 
 myself prepared against any attack he could devise against me. I also 
 saw that all advantages, resulting from the unequal terms on which 
 we engaged, were on my side ; I might obtain glory from him, and 
 he could but little profit by his triumph over me. My heart was in 
 my cause, and proudly measuring its importance by the crowd it had 
 collected, armed, as I believed myself to be, in the full understanding 
 of my questions, and a perfect readiness in the language, in which 
 our disputations were to be carried on, I waited his attack amidst the 
 hum and murmur of the assembly. His argument was purely mathe- 
 matical, and so enveloped in the terms of his art, as made it some- 
 what difficult for me to discover where his syllogism pointed without 
 those aids and delineations, which our process did not allow of; I 
 availed myself of my privilege to call for a repetition of it, when at 
 once I caught the fallacy and pursued it with advantage, keeping the 
 clue firm in hand till I completely traced him through all the wind- 
 ings of his labyrinth. The same success attended me through the 
 remaining seven arguments, which fell off in strength and subtlety, 
 and his defence became sullen and morose, his latinity very harsh, in- 
 elegant and embarassed, till I saw him descend with no very pleasant 
 countenance, whilst it appeared evident to me that my whole audience 
 were not displeased with the unexpected turn, which our controversy 
 had taken. He ought in course to have been succeeded by a second 
 and third opponent, but our disputation had already been prolonged 
 beyond the time commonly allotted, and the schools were broken up 
 by the Moderator with a compliment addressed to me in terms much 
 out of the usual course on such occasions. 
 
 If it is allowable for me to speak of such trifling events circum- 
 stantially and with the importance, which at that time I attached to 
 them, when I knew nothing of this great world beyond the walls of 
 my college, I hope this passage will be read with candour, and that 
 1 shall be pardoned for a long tale told in my old age of the first tri- 
 
52 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 umph of my youth, earned by extreme hard labour, and gained at 
 the risque und hazard oi my health by a perseverance in so severe 
 a course oi study, as brought me ultimately to the very brink of the 
 grave. 
 
 Four times I went through these scholastic exercises in the 
 course of the year, keeping two acts and as many first oppcnencies. 
 In one of the latter, where I was pitched against an ingenious stu- 
 dent of my own college, I contrived to form certain arguments, which 
 by a scale of deductions so artfully drawn, and involving conse- 
 quences, which by mathematical gradations (the premises being 
 once granted) led to such unforeseen confutation, that even my tutor 
 Mr. Backhouse, to whom I previously imparted them, was effectu- 
 ally trapped and could as little parry them, as the gentleman, who 
 kept the act, or the Moderator, who filled the chair. 
 
 The last time I was called upon to keep an act in the schools I 
 sent in three questions to the Moderator, which he withstood as 
 being all mathematical, and required me to conform to the usage of 
 proposing one metaphysical question in the place of that, which I 
 should think fit to withdraw. This was ground I never liked to take, 
 and I appealed against his requisition : the act was accordingly put 
 by tiii the matter of right should be ascertained by the statutes of 
 the university, and in the result of that enquiry it was given for me, 
 and my questions stood. This litigation between the Moderator and 
 an Under-graduate, whose interest in the distribution of honors, at 
 the ensuing degree laid so much at the mercy of his report, made 
 a considerable stir and gave rise to much conversation ; so that when 
 this long suspended act took place, not only the floor of the schools 
 was filled with the juniors, but many of high standing in the univer- 
 sity ssembled in the gallery. The Moderator had nominated the 
 same gentleman as my first opponent, who no doubt felt every mo- 
 tive to renew the contest, and bring me to a proper sense of my pre- 
 sumption. The term was now drawing near to its close, and I began 
 to feel very sensibly the effects of my too intense application, my 
 whole Fr im ■ being debilitated in a manner, that warned me I had not 
 long to continue my course of labour without the interruption of 
 some serious attack; 1 had in fact the seeds of a rheumatic fever 
 lurking in my constitution, and was led between two of my friends 
 and fellow collegians to the schools in a very feeble state. I was, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 53 
 
 however, intellectually alive to all the purposes of the business we 
 were upon, and when I observed that the Moderator exhibited symp- 
 toms of indisposition by resting his head upon the cushion on his 
 desk, I cut short my thesis to make way for my opponent, who had 
 hardly brought his argument to bear, when the Moderator, on the 
 plea of sudden indisposition, dismissed me with a speech, which, 
 though tinctured with some petulance, had more of praise in it than 
 I expected to receive. 
 
 I yielded now to advice, and paid attention to my health, till 
 we were cited to the senate house to be examined for our Bache- 
 lor's degree. It was hardly ever my lot during that examination to 
 enjoy any respite. I seemed an object singled out as every man's 
 mark, and was kept perpetually at the table under the process of 
 question and answer. My constitution just held me up to the expi- 
 ration of the scrutiny, and I immediately hastened to my own home 
 to alarm my parents with my ghastly looks, and soon fell ill of a 
 rheumatic fever, which for the space of six months kept me hover- 
 ing between life and death. The skill of my physician, the afore- 
 mentioned Doctor Wallis of Stamford, and the tender attention of 
 the dear friends about me, rescued me at length, and I recovered 
 under their care. Whilst I was in this state I had the pleasure of 
 hearing from Cambridge of the high station, which had been ad- 
 judged to me amongst The Wranglers of my year, and I further 
 understood how much I was indebted to the generous support of 
 that very Moderator, whom I had thwarted in the matter of my 
 -questions, for this adjudication so much in my favour and perhaps 
 above my merits, for my knowledge had been hastily attained: a 
 conduct so candid on the part of the Reverend Mr. Ray, (fellow of 
 Corpus Christi, and the Moderator, of whom I have been speaking) 
 was ever remembered by me with gratitude and respect: Mr. Ray 
 was afterwards domestic chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 and, when I was resident in town, I waited upon him at Lambeth 
 palace, to express my sensibility of the very liberal manner, in which 
 he had protected me. 
 
 I now found myself in a station of ease and credit in my native 
 college, to which I was attached by every tye, that could endear it 
 to me. I had changed my Under-graduate's gown, and obtained 
 my degree of Bachelor of Arts with honors hardly earned by pains 
 the more severe because so long postponed : and now if I have been 
 
54 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 seemingly too elaborate in tracing my own particular progress 
 through these exercises, to which the candidate for a degree at 
 Cambridge must of necessity conform, it is not merely because I 
 can quote my privilege for my excuse, but because I would most 
 earnestly impress upon the attention of my reader the extreme use- 
 fulness of these academical exercises and the studies appertaining to 
 them, by which I consider all the purposes of an university educa- 
 tion are completed ; and so convinced am I of this, that I can hardly 
 allow myself to call that an education, of which they do not make a 
 part ; if therefore I am to speak for the discipline of the schools, 
 ought I not first to show that I am speaking from experience, with- 
 out which opinions pass for nothing? Having therefore first demon- 
 strated what my experience of that discipline has been, I have the 
 authority of that, as far as it goes, for an opinion in its favour, which 
 every observation of my life has since contributed to establish and 
 confirm. What more can any system of education hold out to those, 
 who are the objects of it, than public honours to distinguish merit, 
 public exercises to awaken emulation, and public examinations, 
 which cannot be passed without extorting some exertion even from 
 the indolent, nor can be avoided without a marked disgrace to the 
 compounder? Now if I have any knowledge of the world, any insight 
 into the minds and characters of those, whom I have had opportu- 
 nities of knowing, (and few have lived more and longer amongst 
 mankind) all my observations tend to convince me that there is no 
 profession, no art, no station or condition in life, to which the studies 
 I have been speaking of will not apply and come in aid with profit 
 and advantage. That mode of investigation step by step, which 
 crowns the process of the student by the demonstration and discove- 
 ry of positive and mathematical truth, must of necessity so exercise 
 and train him in the habits of following up his subject, be it what it 
 may, and working out his proofs, as cannot fail to find their uses, 
 whether he, who has them, dictates from the pulpit, argues at the 
 bar or declaims in the senate; nay, there is no lot, no station, (I re- 
 peat it with confidence) be it either social or sequestered, conspicu- 
 ous or obscure, professional or idly independent, in which the man, 
 once exercised in these studies, though he shall afterwards neglect 
 them, will not to his comfort experience some mental powers and 
 resources, in which their influence shall be felt, though the chan- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 55 
 
 nels, that conducted it, may from disuse have become obscure, and 
 no longer to be traced. 
 
 Hear the crude opinions, that are let loose upon society in our 
 table conversations ; mark the wild and wandering arguments, that 
 are launched at random without ever hitting the mark they should 
 be levelled at ; what does all this noise and nonsense prove, but that 
 the talker has indeed acquired the fluency of words, but never known 
 the exercise of thought, or attended to the developement of a single 
 proposition ? Tell him that he ought to hear what may be said on 
 the other side of the question — he agrees to it, and either begs leave 
 to wind up with a few words more, which he winds and wire-draws 
 without end ; or having paused to hear, hears with impatience a very 
 little, foreknows every thing you had further to say, cuts short your 
 argument and bolts in upon you — with an answer to that argu- 
 ment—*? No ; with a continuation of his own gabble, and, having 
 stifled you with the torrent of his trash, places your contempt to the 
 credit of his own capacity, and foolishly conceives he talks with rea- 
 son because he has not patience to attend to any reasoning but his 
 own. 
 
 What are all the quirks and quibbles, that skirmishers in con- 
 troversy catch hold of to escape the point of any argument, when 
 pressed upon them ? If a laugh, a jeer, a hit of mimickry, or buf- 
 foonery cannot parry the attack, they find themselves disarmed of 
 the only weapons they can wield, and then, though truth should stare 
 them in the face, they will affect not to see it: instead of receiving 
 conviction as the acquirement of something, which they had not 
 themselves, and have gained from you, they regard it as an insult to 
 their understandings, and grow sullen and resentful ; they will then 
 tell you they shall leave you to your own opinions, they shall say no 
 more, and with an air of importance wrap themselves up in a kind of 
 contemptuous indifference, when their reason for saying nothing is 
 only because they have nothing more to say. How many of this cast 
 of character are to be met with in the world every man of the world 
 can witness. 
 
 There are also others, whose vivacity of imagination having 
 never felt the trammels of a syllogism is for ever flying off into" 
 digression and display — 
 
 Quo feneam nodo mutantem Protect formas ? — 
 
56 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 To attempt at hedging in these cuckows is but lost labour. 
 These gentlemen are very entertaining as long as novelties with 
 no meaning can entertain you ; they have a great variety of opi- 
 nions, which, if you oppose, they do not defend, and if you agree 
 with, they desert. Their talk is like the wild notes of birds, 
 amongst which you shall distinguish some of pleasant tone, but 
 out of which you compose no tune or harmony of song. These 
 men would have set down Archimedes. for a fool when he danced 
 for joy at the solution of a proposition, and mistaken Newton for a 
 madman, when in the surplice, which he put on for chapel over 
 night, he was found the next morning in the same place and pos- 
 ture fixed in profound meditation on his theory of the prismatic 
 colours. So great is their distaste for demonstration, they think no 
 truth is worth the waiting for ; the mountain must come to them, 
 they are not by half so complaisant as Mahomet. They are not 
 easily reconciled to truisms, but have no particular objection to 
 impossibilities. For argument they have no ear ; it does not touch 
 them ; it fetters fancy, and dulls the edge of repartee ; if by chance 
 they find themselves in an untenable position, and wit is not at hand 
 to help them out of it, they will take up with a pun, and ride home 
 upon a horse laugh : if they can't keep their ground, they won't 
 wait to be attacked and driven out of it. Whilst a reasoning man 
 will be picking his way out of a dilemma, they, who never reason 
 at all, jump over it, and land themselves at once upon new ground, 
 where they take an imposing attitude, and escape pursuit. What- 
 ever these men do, whether they talk, or write, or act, it is without 
 deliberation, without consistency, without plan. Flaving no ex- 
 panse of mind, they can comprehend only in part ; they will pro- 
 mise an epic poem, and produce an epigram : In short, they glitter, 
 pass away and are forgotten ; their outset makes a show of mighty 
 things, they stray out of their course: into bye-ways and obliquities, 
 and when out of sight of their contemporaries, are for ever lost to 
 posterity. 
 
 When characters of this sort come under our observation it is 
 easy to discover that their levities and frivolities have their source 
 in the errors and defects of education, for it is evident they have 
 not been trained in any principles of right-reasoning. Therefore 
 it is that I hold in such esteem the academical studies pursued at 
 Cambridge, and regard their exercises in the mathematical schools* 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 57 
 
 and their examinations in the theatre, as forming the best system, 
 Which this country offers, for the education of its youth. Persua- 
 ded as I am of this, I must confess I have ever considered the 
 election of scholars from the college of Eton to that of King's in 
 Cambridge, as a bar greatly in their disfavour, forasmuch as by the 
 constitution of that college they are not subjected to the same pro- 
 cess for attaining their degrees, and of course the study of the ma- 
 thematics makes no part of their system, but is merely optional. I 
 leave this remark to those, who may think it worthy of their con- 
 sideration. Undergraduates of Trinity College, whether elected 
 from Westminster or not, have no such exemptions. 
 
 Having now, at an age more than commonly early, obtained 
 my Bachelor's degree, with the return of health I resumed my 
 studies, and without neglecting those I had so lately been engaged 
 in, again took up those authors, who had lain by untouched for a 
 whole twelvemonth. I supposed my line in life was decided for 
 the church, the profession of my ancestors, and in the course of 
 three years I had good reason to expect a fellowship with the de- 
 gree of Master of Arts. These views, so suited to my natural dis- 
 position, were now before me, and I dwelt upon them with entire 
 content. 
 
 Having now been in the habit of reading upon system, I re- 
 solved to put my thoughts together upon paper, and began to form 
 a kind of Collectanea of my studies. With this view I got together 
 all the tracts relative to the controversy between Boyle and Bent- 
 ley, omitting none even of the authorities and passages they refer- 
 red to, and having done this, I compressed the reasonings on both 
 sides into a kind of statement and report upon the question in dis- 
 pute, and if in the result my judgment went with him, to whom my 
 inclination leant, no learned critic of the present age will condemn 
 me for the decision. 
 
 When I had accomplished this, I meditated on a plan little 
 short of what might be projected for an Universal History, or at 
 least for that of the Great Empires in particular. For this pur- 
 pose I began with studying the Sanchoniatho of Bishop Cumber- 
 land, contrasting the Phoenician and Egyptian Cosmogonies with 
 that of Moses, by which I found myself at length involved in re- 
 ferences to so many authors, which I had no means of consulting, 
 and so hampered bv Oriental languages,, which I did not under- 
 
 I 
 
5* MEMOIRS OF 
 
 stand, that after filling a large folio foul-book, which I still keep in 
 possession, I gave up the task, or more properly speaking reduced 
 it to a more contracted scale, in which, however, I contrived to re- 
 view all the several systems of the Heathen Philosophers, and dis- 
 cuss at large the tenets and opinions maintained and professed by 
 their respective schools and academies. This was a work of labour 
 and considerable research, and having had lately occasion to resort 
 to it for certain purposes, which I have in hand, I must do myself 
 the justice to say I found it very accurate, and derived alj the aid 
 and information from it that I expected or required. That I was 
 at that age disposed and able to apply my mind to a work so ope- 
 rose and argumentative I ascribe entirely to the nature of the stu- 
 dies, and the habitudes of thinking, I had so recently been engaged 
 in. 
 
 Thus, after wandering at large for a considerable time without 
 any one to guide me, I was at last compelled to chalk out for my- 
 self a settled plan of reading, which, if I had not been disciplined 
 as above described, I certainly should have long postponed, or per- 
 haps never have struck out. Why will not those, whose duty it 
 is to superintend the education of their pupils in our universities, 
 when they discover talents and a thirst for learning, point out to 
 the student the best and nearest road to its attainment ? It is sure- 
 ly within their province to do it, and the benefit would be incal- 
 culable. 
 
 I well remember when I was newly come to college, with what 
 avidity I read the Greek tragedians, and with what reverence I 
 swallowed the absurdities of their chorus, and was bigoted to their 
 cold character and rigid unities ; and when Mason of Pembroke- 
 Hall published his Elfrida after their model, though I did not quite 
 agree with him as to his choice of plot, or the perfect legitimacy of 
 his chorus, yet I was warm in my praises of that generally -admired 
 production, and in imitation of it planned and composed an entire 
 drama, of which Charactacus was the hero, with Bards and Druids 
 attached to it as a chorus, for whom I wrote Odes in the manner of 
 Elfrida; I have this manuscript now in my possession, and it is flat- 
 tering to my choice of subject that Mason, with whom I had no 
 communication or correspondence, should afterwards strike upon 
 the same character for the hero of his drama : but though in this 
 particular I have the good chance- to agree with him, in point of plot 
 
I 
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 59 
 
 I strayed equally from him and from the history, for not writing with 
 any thought of publication, I wove into my drama some characters 
 and several incidents perfectly fictitious: there is a good deal of 
 fancy and some strong writing in it, but as a whole it must be read 
 with allowances, and I shall therefore pass it over, not wishing to 
 make too many demands upon the candour of the reader. 
 
 Whilst I was thus living with my family at Stanwick in the en- 
 joyment of every thing that could constitute my felicity, a strong 
 contest took place upon the approach of the general election, and 
 the county of Northampton was hotly canvassed by the rival parties 
 of Knightly and Hanbury, or in other words by the Tories and the 
 Whigs. My father, whose politics accorded with the latter, wa$ 
 drawn out upon this occasion, and gave a very active and effectual 
 support to his party, and though the cause he embarked in was un- 
 successful, yet his particular exertions had been such, that he might 
 truly have said — 
 
 Si Pergama dextrd 
 Defendi fiossent, etiam hdc defend fuissent. 
 
 This second striking instance of his popularity and influence was 
 by no means overlooked by the Earl of Halifax, then high in office 
 and Lord Lieutenant of the county. Offers, which he did not court, 
 were pressed upon him, but though he was resolute in declining all 
 favours personal to himself, yet he was persuaded to lend an ear to 
 flattering situations pointed out for me, and my destiny was now pre- 
 paring to reverse those tranquil and delectable scenes, which I had 
 hitherto enjoyed, and to transplant me from the cloisters of my col- 
 lege, and free range of my studies, to the desk of a private secreta^- 
 ry, and the irksome painful restraints of dependence. 
 
 Let me not by my statement of this event appear to lay any- 
 thing to the charge of my ever dear and honoured father ; if I were 
 unnaturally disposed to find a fault in his proceeding upon this occa- 
 sion, I must search for it amongst his virtues; he was open, warm and 
 unsuspecting ; apt to credit others for what was natural to himself, 
 ever inclined to look only on the best side of men and things, and 
 certainly not one of the children of this world. If I have cause to 
 regret this departure from the line, in which by education I had been 
 trained, I am the author of my own misfortune ; I was perfectly a 
 
60 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 free agent, and have nobody but myself to accuse. My youth, how- 
 ever, and the still unsettled state of my health spared me for a time, 
 and my lather proposed an excursion to the city of York, for the 
 double purpose of my relaxation and my sisters* accomplishments 
 in music and dancing. We had a near relation living there, a widow 
 lady, niece to Doctor Bentley, who accommodated us with her house, 
 and we passed half a year in the society and amusements of the 
 place. This lady, Forster by name, and first cousin to my mother, 
 was a woman of superior understanding ; her opinions were pro- 
 nounced authoritatively and without respect of person ; they were 
 considered in York as little less than oracular. The style of living 
 in this place was so new to me and out of character, when contrasted 
 by the habits of study and retirement, which I had been accustomed 
 to, that it seemed to enfeeble and depress that portion of genius, 
 which nature had endowed me with ; I hunted in the mornings, 
 danced in the evenings, and devoted but a small portion of my time 
 to any thing that deserved the name of study. I had no books of my 
 own, and unfortunately got engaged with Spenser's Fairy Queen, 
 in imitation of which I began to string nonsensical stanzas to the 
 same miming kind of measure. Though I trust I should not have 
 surrendered myself for any length of time to this jingling strain of 
 obsolete versification, yet I am indebted to my mother for the sea- 
 sonable contempt she threw upon my imitations, felt the force of her 
 reproof, and laid the Fairy Queen upon its shelf. 
 
 The Earl of Galloway, father of the present Lord, was then re- 
 siding at York with Lis family ; a beautiful copy of elegiac verses, 
 "the composition of his daughter, Lady Susan, was communicated to 
 me, of which the hint seemed to be taken from Flamlet's medita- 
 tions on the skull of Yorick. I do not feel myself at liberty to pub- 
 lish the elegant poem of that lady, who lived to grace the high 
 station which by her birth, virtues and endowments she was intitled 
 to, and when I now venture to insert my own, I am fully conscious 
 how ill it would endure a comparison with that, which gave occasion 
 to it— 
 
 « True! We must all be chang'd by death, 
 " Such is the form the dead must wear, 
 " And so, when Beauty yields its breath. 
 " So shall the fairest face appear. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. «) 
 
 " But let thy soul survey the grace, 
 " That yet adorns its frail abode, 
 " And through the wondrous fabric trace 
 " The hand of an unerring God. 
 
 « Why does the blood in stated round 
 " Its vital warmth throughout dispense ? 
 " Who tun'd the ear to every sound, 
 " And lent the hand its ready sense? 
 
 " Whence had the eyes that subtle force, 
 " That langour, they by turns display ? 
 " Who hung the lips with prompt discourse, 
 " And tun'd the soft melodious lay ? 
 
 " What but thy Maker's image there 
 " In each external part is seen ? 
 a But 'tis thy better part to wear 
 " His image pictur'd best within. 
 
 " Else what avail'd the raptur'd strain, 
 " Did not the mind her aid impart, 
 " The melting eye would speak in vain, 
 " Flow'd not its language from the heart. 
 
 « The blood with stated pace had crept 
 " Along the dull and sluggish veins, 
 " The ear insensibly had slept, 
 " Though angels sung in choicest strains. 
 
 « It is that spark of quick'ning fire, 
 " To every child of nature giv'n, 
 " That either kindles wild desire, 
 " Or lights us on the road to heav'n. 
 
 " That spark, if Virtue keeps it bright, 
 " And Genius fans it into flame, 
 " Aspiring mounts, and in its flight, 
 " Soars far above this earthly frame. 
 
$2 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " Strong and expansive in its view, 
 " It tow'rs amidst the boundless sky, 
 " Sees planets other orbs pursue, 
 " Whose systems other suns supply. 
 
 u Such Newton was, diffusing far 
 
 « His radiant beam6 ; such Cotes had been, 
 
 " This a bright comet ; that a star, 
 
 « Which glitter'd and no more was seen. 
 
 " Blush then if thou hast sense of shame, 
 " Inglorious, ign'rant, impious slave ! 
 " Who think'st this heav'n-created frame 
 " Shall basely perish in the grave. 
 
 w False as thou art, dar'st thou suggest 
 " That thy Creator is unjust ? 
 " Wilt thou the truth with Him contest, 
 " Whose wisdom form'd thee of the dust ? 
 
 " Say, dotard, hath He idly wrought, 
 " Or are his works to be believ'd ? 
 " Speak, is the whole creation nought? 
 " Mortal, is God or thou deceiv'd ? 
 
 « Thy harden'd spirit, convict at last, 
 " Its damning error shall perceive, 
 " Speechless shall hear its sentence past, 
 " Condemn'd to tremble and believe. 
 
 « But thou in reason's sober light 
 " Death clad with terror can'st survey, 
 " And from the foul and ghastly sight 
 " Derive the pure and moral lay. 
 
 " Go on, sweet Nymph, and when thy Muse 
 " Visits the dark and dreary tomb, 
 " Bright-rob'd Religion shall diffuse 
 a Her radiance, and dispel the gloom. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 63 
 
 « And when the necessary day 
 
 tt Shall call thee to thy saving God, 
 
 " Secure thou'lt chuse that better way, 
 
 « Which Conscience points and Saints have trod. 
 
 " So shall thy soul at length forsake 
 " The fairest form e'er soul receiv'd 
 "Of those rich blessings to partake, 
 " Which eye ne'er saw, nor heart conceiv'd. 
 
 « There, 'midst the full angelic throng, 
 " Praise Him, who those rich blessings gave, 
 " There shall resume the grateful song, 
 " A joyful victor o'er the grave." 
 
 This excursion to York was indeed a relaxation, but not alto- 
 gether of a sort, that either suited my ease, or accorded with my 
 taste. Certain it is I had for a time impaired my health by too much 
 application and the over-abstemious habits I imposed upon myself 
 during my last year at college, but tranquillity not dissipation, or 
 what is called amusement, was the restorative I most needed. The 
 allurements of public assemblies and the society of those, who resort 
 to them, form so great a contrast to the occupations of a student, that 
 instead of being?enlivened by the change, I felt a lassitude of mind, 
 that put me out of humour with myself, and damped that ardent 
 spirit of acquirement, which in my nature seemed to have been its 
 ruling passion. Extremes of any sort are dangerous to youthful 
 minds, and should be studiously avoided. The termination of our 
 visit to York, and the prospect of returning to college were welcom- 
 ed by me most cordially. I had brought no books with me to York, 
 and of course had nothing to call off my mind from the listless idle 
 style, in which I dangled away my time, amusing myself only now 
 and then with my pen, because my fancy would not be totally unem- 
 ployed; sometimes, as I have before related, imitating Spenser's style, 
 and at other times composing short elegies after the manner of Ham- 
 mond; for this, when I was reprimanded by the same judicious 
 monitress, who rallied me out of my imitations of the stanzas of The 
 Fairy Queen, I promised her I would write no more love elegies* 
 
64 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 and took leave of Hammond with the following lines, written almost 
 extempore — 
 
 " When wise men love they love to folly, * 
 " When blockheads love they're melancholy, 
 " When coxcombs love, they love for fashion, 
 " And quaintly call it the belle passion. 
 
 " Old batchelors, who wear the willow, 
 " May dream of love and hug the pillow, 
 " Whilst love, in poet's fancy rhyming, 
 a Sets all the bells of folly chiming. 
 
 " But women, charming women, prove 
 " The sweet varieties of love, 
 " They can love all, but none too dearly, 
 " Their husbands too, but not sincerely. 
 
 " They'll love a thing, whose outward shape 
 " Marks him twin brother to an ape ; 
 " They'll take a miser for his riches, 
 " And wed a beggar without breeches. 
 
 " Marry, as if in love with ruin, 
 " A gamester to their sure undoing, 
 " A drunkard raving, swearing, storming, 
 " For the dear pleasure of reforming. 
 
 " They'll wed a lord, whose breath shall falter 
 
 " Whilst he is crawling from the altar : 
 
 " What is there women will not do, 
 
 " When they love man and money too ?" 
 
 These and numerous trifles of the like sort, not worth recording, 
 amused my vacant hours at York, but when I returned home, I 
 made a very short stay and hastened to college, where I was soon 
 invited to the -master's lodge by Doctor Smith, who was pleased to 
 honour me with his approbation of my past exertions, and imparted 
 to me a new arrangement, that he and the seniors had determined 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 65 
 
 upon for annulling so much of the existing statutes as restricted all 
 Bachelors of Arts, except those of the third year's standing, from 
 offering themselves candidates for fellowships : when he had signi- 
 fied this to me, he kindly added, that as I should be in the second 
 year of my degree at the next election, he recommended it to me 
 by all means to present myself for examination, and to take my 
 chance. This was a communication so flattering, that I knew not 
 how to shape the answer, which he seemed to expect from me ; I 
 clearly saw that his meaning was to bring me into the society a year 
 before any one had been elected since the statutes were in exis- 
 tence ; I knew that by my election there must be an exclusion of 
 some candidate of the year above me, who had only a single chance, 
 whereas I had a double one ; in the mean time my circumstances 
 were such as not to want the emoluments of a fellowship, and my 
 age such as might well admit of a postponement. These were my 
 reflections at the time, and I felt the force of them, but the regula- 
 tion was gone forth, and there were others of my own year, who had 
 announced their resolution of coming forward as candidates at the 
 time of the election. There was no part therefore for me to take 
 but to prepare myself for the examination, and expect the result. 
 To this I looked forward with much more terror and alarm, than to 
 all I had experienced in the schools and theatre, for I not only stood 
 in awe of the master of Trinity, as being the deepest mathematician 
 of his time, but as I had reason to believe he had been led to lay 
 open the election in some degree on my account, I apprehended he 
 would never suffer his partiality to single me out to the exclusion of 
 any other without strict scrutiny into my pretensions, and as I had 
 obtained a high honour when I took my degree, I greatly feared he 
 might expect too much, and meet with disappointment. 
 
 Under these impressions, whilst I was preparing to resume my 
 studies with increased attention, and repair the time not profitably 
 past of late, I received a summons, which opened to me a new scene 
 of life. I was called for by Lord Halifax to assume the situation of 
 his private confidential secretary : it was considered by my family 
 and the friends and advisers of my family, as an offer, upon which 
 there could be no hesitation. They took the question as it struck 
 them in their view of it, they could not look into futurity, neither 
 could they take a perfect estimate either of my fitness for the situa- 
 tion held out to me, or of the eventual value of the situation, from 
 
 K 
 

 66 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 which I was about to be displaced. What the prosecution of my 
 studies might have led me to in that line of life, to which I had di- 
 rected my attention, and fixed my attachment, is a matter of specu- 
 lation and conjecture; what I might have avoided is now become 
 matter of experience, and I can only say that had certain passages 
 of my past life been then stated to me as probabilities to occur, I 
 would have stuck to my college, and endeavoured to have trodden 
 in the steps of my ancestors. 
 
 I was not fitted for dependence ; my nature was repugnant to it ; 
 I was most unfortunately formed with feelings, that could ill endure 
 the assumed importance of some, or submit to take advantage of the 
 weakness of others. I had ambition enough, and it may be more 
 than enough ; but it was the ambition of working out my own way 
 by the labours of my mind, and raising to myself a character upon 
 a foundation of my own laying. I certainly do not offend against 
 truth when I say I had an ardent wish to earn a name in literature : 
 I had studied books ; I had not studied men, and perhaps I was too 
 much disposed to measure my respect for their characters by the 
 standard of their talents. I had no acquaintance with the noble 
 Lord, who now invited me to share his confidence, and receive my 
 destiny from his hands. My good father did what was perfectly na- 
 tural for a father to do in the like circumstances, he availed himself 
 of the opportunity for placing me under the patronage of one of the 
 most figuring and rising men of his time. There was something 
 extremely brilliant and more than commonly engaging in the per- 
 son, manners and address of the Earl of Halifax. He had been 
 educated at Eton, and came with the reputation of a good scholar to 
 Trinity College, where he established himself in the good opinion 
 of the whole society, not only by his orderly and regular conduct, 
 but in a very distinguished manner by the attention which he paid 
 to his studies, and the proofs he gave in his public exercises of his 
 classical acquirements. He was certainly, when compared with men 
 of his condition, to be distinguished as a scholar much above the 
 common mark : he quoted well and copiously from the best authors, 
 chiefly Horace; he was very fond of English poetry, and recited it 
 very emphatically after the manner of Quin, who had been his mas- 
 ter in that art : he had a partiality for Prior, which he seemed to 
 inherit from the celebrated Lord Halifax, and would rehearse long- 
 passages from his Solomon, and IJenry and Emma, with tjie whole 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. ,.67 
 
 of his verses, beginning with Sincere o/i tell me — and these he would 
 set off with a great display of action, and in a style of declamation 
 more than sufficiently theatrical. He was married to a virtuous and 
 exemplary lady, who brought him a considerable fortune, and from 
 whom he took the name of Dunk, and was made a freeman of Lon- 
 don to entitle him to marry in conformity to the conditions of her 
 father's will. His family, when I came to him, consisted of this 
 lady, with whom he lived in great domestic harmony, and three 
 daughters; there was an elderly clergyman of the name of Crane, 
 an inmate also, who had been his tutor, and to whom he was most 
 entirely attached. A better guide and a more faithful counsellor 
 he could not have, for amongst all the men it has been my chance to 
 know, I do not think I have known a calmer, wiser, more right- 
 headed man ; in the ways of the world, the politics of the time and the 
 characters of those, who were in the public management and respon- 
 sibility of affairs, Doctor Crane was incomparably the best steers- 
 man, that his pupil could take his course from, and so long as he 
 submitted to his temperate guidance he could hardly go astray. The 
 opinions of Doctor Crane were upon all points decisive, because in 
 the first place they were always withheld till extorted from him by 
 appeal, and secondly, because they never failed to carry home con- 
 viction of the prudence and sound judgment they were founded 
 upon. 
 
 This was the state of the family to which I was now introduced. 
 In the lord of the house I contemplated a man regular in his duties, 
 temperate in his habits, and a strict observer of decorum : in the lady 
 a woman, in whom no fault or even foible could be discovered, mild, 
 prudent, unpretending : in the tutor a character not easy to develop, 
 or rightly and correctly to appretiate, for whilst his qualities com- 
 manded respect, the dryness of his external repulsed familiarity ; in 
 short I set him down as a man of a clear head and a cold heart : the 
 daughters were children of the nursery. 
 
 I went to town attended by a steady and intelligent servant of my 
 father's ; this person, Anthony Fletcher by name, who then wore a 
 livery, has since, by a series of good conduct and good fortune, es- 
 tablished himself in an affluent and creditable situation at Bath, 
 where he still lives in a very advanced age in the Crescent, well 
 known and universally respected. Lord Halifax's house was in 
 Grosvenor-Square, but I found iodgings taken for me by his ordef 
 
168 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 in Downing-street, for the purpose, as I understood, of my being 
 near Mr. John Pownall, then acting secretary to the Board of Trade, 
 at which it was Lord Halifax's office to preside. This gentleman 
 was to give me the necessary instructions for my obtaining some 
 insight into the nature of the business, likely to devolve upon me. 
 My location was certainly very well pitched for those communica- 
 tions, for Mr. Pownall lodged and boarded at a house in the same 
 street, and with him I was to mess when not invited out. 
 
 The morning after my arrival I waited on this gentleman at his 
 office in Whitehall, and was received by him with all possible po- 
 liteness, but in a style of such ceremony and form as I was little 
 used to, and not much delighted with. How many young men at 
 my time of life would have embraced this situation with rapture ! 
 The whole town indeed was before me, but it had not for me either 
 friend or relation, to whom I could resort for comfort or for counsel. 
 With a head filled with Greek and Latin, and a heart left behind 
 me in my college, I was completely out of my element. I saw 
 myself unlike the people about me, and was embarrassed in circles, 
 which according to the manners of those days were not to be ap- 
 proached without a set of ceremonies and manoeuvres, not very 
 pleasant to perform, and, when awkwardly performed, not very edi- 
 fying to behold. In these graces Lord Halifax was a model ; his 
 address was noble and impressive ; he could never be mistaken for 
 less than he was, whilst his official secretary Pownall, who egre- 
 giously over-acted his imitations of him, could as little be mistaken 
 for more than he was. In the world, which I now belonged to, I 
 heard very little, except now and then a quotation from Lord Hali- 
 fax, that in any degree interested me ; there were talkers however, 
 who would take possession of a subject as a highwayman does of a 
 purse, without knowing what it contained, or caring whom it be- 
 longed to: many of these gentlemen had doubtless found that igno- 
 rance had been no obstacle to their advancement, and now they 
 seemed resolved it should be no bar to their assurance. I found 
 there was a polite as well as a political glossary, which involved 
 mysteries little less obscure than those, which are couched under 
 the hierogliphics of Egypt, and I perceived that whosoever had the 
 ready use and apt application of those pass-words, was by right look- 
 ed up to as the best bred and best informed man in the company : 
 when a single word can comprise the matter of a whole volume, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 69 
 
 those worthy gentlemen have a very sufficient plea for not wasting 
 their time upon reading. I have lived long enough to witness such 
 amazing feats performed by impudence, that I much wonder why 
 modest men will allow themselves to be found in societies, where 
 they are condemned to be annoyed by talkers, who turn all things up- 
 side down, whilst they are not permitted to utter that, which would 
 set them right. 
 
 When it was my chance to dine at our boarding-house table with 
 the aforementioned sub-secretary, I contemplated with surprise the 
 importance of his air, and the dignity that seemed attached to his 
 official situation. The good woman of the house, who was at once 
 our provider and our president, regularly addressed him by the name 
 of statesman, and in her distribution of the joint shewed something 
 more than an impartial attention to his plate. If he knew any state- 
 secrets, I will do him the justice to say that he never disclosed them ; 
 and if he talked with ministers and great nobles as he talked o/"them, 
 I will venture to say he was extremely familiar with them ; and I 
 cannot doubt but that this was the case ; for if he was thus high with 
 his equals, it surely behoved him to be much higher with those who 
 but for such self-swelling altitudes might stand a chance to pass for 
 his superiors. He had a brother in the guards, a very amiable man, 
 and with him I formed a friendship. Having been told to inform 
 myself about the colonies, and shewn some folio books of formidable 
 contents, I began more meo with the discoverers of America, and 
 proceeded to travel through amass of voyages, which furnished here 
 and there some plots for tragedies, dumb shows and dances, as they 
 have since done, but in point of information applicable to the then- 
 existing state of the colonies, were most discouragingly meagre, and 
 most oppressively tedious in communicating nothing. I got a sum- 
 mary but sufficient insight into the constitutions of the respective 
 provinces, for what was worth knowing was soon learnt, and when I 
 found that my whole employment in Grosvenor-Square consisted in 
 copying a few private letters to governors and civil officers abroad, 
 I applied my thoughts to other objects, and particularly to the ap- 
 proaching election at my college ; still London lodgings and London 
 hours were not quite so well adapted to study as I could have wished, 
 though I changed my situation for the better when I removed to an 
 apartment, which was taken for me in Mount-Street, within a very 
 short walk of Lord Halifax's house, where I attended for his com- 
 
70 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 mands every morning, and dined twice or thrice in the week. One 
 day he took me with him to Newcastle House, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, 
 for the purpose of. presenting me to the duke, then prime minister: 
 his lordship was admitted without delay ; I waited two hours for my 
 audience, and was then dismissed in two minutes, whilst his grace, 
 stript to his shirt, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, was wash- 
 ing his hands. 
 
 The recess took place at the usual time, when Lord Halifax left 
 town and went to Horton in Northamptonshire; I accompanied him 
 thither, and from thence went to Cambridge ; he seemed interested 
 in my undertaking, and offered me letters of recommendation, which 
 with due acknowledgments I declined. On my arrival I found 
 Doctor Richard Bentley had come from his living of Nailstone in 
 Leicestershire, purposely to support my cause ; the vice-master also 
 welcomed me with his accustomed cordiality, and I found the candi- 
 dates of both years had turned out strong for the contest. There 
 were six vacancies, and six candidates of the year above me ; of these 
 Spencer Madan, now Bishop of Peterborough, was as senior West- 
 minster secure of his election, and such was his merit, independent 
 of any other claim, that it would have been impossible to pass him 
 over. He was a young man of elegant accomplishments, and with 
 the recommendation of a very interesting person and address, had 
 derived from the Cowpers, of which family his mother was, no small 
 proportion of hereditary taste and talent ; he was a good classical 
 scholar, composed excellent declamations in the Ciceronian style, 
 which he set off with all the grace of recitation and voice, that can 
 well be conceived : he had a great passion for music, sung well, and 
 read in chapel to the admiration of every one. I have passed many 
 happy hours with him in the morning of our lives, and I hope he 
 will enjoy the evening of his days in comfort and tranquillity, having 
 chosen that better lot, which has brought him into harbour, whilst I| 
 who lost it, am left out at sea. 
 
 The senior Westminster of my year, and joint candidate with 
 me at this time, was John Higgs, now Rector of Grandisburgh in 
 Suffolk, and a senior fellow of Trinity College; a man, who, when I 
 last visited him, enjoyed ail the vigour of mind and body in a green 
 old age, the result of good humour, and the reward of temperance. 
 We have spun out mutually a long measure of uninterrupted friend- 
 ship, he in peace throughout, and I at times in perplexity ; and if I- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 71 
 
 survive to complete these memoirs, and he to read this page, I desire 
 he will receive it as a testimony of my unaltered regard for him 
 through life, and the bequest of my last good wishes at the close of it. 
 
 It would hardly be excusable in me to detail a process, that takes 
 place every year, but that in this instance the novelty of our case 
 made it matter of very general attention. When the day of exami- 
 nation came, we went our rounds to the electing seniors ; in some 
 instances by one at a time, in others by parties of three or four ; it 
 was no trifling scrutiny we had to undergo, and here and there pretty 
 severely exacted, particularly, as I well remember, by Doctor Charles 
 Mason, a man of curious knowledge in the philosophy of mechanics 
 and a deep mathematician ; he was a true modern Diogenes, in 
 manners and apparel, coarse and slovenly to excess in both ; the witty 
 made a butt of him, but the scientific caressed him; he could orna- 
 ment a subject at the same time that he disgusted and disgraced 
 society. I remember when he came one day to dinner in the col- 
 lege hall, dirty as a blacksmith from his forge, upon his being ques- 
 tioned on his appearance, he replied- — that he had been turning — then 
 I wish, said the other, when you was about it, friend Charles, you 
 had turned your shirt. This philosopher, as I was prepared to be- 
 lieve, decidedly opposed my election. He gave us a good dose of 
 dry mathematics, and then put an Aristophanes before us, which he 
 opened at a venture, and bade us give the sense of it. A very worthy 
 candidate of my year declined having any thing to do with it, yet 
 Mason gave his vote for that gentleman, and against me, who took 
 his leavings. Doctor Samuel Hooper gave us a liberal and well 
 chosen examination in the more familiar classics ; that indeed was a 
 man, in whom nothing could be found but what was gentle and en- 
 gaging, whom suavity of temper and the charms of manners made 
 dear to all that knew him ; he died and was buried in the chapel of his 
 college, where a marble tablet, erected to his memory, cannot fail to 
 awaken the sensibility of all, who like me, were acquainted with his 
 virtues. 
 
 The last, whom in order of our visits we resorted to, was the 
 master ; he called us to him one by one according to our standings, 
 and of course it fell to me as junior candidate to wait till each had 
 been examined in his turn. When in obedience to his summons I 
 attended upon him, he was sitting, not in the room where my grand- 
 father had his library, but in a chamber up stairs, encompassed with 
 
72 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 large folding screens, and over a great fire, though the weather was 
 then uncommonly warm : he began by requiring of me an account 
 of the whole course and progress of my studies in the several branches 
 of philosophy, so called in the general, and as I proceeded in my de- 
 tail of what I had read, he sifted me with questions of such a sort 
 as convinced me he was determined to take nothing upon trust ; 
 when he had held me a considerable time under this examination, I 
 expected he would have dismissed me, but on the contrary he pro- 
 ceeded in the like general terms to demand of me an account of 
 what I had been reading before I had applied myself to academical 
 studies, and when I had acquitted myself of this question as briefly 
 as I could, and I hope as modestly as became me in presence of a 
 man so learned, he bade me give him a summary account of the se- 
 veral great empires of the ancient world, the periods when they 
 flourished, their extent when at the summit of their power, the 
 causes of their declension and dates of their extinction. When 
 summoned to give answer to so wide a question, I can only say it 
 was well for me I had worked so hard upon my scheme of General 
 History, which I have before made mention of, and which, though 
 not complete in all the points of his enquiry, supplied me with ma- 
 terials for such a detail, as seemed to give him more than tolerable 
 satisfaction. This process being over, he gave me a sheet of paper 
 written through in Greek with his own hand, which he ordered me 
 to turn either into Latin or English, and I was shewn into a room, 
 containing nothing but a table furnished with materials for writing, 
 and one chair, and I was required to use dispatch. The passage 
 was maliciously enough selected in point of construction, and also 
 of character, for he had scrawled it out in a puzzling kind of hand 
 with abbreviations of his own devising ; it related to the arrangement 
 of an army for battle, and I believe might be taken from Polybius, 
 an author I had then never read. When I had given in my transla- 
 tion in Latin, I was remanded to the empty chamber with a subject 
 for Latin prose and another for Latin verse, and again required to 
 dispatch them in the manner of an impromptu. The chamber, into 
 which I was shut for the performance of these hasty productions, 
 was the very room, dismantled of the bed, in which I was born. 
 The train of ideas it revived in my mind were not inappositely 
 woven into the verses I gave in, and with this task my examination 
 concluded. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 73 
 
 Doctor Smith, who so worthily succeeded to the mastership of 
 Trinity on my grandfather's decease, was unquestionably one of the 
 most learned men of his time, as his works, especially his System 
 of Optics, effectually demonstrate. He led the life of a student, ab- 
 stemious and recluse, his family consisting of a sister, advanced in 
 years, and unmarried like himself, together with a niece, who in 
 the course of her residence there was married to a fellow of the col- 
 lege. He was a man, of whom it might be said — Philosophy had 
 marked him for her own; of a thin spare habit, a nose prominently 
 aquiline, and an eye penetrating as that of the bird, the semblance 
 of whose beak marked the character of his face : the tone of his 
 voice was shrill and nasal, and his manner of speaking such as de- 
 noted forethought and deliberation. How deep a theorist he was in 
 harmony his treatise will evince ; of mere melody he was indignant- 
 ly neglectful, and could not reconcile his ear to the harpischord, 
 till by a construction of his own he had divided the half tones into 
 their proper flats and sharps. Those who figured to themselves a 
 Diogenes in Mason, might have fancied they beheld an Aristotle in 
 Smith, who, had he lived in the age and fallen within the eye of the 
 great designer of The School of Athens, might have left his image 
 there without discrediting the groupe. 
 
 The next day the election was announced, and I was chosen, to- 
 gether with Mr. John Orde, now one of the masters in Chancery, 
 who was of the same year with myself, and next to me upon the 
 list of Wranglers. This gentleman had also gained the prize ad- 
 judged to him for his Latin declamation ; for his private worthi- 
 ness he was universally esteemed, and for his public merits deserv- 
 edly rewarded. By our election two candidates of the year above 
 us for ever lost their chance ; the one of these a Mr. Briggs, the 
 other Mr. Penneck, a name well known, and a character much-es- 
 teemed : he filled a situation in the British Museum with great re- 
 spectability, was a very amiable worthy man, highly valued by his 
 friends when living, and much lamented after death. His disap- 
 pointment on this occasion was very generally regretted, and I think 
 I can answer for the feelings of Mr. Orde as confidently as for my 
 own. 
 
 When I waited upon the electing seniors to return my thanks, 
 ©f course I did not omit to pay my compliments to Doctor Mason, 
 
 L 
 
74 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 — " You owe me no compliment, he replied, for I tell you plainly 
 " I opposed your election, not because I have any personal objec- 
 " tion to you, but because I am no friend to innovations, and think it 
 " hard upon the excluded candidates to be subjected on a sudden to 
 " a regulation, which according to my calculation gives you two 
 " chances to their one, and takes away, as it has proved, even that 
 a one. But you are in ; so there's an end of it, and I give you joy." 
 Having staid as long in college as in gratitude and propriety I 
 conceived it right to stay, I went home to Stan wick, and from thence 
 paid my duty in a short visit to Lord Halifax. This was certainly 
 a moment, of which I could have availed myself for returning into 
 the line of life, which I had stept out of, and as neither now, nor in 
 any day of my long attendance upon Lord Halifax, there ever was 
 an hour, when my father would not have lent a ready ear to my ap- 
 peal, the reasons, that prevailed with me for persisting, were not 
 dictated by him. In the mean time the life I led in town during the 
 first years of my attendance was almost as much sequestered from 
 the world, as if I had been resident m college : in my lodging in 
 Mount Street I had stocked myself with my own books, some of 
 my father's, and those, which Doctor Richard Bentley had bestowed 
 upon me ; I sought no company, nor pushed for any new connexions 
 amongst those, whom I occasionally met in Grosvenor- Square ; one 
 or two of my fellow collegiates now and then looked in upon me, 
 and about this time I made my first small offering to the press, 
 following the steps of Gray with another church-yard elegy, written 
 on Saint Mark's eve, when, according to rural tradition the ghosts of 
 those, who are to die within the year ensuing, are seen to walk at: 
 midnight across the church-yard. I believe the public were very 
 little interested by my plaintive ditty, and Mr. Dodsley, who was 
 publisher, as little profited. I had writtten it at Stanwick in one of 
 my college vacations, some time before I belonged to Lord Halifax, 
 and had affixed to my title page the following motto with which I 
 sent it into the world— 
 
 " c O$ (rev, civev&ev £w, f^tsyoc xv)0£Tx,t yd* eXecttpet' 
 
 " AAAes tv FYJTiy e%e <pp'e(ri, ftsjtfV T£ Ajj&t 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 7$ 
 
 I had made my stay at Horton as short as I could with propriety, 
 being impatient to avail myself of every day that I could pass in the 
 society of my family. With them I was happy ; in their company 
 I enjoyed those tranquil and delicious hours, which were endeared 
 to me still more by the contrast of what I suffered when in absence 
 from them. 
 
 With all these sensations within me, these filial feelings and 
 family attachment, I hardly need confess, that, however time and 
 experience may have changed my taste or capacity for public life, 
 certain it is that I was not then fitted for it, nor had any of those 
 worldly qualities and accommodations in my nature, which are sure 
 to push their possessors into notice, and form what may be called 
 the very nidus of good fortune. A man, who is gifted with these 
 lucky talents, is armed with hands, as a ship with grappling irons, 
 ready to catch hold of, and make himself fast to every thing he 
 comes in contact with ; and such a man, with all these properties of 
 adhesion, has also the property, like the polypus, of a most miracu- 
 lous and convenient indivisibility ; cut off his hold, nay, cut him ow 
 you will, he is still a polypus, whole and entire. Men of this sort 
 shall work their way out of their obscurity like cockroaches out of the 
 hold of ship, and crawl into notice, nay, even into king's palaces, as 
 the frogs did into Pharoah's: the happy faculty of noting times and 
 seasons, and a lucky promptitude to avail themselves of moments 
 with address and boldness, are alone such all-sufficient requisites, 
 such marketable stores of worldly knowledge, that although the 
 minds of those, who own them, shall be, as to all the liberal sciences, 
 a rasa tabula, yet knowing these things needful to be known, let 
 their difficulties and distresses be what they may, though the storm 
 of adversity threatens to overwhelm them, they are in a life-boat, 
 buoyed up by corks, and cannot sink. These are the stray children, 
 turned loose upon the world, whom fortune in her charity takes 
 charge of, and for whose guidance in the bye-ways and cross-roads 
 of their pilgrimage she sets up fairy finger-posts, discoverable by 
 them, whose eyes are near the ground, but unperceived by such, 
 whose looks are raised above it. 
 
 In a nation, like this, where all ranks and degrees are laid open 
 to enterprize, merit or good fortune, it is fit, right and natural that 
 sudden elevations should occur and be encouraged. It is a spur 
 to industry, and incites to emulation and laudable ambition. Whilst 
 
76 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 it leads to these good consequences, it must also tend to others of 
 a different sort. In all communities so constituted there will be a 
 secret market for cunning, as well as a fair emporium for honesty, 
 and a vast body of men, who can't support themselves without labour 
 of some sort, and won't live by the labour of their hands, must con- 
 trive to live by their wits 
 
 Honest men 
 Are the soft easy cushions, on which knaves 
 Repose and fatten — 
 
 But there are more than these— -Vain men will have their flat- 
 terers, rich men their followers, and powerful men their dependants. 
 A great man in office is like a great whale in the ocean ; there will 
 be a sword-fish and a thresher, a Junius and a John Wilkes, ever 
 in his wake and arming to attack him : These are the vext spirits of 
 the deep, who trouble the waters, turning them up from the very 
 bottom, that they may emerge from their mud, and float upon the 
 surface of the billows in foam of their making. 
 
 The abstract history of some of these gentry is curious — when 
 they have made a wreck of their own reputation, they assault and 
 tear in pieces the reputations of others ; they defame man and 
 blaspheme God ; they are punished for their enormities ; this makes 
 them martyrs ; martyrdom makes them popular, they are crowned 
 with praises, honours and emoluments, and they leave the world 
 in admiration of their talents, before they have tasted the contempt 
 which they deserve. 
 
 But whilst these men may be said to fight their way into conse- 
 quence, and so long as they can but live in notice are content to 
 live in trouble, there is a vast majority of easy, unambitious, cour- 
 teous humble servants, whose unoffending vanity aspires no higher 
 than like Samson's bees to make honey in the bowels of a lion, 
 and fatten on the offal of a rich man's superfluities. They ask no 
 more of fortune than to float, like the horse dung with the apples, 
 and enjoy the credit of good company as they travel down the 
 smooth and easy stream of life. For these there is a vast demand, 
 and their talents are as various as the uses they are put to. Every 
 great, rich and consequential man, who has not the wisdom to hold 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. JJ 
 
 his tongue, must enjoy his privilege of talking, and there must be 
 dull fellows to listen to him ; again, if, by talking about what he 
 does not understand, he gets into embarrassments, there must be 
 clever fellows to help him out of them : when he would be merry, 
 there must be witty rogues to make him laugh ; when he would be 
 sorrowful, there must be sad rogues to sigh and groan and make 
 long faces : as a great man must be never in the wrong, there must 
 be hardy rascals, who will swear he is always in the right ; as he 
 must never show fear, of course he must never see danger ; and as 
 his courage must at no time sink, there must be friends at all times 
 ready to prevent its being tried. 
 
 A great man is entitled to his relaxations ; he, who labours for 
 the public, must recreate his spirit with his private friends : then 
 it is that the happy moments, the mollia temfiora are to be found, 
 which the adept in the art of rising knows so well how to make his 
 use of. Of opportunities like these I have had my share ; I never 
 turned them to my own advantage ; if at any time I undertook a 
 small solicitation, or obtruded a request, it was for some humble 
 client, who told a melancholy tale, and could advance no nearer 
 to the principal than by making suit to me ; in the mean time I 
 saw many a favour wrested by importunity out of that course, 
 which I had reason to expect they would have taken : I never 
 remonstrated, and a very slight apology sufficed for me. These 
 negative merits I may fairly claim without offence against the 
 modesty of truth ; I was assiduous in discharging all the duties of 
 my small employ, and faithfully attached to my employer : if he 
 had no call upon me for more or greater services than any man of 
 the commonest capacity could have performed, it was because 
 occasions did not occur ; I had not the fault of neglecting what I 
 had to do, nor the presumption of dictating in any single instance 
 what should be done. 
 
 Lord Halifax wrote all his own dispatches, and with reason, for 
 he wrote well ; but I am tempted to record one opportunity, that 
 was thrown in my way by the candour of Mr. Charles Townshend, 
 whilst he was passing a few days at Horton ; amongst a variety of 
 subjects, which his active imagination was for ever starting, some- 
 thing had recurred to his recollection of an enigmatical sort, that he 
 wished to have the solution of, and could not strike upon it ; it was 
 only to be done by a geometrical process, which I was fortunate 
 
78 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 enough to hit upon ; I worked it as a problem and gave him my 
 solution in writing ; I believe it pleased him, but I am very sure 
 that his good nature was glad of the opportunity to say flattering 
 things to a diffident young man, who said very little for himself, and 
 further to do me grace he was pleased to put into my hands a very 
 long and elaborate report of his own drawing up, for he was then 
 one of the Lords of Trade, and this he condescended to desire I 
 would carefully revise and give him my remarks without reserve. 
 How highly I was gratified by this condescension in a man of his 
 extraordinary and superior genius, I need not say, nor how well, or 
 how ill, I executed my commission ; I did it to the best of my 
 abilities ; there was much to admire, and something here and there 
 in his paper to warrant a remark : if his compliments were sincere, 
 I succeeded, and shortly after I had proofs, that put his kind opinion 
 of me out of doubt. 
 
 One morning in conversation tete-a-tete, he said he recollected 
 a quotation he had chanced upon in an anonymous author, who 
 maintained opinions of a very impious sort.— -The passage he re- 
 peated is as follows — 
 
 Post mortem nihil est, i/isaq; mors nihil—- 
 
 And he asked me if I knew where those words were to be found : I 
 recollected them to be in one of the tragedies of Seneca, I believed it 
 was that of the Troades, which I had lately chanced upon amongst 
 my grandfather's books: as soon as I had access to these, I turned 
 to the passage, and according to his desire copied and inclosed it to 
 him. 'Tis found in the second act of the Troades, and as it is a 
 curious extract, and short withal, I have inserted it, together with 
 the stanzas written at the time and transmitted with it, which, 
 though not very closely translated, I have transcribed verbatim as I 
 find them. 
 
 Verum est, an timidos fabula decipit 
 Umbras corporibus vivere conditis ? 
 Cum conjux oculis imposuit manum, 
 Supremusq ; dies solibus obstitit, 
 Et tristes cineres urna coercuit, 
 Non prodest animam tradere funeri, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 79 
 
 Sed restat miseris vivere longius, 
 An toti morimur, nullaq ; pars manet 
 Nostri, cum profugo spiritus halitu 
 Immistus nebulis cessit in aera, 
 Et nudum tetigit subdita fax latus — ? 
 
 Quidquid sol oriens, quidquid et occidens 
 Novit, caeruleis oceanus fretis 
 Quidquid vel veniens vel fugiens lavat, 
 ./Etas pegaseo corripiet gradu. 
 Quo bissena volant sidera turbine, 
 Quo cursu properat secula volvere 
 Astrorum dominus, quo properat modo 
 Obliquis Hecate currere flexubus, 
 Hoc omnes petimus fata; nee amplius 
 Juratos Superis qui tetigit lacus 
 Usquam est : ut calidis fumus ab ignibus 
 Vanescit, spatium per breve sordidus, 
 Ut nubes gravidas, quas modo vidimus, 
 Arctoi Bores disjicit impetus, 
 Sic hie, quo regimur, spiritus effluet. 
 Post mortem nihil est, ipsaq; mors nihil; 
 Velocis spatii meta novissima. 
 Spem ponant avidi, solliciti metum ! 
 Quxris quo jaceas post obitum loco — ? 
 Quo non nata jacent. 
 Tempus nos avidum devorat, et chaos : 
 Mors individua est ; noxia corpori, 
 Nee parcens animse. Tzenara, et aspero 
 Regnum sub domino, limen et obsidens 
 Custos non facili Cerberus ostio, 
 Rumores vacui, verbaq ; inania, 
 Et par sollicito fabula somnio. 
 
 Chorus of Trojan Women* 
 
 " Is it a truth, or fiction all, 
 
 " Which only cowards trust, 
 " Shall the soul live beyond the grave. 
 
 " Or mingle with our dust ? 
 
§0 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " When the last gleam of parting day 
 " Our struggling sight hath biest, 
 
 " And in the pale array of death 
 " Our clay-cold limbs are drest, 
 
 " Did the kind friend who clos'd our eyes, 
 " Speak peace to us in vain ? 
 
 " Is there no peace, and have we died 
 " To live and weep again? 
 
 " Or sigh'd we then our souls away, 
 " And was that sigh our last, 
 
 u Or e'er upon the flaming pile 
 " Our bare remains were cast ? 
 
 " All the sun sees, the ocean laves, 
 " Kingdoms and kings shall fall, 
 
 " Nature and nature's works shall cease, 
 " And time be lord of all. 
 
 " Swift as the monarch of the skies 
 
 " Impels the rolling year, 
 " Swift as the gliding orb of night 
 
 " Pursues her prone career, 
 
 " So swift so sure we all descend 
 " Down life's continual tide, 
 
 u 'Till in the void of fate profound 
 « We sink with worlds beside. 
 
 u As in the flame's resistless glare 
 « Th' envelop'd smoke is lost, 
 
 { < Or as before the driving North 
 « The scatter'd clouds are tost, 
 
 " So this proud vapour shall expire, 
 
 " This all-directing soul, 
 a Nothing is after death ; you've run 
 
 " Your race and reach'd the goal. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. ai 
 
 « Dare not to wish, nor dread to meet 
 
 " A life beyond the grave ; 
 " You'll meet no other life than now 
 
 " The unborn ages have. 
 
 " Time whelms us in the vast Inane, 
 
 " A gulph without a shore ; 
 " Death gives th* exterminating blow, 
 
 " We fall to rise no more. 
 
 " Hell, and its triple-headed guard, 
 
 " And Lethe's fabled stream, 
 « Are tales that lying gossips tell, 
 
 " And moon-struck Sybils dream.' 5 
 
 It was the good old custom of the Earl of Halifax to pass the 
 Christmas at his family seat of Horton in great hospitality, and upon 
 these occasions he never failed to be accompanied by parties of his 
 friends and intimates from town ; the chief of these were the Lords 
 Dupplin and Barrington, Mr. Charles Townshend, Mr. Francis 
 Fane, Mr. James Oswald, Mr. Hans Stanley, Mr. Narbonne Berke- 
 ley, Lord Hillsborough, Mr. Dodington, Colonel James Johnstone? 
 the husband of his sister Lady Charlotte, and Mr. Ambrose Isted of 
 Ecton, near Northampton, his neighbour and constant visitor at those 
 seasons : these, with the addition of Doctor Crane and the Reverend 
 Mr. Spencer, an elderly clergyman, long attached to the family, 
 formed a society highly respectable. I ever entertained a perfect 
 and sincere regard for Lady Halifax ; her mild complacent character 
 was to me far more engaging than the livelier spirits and more 
 figuring talents of many, who engrossed that attention, which she did 
 not aspire to : she was uniform in her kindness to me, and whilst 
 she lived, I flatter myself I had a friend, who esteemed and under- 
 stood me : when she died I had more reason to regret her loss 
 than for myself alone. 
 
 My father was still fixed in his residence at Stanwick, and there 
 I ever found unvaried felicity, unabated affection. He had some ex- 
 cellent friends and many pleasant neighbours, with whom he lived 
 upon the most agreeable terms, for in his house every body seemed 
 to be happy ; his table was admirably managed by my mother, his 
 
 M 
 
S2 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 cellars, servants, equipage in the best order, and without parad© 
 unbecoming of his profession, or unsuitable to his fortune, no family 
 could be better conducted ; and here I must indulge myself in di- 
 lating on the character of one of his best friends, and best of men, 
 Ambrose Isted, Esq. of Ecton aforementioned. Through every 
 scene of my life, from my childhood to the lamented event of his 
 death, which happened whilst I was in Spain, he was invariably kind, 
 indulgent and affectionate to me. I conceive there is not upon re- 
 cord one, who more perfectly fulfilled the true character of a coun- 
 try gentleman in all its most respectable duties and departments 
 than did this exemplary person ; nor will his name be forgotten in 
 Northamptonshire so long as the memory or tradition of good deeds 
 shall circulate, or gratitude be considered as a tribute due to the 
 benevolent. He was the pattern and very model of hospitality most 
 worthy to be copied ; for his family and affairs were administered 
 and conducted with such measured liberality, such correct and wise 
 ceconomy, that the friend, who found nothing wanting, which could 
 constitute his comforts, found nothing wastefully superfluous to 
 occasion his regret. Though Mr. Isted's estate was not large, yet 
 by the process of enclosure, and above all by his prudent and well- 
 ordered management, it was augmented without extortion, and left 
 in excellent condition to his son and heir. The benefits he confer- 
 red upon his poorer neighbours were of a nature far superior to the 
 common acts of alms giving (though these were not omitted) for in 
 all their difficulties and embarrassments, he was their counsellor and 
 adviser, not merely in his capacity of acting justice of the peace, but 
 also from his legal knowledge and experience, which were very con- 
 siderable, and fully competent to all their uses; by which numbers, 
 who might else have fallen under the talons of country attornies, 
 were saved from pillage and beggary. With this gentleman my 
 father acted as justice, and was united in friendship and in party, and 
 to him he resorted upon all occasions, where the opinion and advice 
 of a judicious friend were wanted. Our families corresponded in the 
 utmost harmony, and our interchange of visits was frequent and de- 
 lightful. The house of Ecton was to me a second home, and the 
 hospitable master of it a second father ; his gaiety of heart, his 
 suavity of temper, the interest he took in giving pleasure to his 
 guests, and r the fund of information he possessed in the stores of a 
 well-furnished memory and a lively animated genius, are ever fresh 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. S3 
 
 in my recollection, and I look back upon the clays I have passed with 
 him as some of the happiest in my life. For many years before his 
 death, I saw this excellent man by intervals excruciated with a tor- 
 menting and incurable disease, which laid too deep and undiscovera- 
 ble in his vitals to admit of any other relief than laudanum in large 
 doses could at times administer : nothing but a soul serene and 
 piously resigned as his was, could have borne itself up against a 
 visitation at once so agonizing and so hopeless ; a spirit however for- 
 tified by faith, and a conscience clear of reproach can effect great 
 things, and my herioc friend through all his trials smiled in the midst 
 of sufferings, and submitted unrepining to his fate. One of the last 
 letters he lived to write I received in Spain : I saw it was the effort 
 of an exhausted frame, a generous zeal to send one parting testi- 
 mony of his affection to me, and being at that time myself extremely 
 ill, I was hardly in a capacity to dictate a reply. 
 
 I was also at this time in habits of the most intimate friendship 
 with two young men of my own age, sons of a worthy clergyman in 
 our neighbourhood, the Reverend Mr. Ekins. Jeffery the elder, 
 now deceased, was Dean of Carlisle, and Rector of Morpeth ; John 
 the younger is yet living and Dean of Salisbury. Few men have 
 been more fortunate in life than these brothers, fewer still have pro- 
 bably so well deserved their good success. With the elder of these 
 my intimacy was the greatest ; the same passion for poetry pos- 
 sessed us both, the same attachment to the drama : our respective 
 families indulged us in our propensities, and were mutually amused 
 with our domestic exhibitions. My friend Jeffery was in my family, 
 as I was in his, an inmate ever welcome ; his genius was quick and 
 brilliant, his temper sweet, and his nature mild and gentle in the 
 extreme : I loved him as a brother ; we never had the slightest jar, 
 nor can I recollect the moment in our lives, that ever gave occasion 
 of offence to either. Our destinations separated us in the more 
 advanced period of our time ; his duties drew him to a distance from 
 the scenes I was engaged in ; his lot was prosperous and placid, and 
 well for him it was, for he was not made to combat with the storms 
 of life. In early youth, long before he took orders, he composed a 
 drama of an allegorical cast, which he entitled Florio, or The Pursuit 
 of Happiness. There was a great deal of fancy in it, and I wrote a 
 comment upon it almost as long as the drama itself, which I sent to 
 him as a mark of my admiration of his genius, and my affection fo? 
 
84 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 his person. He also wrote a poem upon Dreams, which had great 
 merit, but as I wished my friend to employ his talents upon subjects 
 of a more elevated nature, I addressed some lines to him in the style 
 of remonstrance, of which I shall transcribe no more than the con- 
 cluding stanza — 
 
 * 
 
 " But thou, whose powers can wield a weightier theme, 
 
 " Why waste one thought upon an empty dream I 
 
 " Why all this genius, all this art display'd 
 
 « To paint a vapour and arrest a shade ? 
 
 " Can fear-drawn shapes and visions of the night 
 
 " Assail thy fancy, or deceive thy sight ? 
 
 " Wilt thou to air-built palaces resort, 
 
 " Where the sylphs flutter and the fairies sport. 
 
 " No, let them sooth the love-enfeebled brain, 
 
 " Thy Muse shall seize her harp and strike a loftier strain." 
 
 During the time I lived in this pleasing intercourse with the 
 family of these worthy brothers, there was an ingenious friend and 
 school-fellow of their's pretty constantly resident with them, of the 
 name of Arden, a young man very much to be loved for the ame- 
 nity of his temper and the vivacity of his parts. He was the life and 
 soul of our dramatic amusements, and had an energy of character, 
 as well as a fund of humour, that enabled him to give its true force 
 and expression to every part he assumed in our private exhibitions. 
 And here let me not omit to mention a near relation, and once my 
 most dear friend, Richard, son of the Reverend Doctor George Rey- 
 nolds, and grandson of Bishop Reynolds, who married the daughter 
 of Bishop Cumberland. This mild and amiable young man had in 
 early life so far attached himself to the Earl of Sandwich, as to accom- 
 pany him to the Congress at Aix-la-Chapelle, but being perfectly 
 independent in his fortune and of an unambitious placid nature, he 
 declined pursuing any further the unquiet track of public life, and 
 sate down with his family at their house of Paxton in Huntingdon- 
 shire, to the possession of which he succeeded, and where he still 
 resides. I am here speaking of the days of my intimacy with this 
 gentleman, and I look back to them with none but grateful recol- 
 lection ; in the course of these memoirs I shall have to speak of 
 other days, that will recall sensations of another sort. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 85 
 
 If ever this once-valued friend shall be my reader, let me appeal 
 to his candour for a fair interpretation of my feelings, when I cannot 
 pass this period over without recalling to his memory and my own 
 the name of his departed sister, who merited and possessed my best 
 affections in their purest sense. The hospitable welcome I always 
 received from the parents of this amiable lady, and their encouraging 
 politeness to me might have tempted one less respectful of her 
 comforts, and less sensible of her superior pretensions, to have pre- 
 sumed upon their favour and made tender of his addresses ; but my 
 precarious dependency and unsettled state of life, forbade such hopes, 
 and I was silent. I now return to my narrative, in which I am pre- 
 pared to speak both of others and myself no more than I know, or 
 verily believe, to be truth. 
 
 It was about this time I employed myself in collecting materials 
 from the History of India for the plan of a poem in heroic verse, 
 many fragments of which I find amongst my old papers, which 
 prove I had bestowed considerable labour on the work, and made 
 some progress. Whether I found the plan could not be made to 
 accord to my idea of the epic, or whether any other project called 
 me off I cannot now recollect ; but at that time I had not attempted 
 any thing professedly for the stage. I must, however, lament that 
 it has lain by unlooked at for so great a length of time, as there have 
 been intermediate periods of leisure when it would have been well 
 worth my pains to have taken it up. It is now too late, and the only 
 use I can apply it to is humbly to lay before the public a specimen, 
 faithfully transcribed from that part of the poem, where the discove- 
 ries of the Portuguese are introduced. I might perhaps have selected 
 passages less faulty, but I give it correctly as I find it, trusting that 
 the candid reader will make allowances for that too florid style, which 
 juvenile versifiers are so apt to indulge themselves in, whilst the 
 fancy is too prurient and the judgment not mature. 
 
 Fragment. 
 
 " Long time had Afric's interposing mound, 
 
 " Stretching athwart the navigator's way, 
 
S6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 i( Fenc'd the rich East, and sent th' adventrous bark 
 w Despairing home, or whelm'd her in the waves. 
 " Gama the first on bold discovery bent, 
 " With prow still pointing to the further pole, 
 " Skirted Caffraria till the welcome cape, 
 " Thence call'd of Hope — but not to Asia's sons— 
 " Spoke the long coast exhausted; still 'twas hope, 
 " Not victory ; nature in one effort foil'd, 
 " Still kept the contest doubtful, and enrag'd, 
 " Rous'd all the elements to war. Meanwhile, 
 " As once the Titans with Saturnian Jove, 
 " So he in happier hour and his bold crew 
 ei Undaunted conflict held : old Ocean storm'd, 
 " Loud thunder rent the air, the leagued winds 
 " Roar'd in his front, as if all Afric's Gods 
 ft With necromantic spells had charm'd the storm 
 " To shake him from his course — in vain ; for Fate, 
 " That grasp'd his helm with unrelenting hand, 
 " Had register'd his triumph : through the breach 
 a All Lusitania pour'd ; Arabia mourn'd, 
 " And saw her spicy caravans return 
 « Shorn of their wealth ; the Adriatic bride 
 " Like a neglected beauty pin'd away ; 
 " Europe which by her hand of late received 
 " India's rich fruits, from the deserted mart 
 " Now turn'd aside and pluckt them as they grew, 
 u A new-found world from out the waves arose. 
 u Now Soffala, and all the swarming coast 
 " Of fruitful Zanguebar, till where it meets 
 a The sultry Line, pour'd forth their odorous stores. 
 * The thirsty West drank deep the luscious draught, 
 a And reel'd with luxury : Emmanuel's throne 
 " Blaz'd with barbaric gems; aloft he sate 
 u Encanopied with gold, and circled round 
 u With warriors and with chiefs in Eastern pomp 
 a Resplendent with their spoils. Close in the rear 
 "Of conquest march 'd the motley papal host, 
 *< Monks of all colours, brotherhoods and names: 
 " Frowning they rear'd the cross ; th' affrighted tribes 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. *7 
 
 « Look'd up aghast, and whilst the cannon's mouth 
 
 " Thunder'd obedience, dropt th* unwilling knee 
 
 " In trembling adoration of a God, 
 
 %i Whom, as by nature tutor'd, in his works 
 
 " They saw, and only in his mercy knew. 
 
 " But creeds, impos'd by terror, can ensure 
 
 " No fixt allegiance, but are strait dismiss'd 
 
 " From the vext conscience, when the sword is sheath'd* 
 
 " Now when the barrier, that so long had stood 
 " 'Twixt the disparted nations, was no more, 
 " Like fire once kinkled, spreading in its course, 
 " Onward the mighty conflagration roli'd. 
 u As if the Atlantic and the Southern seas, 
 " Driv'n by opposing winds and urg'd amain 
 " By fierce tornadoes, with their cumbrous weight 
 " Should on a sudden at the narrowing pass 
 " Of Darien burst the continental chain 
 " And whelm together, so the nations rush'd 
 " Impetuous through the breach, where Gama forc'd 
 ." His desperate passage ; terrible the shock, 
 " From Ormus echoing to the Eastern isles 
 "Of Java and Sumatra ; India now 
 " From th' hither Tropic to the Southern Cape 
 " Show'd to the setting sun a shore of blood : 
 " In vain her monarchs from a hundred thrones 
 " Sounded the arbitrary word for war ; 
 " In vain whole cataracts of dusky slaves 
 " Pour'd on the coast : earth trembled with the weighty 
 " But what can slaves ? What can the nerveless arm ? 
 " Shrunk by that soft emasculating clime, 
 " What the weak dart against the mailed breast 
 " Of Europe's martial sons ? On sea, on shore 
 " Great Almeed triumph'd, and the rival sword 
 "Of Albuquerque, invincible in arms, 
 " Wasted the nations, humbling to the yoke 
 " Kings, whom submissive myriads in the dust 
 " Prostrate ador'd, and from the solar blaze 
 " Of majesty retreating veil'd their eyes- 
 
88 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " As when a roaming vulture on the wing 
 " From Mauritania or the cheerless waste 
 " Of sandy Thibet, by keen hunger prest, 
 " With eye quick glancing from his airy height 
 " Haply at utmost need descries a fawn, 
 « Or kid, disporting in some fruitful vale, 
 " Down, down at once the greedy felon drops 
 w With wings close cow'ring in his hollow sides 
 " Full on the helpless victim ; thence again 
 « Tow'ring in air he bears his luscious prize, 
 " And in his native wild enjoys the feast : 
 " So these forth issuing from the rocky shore 
 " Of distant Tagus on the quest for gain 
 " In realms unknown, which feverish fancy paints 
 " Glittering with gems and gold, range the wide seas, 
 " Till India's isthmus, rising with the sun 
 " To their keen sight, her fertile bosom spreads, 
 " Period and palm of all their labours past ; 
 " Whereat with avarice and ambition fir'd, 
 " Eager alike for plunder and for fame, 
 u Onward they press to spring upon their prey ; 
 " There every spoil obtain'd, with greedy haste 
 a By force or fraud could ravage from the hands 
 (i Of Nature's peaceful sons, again they mount 
 « Their richly freighted bark ; she, while the cries 
 " Of widows and of orphans rend the strand, 
 " Striding the billows, to the venal winds 
 " Spreads her broad vans, and flies before the gale. 
 
 a Here as by sad necessity I tell 
 " Of human woes to rend the hearer's heart, 
 " Truth be my Muse, and thou, my bosom's star, 
 " The planetary mistress of my birth, 
 " Parent of all my bliss, of all my pain, 
 " Inspire me, gentle Pity and attune 
 « Thy numbers, heavenly cherub, to my strain ! 
 " Thou, too, for whom my heart breathes every wish, 
 " That filial love can form, fairest of isles, 
 " Albion, attend and deign to hear a son, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. «5 
 
 * Who for afflicted millions, prostrate slaves 
 
 « Beneath oppression's scourge, and waining fast 
 
 rt By ghastly famine and destructive war, 
 
 £ No venal suit prefers ; so may thy fleets, 
 
 « Mistress of commerce, link the Western world 
 
 " To thy maternal bosom, chase the sun 
 
 " Up to his source, and in the bright display 
 
 "Of empire and the liberal search of fame 
 
 * Belt the wide globe — but mount, ye guardian waves, 
 " Stand as a wall before the spoiler's path ! 
 
 * Ye stars, your bright intelligence withdraw, 
 " And darkness cover all, whom lust of gold, 
 " Fell rapine, and extortion's guilty hope 
 
 " Rouse from their native dust to rend the thrones 
 
 a Of peaceful princes, and usurp that soil, 
 
 " Where late as humble traffickers they sought 
 
 " And found a shelter : thus what they obtain'd 
 
 " By supplication they extend by force, 
 
 " Till in the wantonness of power they grasp 
 
 a Whole provinces, where millions are their slaves, 
 
 " Ah whither shall I turn to meet the face 
 
 u Of love and human kindness in this world, 
 
 " On which I now am ent'ring ? Gracious heaven, 
 
 " If, as I trust, thou hast bestow'd a sense 
 
 " Of thy best gift benevolence on me, 
 
 " Oh visit me in mercy, and preserve 
 
 " That spark of thy divinity alive, 
 
 " Till time shall end me ! So when all the blasts 
 
 « Of malice and unkindness, which my fate 
 
 " May have in store, shall vent their rage upon me, 
 
 w Feeling, but still forgiving, the assault, 
 
 " I may persist with patience to devote 
 
 " My life, my love, my labours to mankind." 
 
 The severest misfortune that could menace my unhappy patron, 
 was now hanging over him. The state of Lady Halifax's health 
 became daily more and more alarming ; she seemed to be sinking 
 
 N 
 
90 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 under a consumptive and exhausted constitution. It was then the 
 custom for the chief families in Northamptonshire to attend the 
 country races in great form, and the Lord Lieutenant on that occa- 
 sion made it a point to assemble his friends and party in their best 
 equipage and array to grace the meeting: this was ever a formida- 
 ble task for poor Lady Halifax, whose tender spirits and declining 
 health were ill suited to such undertakings ; but upon the last year 
 of her accompanying her Lord to this meeting, I found her more 
 than usually apprehensive, and she too truly predicted that it would 
 accelerate her death. I attended upon her at that meeting, and 
 when I expressed my hopes that she had escaped her fatigues with- 
 out any material injury, as I was handing her to her coach on the 
 morning of her departure, she shook her head and again repeated 
 her entire conviction that she should not long survive. My heart 
 sunk as I took leave of her under this melancholy impression : we 
 met no more : she languished for a time, and to the irreparable loss 
 of her afflicted husband died. 
 
 Lady Halifax was by birth of humble rank, and not endowed by 
 nature with shining talents or superior charms of person. She did 
 not aim at that display, which conciliates popularity, nor affect those 
 arts, which invite admiration ; without any of those brilliant quali- 
 ties, which, whilst they gratify a husband's vanity, too often endan- 
 ger his honour and his peace, the virtues of her heart and the sere- 
 nity of her temper were so happily adapted to allay and tranquillize 
 the more empassioned character of her Lord, that every man, who 
 knew his nature, could not fail to foresee the dangers he would be 
 exposed to, when she was no longer at his side. He had still a true 
 and faithful friend in Doctor Crane, and to him Lady Halifax had 
 been most entirely attached. He merited all her confidence, and 
 sincerely lamented her loss, foreseeing, as I had good reason to 
 know, the unhappy consequences it might lead to, for by this time 
 I was favoured with some tokens of his regard, that could not be 
 mistaken, and though his feelings never forced him into warm ex- 
 pressions, yet his heart was kind, and his friendship sincere. Many 
 days passed before I was summoned to pay my respects to the af- 
 flicted widower, who was represented to me as being almost frantic 
 with his grief. I divided this time between my own home and the 
 house of Ecton : at length I was invited to Horton, and the meeting 
 was a very painful moment to us both. 
 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 91 
 
 We soon removed to town for the winter season, and there whilst 
 politics and public office began to occupy his thoughts, and by de- 
 grees to wean him from his sorrows, I resumed my solitary lodgings 
 in Mount-Street, where with my old Swiss servant for my caterer 
 and cook, I lived in all the temperance and nearly all the retire- 
 ment of a hermit. Then it was that I derived all my resources in 
 the books I possessed, and the talents God had given me. I read 
 and wrote incessantly, and should have been in absolute solitude but 
 for the kind visits of my friend Higgs, who not forgetting our late 
 intimacy at college and at school, nor disdaining my poor fare and 
 dull society, cheered and relieved my spirits with the liveliness and 
 hilarity natural to him : these are favours I can never forget ; for 
 they supported me at a time, when I felt all the gloominess of my 
 situation, and yet wanted energy to extricate myself from it, and re- 
 nounce those expectations, to which I had devoted so much time in 
 profitless dependance. I lived indeed upon the narrowest system I 
 could adopt, but nevertheless I could not make the income of my 
 fellowship bear me through without the generous assistance of my 
 father, and that reflection was the only painful concomitant of a dis- 
 appointment, that I should not in my own particular else have 
 wasted a regret upon. 
 
 In the mean time the long and irksome residence in town, which 
 my attendance upon Lord Halifax entailed upon me, and the pain- 
 ful separation from my family became almost insupportable, and 
 whilst I was meditating a retreat, my good father, who participated 
 with me and his whole family in these sensations, projected and 
 concluded an exchange for his living of Stanwick with the Reverend 
 Mr. Samuel Knight, and with permission of the Bishop of London, 
 took the vicarage of Fulham as an equivalent, and thereby opened 
 to me the happy prospect of an easier access to those friends so 
 justly valued and so truly dear. 
 
 In point of income the two livings were as nearly equal as could 
 well be, therefore no pecuniary compensation passed between the 
 contracting parties ; but the comforts of tranquillity in point of duty, 
 or of conveniencies in respect of locality, were all in favour of Mr, 
 Knight, and nothing could have prevailed with my father for leaving 
 those, whom he had so long loved and cherished as his flock, but 
 the generous motive of giving me an asylum in the bosoms of 
 my family. With this kind and benevolent object in his view, he 
 
92 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 submitted to the pain of tearing himself from his connexions, and 
 amidst the lamentations of his neighbours and parishioners came up 
 to Fulham to take upon himself the charge of a great suburbane 
 parish, and quitted Stanwick, where he had resided for the space of 
 thirty years in peace, beloved by all around him. 
 
 He found a tolerably good parsonage house at Fulham, in which, 
 with my mother and my sisters, he established himself with as much 
 Content as could be looked for. Wherever he went the odour of his 
 good name, and of course his popularity, was sure to follow him; 
 but the task of preaching to a large congregation after being so long 
 familiarized to the service of his little church at Stanwick, oppressed 
 his modest mind, and though his person, matter and manner were 
 such as always left favourable impressions on his hearers, yet it was 
 evident to us who knew him and belonged to him, that he suffered 
 by his exertions. 
 
 Bishop Sherlock was yet living and resided in the palace, but in 
 the last stage of bodily decay. The ruins of that luminous and 
 powerful mind were still venerable, though his speech was almost 
 unintelligible, and his features cruelly disarranged and distorted by 
 the palsey : still his genius was alive, and his judgment discrimina- 
 tive, for it was in this lamentable state that he performed the task of 
 selecting sermons for the last volume he committed to the press, 
 and his high reputation was in no respect lowered by the selection. 
 I had occasionally the honour of being admitted to visit that great 
 man in company with my father, to whom he was uniformly kind 
 and gracious, and in token of his favour bestowed on him a small 
 Prebend in the church of Saint Paul, the only one that became va- 
 cant within his time. 
 
 Mrs. Sherlock was a truly respectable woman, and my mother 
 enjoyed much of her society till the bishop's death brought a suc- 
 cessor in his place. 
 
 In the adjoining parish of Hammersmith lived Mr. Dodington, 
 at a splendid villa, which by the rule of contraries he was pleased 
 to call La Trappe, and his inmates and familiars the monks of the 
 convent ; these were Mr. Windham his relation, whom he made 
 his heir, Sir William Breton, privy purse to the king, and Doctor 
 Thompson, a physician out of practice ; these gentlemen formed a 
 very curious society of very opposite characters ; in short it was a 
 trio consisting of a misanthrope, a courtier and a quack. Mr. Glo- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 9S 
 
 \er, the author of Leonidas, was occasionally a visitor, but not an 
 inmate as those above-mentioned. How a man of Dodington's sort 
 came to single out men of their sort (with the exception of Mr. 
 Glover) is hard to say, but though his instruments were never in 
 unison, he managed to make music out of them all. He could 
 make and find amusement in contrasting the sullenness of a Grum- 
 betonian with the egregious vanity and self-conceit of an antiquated 
 coxcomb, and as for the Doctor he was a juck-pudding ready to 
 his hand at any time. He was understood to be Dodington's body- 
 physician, but I believe he cared very little about his patient's health, 
 and his patient cared still less about his prescriptions ; and when in 
 his capacity of superintendant of his patron's dietetics, he cried out 
 one morning at breakfast to have the muffins taken away, Doding- 
 ton aptly enough cried out at the same time to the servant to take 
 away the raggamuffin, and truth to say a more dirty animal than poor- 
 Thompson was never seen on the outside of a pig stye ; yet he had 
 the plea of poverty and no passion for cold water. 
 
 It is about a short and pleasant mile from this villa to the par- 
 sonage house of Fulham, and Mr. Dodington having visited us 
 with great politeness, I became a frequent guest at La Trappe, and 
 passed a good deal of my time with him there, in London also, and 
 occasionally in Dorsetshire. He was certainly one of the most ex- 
 traordinary men of his time, and as I had opportunities of contem- 
 plating his character in all its various points of view, I trust my 
 readers will not regret that I have devoted some pages to the further 
 delineation of it. 
 
 I have before observed that the nature of my business as private 
 secretary to Lord Halifax was by no means such as to employ any 
 great portion of my time, and of course I could devote many hours 
 to my own private pursuits without neglecting those attendances, 
 which were due to my principal. Lord Halifax had also removed 
 his abode to Downing-Street, having quitted his house in Grosve- 
 nor-Square upon the decease of his lady, so that I rarely found it 
 necessary to sleep in town, and could divide the rest of my time 
 between Fulham and La Trappe. It was likewise entirely corres- 
 pondent with Lord Halifax's wishes that I should cultivate my ac- 
 quaintance with Mr. Dodington, with whom he not only lived upon 
 intimate terms as a friend, but was now in train to form, as it seem- 
 ed, some opposition connexions ; for at this time it happened that 
 
S4 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 upon a breach with the Duke of Newcastle, he threw up his office 
 of First Lord of Trade and Plantations, and detached himself from 
 administration. This took place towards the latter end of the late 
 king's reign, and the ground of the measure was a breach of pro- 
 mise on the part of the Duke to give him the Seals and a Seat in 
 the Cabinet as Secretary of State for the Colonies. 
 
 In the summer of this year, being now an ex-secretary of an ex- 
 statesman, I went to Eastbury, the seat of Mr. Dodington, in Dor- 
 setshire, and passed the whole time of his stay in that place. Lord 
 Halifax with his brother-in-law, Colonel Johnstone, of the Blues, 
 paid a visit there, and the Countess Dowager of Stafford and old 
 Lady Hervey were resident with us the whole time. Our splendid 
 host was excelled by no man in doing the honours of his house and 
 table ; to the ladies he had all the courtly and profound devotion of 
 a Spaniard, with the ease and gaiety of a Frenchman towards the 
 men. His mansion was magnificent, massy and stretching out to a 
 great extent of front, with an enormous portico of Doric columns, 
 ascended by a stately flight of steps ; there were turrets and wings 
 that went I know not whither, though now they are levelled with 
 the ground, and gone to more ignoble uses : Vanbrugh, who con- 
 structed this superb edifice, seemed to have had the plan of Blen- 
 heim in his thoughts, and the interior was as proud and splendid as 
 the exterior was bold and imposing. All this was exactly in unison 
 "with the taste of its magnificent owner, who had gilt and furnished 
 the apartments with a profusion of finery, that kept no terms with 
 simplicity, and not always with elegance or harmony of style. 
 Whatever Mr. Dodington's revenue then was, he had the happy 
 art of managing it with that regularity and oeconomy, that I believe 
 he made more display at less cost, than any man in the kingdom 
 but himself could have done. His town house in Pali-Mall, his villa 
 at Hammersmith, and the mansion above described, were such esta- 
 blishments as few nobles in the nation were possessed of. In either 
 of these he was not to be approached but through a suite of apart- 
 ments, and rarely seated but under painted ceilings and gilt entab- 
 latures. In his villa you were conducted through two rows of an- 
 tique marble statues ranged in a gallery floored with the rarest 
 .marbles, and enriched with columns of granite and lapis lazuli ; his 
 saloon was hung with the finest Gobelin tapestry, and he slept in a 
 bed encanopied with peacock's feathers in the style of Mrs. Mon- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. $5 
 
 tague. When he passed from Pall-Mail to La Trappe it was al- 
 ways in a coach, which I could suspect had been his ambassadorial 
 equipage at Madrid, drawn by six fat unwieldy black horses, short 
 docked and of colossal dignity : neither was he less characteristic 
 in apparel than in equipage ; he had a wardrobe loaded with rich 
 and flaring suits, each in itself a load to the wearer, and of these I 
 have no doubt but many were coeval with his embassy above men- 
 tioned, and every birth -day had added to the stock. In doing this 
 he so contrived as never to put his old dresses out of countenance 
 by any variations in the fashion of the new ; in the mean time his 
 bulk and corpulency gave full display to a vast expanse and profu- 
 sion of brocade and embroidery, and this, when set off with an enor- 
 mous tye-perriwig and deep laced ruffles, gave the picture of an 
 ancient courtier in his gala habit, or Quin in his stage dress ; ne- 
 vertheless it must be confessed this style, though out of date, was 
 not out of character, but harmonized so well with the person of thr 
 wearer, that I remember when he made his first speech in the 
 House of Peers, as Lord Melcombe, all the flashes of his wit, all 
 the studied phrases and well-turned periods of his rhetoric lost their 
 effect, simply because the orator had laid aside his magisterial tye 5 
 and put on a modern bag wig, which was as much out of costume 
 upon the broad expanse of his shoulders, as a cue would have been 
 upon the robes of the Lord Chief Justice. 
 
 Having thus dilated more than perhaps I should have done, 
 upon this distinguished person's passion for magnificence and dis- 
 play, when I proceed to enquire into those principles of good taste, 
 which should naturally have been the accompaniments and direct- 
 ors of that magnificence, I fear I must be compelled by truth to ad- 
 mit that in these he was deficient. Of pictures he seemed to take 
 his estimate only by their cost ; in fact he was not possessed of any ; 
 but I recollect his saying to me one day in his great saloon at East- 
 bury, that if he had half a score pictures of a thousand pounds 
 apiece, he would gladly decorate his walls with them, in place of 
 which, I am sorry to say he had stuck up immense patches of gilt 
 leather, shaped into bugle horns, upon hangings of rich crimson 
 velvet, and round his state bed he displayed a carpeting of gold and 
 silver embroidery, which too glaringly betrayed its derivation from 
 coat, waistcoat and breeches, by the testimony of pockets, button- 
 holes and loops, with other equally incontrovertible witnesses, sub-: 
 
9* MEMOIRS OF 
 
 poena'd from the tailor's shopboard. When he paid his court at St, 
 James's to the present queen upon her nuptials, he approached to' 
 kiss her hand decked in an embroidered suit of silk with lilac waist- 
 coat and breeches, the latter of which, in the act of kneeling- down, 
 forgot their duty, and broke loose from their moorings in a very in- 
 decorous and uncourtly manner. 
 
 In the higher provinces of taste we may contemplate his cha- 
 racter with more pleasure, for he had an ornamented fancy and a 
 brilliant wit. He was an elegant Latin classic, and well versed in 
 history ancient and modern. His favourite prose writer was Tacitus, 
 and I scarce ever surprised him in his hours of reading without 
 finding that author upon his table before him. He understood him 
 well, and descanted upon him very agreeably and with much cri- 
 tical acumen. Mr. Dodington was in nothing more remarkable 
 than in ready perspicuity and clear discernment of a subject thrown 
 before him on a sudden ; take his first thoughts then, and he would 
 charm you ; give him time to ponder and refine, you would perceive 
 the spirit of his sentiments and the vigour of his genius evaporate 
 by the process ; for though his first view of the question would be 
 a wide one and clear withal, when he came to exercise the sub- 
 tlety of his disquisitorial powers upon it, he would so ingeniously 
 dissect and break it into fractions, that as an object, when looked 
 upon too intently for a length of time, grows misty and confused, 
 so would the question under his discussion, when the humour took 
 him to be hyper-critical. Hence it was that his impromptu's in 
 parliament were generally more admired than his studied speeches, 
 and his first suggestions in the councils of his party better attended 
 to than his prepared opinions. 
 
 Being a man of humble birth, he seemed to have an innate 
 respect for titles, and none bowed with more devotion to the robes 
 and fasces of high rank and office. He was decidedly aristocratic : 
 he paid his court to Walpole in panegyric poems, apologizing for 
 his presumption by reminding him, that it was better to be pelted 
 with roses than with rotten eggs : to Chesterfield, to Winnington, 
 Pulteney, Fox and the luminaries of his early time he offered up 
 the obleitions of his genius, and incensed them with all the odours 
 of his wit : in his latter days, and within the period of my acquaint- 
 ance with him, the Earl of Bute in the plenitude of his power was 
 the god of his idolatary. That noble Lord was himself too much 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 97 
 
 a man of letters and a patron of the sciences to overlook a witty- 
 head, that bowed so low, he accordingly put a coronet upon it, 
 which, like the barren sceptre in the hand of Macbeth, merely served 
 as a ticket for the coronation procession, and having nothing else to 
 leave to posterity in memory of its owner, left its mark upon the 
 lid of his coffin. 
 
 During my stay at Eastbury, we were visited by the late Mr. 
 Henry Fox and Mr. Alderman Beckford ; the solid good sense of 
 the former, and the dashing loquacity of the latter, formed a striking 
 contrast between the characters of these getlemen. To Mr. Fox our 
 host paid all that courtly homage, which he so well knew how to time 
 and where to apply ; to Beckford he did not observe the same atten- 
 tions, but in the happiest flow of his raillery and wit combated this 
 intrepid talker with admirable effect. It was an interlude truly 
 comic and amusing. Beckford loud, voluble, self-sufficient and gall- 
 ed by hits, which he could not parry and probably did not expect, 
 laid himself more and more open in the vehemence of his argu- 
 ment ; Dodington, lolling in his chair in perfect apathy and self-com- 
 mand, dosing and even snoring at intervals in his lethargic way, 
 broke out every now and then into such gleams and flashes of wit 
 and irony, as by the contrast of his phlegm with the other's impe- 
 tuosity, made his humour irresistible, and set the table in a roar. He 
 was here upon his very strongest ground, for no man was better cal- 
 culated to exemplify how true the observation is 
 
 Ridiculum acri 
 Fortius ac melius— 
 
 At the same time he had his serious hours and graver topics, 
 which he would handle with all due solemnity of thought and lan- 
 guage, and these were to me some of the most pleasing hours I have 
 passed with him, for he could keep close to his point, if he would, 
 and could be not less argumentative than he was eloquent, when the 
 question was of magnitude enough to interest him. It is with sin- 
 gular satisfaction I can truly say that I never knew him flippant upon 
 sacred subjects. He was, however, generally courted and admired 
 as a gay companion rather than as a grave one. 
 
 I have said that the dowager Ladies Stafford and Hervey made 
 part of our domestic society, and as the trivial amusement of cards 
 
 O 
 
93 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 was never resorted to in Mr. Dodington's house, it was his custom 
 in the evenings to entertain his company with reading, and in this 
 art he excelled ; his selections, however, were curious, for he treated 
 these ladies with the whole of Fielding's Jonathan Wild, in which he 
 certainly consulted his own turn for irony rather than theirs for ele- 
 gance, but he set it off with much humour after his manner, and 
 they were polite enough to be pleased, or at least to appear as if they 
 were. 
 
 His readings from Shakspeare were altogether as whimsical, for 
 he chose his passages only where buffoonery was the character of 
 the scene ; one of these I remember was that of the clown, who 
 brings the asp to Cleopatra. He had, however, a manuscript copy 
 of Glover's Medea, which he gave us con amove, for he was ex- 
 tremely warm in his praises of that classical drama, which Mrs. 
 Yates afterwards brought upon the stage, and played in it with her 
 accustomed excellence ; he did me also the honour to devote an 
 evening to the reading of some lines, which I had hastily written to 
 the amount of about four hundred, partly complimentary to him as 
 my host, and in part consolatory to Lord Halifax upon the event of 
 his retiring from public office ; they flattered the politics then in 
 favour with Mr. Dodington, and coincided with his wishes for de- 
 taching Lord Halifax from the administration of the Duke of New- 
 castle. I was not present, as may well be conceived, at this reading, 
 but I confess I sate listening in the next room, and was not a little 
 gratified by what I overheard. Of this manuscript I have long since 
 destroyed the only copy that I had, and if I had it now in my hands 
 it would be only to consign it to the flames, for it was of that occa- 
 sional class of poems for the day, which have no claim upon pos- 
 terity, and in such I have not been ambitious to concern myself: it 
 served the purpose however and amused the moment; it was also 
 the tribute of my mite to the lares of that mansion, where the 
 Muse of Young had dictated his tragedy of The Revenge, and which 
 the genius of Voltaire had honoured with a visit : here Glover had 
 courted inspiration, and Thomson caught it : Dodington also him- 
 self had a lyre, but he had hung it up, and it was never very high- 
 sounding ; yet he was something more than a mere admirer of the 
 Muse. He wrote small poems with great pains, and elaborate let- 
 ters with much terseness of style, and some quaintness of expres- 
 sion : I have seen him refer to a volume of his own verses in ma- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 99 
 
 nuscript, but he was very shy, and I never had the perusal of it. I 
 was rather better acquainted with his diary, which since his death 
 has been published, and I well remember the temporary disgust he 
 seemed to take, when upon his asking what I would do with it, 
 should he bequeath it to my discretion, I instantly replied, that I 
 would destroy it. There was a third, which I more coveted a sight 
 of than either of the above, as it contained a miscellaneous collection 
 of anecdotes, repartees, good sayings and humorous incidents, of 
 which he was part author and part compiler, and out of which he 
 was in the habit of refreshing his memory, when he prepared him- 
 self to expect certain men of wit and pleasantry either at his own 
 house or elsewnere. Upon this practice, which he did not affect to con- 
 ceal, he observed to me one day, that it was a compliment he paid to 
 society, when he submitted to steal weapons out of his own armoury 
 for their entertainment, and ingenuously added, that although his 
 memory was not in general so correct as it had been, yet he trusted 
 it would save him from the disgrace of repeating the same story to 
 the same hearers, or foisting it into conversation in the wrong place 
 or out of time. No man had fewer oversights of that sort to answer 
 for, and fewer still were the men, whose social talents could be com- 
 pared with those of Mr. Dodington. 
 
 Upon my return out of Dorsetshire, I was invited by my friends 
 at Trinity College to come and offer myself as a candidate for the 
 Lay -fellowship then vacant by the death of Mr. Titley the Danish 
 envoy. There are but two fellowships of this description, and there 
 were several solicitors for an exemption so desirable, but the un- 
 abated kindness of the master and seniors patronized my suit, and 
 honoured me with that last and most distinguished mark of their 
 favour and protection. I did not hold it long, for Providence had a 
 blessing in store for me, which was an effectual disqualification 
 from holding any honours on the terms of celibacy. 
 
 About this time I wrote my first legitimate drama in five acts, 
 and entitled it The Banishment of Cicero. I was led to this by the 
 perusal of Middleton's account of his life, which afforded me much 
 entertainment. As the hero of a drama I was not happy in my 
 choice of Cicero, and banishment is a tame incident to depend upon 
 for the interest and catastrophe of a tragic plot. I knew that his 
 philosophy had deserted him on this occasion, and that I could find 
 
100 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 no feature of Coriolanus in the character of my exile, but as I began 
 it without any view of offering it to the stage, as long as I found 
 amusement I continued to write. As a classical composition, which 
 tells its story in fair language, and has stood the test of the press 
 both in England and Ireland with the approbation of some, who were 
 most competent to decide upon it, I may venture to say it was credit- 
 able to its author as a first attempt. It has been long out of print, 
 and when after a period of more than forty intermediate years I read 
 it (as I have now been doing) with all the impartiality in my power, 
 I certainly can discover inaccuracies in the diction here and there, 
 and in the plot an absolute inaptitude to scenic exhibition, yet I 
 think I may presume to say, that as a dramatic poem for the clo- 
 set it will bear examination, though I cannot expect that any of its 
 readers at this time would pass so favourable a judgment upon it as 
 I was honoured with by Primate Stone and Bishop Warburton, from 
 the latter of whom I received a letter, which I have preserved, and 
 which I cannot withstand the temptation of inserting, though I am 
 thoroughly conscious it bestows praises far above the merits of my 
 humble work — 
 
 To Richard Cumberland, Esq. 
 
 Grosvenor-Square, May 15, 1767. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Let me thank you for the sight of a very fine dramatic Poem. 
 It is (like Mr. Mason's) much too good for a prostitute stage. Yes- 
 terday I received a letter from the Primate. He was on the point of 
 leaving Bath for Ireland: so that my letter got to him just in time 
 — It gives me great satisfaction, says he, that my opinion of Bishop 
 Cumberland's grandson agrees with yours, Sec. &c. 
 I have the honour to be, 
 
 Dear Sir, your very faithful 
 
 And assured humble servant, 
 
 W. Gloucester. 
 
 It is a singular circumstance, though perhaps not a favourable 
 one, that in the dramatis persona of this play there is not one 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 101 
 
 auxiliary character ; they are all principals, and such in respect of 
 consequence as few authors ever brought together in one point of 
 view, for they consist of the two Consuls L. Calphurnius Piso and 
 Aulus Gabinius, the Tribune P. Clodius, Cicero and Pomponius 
 Atticus, Caius Piso Frugi, Terentia and Tullia, wife and daughter 
 of Cicero, and Clodia sister of the Tribune, without one speaking 
 attendant or interloper throughout the piece, except a very few 
 words from one Apcllodoi us. 
 
 To give display to characters like these the bounds of any single 
 drama would hardly serve, and of course the arrangement was so 
 far injudicious; yet the author, as if he had not enough on his 
 hands, goes aside to speak of Cato in the scene betwixt Gabinius 
 and Clodius — 
 
 <i Gab. — Cato is still severe, is still himself: 
 
 " Rough and unshaken in his squalid garb, 
 " He told us he had long in anguish moum'd, 
 " Not in a. private but the public cause, 
 " Not for the wrong of one, but wrong of all, ' 
 " Of Liberty, of Virtue and of Rome. 
 
 "•Clod. — No more : I sleep o'er Cato's drowsy theme. 
 
 " He is the senate's drone, and dreams of liberty, 
 " When Rome's vast empire is set up to sale, 
 " And portioned out to teach ambitious bidder 
 " In marketable lots " 
 
 In the further progress of the same scene Pompey is mentioned, 
 and Calphurnius Piso introduced in the following terms 
 
 a Gab.— Oh! who shall attempt to read * 
 
 " In Pompey 's face the movements of his 'heart ? 
 
 " The same calm artificial look of state, 
 
 " His half-clos'd eyes in self-attention wrapt, 
 
 " Serve him alike to mask unseemly joy, 
 
 " Or hide the pangs of envy and revenge. 
 " Clod. — See, yonder your old colleague Piso comes ! 
 
 " But name hypocrisy and he appears. 
 
 " How like his grandsire's monument he looks ! 
 
 ".He wears the dress of holy Numa's days, 
 
K)2 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " The brow and beard of Zeno ; trace him home, 
 " You'll find his house the school of vice and lust, 
 "The foulest sink of Epicurus' sty, 
 " And him the rankest swine of all the herd." 
 
 I find the two first acts are wound up with some couplets in 
 rhyme after the manner of the middle age. It will I hope be par- 
 donable if I here insert the lines, with which Clodius concludes the 
 first act — 
 
 " When flaming comets vex our frighted sphere, 
 " Though now the nations melt with awful fear, 
 " From the dread omen fatal ill presage, 
 " Dire plague and famine and war's wasting rage ; 
 " In time some brighter genius may arise, 
 " And banish signs and omens from the skies, 
 " Expound the comet's nature and its cause, 
 " Assign its periods and prescribe its laws, 
 " Whilst man grown wise, with his discoveries fraught, 
 " Shall wonder how he needed to be taught." 
 
 I shall only add that the dialogue between Cicero and Atticus in 
 the third act seems in point of poetry one of the happiest efforts of 
 its author: in short, although this drama has not all the finishing of a 
 veteran artist, yet in parts it has a warmth of colouring and a strength 
 of expression, which might induce a candid reader to augur not un- 
 favourably of the novice who composed it. 
 
 It is here I begin more particularly to feel the weight of those 
 difficulties, which at my outset I too rashly announced myself pre- 
 pared to meet. When I review what I have been saying about this 
 my first drama, and recollect what numbers are behind, I am almost 
 tempted to shrink back from the task, to which I am committed. If 
 indeed the candour and liberality of my readers will allow me to step 
 out of myself, (if I may so term it) whilst I am speaking of myself, 
 I have little to fear ; but if I must be tied down to my individuality, 
 and not allowed my fair opinion without incurring the charge of 
 self-conceit, I am in a most unenviable situation, and must either 
 abandon my undertaking, or abide by the conditions of it with what 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 103 
 
 fortitude I can muster. If, when I am professedly the recorder of 
 my own writings, I am to record nothing in them or about them but 
 their simple titles and the order in which they were written, I give 
 the reader nothing more than a catalogue, which any magazine 
 might furnish, or the prompter's register as well supply ; if on the 
 contrary I proceed to fulfil the real purposes of biographer and 
 critic, ought I not to act as honestly and conscientiously in my own 
 case, as I would in the instance of another person ? I think I ought : 
 it is what the title of my book professes ; how I am to execute it I 
 do not know, and how my best endeavours may be received I can 
 form no guess. In the mean time I will strive to arm myself with 
 an humble but honest mind, resolving, as far as in me lies, not to 
 speak partially of my works because they are my own, nor slighting- 
 ly against my conscience from apprehension that readers may be 
 found to differ from me, where my thoughts may seem more fa- 
 vourable than their's. The latter of these consequences may per- 
 haps frequently occur, and when it does, my memoirs must encoun- 
 ter it, and acquit themselves of it as they can ; for myself, it cannot 
 be long before I am alike insensible to censure or applause. 
 
 This play, of which I have been speaking, lay by me for a con- 
 siderable time ; till Lord Halifax one day, when we were at Bushey 
 Park, desired me to shew it to him ; he read it, and immediately 
 proposed to carry it to Garrick, and recommend it to him for repre- 
 sentation. Garrick was then at Hampton, and I went with Lord 
 Halifax across the park to his house. This was the first time I 
 found myself in company with that extraordinary man. He receiv- 
 ed his noble visitor with profound obeisance, and in truth there were 
 some claims upon his civility for favours and indulgencies granted to 
 him by Lord Halifax as Ranger of Bushey Park. I was silently atten- 
 tive to every minute particular of this interview, and soon discovered 
 the embarrassment, which the introduction of my manuscript occa- 
 sioned ; I saw my cause was desperate, though my advocate was 
 sanguine, and in truth the first effort of a raw author did not promise 
 much to the purpose of the manager. He took it, however, with all 
 possible respect, and promised an attentive perusal, but those tell- 
 tale features, so miraculously gifted in the art of assumed emotions, 
 could not mask their real ones, and I predicted to Lord Halifax, as 
 we returned to the lodge, that I had no expectation of my play being 
 
104 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 accepted. A day or two of what might scarce be called suspense 
 confirmed this prediction, when Mr. Garrick having stated his des- 
 pair of accommodating a play on such a plan to the purposes of the 
 stage, returned the manuscript to Lord Halifax with many apologies 
 to his Lordship, and some few qualifying words to its author, which 
 certainly was as much as in reason could be expected from him, 
 though it did not satisfy the patron of the play, who warmly resent- 
 ed his non-compliance with his wishes, and for a length of time for- 
 bore to live in habits of his former good neighbourhood with him. 
 
 When I published this play, which I soon after did, I was con- 
 scious that I published Mr. Garrick's justification for refusing it, 
 and I made no mention of the circumstances above stated. 
 
 George Ridge, Esquire, of Kilmiston, in the county of Hants, had 
 two sons and one daughter by Miss Brooke, niece to my grandfather 
 Bentley ; with this family we had lived as friends and relations in 
 habits of the greatest intimacy. It was upon an excursion, as I have 
 before related, to this gentleman's house that I founded my school- 
 boy poem written at Bury, and our families had kept up an inter- 
 change of annual visits for a course of time. From these meetings 
 I had been for several years excluded by my avocations to college or 
 London, till upon Mr. Ridge's coming to town accompanied by his 
 wife and daughter, and taking lodgings in the near neighbourhood 
 of Mount-Street, where I held my melancholy abode, I was kindly 
 entertained by them, and found so many real charms in the modest 
 manners and blooming beauty of the amiable daughter, that I passed 
 every hour I could command in her society, and devoted all my 
 thoughts to the attainment of that happiness, which it was in her 
 power to bestow upon my future days. As soon therefore as I ob- 
 tained, through the patronage of Lord Halifax, a small establishment 
 as Crown-Agent for the province of Nova Scotia, I began to hope 
 the object I aspired to was within my reach, when upon a visit she 
 made with her parents to mine at Fulham, I tendered my addresses, 
 and had the unspeakable felicity to find them accepted, and sanc- 
 tioned by the consent of all parties concerned ; thus I became pos- 
 sessed of one, whom the virtues of her heart and the charms of her 
 person had effectually endeared to me, and on the 19th day of Fe- 
 bruary 1759, (being my birth-day) I was married by my father in 
 the church of Kilmiston to Elizabeth, only daughter of George and 
 Elizabeth Ridge. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 105 
 
 Lord Halifax, upon some slight concessions from the Duke of 
 Newcastle had reassumed his office of First Lord of Trade and 
 Plantations, and I returned with my wife to Pulham, taking a house 
 for a short time in Duke-Street, Westminster, and afterwards in 
 Abingdon Buildings. 
 
 In the following year, upon the death of the king, administra- 
 tion it is well known took a new shape, and all eyes were turned 
 towards the Earl of Bute, as dispenser of favours and awarder of 
 promotions. Mr. Dodington, whom I had visited a second time at 
 E.'.stbury with my wife and her father Mr. Ridge, obtained an Eng- 
 lish peerage, and Lord Halifax was honoured with the high office of 
 Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and was preparing to open his majesty's 
 first parliament in that kingdom: I had reason to believe myself at 
 this time very much in his confidence, and in the conduct of a cer- 
 tain private transaction, which I am not called upon to explain, I 
 had done him faithful service ; happy for him it would have been, 
 and the prevention of innumerable troubles and vexations, if my 
 zealous efforts had been permitted to take effect, but a fatal propen- 
 sity had again seized possession of him, and probably the more 
 strongly for the interruption it had received — but of this enough. 
 
 His family was now to be formed upon an establishment suita- 
 ble to his high office. In these arrangements there was much to 
 do, and I was fully occupied. Some few persons of obscure charac- 
 ters were pressed upon him for subordinate situations from a quar- 
 ter, where I had no communication or connexion ; but I had the sa- 
 tisfaction to see his old and faitnful friend Doctor Crane prepare 
 himself to head the list of his chaplains, and Doctor Oswald, after- 
 wards Bishop of Raphoe, with my good father compleated that de- 
 partment. I obtained a situation for a gentleman, who had married 
 my eldest sister, but what gave me peculiar satisfaction was to have 
 it in my power to gratify the wishes of one of the best and bravest 
 young officers of his time, Captain William Ridge, brother to my 
 wife. He had served the whole war in America with distinguished 
 reputation ; had been shot and carried off the field in the fatal affair 
 of Ticonderoga, and was now returned with honorable wounds and 
 the praises and esteem of his general and brother officers. This 
 amiable, this excellent friend, whose heart was as it were my own, 
 and whose memory will be ever dear to me, I caused to be put upon 
 the staff of Aids-de-Camp, and had the happiness of making him 
 
 P 
 
106 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 one of my family during the whole time of my residence in Dublin 
 Castle, as Lister Secretary. 
 
 William Gerard Hamilton, a name well known, had negociated 
 himself into the office of Chief Secretary. I need say no more than 
 that he did not owe this to the choice of Lord Halifax ; of course it 
 was not easy for that gentleman to find himself in the confidence of 
 his principal, to whom he was little known, and in the first instance 
 not altogether acceptable. I do not think he took much pains to 
 conquer first impressions, and recommend himself to the confidence 
 of Lord Halifax : it is certain he did not possess it, and the conse- 
 quence was, that I, who held the secondary post of Ulster Secretary, 
 became involved in business of a nature, that should not in the course 
 of office have belonged to me. Affairs of this sort, which I did not 
 court, and had no right to be concerned in, made my situation very- 
 delicate and not a little dangerous, whilst at the same time the entire 
 superintendance of Lord Halifax's private finances, then very far 
 from being in a flourishing condition, was a task, which no prudent 
 man would covet, yet such an one as for his sake I made no scruple 
 to undertake. It was his lot to succeed the Duke of Bedford, and 
 his high spirit would not suffer him to sink upon the comparison ; I 
 found him therefore resolute to start on his career with great magni- 
 ficence, and leave behind him all attentions to expense. All that 
 was in my power I did with unwearied diligence and attention to his 
 interest, inspecting his accounts and paying his bills every week to 
 the minutest article. I put his Green Cloth upon a liberal, but re- 
 gulated, establishment; I placed a faithful and well experienced 
 servant of my father's at the head of his stables and equipages, and 
 gave charge of the household articles to his principle domestic, of 
 whose honesty he had many years experince. 
 
 I had published my tragedy of The Banishment of Cicero, by 
 Mr. J. Walter, at Charing-Cross, upon quarto paper in a handsome 
 type ; I found it pirated and published in a sixpenny edition at Dub- 
 lin, from the press of George Faulkner of immortal memory : if he 
 had subjoined a true and faithful list of errata, I doubt if he could 
 have afforded it at the price. I also upon the king's accession com- 
 posed and published a poem addressed to the young sovereign, in 
 which I attempted to delineate the character of the people he was 
 to govern, and the principles of that conduct, which, if pursued, 
 would ensure their attachment and .establish nis own happiness and 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 107 
 
 glory. This I wrote in blank verse ; it was published by Mr. 
 Doclsley, and I did not give my name to it. Of the extent of its cir- 
 culation I cannot speak, neither did I make any search into the re- 
 views of that time for the character, good or ill, which they thought 
 fit to give it. 
 
 I had taken leave of Lord Melcombe the day preceding the coro- 
 nation, and found him before a looking-glass in his new robes prac- 
 tising attitudes and debating within himself upon the most grace- 
 ful mode of carrying his coronet in the procession. He was in 
 high glee with his fresh and blooming honours, and I left him in 
 the act of dictating a billet to Lady Hervey, apprising her that a 
 young lord was coming to throw himself at her feet. He conjured 
 me to keep my Lord Lieutenant firmly attached to Lord Bute, and 
 we parted. 
 
 Here, however, I must take leave to pause upon a period in the 
 life of my uncle Mr. Bentley, when fortune smiled upon him, and 
 his genius was drawn forth into exertion by the patronage of Lord 
 Bute. Through my intimacy with Mr. Dodington I had been the 
 lucky instrument of opening that channel, which for a time at least 
 brought him affluence, comfort and consideration. There was not 
 a man of literary talents then in the kingdom, who stood so high 
 and so deservedly in fame and favour with the Premier as Mr. 
 Bentley; and though, when that great personage went out of office, 
 my uncle lost every place of profit, that could be taken from him, 
 he continued to enjoy a pension of five hundred pounds per annum, 
 in which his widow had her life, and received it many years after his 
 decease. 
 
 Lord Bute had all the disposition of a Mecaenas, and fondly 
 hoped he would be the auspicious instrument of opening an Augus- 
 tan reign ; he sent out his runners upon the search for men of 
 talents, and Dodington was perfectly reconciled to the honour of 
 being his provider in that laudable pursuit, for which no man was 
 better qualified. He was not wanting in intuition to discern what 
 the powers of Bentley 's genius were, and none could better point out 
 the purposes, to which they might be usefully directed. Opposition 
 was then beginning to look up, and soon felt the sharp point of Bent- 
 ley's pen in one of the keenest and wittiest satires, extant in our lan- 
 guage. Io"d Temple, Wilkes, and others of the party were attack- 
 ed with unsparing asperity, and much classical acumen. Churchill, 
 
108 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the Dryden of his age, and indisputably a man of a first-rate 
 genius, was too candid not to acknowledge the merit of the poem, 
 and when he declined taking up the gauntlet so pointedly thrown 
 down to him, it was not because he held his challenger in contempt. 
 It was this poem, that brought an accumulation of favours on its 
 author, but I don't know that he ever had an interview with the 
 bestow er of them, and I am rather inclined to think they never met. 
 About the same time my uncle composed his witty but eccentric 
 drama of The Wishes, in which he introduces the speaking Harlequin 
 after the manner of the Italians. This curious production, after 
 being circulated in manuscript, admired and applauded by all who 
 had seen it, and those the very party which led the taste of the time 
 under the auspices of Lord Bute, was privately rehearsed at Lord 
 Melcombe's villa of La Trappe. It was on a beautiful summer's 
 evening when it was recited upon the terrace on the banks of the 
 Thames, by Obrien, Miss Elliot, Mrs. Haughton and some few 
 others under the management of Foote and Murphy, who attended 
 on the occasion. At this rehearsal, there was present — >a youth un- 
 known to fame — who was understood to be protected by Lord Bute, 
 and came thither in a hackney coach with Mrs. Haughton. This 
 gentleman was of the party at the supper with which the evening's en- 
 tertainment concluded; he modestly resigned the conversation to 
 those, who were more disposed to carry it on, whilst it was only in 
 the contemplation of an intelligent countenance that we could form 
 any conjecture as to that extraordinary gift of genius, which in. course 
 of time advanced him to the Great Seal of the kingdom and the Earl- 
 dom of Rosslyn. 
 
 Foote, Murphy and Obrien were then joint conductors of the 
 summer theatre, and performed their plays upon the stage of Drury 
 Lane, and here they brought out The Wishes, which had now been 
 so much the topic of conversation, that it drew all the wit and 
 fashion then in town to its first representation. The brilliancy of 
 its dialogue, and the reiterated strokes of point and repartee kept 
 the audience in good humour with the leading acts, and seemed to 
 augur favourably for the conclusion, till when the last of the Three 
 Wishes produced the ridiculous catastrophe of the hanging of Har- 
 lequin in full view of the audience, my uncle, the author, then sitting 
 by me, whispered in my ear — " If they don't damn this, they de- 
 " serve to be damn'd themselves — " and whilst he was yet speaking 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 109 
 
 the roar began, and The Wishes were irrevocably condemned. Mr. 
 Harris some years after gave it a second chance upon his stage : 
 the judgment of the public could not take away the merit of the 
 poet, but it decided against his success. Upon the hint of this 
 play, and the entertainment at La Trappe, where Foote had been 
 a guest, that wicked wit took measure of his host, and founded his 
 satirical drama of The Patron — in short he feasted, flattered and 
 lampooned. 
 
 Mr. Bentley also wrote a very elegant poem, and addressed it as 
 an epistle to Lord Melcombe : it was in my opinion a most exquisite 
 composition, in no respect inferior to his satire, but for reasons I 
 could never understand, nor even guess, it was coolly received by 
 Melcombe, and stopt with him. If that poem is in the hands of any 
 of Mr. Bentley's family, it is much to be regretted that they with- 
 hold it from the pubiic, though all that was then temporary is now 
 long past and forgotten. 
 
 What may be the nature or amount of the manuscripts, which 
 my uncle may have left behind him, I do not know : I can speak 
 only of two dramas ; one of these entitled Philodamus has been given 
 to the public by Mr. Harris, and Henderson performed the charac- 
 ter, that gives its name to the play. The ingenious author always 
 wrote for the reader, he did not study how to humour the specta- 
 tor: Philodamus has much of the old cast in its style, with a consi- 
 derable portion of originality and a bold vein of humour running 
 through it, occasionally intermixed even with the pathos of the scene, 
 which in a modern composition, professing itself to be a tragedy, is 
 a perilous experiment. Such it proved to Philodamus: its very best 
 passages in perusal were its weakest points in representation, and it 
 may be truly said it was ruined by its virtues : but in the galleries of 
 our theatres the Graces have no seats, and he that writes to the po- 
 pulace must not borrow the pen of the author of Philodamus. Poet 
 Gray wrote a long and elaborate critique upon this drama, which I 
 saw, and though his flattery was outrageously pedantic, yet the in- 
 cense of praise from author to author is always sweet, and perhaps 
 not the less acceptable on account of its being so seldom offered up. 
 The other, drama on the Genoese Conspiracy I saw in its unfinished 
 state, and can only say that I was struck by certain passages, but can- 
 not speak of it as a whole. 
 
110 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 When the ceremony of the coronation was over, the Lord Lieu- 
 tenant set out for Ireland with a numerous cavalcade. I was now 
 the father of two infant children, a daughter and a son; these I left 
 with their grandmother Mrs. Ridge, and was accompanied by my 
 wife, though in a state ill calculated to endure the rough roads by 
 land, and the more rough passage by sea: my father, mother and 
 sisters were with us in the yacht ; they took a house in Dublin, and 
 I was by office an inhabitant of the castle, and lodged in very excel- 
 lent and commodious apartments. 
 
 The speech of the Lord Lieutenant upon the opening of the 
 session is upon record. It was generally esteemed a very brilliant 
 composition. His graceful person and impressive manner of deli- 
 very set it off to its best advantage, and all things seemed to augur 
 well for his success. When I was called in jointly with Secretary 
 Hamilton to take the project and rough copy of this speech into 
 consideration, I could not help remarking the extraordinary efforts, 
 which that gentleman made to engraft his own very peculiar style 
 upon the sketch before him ; in this I sometimes agreed with him, 
 but more commonly opposed him, till Lord Halifax, whose patience 
 began to be exhausted, no longer submitted his copy to be dissected, 
 but took it to himself with such alterations as he saw fit to adopt, and 
 those but few. I must candidly acknowledge that at times when I 
 have heard people searching for internal evidence in the style of 
 Junius as to the author of those famous letters, I have called to re- 
 collection this circumstance, which I have now related, and occa- 
 sionally said that the style of Junius bore a strong resemblance to 
 what I had observed of the style of Secretary Hamilton; beyond 
 this I never had the least grounds for conjecture, nor any clue to 
 lead me to the discovery of that anonymous writer beyond what I 
 have alluded to. 
 
 I remember a conversation he held with me some time before 
 we left England on the subject of Mr. Edmund Burke, Whom he 
 had then attached to himself, and for whom he wished me to assist 
 in projecting some establishment. I had then never seen that emi- 
 nent person, nor did I meet him till after my arrival in Dublin, 
 when I had merely the opportunity of introducing myself to him in 
 passing through the apartment, where he was in attendance upon 
 Mr. Hamilton. He had indeed his fortune to make, but he was not 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. Hi 
 
 disposed to make it by any means but such as perfectly accorded 
 with his feelings and his honour; for when Mr. Hamilton contrived 
 to accommodate him by some private manoeuvre, which I am not cor- 
 rectly possessed of, he saw occasion in a short time after his accep- 
 tance oi it to throw it up, and break from all connexion with that 
 gentleman and his politics. With the Lord Lieutenant he had lit- 
 tle, it any, correspondence or acquaintance, for though Lord Hali- 
 fax's intuition could not have failed to discover the merits of Mr. 
 Burke, and rightly to have appreciated them, had they ever come 
 cordially into contact, it was not from the quarter, in which he was 
 then placed, that favour and promotion were to be looked for. 
 
 Without entering upon the superannuated politics of that time, 
 it is enough to say that the king's business was carried through the 
 session with success, and when the vote was passed for augmenting 
 the revenue of the Lord Lieutenant, and settling it at the standard 
 to which it is now fixed, he accepted and passed it in favour of his 
 successors, but peremptorily rejected it for himself. At this very 
 time I had issued to the amount of twenty thousand pounds expend- 
 ed in office, whilst he had been receiving about twelve, and I know 
 not where that man could have been found, to whom those exceed- 
 ings were more severely embarrassing than to this disinterested 
 personage; but in this case he acted entirely from the dictates of 
 his own high spirit, scarce deigning to lend an ear to the remon- 
 strances even of Doctor Crane, and taking his measures with such 
 rapidity, as to preclude all hesitation or debate. 
 
 His popularity however was so established by this high-minded 
 proceeding, that upon his departure from Ireland all parties seem- 
 ed to unite in applauding his conduct and invoking his return : the 
 shore was thronged with crowds of people, that followed him to the 
 water's edge, and the sea was in a manner covered with boats and 
 vessels, that accompanied the yacht through the bay, studious to pay- 
 to their popular chief governor every valedictory honour, that their 
 zeal and attention could devise. 
 
 The patronage of the Lord Lieutenant was at that time so ex- 
 tremely circumscribed, that except in the church and army few ex- 
 pectants could have been put in possession of their wishes, had not 
 my under-secretary Mr. Roseingrave discovered a number of lapsed 
 patents, that had lain dormant in my office for a length of time, nei- 
 ther allowances nor perquisites being; annexed to them. When a 
 
112 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 pretty considerable number of these patents were collected, and a 
 list of them made out, I laid them before the Lord Lieutenant for 
 his disposal in such manner as he saw fit. He at once discerned the 
 great accommodation they would afford him, and very gladly availed 
 himself of them, obtaining grants of parliament for each respectively, 
 which, though virtually pensions, were not so glaringly obnoxious, 
 nor were any of them in fact such absolute sinecures, some duty 
 being attached to every one of them. They were certainly a very 
 seasonable accession to his patronage, and I make no doubt a very 
 acceptable one to the circumstances of those, on whom he bestowed 
 them. I sought no share in the spoil, but rather wished to stand cor- 
 rectly clear of any interested part in the transaction ; some small 
 thing, however, I asked and obtained for my worthy second Mr. Ro- 
 seingrave, who had all the merit of the manoeuvre, and many other 
 merits of a much superior sort, for which I sincerely esteemed him, 
 and, till his death put an end to our correspondence, preserved a con- 
 stant interchange of friendly sentiments, and at times of visits, when 
 either he came to England, or I passed over to Ireland. 
 
 And here, in justice to myself, I must take credit for a disin- 
 terestedness which never could be betrayed into the acceptance of 
 any thing, however covered or contrived (and many were the de- 
 vices then ingeniously practised upon me) which delicacy could pos- 
 sibly interpret as a gratuity, whether tendered as an acknowledg- 
 ment for favours past, or as an inducement for services to come. 
 As I went to Ireland so I returned from it, perfectly clean-handed, 
 not having profited my small fortune in the value of a single shilling, 
 except from the fair income of my office arising from the establish- 
 ed fees upon wool-licences, which netted, as well as I can recollect, 
 about 3001. per annum, and did not clear my extraordinary ex- 
 penses. 
 
 Towards the close of the session the Lord Lieutenant took occa- 
 sion one morning, when I waited upon him with his private ac- 
 counts, to express his satisfaction in my services, adding that he 
 wished to mark his particular approbation of me by obtaining for 
 me the rank of baronet : a title, he observed, very fit in his opinion 
 for me to hold, as my father would in all probability be a bishop, 
 and had a competent estate, which would descend to me. I confess 
 it was not the sort of favour I expected, and struck me as a gaudy 
 insubstantial offer, which as a mere addition to my name without any 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 113 
 
 to my circumstances, was, (as my friend Isted afterwards described 
 it) a mere mouthful of moonshine. I received the tender notwith- 
 standing with all due respect, and only desired time to turn it in my 
 thoughts. I was now the father of three children, for I had a daugh- 
 ter born in the castle, and when I found my father and my whole 
 family adverse to the proposal, I signified to Lord Halifax my wish 
 to decline the honour he had been pleased to offer to me : I certain- 
 ly did not make my court to him by this refusal, and vanity, if I had 
 listened to it, would in this instance have taught me better policy, 
 but to err on the side of moderation and humility is an error that 
 ought not to be repented of; though I have reason to think from 
 ensuing circumstances, that it contributed to weaken an interest, 
 which so many engines were at work to extinguish. In fact I plain- 
 ly saw it was not for me to expect any lasting tenure in the share I 
 then possessed of favour, unless I kept it up by sacrifices I was de- 
 termined not to make ; in short I had not that worldly wisdom, Avhich 
 could prevail with me to pay my homage in that quarter, from which 
 my patron derived his ruin, and purchase by disgraceful attentions a 
 continuance of that claim to his protection and regard, which I had 
 earned by long and faithful services for ten years past, (the third 
 part of my life) without intermission, and for the longer half of that 
 time without consideration or reward. 
 
 As sure as ever my history brings me to the mention of that fatal 
 step, which took me out of the path I was in, and turned me from the 
 prosecution of those peaceful studies, to which I was so cordially de- 
 voted, and which were leading me to a profession, wherein some 
 that went before me had distinguished themselves with such credit, 
 so sure am I to feel at my heart a pang, that wounds me with regret 
 and self-reproach for having yielded to a delusion at the inexperi- 
 enced age of nineteen, since which I have seen more than half a 
 century go by, every day of which has only served to strengthen 
 more and more the full conviction of my error. 
 
 Hamilton, who in the English parliament got the nick-name of 
 Single-speech, spoke well, but not often, in the Irish House of 
 Commons. He had a promptitude of thought, and a rapid flow of 
 well-conceived matter, with many other requisites, that only seemed 
 waiting for opportunities to establish his reputation as an orator. He 
 had a striking countenance, a graceful carriage, great self-possession 
 and personal courage : he was not easily put out of his way by any 
 
 Q 
 
1.14 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of those unaccommodating repugnances, that men of weaker nerves 
 or more tender consciences might have stumbled at, or been check- 
 ed by ; he could mask the passions, that were natural to him, and as- 
 sume those, that did not belong to him ; he was indefatigable, me- 
 ditative, mysterious ; his opinions were the result of long labour and 
 inuch reflection, but he had the art of setting them forth as if they 
 were the starts of ready genius and a quick perception : he had as 
 much seeming steadiness as a partisan could stand in need of, and 
 all the real flexibility, that could suit his purpose, or advance his in- 
 terest. He would fain have retained his connection with Edmund 
 Burke, and associated him to his politics, for he well knew the value 
 of his talents, but in that object he was soon disappointed: the ge- 
 nius of Burke was of too high a cast to endure debasement. 
 
 The bishopric of Elphin became vacant, and was offered to 
 Doctor Crane, who, though moderately beneficed in England, with- 
 stood the temptation of that valuable mitre, and disinterestedly de- 
 clined it. This was a decisive instance of the purity as well as mo- 
 deration of his mind, for had he not disdained ail ideas of negocia- 
 tion in church preferments, he might have accepted the see of El- 
 phin, and traded with it in England, as others have done both before 
 and since his time. He was not a man of this sort ; he returned to 
 his prebendal house at Westminster in the little Cloysters, and some 
 years before his death resided in his parsonage house at Sutton, a 
 living given him by Sir Roger Burgoyne, near to which I had a 
 house, from which I paid him frequent visits, and with unspeakable 
 concern saw that excellent man resign himself with patience truly 
 Christian to the dreadful and tormenting visitation of a cancer in his 
 face. I was at my house at Tetworth near Sutton in Bedfordshire, 
 when he rode over to me one morning, and complained of a soreness 
 on his lip, which he said he had hurt in shaving himself; it was 
 hardly discernible, but alas! it contained the seeds of that dire 
 disease, and from that moment kept spreading over his face with ex- 
 cruciating agony, which allowed him no repose, till it laid him in 
 his grave. 
 
 By his refusal of Elphin, Doctor Oswald was promoted to an in- 
 ferior bishopric, and my father thereby stood next upon the roll for 
 a mitre : in the mean time he formed his friendships in Ireland with 
 some of the most respectable characters, and made a visit, accom- 
 panied by my mother, to Doctor Pocock, Bishop of Ossory, at his 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 115 
 
 episcopal house at Kilkenny. That celebrated oriental traveller and 
 author was a man of miid manners and primitive simplicity : having 
 given the world a full detail of his researches in Egypt, he seemed 
 to hold himself excused from saying any tiling more about them, 
 and observed in general an obdurate taciturnity. In his carriage and 
 deportment he appeared to have contracted something of the Arab 
 character, yet there was no austerity in his silence, and though his 
 air was solemn his temper was serene. When we were on our road 
 to Ireland, I saw from the windows of the inn at Daventry a caval- 
 cade of horsemen approaching on a gefatle trot, headed by an elder- 
 ly chief in clerical attire, who was followed by five servants at dis- 
 tances geometrically measured and most precisely maintained, and 
 who upon entering the inn proved to be this distinguished prelate, 
 conducting his horde with the phlegmatic patience of a Scheik. 
 
 I found the state of society in Dublin very different from what I 
 had observed in London : the professions more intermixt, and ranks 
 more blended ; in the great houses I met a promiscuous assembly 
 of politicians, lawyers, soldiers and divines ; the profusion of their 
 tables struck me with surprise ; nothing that I had seen in England 
 could rival the Polish magnificence of Primate Stone, or the Pari- 
 sian luxury of Mr. Clements. The style of Dodington was stately, 
 but there was a watchful and well-regulated (Economy over ail, that 
 here seemed out of sight and out of mind. The professional gravity 
 of character maintained by our English dignitaries was here laid 
 aside, and in several prelatical houses the mitre was so mingled with 
 the cockade, and the glass circulated so freely, that I perceived the 
 spirit of conviviality was by no means excluded from the pale of the 
 church of Ireland. 
 
 Primate Stone was at that time in the zenith of his power ; he 
 had a great following ; his intellect was as strong as ever, but his 
 constitution was in its waine. I had frequent occasions to resort to 
 him, and much reason to speak highly of his candour and conde- 
 scension. No man faced difficulties with greater courage, none 
 overcame them with more address ; he was formed to hold com- 
 mand over turbulent spirits in tempestuous seasons ; for if he could 
 not absolutely rule the passions of men, he could artfully rule men 
 by the medium of their passions ; he had great suavity of manners 
 when points were to be carried by insinuation and finesse ; but if 
 authority was necessarily to be enforced, none could hold it with a 
 
116 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 higher hand : he was an elegant scholar, a consummate politician, 
 a very fine gentleman, and in every character seen to more advan- 
 tage than in that, which according to his sacred function should 
 have been his chief and only object to sustain. 
 
 Doctor Robinson, was by Lord Halifax translated from the see 
 of Ferns to that of Kildare. I had even then a presentiment that 
 we were forwarding bis advancement towards the primacy, and per- 
 suaded myself that the successor of Stone would be found in the 
 person of the Bishop of Kildare. Of him I shall probably have oc- 
 casion to speak more at large hereafter, for the acquaintance, which 
 I had the honour to form with him at this time, was in the further 
 course of it ripened into friendship and an intimacy, which he never 
 suffered to abate, and I prized too highly to neglect. 
 
 I meide but one short excursion from Dublin, and this was to the 
 house of that gallant officer Colonel Ford, who perished in his pas- 
 sage to India, and who was married to a relation of my wife. Having 
 established his fame in the battle of Plassey and several other 
 actions, he seated himself at Johnstown in the centre of an invete- 
 rate bog, but the soil, such as it was, had the recommendation to 
 him of being his native soil, and all its deformities vanished from his 
 sight. 
 
 I had more than once the amusement of dining at the house of 
 that most singular being George Faulkner, where I found myself in 
 a company so miscellaneously and whimsically classed, that it looked 
 more like a fortuitous concourse of oddities, jumbled together from 
 all ranks, orders and descriptions, than the effect of invitation and 
 design. Description must fall short in the attempt to convey any 
 sketch of that eccentric being to those, who have not read him in 
 the notes of Jephson, or seen him in the mimickry of Foote, who in 
 his portraits of Faulkner found the only sitter, whom his extravagant 
 pencil could not caricature; for he had a solemn intrepidity of 
 egotism, and a daring contempt of absurdity, that fairly outfaced 
 imitation, and like Garrick's Ode on Shakspeare, which Johnson 
 said " defied criticism," so did George in the original spirit of his 
 own perfect buffoonery defy caricature. He never deigned to join 
 in the laugh he had raised, nor seemed to have a feeling of the ridi- 
 cule he had provoked : at the same time that he was pre-eminently 
 and by preference the butt and buffoon of the company, he could 
 find openings and opportunities for hits of retaliation, which were 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 117 
 
 such left-handed thrusts as few could parry : nobody could foresee 
 where they would fall, nobody of course was fore-armed, and as 
 there was in his calculation but one super-eminent character in the 
 kingdom of Ireland, and he the printer of the Dublin Journal, rank 
 was no shield against George's arrows, which flew where he listed, 
 and fixed or missed as cheince directed, he cared not about conse- 
 quences. He gave good meat and excellent claret in abundance ; I 
 sate at his table once from dinner till two in the morning, whilst 
 George swallowed immense potations with one solitary sodden 
 strawberry at the bottom of the glass, which he said was recom- 
 mended to him by his doctor for its cooling properties. He never 
 lost his recollection or equilibrium the whole time, and was in ex- 
 cellent foolery; it was a singular coincidence, that there was a per- 
 son in company, who had received his reprieve at the gallows, and 
 the very judge who had passed sentence of death upon him. This 
 did not in the least disturb the harmony of the society, nor embar- 
 rass any human creature present. All went off perfectly smooth, and 
 George, adverting to an original portrait of Dean Swift, which hung 
 in his room, told us abundance of excellent and interesting anecdotes 
 of the Dean and himself with minute precision and an importance 
 irresistibly ludicrous. There was also a portrait of his late lady 
 Mrs. Faulkner, which either made the painter or George a liar, for 
 it was frightfully ugly, whilst he swore she was the most divine ob- 
 ject in creation. In the mean time he took credit to himself for a 
 few deviations in point of gallantry, and asserted that he broke his 
 leg in flying from the fury of an enraged husband, whilst Foote con- 
 stantly maintained that he fell down an area with a tray of meat 
 upon his shoulder, when he was journeyman to a butcher: I believe 
 neither of them spoke the truth. George prosecuted Foote for lam- 
 pooning him on the stage of Dublin ; his counsel the prime 
 serjeant compared him to Socrates and his libeller to Aristophanes; 
 this I believe was all that George got by his course of law ; but he 
 was told he had the best of the bargain in the comparison, and sate 
 down contented under the shadow of his laurels. In process of time 
 he became an alderman ; I paid my court to him in that character, 
 but I thought he was rather marred than mended by his dignity. 
 George grew grave and sentimental, and sentiment and gravity 
 sate as ill upon George, as a gown and a square cap would upon a 
 monkey. 
 
118 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Mrs. Dancer, then in her prime, and very beautiful, Was acting 
 with Barry at the Crow-Street theatre, and Miss Elliot, who had 
 played in Mr. Bentley's Wishes, came over with the recommenda- 
 tion of Mr. Arthur Murphy, who interested himself much in her 
 success : this young uneducated girl had great natural talents, and 
 played the part of Maria in her patron's farce of The Citizen, with 
 admirable spirit and effect. The whimsical mock-opera of Midas 
 was first brought upon the Dublin stage in this season, and had all 
 the protection, which the castle patronage could bestow, and that 
 could not be more than its pleasantry and originality deserved. 
 
 When the time for our departure was in near approach, the 
 Lord Lieutenant expressed his wish that I would take the conduct 
 of his daughters and the ladies of his family on their journey home, 
 whilst he went forward, and would expect us at Bushey Park. Cir- 
 cumstanced as I was, I could not undertake the charge of his family 
 without abandoning that of my own, which I did with the utmost re- 
 gret, though my brother-in-law, Captain Ridge, kindly offered him- 
 self to conduct his sister and her infant to the place of their destina- 
 tion, and accordingly embarked with them in a pacquet for Holy- 
 head some days before my departure. Painful as this parting was, 
 I had yet the consolation of surrendering those objects of my affec- 
 tion to the care of him, whom I would have chosen out of all men 
 living for the trust. They were to repose for a few days at a house 
 called Tyringham, within a short distance of Newport Pagnell, 
 which I had taken of the heir of the Bakewell family. It was a large 
 and venerable old mansion, situated on the banks of the river Ouse, 
 and had caught my eye as I was on my road to Ireland : understand- 
 ing it was furnished and to be let, I crossed the river, and in a few 
 minutes conversation with the steward agreed to take it, and in this 
 I was in some degree biassed by the consideration of its near neigh- 
 bourhood to Lord Halifax, at Horton. It was a hasty bargain, but 
 one of the cheapest ever made, and I had no occasion at any time 
 after to repent of it. 
 
 When we arrived at Bushey Park, and I had surrendered my 
 charge to Lord Halifax, I lost no further time, but hastened to my 
 wife, who was then in Hampshire at her father's, where the children 
 we left behind us had been kindly harboured ; them indeed I found 
 in perfect health, but that and every other joy attendant on my re- 
 turn was at once extinguished in the afflicting persuasion, that I had 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 119 
 
 only arrived in time to take a last leave of my dying wife, who was 
 then in the crisis of a most violent fever, exhausted, senseless and 
 scarce alive. Many florid writers would seize the opportunity of 
 describing scenes of this sort ; I shall decline it. It was my happy lot 
 to see her excellent constitution surmount the shock, and to witness 
 her recovery in her native air by the blessing of Providence and the 
 unwearied attentions of her hospitable parents. As soon as she was 
 re-established in her health, we removed with our children to Ty- 
 ringham, where my wife had left her infant fellow-traveller in the 
 care of an excellent young woman, who from the day of our mar- 
 riage to the day of her death lived with me and my family, faith- 
 fully attached and strictly fulfilling every part of her duty. 
 
 A short time before Lord Halifax quitted the government of 
 Ireland, in which he was succeeded by the Duke of Northumber- 
 land, a vacancy happened in the bench of bishops, and my father 
 was promoted to the see of Clonfert. This vacancy fell so close 
 upon the expiration of Lord Halifax's government, that great efforts 
 were made and considerable interest exerted to wrest the nomina- 
 tion out of his lordship's patronage, and throw it into the disposal of 
 his successor ; it was proposed to recompense my father by prefer- 
 ment of some other description; but this was firmly resisted by 
 Lord Halifax, and the mitre was bestowed upon one, who wore it 
 to the last hour of his life with unblemished reputation, honoured, 
 beloved, and I may say (almost without a figure) adored by the peo- 
 ple of Ireland for his benevolence, his equity, his integrity and every 
 virtue, that could make him dear to his fellow-creatures, and accept- 
 able to his Creator. 
 
 The expectant, who, if I was rightly informed, would have ob- 
 tained the bishopric of Clonfert in the event of my father's being 
 deprived of it, has had reason to felicitate himself on his disappoint- 
 ment, if, as I just now observed, I am not mistaken in believing 
 Doctor Markham was the person, whose happy destiny sent my 
 father to Ireland, and reserved him for better fortune at home, and 
 higher dignities most worthily bestowed and most honourably en- 
 joyed. 
 
 My father in the mean time had returned to his vicarage of Ful- 
 ham, and sate down without repining at the issue of his expedition, 
 which now seemed to close upon him without any prospect of suc- 
 cess, when I hastened to impart to him the intelligence I had just 
 
120 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 received from Secretary Hamilton, whom I had accidentally crossed 
 upon in Parliament-Street. He received it in his calm manner, 
 modestly remarking, that his talents were not turned to public life, 
 nor did he foresee any material advantages likely to accrue to such 
 as belonged to him from his promotion to an Irish bishopric ; it was 
 not consistent, he said, with his principles to avail himself of the pa- 
 tronage in that country to the exclusion of the clergy of his diocese, 
 and of course he must deny himself the gratification of serving his 
 friends and relations in England, if any such should solicit him. 
 This did happen in more instances than one, and I can witness with 
 what pain he withstood requests, which lie would have been so happy 
 to have complied with ; but his conscience was a rule to him, and 
 lie never deviated from it in a single instance. He further observed 
 in the course of this conversation with me what I have before no- 
 ticed in my remarks upon Bishop Cumberland's appropriation of his 
 episcopal revenue, and, alluding to that rule as laid down by his 
 grandfather, expressed his approbation of it, and said, that though 
 lie could not aspire to the most distant comparison with him in 
 greater matters, yet he trusted he should not be found degenerate in 
 principle; and certainly he did not trust in himself without reason. 
 In conclusion he said, that having visited Ireland, and formed many 
 pleasing and respectable connexions there, he would quietly wait the 
 event without embarrassing Lord Halifax with any solicitation, and 
 when he thought he perceived me in a disposition to be not quite so 
 tranquil and sedentary in the business, he positively forbade me to 
 make any stir, or give Lord Halifax any trouble on his account — 
 u You have shewn your moderation,'* added he, " in declining the 
 a title that was offered to you ; let me at least betray no eagerness 
 a in courting that, which may or may not devolve upon me. Had 
 * 4 it not been for you it would never have come under my contem- 
 " plation ; I should still have remained parson of Stanwick, but the 
 « same circumstances, that have drawn you from your studies, haVe 
 44 taken me from my solitude, and if you are thus zealous to trans* 
 " port me and your mother into another kingdom, I hope you will 
 " be not less solicitous to visit and console us with the sight of you, 
 " when we are there." 
 
 I bless God I have not to reproach myself with neglecting this 
 tender and paternal injunction. Not a year passed during my fa- 
 ther's residence in Ireland that I did not happily devote some months 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 121 
 
 of" it to the fulfilment of this duty, always accompanied by my wife, 
 and, with the exception of one time only, by some part of my young 
 family. 
 
 In a few days after this conversation I was authorized to an- 
 nounce to my father his nomination to the bishopric of Clonfert. 
 He lost no time in arranging his affairs, and preparing for his depar- 
 ture with my mother and my younger sister, then unmarried. Lord 
 Halifax in the mean time had received the Seals of Secretary of 
 State ; he had to name one Under-Secretary and his choice fell 
 upon a gentleman of the name of Sedgewicke, who had attended 
 upon him to Ireland in the capacity of Master of the Horse, and on 
 this promotion vacated an employ, which he held in the Office of 
 Trade and Plantations under the denomination of Clerk of the Re- 
 ports. He was a civil, mannerly, and, as far as suited him, an ob- 
 sequious little gentleman ; fond of business, and very busy in it, be 
 it what it might ; his training had been in office, and his education 
 stamped his character with marks, that could not be mistaken : he 
 well knew how to follow up preferment to its source, and though 
 the waters of that spring were not very pure, he drank devoutly at 
 the fountain head, and was rewarded for his perseverance. 
 
 I could not be said to suffer any disappointment on the occasion 
 of this gentleman's promotion: I had due warning of the alterna- 
 tive, that presented itself to my choice. I had a holding on Lord 
 Halifax, founded on my father's merits, and a long and faithful at- 
 tachment on my own part ; but as I had hitherto kept the straight 
 and fair track in following his fortunes, I would not consent to de- 
 viate into indirect roads, and disgrace myself in the eyes of his and 
 my own connexions, who would have marked my conduct with de- 
 served contempt. In attending upon him to Ireland I had the ex- 
 ample of Doctor Crane to refer to, and I had his advice and appro- 
 bation on this occasion for tendering my services, when he received 
 the seals, as a point of duty, though not with any expectation of my ' 
 tender being accepted. The answer was exactly what I looked to 
 receive— cool in its terms, repulsive in its purport — I was not Jit for 
 every situation — Nothing could be more true, neither did I oppose a 
 single word to the conviction it carried with it: in that I acquiesced 
 respectfully and silently ; but I said a few words in thankful acknow- 
 ledgment of the favour he had conferred upon my father, and for 
 that, which I had received in my own person, namely, the Crown- 
 
 R 
 
122 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Agency of Nova Scotia. Perhaps he did not quite expect to have 
 disposed of me with so little trouble to himself, for my manner seem- 
 ed to waken some sensations, which led him to dilate a little on his 
 motives for declining to employ me, inasmuch as I did not speak 
 French. This al^o was not less true than his first remark, for as 
 certainly as I was not fit for all situations, so surely was I unfit for 
 this, if speaking French fluently (though I understood it as a lan- 
 guage) was a qualification not to be dispensed with. In short I ad- 
 mitted this objection in its full force, well persuaded, that if I had 
 possessed the elegance and perfection of Voltaire himself in that 
 language, I should not have been a step nearer to the office in ques- 
 tion. When we know ourselves to be put aside for reasons that do 
 not touch the character, but will not truly be revealed, we do well to 
 acquiesce in the very first civil, though evasive, apology, that is pas- 
 sed upon us in the way of explanation. 
 
 Finding myself thus cast out of employ, and Mr. Sedgewicke in 
 possession of his office, I began to think it might be worth my while 
 to endeavour at succeeding him in his situation at the Board of 
 Trade, and submit to follow him, as he had once followed and now 
 passed me in this road to preferment. After above eleven years at- 
 tendance, my profit was the sole attainment of a place of two hun- 
 dred pounds per annum, my loss was that of the expense I had 
 put my father to for my support and maintenance in a style of life, 
 very different from that in which I was found ; this expense I had 
 the consolation of being enabled to replace to my father upon the 
 receipt of my wife's fortune; but by this act of justice and duty so 
 gratifying to my conscience the balance upon 3000/. which was the 
 portion allotted to Miss Ridge, was very inconsiderable when it 
 reached me. I had already three children, and the prospect of an in- 
 creasing family ; my father's bishopric was not likely to benefit me, 
 neither could it be considered as a compensation for my services, 
 inasmuch as the past exertions of his influence and popularity in 
 Northamptonshire might fairly give him a claim to a favour not less 
 than that of appointing him second chaplain to Doctor Oswald, who 
 was a perfect stranger to his lordship, till introduced and recommend- 
 ed by his brother James. These considerations induced me to hope 
 I could not be thought a very greedy or presumptuous expectant, 
 when I ventured to solicit him in competition with a gentleman, 
 who had only been in his immediate service as Master of the Horse 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 123 
 
 for one session in Ireland, and at the same time they served as mo- 
 tives with me for endeavouring to succeed that gentleman, whose 
 office, if I could obtain it, would be an addition to my income of two 
 hundred per annum. The Earl of Hillsborough was first Lord of 
 Trade and Plantations, and, being an intimate friend of Lord Halifax, 
 was, I presumed not indisposed towards me. I thereupon went to 
 Bushey Park to wait upon Lord Halifax, and communicated to him 
 the idea, which had occurred to me, of making suit for the office, 
 that Mr. Sedgewicke had vacated. He received this intimation in 
 a manner, that did not merely denote embarrassment, it made it 
 doubtful to me whether he meant to take it up as matter of offence, 
 or turn it off as matter of indifference ; for some time he seemed 
 inclined to put an interpretation upon the measure proposed which 
 certainly it could not bear, and to consider it as an abandonment on 
 my part of a connexion, that had uninterruptedly subsisted for so 
 many years. When a very few words on my part convinced him 
 that this charge could not lie against me, he stated it in another view, 
 as a degradation, which he was surprised I could think of submitting 
 to, after the situation I had stood in with respect to him : this was 
 easily answered, and in terms, that could not give offence ; thus 
 whilst I was guarding my expressions from any semblance of dis- 
 gust, and his lordship was holding a language, that could not come 
 from his heart, we broke up the conference without any other deci- 
 sion, than that of referring it to my own choice and discretion, as a 
 measure he neither advised nor opposed. 
 
 As it was from this interview with the noble person, to whom I 
 had attached myself for so long a term of years, that my future 
 line in life took a new direction, I could not pass it over in silence ; 
 but though my mind retains the memory of many particulars, which, 
 if my own credit only was at stake, I should be forward to relate, I 
 shall forbear ; convinced, that when I lost the favour and protection 
 of that noble person, I had not forfeited his real good opinion ; of 
 this truth he survived to give, and I to receive, proofs, that could 
 not be mistaken. I had known him too intimately not to know, in 
 the very moment, of which I have been speaking, that what he was 
 by accident, he was not by nature. I am persuaded he was formed 
 to be a good man, he might also have been a great one : his mind 
 was large, his spirit active, his ambition honorable : he had a car- 
 riage noble and imposing; his first approach attracted notice, his 
 
124 MEMOIRS or 
 
 consequent address ensured respect: if his talents were not quite so 
 solid as .ome, nor altogether so deep as others, yet they were bril- 
 liant, popular and made to glitter in the eyes of men : splendor was 
 his passion ; his good fortune threw opportunies in his way to have 
 supported it ; his ill fortune blasted all those energies, which should 
 have been reserved for the crisis of his public fame ; the first offices 
 of the state, the highest honours which his sovereign could bestow 
 were showered upon him, when the spring of his mind was broken, 
 and his genius, like a vessel overloaded with treasure, but far gone 
 in decay, was only precipitated to ruin by the very freight, that in its 
 better days would have crowned it with prosperity and riches. 
 
 I now addressed a letter to the Earl of Hillsborough, tendering 
 my humble services in Mr. Sedgewicke's room, and was accepted 
 without hesitation. Thus I entered upon an office, the duties of 
 which consisted of taking minutes of the debates and proceedings at 
 the Board, and preparing for their approbation and signature such 
 reports, as they should direct to be drawn up for his Majesty, or the 
 Council, and, on some occasions, for the Board of Treasury, or Se- 
 cretaries of State. It was at most an office of no great labour, but 
 as Mr. Pownall,now actual Secretary, was much in the habit of digest- 
 ing these reports himself, my task was greatly lightened, and I had 
 leisure to address myself to other studies, and indulge my propen- 
 sities towards composition in whatever way they might incline me 
 to employ them. 
 
 Bickerstaff having at this time brought out his operas of Love in 
 a Village and The Maid of the Mill with great success, some friends 
 persuaded me to attempt a drama of that sort, and engaged Simp- 
 son, conductor of the band at Covent Garden and a performer on 
 the hautboy, to compile the airs and adapt them to the stage. With 
 very little knowledge of stage-effect, and as little forethought about 
 plot, incident, or character, I sate down to write, and soon produced 
 a thing in three acts, which I named the Summer's Tale, though it 
 was a tale about nothing and very indifferently told ; however, being 
 a vehicle for some songs, not despicably written, and some of these 
 very well set, it was carried by my friends to Beard, then manager 
 of the theatre, and accepted for representation. My friends, who 
 were critics merely in music, took as little concern about revising 
 the drama, as I took pains in writing it: they brought me the music 
 of old songs, and I adapted words to it 3 and wove them into the piece. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 125 
 
 as I could. I saw, however, how very ill this plan was adapted for 
 any credit, that could be expected to accrue to me from my share in 
 it, and to mark how little confidence I placed in the composition of 
 the drama, I affixed as motto to the title page the following words — 
 Vox, et praterea nihil.-— Abel furnished the overture, Bach, Doctor 
 Arne and Arnold supplied some original compositions ; Beard, Miss 
 Brent, (then in high reputation) Mr. and Mrs. Mattocks and Shuter 
 filled the principal characters. It was performed nine or ten nights 
 to moderate houses without opposition, and very deservedly without 
 much applause, except what the execution of the vocal performers, 
 and some brilliant compositions justly obtained; but even with these 
 it was rather over-loaded, and was not sufficiently contrasted and re- 
 lieved by familiar airs. 
 
 The fund for the support of decayed actors being then recently 
 established by the company of Covent Garden theatre, I appropri- 
 ated the receipts of my ninth night to that benevolent institution, 
 which the conductors were pleased to receive with much good will, 
 and have honoured me with their remembrance at their annual audits 
 ever since. 
 
 The Summer's Tale was published by Mr. Dodsley, and as I re- 
 ceived no complaint from him on account of the sale, I hope that li- 
 beral purchaser of the copy had no particular reason to be discon- 
 tented with his bargain. 
 
 Bickerstaff, who had established himself in the public favour by 
 the success of his operas above-mentioned, seemed to consider me as 
 an intruder upon his province, with whom he was to keep no terms, 
 and he set all engines of abuse to work upon me and my poor drama, 
 whilst it was yet in rehearsal, not repressing his acrimony till it had 
 been before the public ; when to have discussed it in the spirit of fair 
 criticism might have afforded him full matter of triumph, without 
 convicting him of any previous malice or personality against an un- 
 offending author. I was *no sooner put in possession of the proofs 
 against him, which were exceedingly gross, than I remonstrated by 
 letter to him against his uncandid proceeding; I have no copy of 
 that letter; I wish I had preserved it, as it would be in proof to show 
 that my disposition to live in harmony with my contemporaries was, 
 at my very outset as a writer for the stage, what it has uniformly 
 been to the present hour, aud that, although this attack was one of the 
 most virulent and unfair ever made upon me, yet I no otherwise ap- 
 
126 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 pealed against it, than by telling him, " That if his contempt of my 
 " performance was really what he professed it to be, he had no need 
 " to fear me as a rival, and might relax from his intemperance ; on 
 " the contrary, if alarm for his own interest had any share in the mo- 
 " tives for his animosity, I was perfectly ready to purchase his peace 
 " of mind and good will by the sacrifice of those emoluments, which 
 " might eventually accrue from my nights, in any such way as might 
 " relieve his anxiety, and convince him of my entire disinterested- 
 " ness in commencing author ; adding in conclusion, that he might 
 " assure himself he would never hear of me again as a writer of 
 " operas." This I can perfectly recollect was the purport of my let- 
 ter, which I dictated in the belief of what was reported to me as an 
 apology for his conduct, and. entirely ascribed his hostility to his 
 alarm on the score of interest, and not to the evil temper of his 
 mind. This was the interpretation I put upon what Mr. Bickerstaff 
 had written of me, and my real motive for what I wrote to him : I 
 understood he was wholly dependant on the stage, and that the ne- 
 cessity of his circumstances made him bitter against any one, who 
 stept forward to divide the favour of the public with him. To insult 
 his poverty, or presume on my advantage over him in respect of 
 circumstances, was a thought, that never found admission to my 
 heart, nor did Bickerstaff himself so construe my letter, or suspect 
 me of such baseness ; for Mr. Garrick afterwards informed me that 
 Bickerstaff shewed this letter to him as an appeal to his feelings of 
 such a nature, as ought to put him to silence \ and when Mr. Gar- 
 rick represented to him, that he also saw it in that light, he did not 
 scruple to confess that his attack had been unfair, and that he should 
 never repeat it against me or my productions. I led him into no 
 further temptations, for whilst he continued to supply the stage with 
 musical pieces, I turned my thoughts to dramas of another cast, and 
 we interferred no longer with each other's labours. 
 
 One day as I was leaving the theatre after a rehearsal of the 
 Summer's Tale, I was met by Mr. Smith, then engaged at Covent 
 Garden, and whom I had known at the University, as an Under- 
 graduate of Saint John's College. We had of course some conver- 
 sation, during which he had the kindness to remonstrate with me 
 upon the business I was engaged in, politely saying, that I ought to 
 turn my talents to compositions of a more independent and a higher 
 character; predicting to me, that I should reap neither fame nor 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 12? 
 
 satisfaction in the operatic department, and demanding of me, in a 
 tone of encouragement, why I would not rather aim at writing a 
 good comedy, than dabbling in these sing-song pieces. The ani- 
 mating spirit of this friendly remonstrance, and the full persuasion 
 that he predicted truly of the character and consequences of my 
 undertaking then on foot, made a sensible impression on my mind, 
 and in the warmth of the moment I formed my resolution to attempt 
 the arduous project he had pointed out. If my old friend and con- 
 temporary ever reads this page, perhaps he can call to mind the con- 
 versation I allude to ; though he has not the same reasons to keep in 
 his remembrance this circumstance, as I have, who was the party 
 favoured and obliged, yet I hope he will at all events believe that I 
 record it truly as to the fact, and gratefully for the effects of it. As 
 his friend, I have lived with him, and shared his gentlemanly hospi- 
 tality ; as his author, I have witnessed his abilities, and profited by 
 his support; and though I have lost sight of him ever since his re- 
 tirement from the stage, yet I have ever retained at heart an interest 
 in his welfare, and as he and I are too nearly of an age to flatter our- 
 selves, that we have any very long continuance to come upon the 
 stage of this life, I beg leave to make this public profession of my 
 sincere regard for him, and to pay the tribute of my plaudits now, 
 before he makes his final exit, and the curtain drops. 
 
 Before I had ushered my melodious nonsense to the audience, 
 1 had clearly discovered the weakness of the tame and lifeless fable 
 on which I had founded it ; there were still some scenes between 
 the characters of Henry and Amelia, which were tolerably conceiv- 
 ed, and had preserved themselves a place in the good opinion of 
 the audience by the simplicity of the style, and the address of Mrs. 
 Mattocks and Mr. Dyer, to whom those parts were allotted. It was 
 thereupon thought adviseable to cut down the Summer's Tale to an 
 after-piece of two acts, and exhibit it in the next season under the 
 title of Amelia. In this state it stood its ground, and took its turn 
 with very tolerable success " behind the foremost and before the 
 " last." Simpson published the music in a collection, and I believe 
 he got home pretty well upon the sale of it. The good judges of 
 that time thought it good music, but the better judges of this time 
 would probably think it good for nothing. 
 
 In the summer of this year, as soon as the Board of Trade broke 
 up for their usual recess, I went with my wife and part of my young 
 
in MEMOIRS OF 
 
 family to pay my duty and fulfil my promise to my father and mother 
 in Ireland. They waited for us in Dublin, where my father had 
 taken the late Bishop of Meath's house in Kildare -Street, next door 
 to the Duke of Leinster's. When we had reposed ourselves for a 
 few days, after the fatigues of a turbulent passage, we all set off for 
 Clonfert in the county of Galway. Every body, who has travelled 
 in Ireland, and witnessed the wretched accommodation of the inns, 
 particularly in the west, knows that it requires some forecast and 
 preparation to conduct a large family on their journey. It certainly 
 is as different from travelling in England as possible, and not much 
 unlike travelling in Spain; but with my father for our provider, 
 whose appointments of servants and equipage were ever excellent, 
 we could feel few wants, and arrived in good time at our journey's 
 end, where upon the banks of the great river Shannon," in a nook of 
 land, on all sides, save one, surrounded by an impassable bog, we 
 found the episcopal residence, by courtesy called palace, and the 
 church of Clonfert, by custom called cathedral. This humble resi- 
 dence was not devoid of comfort and convenience, for it contained 
 some tolerable lodging rooms, and was capacious enough to receive 
 me and mine without straitening the family. A garden of seven 
 acres, well planted and disposed into pleasant walks, kept in the 
 neatest order, was attached to the house, and at the extremity of a 
 broad gravel walk in front stood the cathedral. Within this bounda- 
 ry the scene was cheerful ; all without it was either impenetrable 
 bog, or a dreary undressed country ; but whilst all was harmony, 
 hospitality and affection underneath the parental roof, " the mind 
 " was its ownplace," and every hour was happy. My father lived, 
 as he had ever done, beloved by all around him ; the same benevo- 
 lent and generous spirit, which had endeared him to his neighbours 
 and parishioners in England, now began to make the like impressions 
 on the hearts of a people as far different in character, as they were 
 distant in place, from those, whom he had till now been concerned 
 with. Without descending from the dignity he had to support, and 
 condescending to any of the paltry modes of courting popularity, I 
 instantly perceived how high he stood in their esteem ; these obser- 
 vations I was perfectly in the way to make, for I had no forms to 
 keep, and was withal uncommonly delighted with their wild eccen- 
 tric humours, mixing with all ranks and descriptions of men, to my 
 infinite amusement. If I have been successful in my dramatic 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 129 
 
 sketches of the Irish character, it was here I studied it in its purest 
 and most primitive state ; from high to low it was now under my 
 view. Though I strove to present it in its fairest and best light 
 upon the stage, truth obliges me to confess there was another side 
 of the picture, which could not have been contemplated without af- 
 fright and horror ! Atrocities and violences, which set all law and 
 justice at defiance, were occasionally committed in this savage and 
 licentious quarter, and suffered to pass over with impunity. In the 
 neighbouring town of Eyre Court, they had by long usage assumed 
 to themselves certain local and self-constituted privileges and exemp- 
 tions, which rendered it unapproachable by any officers or emissaries 
 of the civil power, who were universally denounced as mad dogs, and 
 subjected to be treated as such, and even put to death with as little 
 ceremony or remorse. I speak of what actually occurred within 
 my own immediate knowledge, whilst I resided with my father, in 
 more instances than one, and those instances would be shocking to 
 relate. To stem these daring outrages, and to stand in opposition 
 to these barbarous customs, was an undertaking, that demanded both 
 philanthrophy and courage, and my father of course was the very 
 man to attempt it. Justice and generosity were the instruments he 
 employed, and I saw the work of reformation so auspiciously begun, 
 and so steadily pursued by him, as convinced me that minds the most 
 degenerate may be to a degree reclaimed by actions, that come 
 home to their feelings, and are evidently directed to the sole pur- 
 poses of amending their manners, and improving their condition. 
 To suppose they were a race of beings stupidly vicious, devoid of 
 sensibility, and delivered over by their natural inertness to barbarism 
 and ignorance, would be the very falsest character that could be con- 
 ceived of them ; it is on the contrary to the quickness of their ap- 
 prehensive faculties, to the precipitancy and unrestrained vivacity 
 of their talents and passions, that we must look for the causes, and 
 in some degree for the excuse of their excesses: together with their 
 ferocious propensities there are blended and compounded humours 
 so truly comic, eccentricities so peculiar, and attachments and affec- 
 tions at times so inconceivably ardent that it is not possible to con- 
 template them in their natural characters without being diverted by 
 extravagancies, which we cannot seriously approve, and captivated 
 by professions, which we cannot implicitly give credit to. 
 
 The bishop held a considerable parcel of land, arable and graz- 
 
 S 
 
J 30 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ing, in his hands, or more properly speaking- in the phrase of the 
 country, a large demesne, with a numerous tribe of labourers, gar- 
 deners, turf-cutters, herdsmen and handicraft-men of various deno- 
 minations. His first object, and that not an easy one to attain, was 
 to induce them to pursue the same methods of husbandry as were 
 practised in England, and to observe the same neat and cleanly 
 course of cultivation. This was a great point gained ; they began 
 it with unwillingness, and watched it with suspicion : their idle 
 neighbours, who were without employ, ridiculed the work, and pre- 
 dicted that their hay stacks would take fire, and their corn be render- 
 ed unfit for use ; but in the further course of time, when they ex- 
 perienced the advantages of this process, and witnessed the striking 
 contrast of these productive lands, compared with the slovenly 
 grounds around them, they began to acknowledge their own errors 
 and to reform them. With these operations the improvements of 
 their own habitations were contrived to keep pace ; their cabins soon 
 wore a more comfortable and decent appearance; they furnished 
 them with chimnies, and emerged out of the smoke, in which they 
 had buried and suffocated their families and themselves. When 
 these old habits were corrected within doors, on the outside of every 
 one of them there was to be seen a stack of hay, made in the English 
 fashion, thatched and secured from the weather, and a lot of potatoes 
 carefully planted and kept clean, which, with a suitable proportion 
 of turf, secured the year's provision both for man and beast. When 
 these comforts were placed in their view, they were easily led to 
 turn their attention to the better appearance of their persons, and 
 this reform was not a little furthered by the premium of a Sunday's 
 dinner to all, who should present themselves in clean linen and with 
 well-combed hair, without the customary addition of a scare-crow wig, 
 so that the swarthy Milesian no longer appeared with a yellow wig 
 upon his coal-black hair, nor the yellow Dane with a coal-black wig 
 upon his long red locks : the old barbarous custom also of working 
 in a great coat loosely thrown over the shoulders, with the sleeves 
 dangling by the sides, was now dismissed, and the bishop's labourers 
 turned into the field, stript to their shirts, proud to shew themselves 
 in whole linen, so that in them vanity operated as a virtue, and 
 piqued them to excel in industry as much as they did in appearance. 
 As for me, I was so delighted with contemplating a kind of new 
 creation, of which my father was the author, that I devoted the 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 131 
 
 greatest portion of my time to his works, and had full powers to pro- 
 secute his good intentions to whatever extent I might find opportu- 
 nities for carrying them. This commission was to me most grati- 
 fying, nor have any hours in my past life been more truly satisfac- 
 tory, than those in which I was thus occupied as the administrator 
 of his unbounded benevolence to his dependant fellow creatures. 
 My father being one of the governors of the Linen Board, availed 
 himself also of the opportunity for introducing a branch of that va- 
 luable manufacture in his neighbourhood, and a great number of 
 spinning-wheels where distributed, and much good linen made in 
 consequence of that measure. The superintendance of this improv- 
 ing manufacture furnished an interesting occupation to my mother's 
 active mind, and it flourished under her care. 
 
 In the month of October my father removed his family to Dub- 
 lin, and from thence I returned to resume my official duty at the 
 Board of Trade. In the course of this winter I brought out my first 
 comedy, entitled The Brothers, at Covent Garden theatre, then un- 
 der the direction of Mr. Harris and his associates, joint proprietors 
 with him. I had written this play, after my desultory manner, at 
 such short periods of time and leisure, as I could snatch from busi- 
 ness or the society of my family, and sometimes even in the midst 
 of both, for I could then form whole scenes in my memory, and af- 
 terwards write them down when opportunity afforded ; neither was 
 it any interruption, if my children were playing about me in the 
 room. I believe I was indebted to Mr. Harris singly for the kind 
 reception, which this offer met ; for if I rightly remember what pass- 
 ed on that occasion, my Brothers were not equally acceptable to his 
 brethren as to him. He took it however with all its responsibility, 
 supported it and cast it with the best strength of his company. 
 Woodward in the part of Ironsides, and Yates in that of Sir Benja- 
 min Dove, were actors, that could keep their scene alive, if any life 
 was in it: Quick, then a young performer, took the part of Skiff, 
 and my friend Smith, who had prompted me to the undertaking, 
 was the young man of the piece ; Mrs. Green performed Lady Dove, 
 and Mrs. Yates was the heroine Sophia. 
 
 The play was successful, and I believe I may say that it brought 
 some advantage to the theatre as well as some reputation to its au- 
 thor. It has been much played on the provincial stages, and occa- 
 sionally revived on the royal ones. There are still such excellent 
 
'132 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 successors in the lines of Yates and Woodward to be found in both 
 theatres, that perhaps it would not even now be a loss of labour, if 
 they took it up afresh. I recollect that I borrowed the hint of Sir 
 Benjamin's assumed valour upon being forced into a rencounter, 
 from one of the old comedies, and if I conjecture rightly it is The 
 Little French Lawyer. It may be said of this comedy, as it may of 
 most, it has some merits and some faults ; it has its scenes that tell, 
 and its scenes that tire ; a start of character, such as that of the tame 
 Sir Benjamin, is always a striking incident in the construction of a 
 drama, and when a revolution of that sort can be brought about with- 
 out violence to nature, and for purposes essential to the plot, it is a 
 point of art well worthy the attention and study of a writer for the 
 stage. The comedy of Rule a Wife and have a Wife, and particu- 
 larly that of Massinger's City Madam, are strong instances in point. 
 It is to be wished that some man of experience in stage effect would 
 adapt the latter of these comedies to representation. 
 
 Garrick was in the house at the first night of The Brothers, and 
 as I was planted in the back seat of an upper box, opposite to where 
 he sate, I could not but remark his action of surprise when Mrs. 
 Yates opened the epilogue with the following lines— 
 
 " Who but hath seen the celebrated strife, 
 " Where Reynolds calls the canvass into life, 
 " And 'twixt the tragic and the comic muse, 
 " Courted of both, and dubious where to chuse, 
 " Th' immortal actcr stands — ? 
 
 My friend Fitzherbert, father of Lord St. Helen, was then with 
 Garrick, and came from his box to me across the house to tell me, 
 that the immortal actor had been taken by surprise, but was not dis- 
 pleased with the unexpected compliment from an author, with whom 
 he had supposed he did not stand upon the best terms ; alluding no 
 doubt to his transaction with Lord Halifax respecting The Banish- 
 ment of Cicero. From this time Mr. Garrick took pains to culti- 
 vate an acquaintance, which he had hitherto neglected, and after 
 Mr. Fitzherbert had brought us together at his house, we inter- 
 changed visits, and it is nothing more than natural to confess I was 
 charmed with his company and flattered by his attentions. I had 
 a house in Queen- Ann-Street, and he then lived in Southampton- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 133 
 
 Street Covent Garden, where I frequently went to him and some- 
 times accompanied him to his pleasant villa at Hampton. In the 
 mean time, whilst I was thus fortunate in conciliating to myself one 
 eminent person by my epilogue, I soon discovered to my regret 
 how many I had offended by my prologue. A host of newspaper- 
 writers fell upon me for the pertness and general satire of that in- 
 cautious composition, and I found myself assailed from various quar- 
 ters with unmitigated acrimony. I made no defence, and the only 
 one I had to make would hardly have brought me off, for I could 
 have opposed nothing to their charge against me, but the simple 
 and sincere assertion that I alluded personally to no man, and being 
 little versed in the mock-modesty of modern addresses to the au- 
 dience, took the old style of prologue for my model, and put a bold 
 countenance upon a bold adventure. Numerous examples were be- 
 .fore me of prologues arrogant in the extreme;. Johnson abounds in 
 such instances, but I did not advert sufficiently to the change, which 
 time had wrought in the circumstances of the dramatic poet, and 
 how much it behoved him to lower his tone in the hearing of his 
 audience : neither did Smith, who was speaker of the prologue, and 
 an experienced actor, warn me of any danger in the lines he under- 
 took to deliver. In short, mine was the error of inexperience, and 
 their efforts to rebuff me only gave a fresh spring to my exertions, 
 for I can truly say, that, although I have been annoyed by detraction, 
 it never had the property of depressing me. I was silly enough to 
 send this comedy into the world with a dedication to the Duke of 
 Grafton, a man, with whom I had not the slightest acquaintance, nor 
 did I seek to establish any upon the merit of this address : he was 
 Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, and this was my sole 
 motive for inscribing my first comedy to him. As for the play itself, 
 whilst the prologue and the prologue's author run the gauntlet, that 
 kept possession of the stage, and Woodward and Yates lost no credit 
 by the support they gave it. 
 
 I will not trouble the reader with many apologies or appeals, 
 yet just now whilst I am beginning to introduce a long list of dramas, 
 such as I presume no English author has yet equalled in fioint of 
 number, I would fain intercede for a candid interpretation of my la* 
 bours, and recommend my memory to posterity for protection after 
 death from those unhandsome cavils, which I have patiently endured 
 whilst living. 
 
134 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 I am not to learn that dramatic authors are to arm themselves 
 with fortitude before they take a post so open to attack ; they, who 
 are to act in the public eye, and speak in the public ear, have no 
 right to expect a very smooth and peaceful career. I have had my 
 full share of success, and I trust I have paid my tax for it always 
 without mutiny, and very generally without murmuring. I have 
 never irritated the town by making a sturdy stand against their op- 
 position, when they have been pleased to point it against any one of 
 my productions : I never failed to withdraw myself on the very first 
 intimation that I was unwelcome, and the only offence I have been 
 guilty of is, that I have not always thought the worse of a composi- 
 tion only because the public did not think well of it. I solemnly 
 protest that I have never written, or caused to be written, a single 
 line to puff and praise myself, or to decry a brother dramatist, since 
 I had life ; of all such anonymous and mean manoeuvres I am clearly 
 innocent and proudly disdainful ; I have stood firm for the corps, into 
 which I enrolled myself, and never disgraced my colours by aban- 
 doning the cause of the legitimate comedy, to whose service I am 
 sworn, and in whose defence I have kept the field for nearly half a 
 century/till at last I have survived all true national taste, and lived 
 to see buffoonery, spectacle, and puerility so effectually triumphant, 
 that now to be -repulsed from the stage is to be recommended to the 
 closet, and to be applauded by the theatre is little else than a pass- 
 port to the puppet-show/ 1 only say what every body knows to be 
 true : I do not write from personal motives, for I have no more cause 
 for complaint than is common to many of my brethren of the corps. 
 It is not my single misfortune to have been accused of vanity, which 
 I did not feel, of satires, which I did not write, and of invectives, 
 which I disdained even to meditate. It stands recorded of me in a 
 review to this hour, that on the first night of The School for Scandal 
 I was overheard in the lobby endeavouring to decry and cavil at that 
 excellent comedy: I gave my accuser proof positive, that I was at 
 Bath during the time of its first run, never saw it during its first 
 season, and exhibited my pocket-journal in confirmation of my alibi : 
 the gentleman was convinced of my innocence, but as he had no 
 opportunity of correcting his libel, every body that read it remains 
 convinced of my guilt. Now as none, who ever heard my name, 
 will fail to suppose I must have said what i's imputed to i ie in bitter- 
 ness of heart, not from defect in head, tiiis false aspersion of my 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 135 
 
 character was cruel and injurious in the extreme. I hold it right to 
 explain that the reviewer I am speaking of has been long since dead. 
 
 In the ensuing year I again paid a visit to my father at Clon- 
 fert, and there in a little closet at the back of the palace, as it was 
 called, unfurnished and out of use, with no other prospect from my 
 single window but that of a turf-stack, with which it was almost in 
 contact, I seated myself by choice, and began to plan and compose 
 The West-Indian. ^— 
 
 As the writer for the stage is a writer to the passions, jljhold it 
 matter of conscience and duty in the dramatic poet to reserve his 
 brightest colouring for the best characters, to give no false attrac- 
 tions to vice and immorality, but to endeavour, as far as is consis- 
 tent with that contrast, which is the very essence of his art, to turn 
 the fairer side of human nature to the public, and, as much as in him 
 lies, to contrive so as to put men in good humour with one an other, j 
 Let him therefore in the first place strive to make worthy charac- 
 ters amiable, but take great care not to make them insipid ; if he 
 does not put life and spirit into his man or woman of virtue, and 
 render them entertaining as well as good, their morality is not a 
 whit more attractive than the morality of a Greek chorus. He had 
 better have let them alone altogether . 
 
 Congreve, Farquhar, and some others have made vice and 
 villany so playful and amusing, that either they could not find in 
 their hearts to punish them, or not caring how wicked they were, 
 so long as they were witty, paid no attention to what became of 
 them : Shadwell's comedy is little better than a brothel. Poetical 
 justice, which has armed the tragic poet with the weapons of death, 
 and commissioned him to wash out the offence in the blood of the 
 offender, has not left the comic writer without his instruments of 
 vengeance ; for surely, if he knows how to employ the authority that 
 is in him, the scourge of ridicule alone is sharp enough for the 
 chastisement of any crimes, which can fall within his province to 
 exhibit. A true poet knows that unless he can produce works, 
 whose fame will outlive him, he will outlive both his works and his 
 fame ; therefore every comic author who takes the mere clack of 
 the day for his subject, and abandons all his claim upon posterity, is 
 no true poet ; if he dabbles in personalities, he does considerably 
 worse. When I began therefore, as at this time, to write for the 
 stage, my ambition was to aim at writing something that might tje 
 
136 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 lasting and outlive me ; when temporary subjects were suggested to 
 me, I declined them : I formed to myself in idea what I conceived 
 to be the character of a legitimate comedy, and that alone was my 
 object, and though I did not quite aspire to attain, I was not alto- 
 getherjn despair of approaching it. I perceived that I had fallen 
 upon a time, when great eccentricity of character was pretty nearly 
 gone by, but still I fancied there was an opening for some originality, 
 j^njdj an opportunity for shewing at least my good will to mankind, if 
 /I introduced the characters of persons, who had been usually exhi- 
 bited on the stage, as the butts for ridicule and abuse, and endea- 
 voured to present them in such lights, as might tend to reconcile 
 the world to them, and them to the world. I thereupon looked into 
 society for the purpose of discovering such as were the victims of 
 its national, professional or religious prejudices ; in short for those 
 suffering characters, which stood in need of an advocate, and out of 
 these I meditated to select and form heroes for my future dramas, of 
 which I would study to make such favourable and re conciliatory deli- 
 neations, as might incline the spectators to look uponjhem with, pity 
 and receive them into their good opinion and esteeimJ 
 
 With this project in my mind, and nothing but the turf-stack to 
 call off my attention, I took the characters of an Irishman and a 
 West Indian for the heroes of my plot, and began to work it out 
 into the shape of a comedy. To the West Indian I devoted a ge- 
 nerous spirit, and a vivacious giddy dissipation ; I resolved he should 
 love pleasure much, but honour more ; but as I could not keep con- 
 sistency of character without a mixture of failings, when I gave him 
 charity, I gave him that, which can cover a multitude, and thus pro- 
 tected, thus recommended, I thought I might send him out into the 
 world to shift for himself. 
 
 For my Irishman I had a scheme rather more complicated ; I 
 put him into the Austrian service, and exhibited him in the livery 
 of a foreign master, to impress upon the audience the melancholy 
 and impolitic alternative, to which his religious disqualification had 
 reduced a gallant and a loyal subject of his natural king: I gave 
 him courage, for it belongs to his nation ; I endowed him with 
 honour, for it belongs to his profession, and I made him proud, 
 jealous, susceptible, for such the exiled veteran will be, who lives 
 by the earnings of his sword, and is not allowed to draw it in the 
 service of that country, which gave him birth, and which of course 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 137 
 
 he was born to defend : for his phraseology I had the glossary ready 
 at my hand; for his mistakes and trips, vulgarly called bulls, I 
 did not know the Irishman of the stage then existing, whom I would 
 wish to make my model : their gross absurdities, and unnatural 
 contrarieties have not a shade of character in them. When his 
 imagination is warmed, and his ideas rush upon him ift^a cluster, 
 'tis then the Irishman will sometimes blunder; his fancy having 
 supplied more words than his tongue can well dispose of, it will 
 occasionally trip. But the imitation must be delicately conducted ; 
 his meaning is clear, he conceives rightly, though in delivery he is 
 confused ; and the art as I conceive it, of finding language for the 
 Irish character on the stage consists not in making him foolish, 
 vulvar or absurd, but on the contrary, whilst you furnish him with 
 expressions, that excite laughter, you must graft them upon senti- 
 ments, that deserve applause. 
 
 In all my hours of study it has been through life my object so 
 to locate myself as to have little or nothing to distract my attention, 
 and therefore brilliant rooms or pleasant prospects I have ever 
 avoided. A dead wall, or, as in the present case, an Irish turf- 
 stack, are not attractions, that can call off the fancy from its pur- 
 suits ; and whilst in those pursuits it can find interest and occupa- 
 tion, it wants no outward aids to cheer it. My mother, who had a 
 fellow-feeling with me in these sensations, used occasionally to visit 
 me in this hiding hole, and animated me with her remarks upon 
 the progress of my work : my father was rather inclined to apolo- 
 gize for the meanness of my accommodation, and I believe rather 
 wondered at my choice : in the mean time I had none of those in- 
 cessant avocations, which for ever crossed me in the writing of The 
 Brothers. I was master of my time, my mind was free, and I was 
 happy in the society of the dearest friends I had on earth. In pa- 
 rents, sister, wife and children, greater blessings no man could enjoy. 
 The calls of office, the cavillings of angry rivals, and the jibings of 
 news-paper critics could not reach me on the banks of the Shannon, 
 where all within doors was love and affection, all without was gra- 
 titude and kindness devolved on me through the merits of my 
 father. In no other period of my life have the same happy cir- 
 cumstances combined to cheer me in any of my literary labours. 
 
 During an excursion of a few days upon a visit to Mr. Talbot 
 ©f Mount Talbot, a very respectable and worthy gentleman in those 
 
 T 
 
138 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 parts, I found a kind of hermitage in his pleasure grounds, where I 
 wrote some few scenes, and my amiable host was afterwards pleased 
 to honour the author of the West Indian, with an inscription, affixed 
 to that building, commemorating the use, that had been made of it j 
 a piece of elegant flattery very elegantly expressed. 
 
 On this visit to Mr. Talbot I was accompanied by Lord Eyre of 
 Eyre Court, a near neighbour and friend of my father. This noble 
 Lord, though pretty far advanced in years, was so correctly indige- 
 nous, as never to have been out of Ireland in his life, and not often 
 so far from Eyre Court as in this tour to Mr. Talbot's. Proprietor 
 of a vast extent of soil, not very productive, and inhabiting a spa- 
 cious mansion, not in the best repair, he lived according to the style 
 of the country with more hospitality than elegance: whilst his 
 table groaned with abundance, the order and good taste of its 
 arrangement were little thought of: the slaughtered ox was hung 
 up whole, and the hungry servitor supplied himself with his dole of 
 flesh, sliced from off* the carcase. His lordship's day was so appor- 
 tioned as to give the afternoon by much the largest share of it, 
 during which, from an early dinner to the hour of rest, he never 
 left his chair, nor did the claret ever quit the table. This did not 
 produce inebriety, for it was sipping rather than drinking, that 
 filled up the time, and this mechanical process of gradually moist- 
 ening the human clay was carried on with very little aid from con- 
 versation, for his lordship's companions were not very communica- 
 tive, and fortunately he was not very curious. He lived in an en- 
 viable independence as to reading, and of course he had no books. 
 Not one of the windows of his castle was made to open, but luckily 
 he had no liking for fresh air, and the consequence may be better 
 conceived than described. 
 
 He had a large and handsome pleasure boat on the Shannon, 
 and men to row it ; I was of two or three parties with him on that 
 noble water as far as to Pertumna, the then deserted castle of the 
 Lord Clanrickarde. Upon one of these excursions we were hailed 
 by a person from the bank, who somewhat rudely called us to take 
 him over to the other side. The company in the boat making no 
 reply, I inadvertently called out — "Aye, aye, Sir! stay there till 
 " we come." — Immediately I heard a murmur in the company, 
 and Lord Eyre said to me- — « You'll hear from that gentleman 
 " again, or I am mistaken. You don't know perhaps that you have 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 139 
 
 " been answering one of the most irritable men alive, and the like- 
 " liest to interpret what you have said as an affront." He predicted 
 truly, for the very next morning the gentleman rode over to Lord 
 Eyre, and demanded of him to give up my name. This his lordship 
 did, but informed him withal that I was a stranger in the country, 
 the son of Bishop Cumberland at Clonfert, where I might be found, 
 if he, had any commands for me. He instantly replied, that he 
 should have received it as an affront from any other man, but 
 Bishop Cumberland's was a character he respected, and no son of 
 his could be guilty of an intention to insult him. Thus this valiant 
 gentleman permitted me to live, and only helped me to another 
 feature in my sketch of Major O'Flaherty. 
 
 A short time after this, Lord Eyre, who had a great passion for 
 cock-fighting, and whose cocks were the crack of all Ireland, en- 
 gaged me in a main at Eyre Court. I was a perfect novice in that 
 elegant sport, but the gentlemen from all parts sent me in their 
 contributions, and having a good feeder I won every battle in the 
 main but one. At this meeting I fell in with my hero from the 
 Shannon bank. Both parties dined together, but when I found 
 that mine, which was the more numerous and infinitely the most 
 obstreperous and disposed to quarrel, could no longer be left in 
 peace with our antagonists, I quitted my seat by Lord Eyre and 
 went to the gentleman above-alluded to, who was presiding at the 
 second table, and seating myself familiarly on the arm of his chair, 
 proposed to him to adjourn our party, and assemble them in 
 another house, for the sake of harmony and good fellowship. With 
 the best grace in life he instantly assented, and when I added that 
 I should put them under his care, and expect from him as a man 
 of honour and my friend, that every mother's son of them should 
 be found forthcoming and alive the next morning — " Then by the 
 « soul of me, he replied, and they shall ; provided only that no 
 " man in company shall dare to give the glorious and immortal me- 
 " mory for his toast, which no gentleman, who feels as I do, will 
 " put up with." To this I pledged myself, and we removed to a 
 whiskey house, attended by half a score pipers, playing different 
 tunes. Here we went on very joyously and lovingly for a time, till 
 a well-dressed gentleman entered the room, and civilly accosting 
 me, requested to partake of our festivity, and join the company, if 
 nobody had an objection — ." Ah now, don't be too sure of that," a 
 
14© MEMOIRS OF 
 
 voice was instantly heard to reply, « I believe you will find plenty 
 
 " of objection in this company to your being one amongst us." . 
 
 What had he done the gentleman demanded — « What have you 
 " done," rejoined the first speaker, " Don't I know you for the 
 " miscreant, that ravished the poor wench against her will, in pre- 
 « sence of her mother ? And did'nt your Pagans, that held her 
 " down, ravish the mother afterwards, in presence of her daughter? 
 " And do you think we will admit you into our company ? Make 
 « yourself sure that we shall not ; therefore get out of this as speedily 
 " as you can, and away wid you !" Upon this the whole company 
 rose, and in their rising the civil gentleman made his exit and was 
 off. I relate this incident exactly as it happened, suppressing the 
 name of the, gentleman, who was a man of property and some con- 
 sequence. When my surprise had subsided, and the punch began 
 to circulate with a rapidity the greater for this gentleman's having 
 troubled the waters, I took my departure, having first cautioned a 
 friend, who sate by me, (and the only protestant in the company), 
 to keep his head cool and beware of the glorious memory ; this gal- 
 lant young officer, son to a man, who held lands of my father, pro- 
 mised faithfully to be sober and discreet, as well knowing the com- 
 pany he was in ; but my friend having forgot the first part of his 
 promise, and getting very tipsy, let the second part slip out of his 
 memory, and became very mad ; for stepping aside for his pistols, 
 he re-entered the room, and laying them on the table, took the 
 cockade from his hat, and dashed it into the punch-bowl, demand- 
 ing of the company to drink the glorious and immortal memory of 
 king William in a bumper, or abide the consequences. I was not 
 there, and if I had been present I could neither have stayed the 
 tumult, nor described it. I only know he turned out the next 
 morning merely for honour's sake, but as it was one against a host, 
 the magnanimity of his opponents let him off with a shot or two, 
 that did no execution. I returned to the peaceful family at Clon- 
 fert, and fought no more cocks. 
 
 The faiie were extremely prevalent at Clonfert: visions of bu- 
 rials attended b) iong processions of mourners were seen to circle 
 the church yard by night, and there was no lack of oaths and attes- 
 tations to enforce the truth of it. My mother suffered a loss by them 
 of a large brood of fine turkies who were every one burnt to ashes, 
 bones and feathers, and their dust scattered in the air by their provi- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 141 
 
 dent nurse and feeder to appease those mischievous little beings, and 
 prevent worse consequences ; the good dame credited herself very 
 highly for this act of atonement, but my mother did not see it quite 
 in so meritorious a light. 
 
 A few days after as my father and I were riding in the grounds 
 we crossed upon the Catholic priest of the parish. My father began 
 a conversation with him, and expressed a wish that he would cau- 
 tion his flock against this idle superstition of the fairies: the good 
 man assured the bishop that in the first place he could not do it if 
 he would ; and in the next place confessed that he was himself far 
 from being an unbeliever in their existence. My father thereupon 
 turned the subject, and observed to him with concern, that his steed 
 was a very sorry one, and in very wretched condition. — " Truly, my 
 " good lord," he replied, " the beast himself is but an ugly garron, 
 a and whereby I have no provender to spare him, mightily out of 
 " heart, as I may truly say : but your lordship must think a poor 
 " priest like me has a mighty deal of work and very little pay — " 
 " Why then, brother," said my good father, whilst benevolence 
 beamed in his countenance, " 'tis fit that I who have the advantage 
 " of you in both respects, should mount you on a better horse, and 
 " furnish you with provender to maintain him — ." This parley 
 with the priest passed in the very hay-field, where the bishop's 
 people were at work ; orders were instantly given for a stack of hay 
 to be made at the priest's cabin, and in a few days after a steady 
 horse was purchased and presented to him. Surely they could not 
 be true born Irish fairies, that would spite my father, or even his 
 turkies, after this. 
 
 Amongst the labourers in my father's garden there were three 
 brothers of the name of O'Rourke, regularly descended from the 
 kings of Connaught, if they were exactly to be credited for the cor- 
 rectness of their genealogy. There was also an elder brother of 
 these, Thomas O'Rourke, who filled the superior station of hind, or 
 heudman ; it was his wife that burnt the bewitched turkies, whilst 
 Tom burnt his wig for joy of my victory at the cock-match, and 
 threw a proper parcel of oatmeal into the air as a votive offering 
 for my glorious success. One of the younger brothers was upon 
 crutches in consequence of a contusion on his hip, which he lite- 
 rally acquired as follows : — When my father c^me down to Clonfert 
 from Dublin, it was announced to him that the bishop was arrived : 
 
142 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the poor fellow was then in the act of lopping a tree in the garden ; 
 transported at the tidings, he exclaimed—" Is my lord come ? Then 
 " I'll throw myself out of this same tree for joy—.." He exactly- 
 fulfilled his word, and laid- himself up for some months. 
 
 When I accompanied my mother from Clonfert to Dublin, my 
 father having gone before, we passed the night at Killbeggan, where 
 Sir Thomas Cuffe, (knighted in a frolic by Lord Townshend) kept 
 the inn. A certain Mr. Geoghegan was extremely drunk, noisy and 
 brutally troublesome to Lady Cuffe the hostess : Thomas O'Rourke 
 was with us, and being much scandalized with the behaviour of 
 Geoghegan, took me aside, and in a whisper said — -" Squire, will I 
 " quiet this same Mr. Geoghegan?" When I replied by all means, 
 but how was it to be done ? — Tom produced a knife of formidable 
 length and demanded — "Haven't I got this? And won't this do 
 " the job, and hasn't he wounded the woman of the inn with a chop- 
 " ping knife, and what is this but a knife, and wou'dn't it be a good 
 " deed to put him to death like a mad dog ? Therefore, Squire, do 
 " you see, if it will pleasure you and my lady there above stairs, who 
 " is ill enough, God he knows, I'll put this knife into that same Mr. 
 " Geoghegan's ribs, and be off the next moment on the grey mare ; 
 " and isn't she in the stable ? Therefore only say the word, and I'll 
 " do it." This was the true and exact proposal of Thomas O'Rourke, 
 and as nearly as I can remember, I have stated it in his very words. 
 
 We arrived safe in Dublin, leaving Mr. Geoghegan to get sober 
 at his leisure, and dismissing O'Rourke to his quarters at Clonfert. 
 When we had passed a few days in Kildare-Street, I well remember 
 the surprise it occasiond us one afternoon, when without any notice 
 we saw a great gigantic dirty fellow walk into the room and march 
 straight up to my father for what purpose we could not devise. My 
 mother uttered a scream, whilst my father with perfect composure 
 addressed him by the name of Stephen, demanding what he wanted 
 with him, -and what brought him to Dublin — " Nay, my good lord," 
 replied the man, " I have no other business in Dublin itself but to 
 " take a bit of a walk up from Clonfert to see your sweet face, long 
 " life to it, and to beg a blessing upon me from your lordship ; that 
 " is all." So saying he flounced down on his knees, and in a most 
 piteous kind of howl, closing his hands at the same time cried out — 
 " Pray, my lord, pray to God to bless Stephen Costello — »." The 
 iscene was sufficiently ludicrous to have spoiled the solemnity, yet my 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND, 143 
 
 father kept his countenance, and gravely gave his blessing, saying 
 as he laid his hands on his head — " God bless you, Stephen Costello, 
 " and make you a good boy I" The giant sung out a loud amen, 
 and arose, declaring he should immediately set out and return to his 
 home. He would accept no refreshment, but with many thanks and 
 a thousand blessings in recompence for the one he had received, 
 walked out of the house, and I can well believe resumed his pil- 
 grimage to the westward without stop or stay. I should not have 
 considered this and the preceding anecdotes as worth recording, but 
 that they are in some degree characteristic of a very curious and pe- 
 culiar people, who are not often understood by those who profess to 
 mimic them, and who are too apt to set them forth as objects for 
 ridicule only, when oftentimes even their oddities, if candidly exa- 
 mined, would entitle them to our respect. 
 
 I will here mention a very extraordinary honour, which the city 
 of Dublin was pleased to confer upon my father in presenting him 
 with his freedom in a gold box ; a form of such high respect as they 
 had never before observed towards any person below the rank of their 
 chief governor : I state this last-mentioned circumstance from autho- 
 rities that ought not to be mistaken ; if the fact is otherwise, I have 
 been misinformed, and the honour conferred upon the Bishop of 
 Clonfert was not without a precedent. The motives assigned in the 
 deed, which accompanied the box, are in general for the great re- 
 spectability of his character, and in particular for his disinterested 
 protection of the Irish clergy. Under this head it was supposed 
 they alluded to the benefice, which he had bestowed upon a most 
 deserving clergyman, his own particular friend and chaplain, the 
 Reverend Dixie Blondel, who happened also to be at that time chap- 
 lain to the Lord Mayor of Dublin. I have the box at this time ia 
 my possession. 
 
 To the same merits, which influenced the city to bestow this dis- 
 tinguished honour on my father, I must ascribe that which I receiv- 
 ed from the University of Dublin, by the honorary grant of the de- 
 gree of Doctor of Laws. Upon this I have only to observe that to 
 be within the sphere of my father's good name, was to me at once a 
 security against danger and a recommendation to favour and reward. 
 
 When I returned to England I entered into an engagement with 
 Mr. Garrick to bring out The West-Indian at his theatre. I had 
 received fair and honourable treatment from Mr. Harris, and had 
 
144 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 not the slightest cause of complaint against him, his brother paten- 
 tees or his actors. I had however no engagement with him, nor 
 had he signified to me his wish or expectation of any such in future. 
 If notwithstanding^ the obligation was honourably such, as I was 
 not free to depart from, in which light I am pretty sure he regard- 
 ed it, my conduct was no otherwise defensible than as it was not in- 
 tentionally unfair. My acquaintance with Mr. Garrick had become 
 intimacy between the acting of The Brothers and the acceptance 
 of The West Indian. I resorted to him again and again with the 
 manuscript of my comedy ; I availed myself of his advice, of his 
 remarks, and I was neither conscious of doing what was wrong in 
 me to do, nor did any remonstrance ever reach me to apprise me of 
 my error. 
 
 I was not indeed quite a novice to the theatre, but I was clearly 
 innocent of knowing or believing myself bound by any rules or 
 usage, that prevented me from offering my production to the one or 
 the other at my own free option. I went to Mr. Garrick; I found 
 in him what my inexperience stood in need of, an admirable judge 
 of stage-effect ; at his suggestion I added the preparatory scene in the 
 ^ouse of Stockwell, before the arrival of Belcour, where his baggage 
 is brought in, and the domestics of the Merchant are setting things 
 in readiness for his coming. This insertion I made by his advice, 
 and I punctually remember the very instant when he said to me in 
 his chariot on our way to Hampton—" I want something more to 
 " be announced of your West-Indian before you bring him on the 
 " stage to give eclat to his entrance, and rouse the curiosity of the 
 " audience ; that they may say — Aye, here he comes with all his 
 « colours flying — ." When I asked how this was to be done, and 
 who was to do it, he considered awhile and then replied—" Why 
 " that is your look out, my friend, not mine ; but if neither your 
 « Merchant nor his clerk can do it, why, why send in the servants, 
 " and let them talk about him. Never let me see a hero step upon 
 " the stage without his trumpeters of some sort or other." Upon this 
 conversation it was that I engrafted the scene above-mentioned, and 
 this was in truth the only alteration of any consequence that the ma- 
 nuscript underwent in its passage to the stage. 
 
 After we came to Hampton, where that inimitable man was to 
 be seen in his highest state of animation, we began to debate upon 
 the cast of the play. Barry was extremely desirous to play the part 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. H5 
 
 of the Irish Major, and Garrick was very doubtful how to decide, 
 for Moody was then an actor little known and at a low salary. I 
 took no part in the question, for I was entitled to no opinion, but I 
 remember Garrick after long deliberation gave his decree for Moody 
 with considerable repugnance, qualifying his preference of the lat- 
 ter with reasons, that in no respect reflected on the merits of Mr. 
 Barry — but he did not quite see him in the whole part of O'Fla- 
 herty ; there were certain points of humour, where he thought it 
 likely he might fail, and in that case his failure, like his name, would 
 be more conspicuous than Moody's. In short Moody would take 
 pains ; it might make him, it might mar the other ; so Moody had it, 
 and succeeded to our utmost wishes. Mr. King, ever justly a fa- 
 vourite of the public, took the part of Belcour, and Mrs. Abingdon, 
 with some few salvos on the score of condescension, played Char- 
 lotte Rusport, and though she would not allow it to be any thing but 
 a sketch, yet she made a character of it by her inimitable acting. 
 
 The production of a new play was in those days an event of 
 much greater attraction than from its frequency it is now become, 
 so that the house was taken to the back rows of the front boxes for 
 several nights in succession before that of its representation ; yet in 
 this interval I offered to give its produce to Garrick for a picture, 
 that hung over his chimney pieee in Southampton-Street, and was 
 only a copy from a Holy Family of Andrea del Sarto : he would 
 have closed with me upon the bargain, but that the picture had been 
 a present to him from Lord Baltimore. My expectations did not 
 run very high when I made this offer. 
 
 A rumour had gone about, that the character, which gave its 
 title to the comedy, was satirical ; of course the gentlemen, who 
 came under that description, went down to the theatre in great 
 strength, very naturally disposed to chastise the author for his ma- 
 lignity, and their phalanx was not a little formidable. Mrs. Cum- 
 berland and I sate with Mr. and Mrs. Garrick in their private box. 
 When the prologue-speaker had gone the length of the four first 
 lines the tumult was excessive, and the interruption held so long, 
 that it seemed doubtful, if the prologue would be suffered to pro- 
 ceed. Garrick was much agitated ; he observed to me that the ap- 
 pearance of the house, particularly in the pit, was more hostile than 
 he had ever seen it. It so happened that I did not at that moment 
 feel the danger, which he seemed to apprehend, and remarked to 
 
 U 
 
146 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 him that the very first word, which discovered Belcour's character 
 to be friendly, would turn the clamour for us, and so far I regarded 
 the impetuosity of the audience as a symptom in our favour. Whilst 
 this was passing between us, order was loudly issued for the ..pro- 
 logue to begin again, and in the delivery of a few lines more than 
 they had already heard they seemed reconciled to wait the develope- 
 ment of a character, from which they were told to expect — 
 
 " Some emanations of a noble mind." 
 
 Their acquiescence however was not set off with much applause j 
 it was a suspicious truce, a sullen kind of civility, that did not pro- 
 mise more favour than we could earn ; but when the prologue came 
 to touch upon the Major, and told his countrymen in the galleries., 
 that 
 
 " His heart can never trip — " 
 
 they, honest souls, who had hitherto been treated with little else but 
 stage kicks and cuffs for their entertainment, sent up such a hearty 
 crack, as plainly told us we had not indeed little cherubs, but lusty 
 champions, who sate up. aloft. 
 
 Of the subsequent success of this lucky comedy there is no oc- 
 casion for me to speak ; eight and twenty successive nights it went 
 without the buttress of an afterpiece, which was not then the prac- 
 tice of attaching to a new play. Such was the good fortune of an 
 author, who happened to strike upon a popular and taking plan, for 
 certainly the moral of The West-Indian is not quite unexception- 
 able, neither. is the dialogue above the level of others of the same 
 author, which have been much less favoured. The snarlers snapped 
 at it, but they never set their teeth into the right place; I don't 
 think I am very vain when I say that I could have taught them bet- 
 ter. Garrick was extremely kind, and threw his shield before me 
 more than once, as the St. James's evening paper could have wit- 
 nessed. My property in the piece was reserved for me with the 
 greatest exactness ; the charge of the house upon the author's nights 
 was then only sixty pounds, and when Mr. Evans the Treasurer came 
 to my house in Queen-Ann-Street in a hackney coach with a huge 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 147 
 
 bag of money, he spread it all in gold upon my table, and seemed to 
 contemplate it with a kind of ecstasy, that was extremely droll ; and 
 when I tendered him his customary fee, he peremptorily refused it, 
 saying he had never paid an author so much before, I had fairly 
 earnt it, and he would not lessen it a single shilling, not even his 
 coach-hire, and in that humour he departed. He had no sooner left 
 the room than one entered it, who was not quite so scrupulous, but 
 quite as welcome ; my beloved wife took twenty guineas from the 
 heap, and instantly bestowed them on the faithful servant, who had 
 attended on our children ; a tribute justly due her unwearied dili- 
 gence and exemplary conduct. 
 
 I sold the copy right to Griffin in Catharine-Street for 150^. and. 
 if he told the truth when he boasted of having vended 12,000 copies, 
 he did not make a bad bargain ; and if he made a good one, which it 
 is pretty clear he did, it is not quite so clear that he deserved it : he 
 was a sorry fellow. 
 
 I paid respectful attention to all the floating criticisms, that came 
 within my reach, but I found no opportunities of profiting by their 
 remarks, and very little cause to complain of their personalities ; in 
 short, I had more praise than I merited, and less cavilling than I 
 expected. One morning when I called upon Mr. Garrick I found 
 him with the St. James's evening paper in his hand, which he began 
 to read with a voice and action of surprise, most admirably counter- 
 feited, as if he had discovered a mine under my feet, and a train to 
 
 blow me up to destruction " Here, here," he cried, " if your skin 
 
 " is less thick than a rhinoceros's hide, egad, here is that will cut 
 " you to the bone. This is a terrible fellow ; I wonder who it can 
 " be." — He began to sing out his libel in a high declamatory tone, 
 with a most comic countenance, and pausing at the end of the first 
 sentence, which seemed to favour his contrivance for a little ingeni- 
 ous tormenting, when he found he had hooked me, he laid down the 
 paper, and began to comment upon the cruelty of newspapers, and 
 moan over me with a great deal of malicious fun and good humour 
 — " Confound these fellows, they spare nobody. I dare say this is 
 « Bickerstaff again ; but you don't mind him ; no, no, I see you don't 
 " mind him; a little galled, but not much hurt: you may stop his 
 " mouth with a golden gag, but we'll see how he goes on."- — He then 
 resumed his reading, cheering me all the way as it began to soften, 
 
148 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 till winding up in the most profest panegyric, of which he was him- 
 self the writer, I found my friend had had his joke, and I had enjoyed 
 his praise, seasoned and set off, in his inimitable manner, which to 
 be comprehended must have been seen. 
 
 It was the remark of Lord Lyttleton upon this comedy, when 
 speaking of it to me one evening at Mrs. Montagu's, that had it not 
 been for the incident of O'Flaherty's hiding himself behind the 
 screen, when he overhears the lawyer's soliloquy, he should have 
 pronounced it a faultless composition. This flattery his lordship 
 surely added against the conviction of his better judgment merely 
 as a sweetner to qualify his criticism, and by so doing convinced me 
 that he suspected me of being less amenable to fair correction than 
 I really am and ever have been. But be this as it may, a criticism 
 from Lord Lyttleton must always be worth recording, and this es- 
 pecially, as it not only applies to my comedy in particular, but is 
 general to all. 
 
 '< I consider listening" said he, " as a resource never to be al- 
 " lowed in any pure drama, nor ought any good author to make use 
 " of it." This position being laid down by authority so high, and 
 audibly delivered, drew the attention of the company assembled for 
 conversation, and all were silent. " It is in fact," he added, " a vio- 
 " lation of those rules, which original authorities have established for 
 « the constitution of the comic drama." After all due acknowledg- 
 ments for the favour of his remark, I replied that if I had trespassed 
 against any rule laid down by classical authority in the case alluded 
 to, I had done it inadvertently, for I really did not know where any 
 such rule was to be found. 
 
 <* What did Aristotle say ? — Were there no rules laid down by 
 " him for comedy ?" None that I knew ; Aristotle referred to the 
 Margites and Ilias Minor as models, but that was no rule, and the 
 models being lost, we had neither precept nor example to instruct 
 us. " Were there any precedents in the Greek or Roman drama, 
 " which could justify the measure." — To this I replied that no pre- 
 cedent could justify the measure in my opinion, which his lordship's 
 better judgment had condemned ; being possessed of that I should 
 offend no more, but as my error was committed when I had no such 
 advice to guide me, I did recollect that Aristophanes did not scruple 
 to resort to listening, and drawing conclusions from what was over- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 149 
 
 heard, when a man rambled and talked broken sentences in his 
 bed asleep and dreaming ; and as for the Roman stage, if any thing 
 could apologize for fhe Major's screen, I conceived there were 
 screens in plenty upon that, which formed separate streets and 
 entrances, which concealed the actors from each other, and gave 
 occasion to a great deal of listening and over-hearing in their 
 comedy. 
 
 " But this occurs," said Lord Lyttleton, " from the construction 
 " of the scene, not from the contrivance and intent of the character, 
 " as in your case ; and when such an expedient is resorted to by an 
 " officer like your Major, it is discreditable and unbecoming of him 
 " as a man of honour." This was decisive, and I made no longer 
 any struggle. What my predecessors in the drama, who had been 
 dealers in screens, closets and key-holes for a century past, would 
 have said to this doctrine of the noble critic, I don't pretend to 
 guess : it would have made sad havoc with many of them and cut 
 deep into their property ; as for me, I had so weak a cause and so 
 strong a majority against me, (for every lady in the room de- 
 nounced listeners) that all I could do was to insert without loss 
 of time a few words of palliation into the Major's part, by making 
 him say upon resorting to his hiding place — I'll step behind this 
 screen and listen : a good soldier must sometimes fight in ambush as well 
 as in the open Jield. 
 
 I now leave this criticism to the consideration of those inge- 
 nious men, who may in future cultivate the stage ; I could name one 
 now living, who has made such happy use of his screen in a comedy 
 of the very first merit, that if Aristotle himself had written a whole 
 chapter professedly against screens, and Jerry Collier had edited it 
 with notes and illustrations, I would not have placed Lady Teazle 
 out of ear-shot to have saved their ears from the pillory : but if 
 either of these worthies could have pointed out an expedient to have 
 got Joseph Surface off the stage, pending that scene, with, any 
 reasonable conformity to nature, they would have done more good 
 to the drama than either of them have done harm ; and that is say- 
 ing a great deal. 
 
 There never have been any statute-laws for comedy; there 
 never can be any : it is only referable to the unwritten law of the 
 heart, and that is nature ; now though the natural child is illegiti- 
 
150 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 mate, the natural comedy is according to my conception of it what 
 in other words we denominate the legitimate comedy. If it repre- 
 sents men and women as they are, it pictures nature ; if it makes 
 monsters, it goes out of nature. It has a right to command the aid 
 of spectacle, as far as spectacle is properly incidental to it, but if it 
 makes its serving-maid its mistress, it becomes a puppet-show, and 
 its actors ought to speak through a comb behind the scenes, and 
 never shew their foolish faces on the stage. If the author conceives 
 himself at liberty to send his characters on and off the stage exactly 
 as he pleases, and thrust them into gentlemen's houses and private 
 chambers, as if they could walk into them as easily as they can walk 
 through the side scenes, he does not know his business ; If he gives 
 you the interior of a man of fashion's family, and does not speak 
 the language, or reflect the manners, of a well-bred person, he un- 
 dertakes to describe company he has never been admitted to, and is 
 an impostor : if he cannot exhibit a distressed gentleman on the 
 scene without a bailiff at his heels to arrest him, nor reform a dis- 
 sipated lady without a spunging-house to read his lectures in, I am 
 sorry for his dearth of fancy, and lament his want of taste : If he can- 
 not get his Pegasus past Newgate without his restively stopping like 
 a post horse at the end of his stage, it is a pity he has taught him 
 such unhandsome customs : if he permits the actor, whom he de- 
 putes to personate the rake of the day to copy the dress, air, atti- 
 tude, straddle and outrageous indecorum of those caricatures in our 
 print-shops, which keep no terms with nature, he courts the galle- 
 ries at the expense of decency, and degrades himself, his actor, and 
 the stage to catch those plaudits, that convey no fame, and do not ele- 
 vate him one inch above the keeper of the beasts of the Tower, who 
 puts his pole between the bars to make the lion roar. In short it 
 is much better, more justifiable and infinitely more charitable, to 
 write nonsense and set it to good music, than to write ribaldry, and 
 impose it upon good actors. But of this more fully and explicitly 
 hereafter, when committing myself and my works to the judgment 
 of posterity, I shall take leave of my contemporaries, and with every 
 parting wish for their prosperity shall bequeath to them honestly 
 and without reserve all that my observation and long experience can 
 suggest for their edification and advantage. 
 
 However, before I quite bid farewel to The West-Indian, I must 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 151 
 
 tnention a criticism, which I picked up in Rotten-Row from Nu- 
 gent Lord Clare, not ex cathedra, but from the saddle on an easy 
 trot. His lordship was contented with the play in general, but he 
 could not relish the five wives of O'Flaherty ; they were four too 
 many for an honest man, and the over-abundance of them hurt his 
 lordship's feelings ; I thought I could not have a better criterion for 
 the feelings of other people, and desired Moody to manage the 
 matter as well as he could ; he put in the qualifier of en militaire, and 
 his five wives brought him into no farther trouble ; all but one were 
 left-handed, and he had German practice for his plea. Upon the 
 whole I must take the world's word for the merit of The West-In- 
 dian, and thankfully suppose that what they best liked was in fact 
 best to be liked. 
 
 A little straw will serve to light a great fire, and after the acting 
 of The West-Indian, I would say, if the comparison was not too 
 presumptuous, I was almost the Master Betty of the time ; but as I 
 dare say that young gentleman is even now too old and too wise to 
 be spoilt by popularity, so was I then not quite boy enough to be 
 tickled by it, and not quite fool enough to confide in it. In short I 
 took the same course then which he is taking now; as he keeps on 
 actingj)art after part, so did I persist in writing play after play ; and 
 this, if I am not mistaken, is the surest course we either of us could 
 take of running through our period of popularity, and \>f finding our 
 true level at the conclusion of it. 
 
 I recollect the fate of a young artist in Northamptonshire, who 
 was famous for his adroitness in pointing and repairing the spires of 
 church-steeples; he formed his scaffolds with consummate inge- 
 nuity, and mounted his ladders with incredible success. The spire 
 of the church of Raunds was of prodigious height ; it over-peered 
 all its neighbours, as Shakspeare does all his rivals ; the young ad- 
 venturer was employed to fix the weather-cock ; he mounted to the 
 topmost stone, in which the spindle was bedded ; universal plaudits 
 hailed him in his ascent ; he found himself at the very acme of his 
 fame, but glorious ambition tempted him to quit his ladder, and 
 occupy the place of the weather-cock, standing upon one leg, while 
 he sung a song to amaze the rustic multitude below: what the song 
 was, and how many stanzas he lived to get through I do not know : 
 he sung it in too large a theatre, and was somewhat out of hearing ; 
 
152 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 but it is in my memory to know that he came to his cadence before 
 his song did, and falling from his height left the world to draw its 
 moral from his melancholy fate. 
 
 I now for the first time entered the lists of controversy, and took 
 up the gauntlet of a renowned champion to vindicate the insulted 
 character of my grandfather Doctor Bentley. The offensive passage 
 met me in a pamphlet written by Bishop Lowth professedly against 
 Warburton, acrimonious enough of all conscience, and unepiscopal- 
 ly intemperate in the highest degree, even if his lordship had not 
 gone out of his course to hurl this dirt upon the coffin of my ances- 
 tor. The bishop is now dead, and I will not use his name irreverent- 
 ly ; my grandfather was dead, yet he stept aside to hook him in as 
 a mere verbal critic, who in matters of taste and elegant litera- 
 ture he asserts was contemptibly deficient, and then he resorts to his 
 Catullus for the most disgraceful names he can give him as a 
 scholar or a gentleman, and says he was aut cafirimidgus aut fossor, 
 terms, that in English, would have been downright blackguardism. 
 
 All the world knows that Warburton and Lowth had mouthed 
 and mumbled each other till their very bands blushed and their 
 lawn-sleeves were bloody. I should have thought that the prelate, 
 who had Warburton for his antagonist, would hardly have found 
 leisure from his own self-defence to have turned aside and fixed 
 his teeth in a bye-stander. Yet so it was, and it struck me that the 
 unmanly unprovoked attack not only warranted, but demanded, a 
 remonstrance from the descendants of Doctor Bentley. I stood 
 only in the second degree from my uncle Richard, and as much 
 below him in controversial ability, as I was in lineal descent. I 
 appealed therefore in the first place to him, as nearest in blood, and 
 strongest in capacity. His blood, however, was not in the temper 
 to ferment as mine did, and with a philosophical contempt for this 
 sparring of pens he positively declined having any thing to do with 
 the affair. I well remember, but I won't describe the scene ; he 
 was very pleasant with me, and reminded me with great kindness 
 how utterly unequal I ought to think myself for undertaking to bold 
 an argument against Bishop Lowth. He was perfectly right ; it 
 was exactly so that a sensible Roman would have talked to Curtius 
 before he took his foolish leap, or a charitable European to a Bra- 
 min widow before she devoted herself to the flames; but my ob- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 153 
 
 stinacy was incorrigible. At length having warned me that I was 
 about to draw a complete discomfiture on my cause, he prudently 
 conditioned with me so to mark myself out, either by name or de- 
 scription, in the title of my pamphlet, as that he should stand ex- 
 cused, and out of chance of being mistaken for its author. No- 
 thing could be more reasonable, and I promised to comply with his 
 injunctions, and be duly careful of his safety. This I fulfilled by 
 describing myself under such a signature, as all but told my name, 
 and could not possibly, as I conceived, be fathered upon him. With 
 this he was content, and with great politeness, in which no man ex- 
 ceeded him, gave me his hand at parting and wished me a good de- 
 liverance. 
 
 I lost no time in addressing myself to this task; it soon grew 
 into the size of a pamphlet; my heart was warm in the subject, and 
 as soon as my appeal appeared I was publicly known to be the au- 
 thor of it. I may venture to say, that weak as my bow was presumed 
 to be, the arrow did not miss its aim, and justice universally decided 
 for me. Warburton had candidly apologized to Lowth for having 
 unknowingly hurt his feelings by some glances he had made at the 
 person of a deceased relation of the Bishop of Oxford, and I now 
 claimed from Lowth the same candour, which he had experienced 
 in the apology of Warburton. This was unanswerable, and though 
 Bishop Lowth would not condescend to offer the atonement to me, 
 which he had exacted and received from another, still he had the 
 grace to keep silence, and not attempt a justification of himself, and 
 that, which he did not do per se, he would not permit to be done 
 per alium ; for I have reason to know he refused the voluntary reply, 
 tendered to him by a certain clergyman of his diocese, acknowledg- 
 ing that I had just reason for retaliation, and lie thought it better 
 that the affair should pass over in silence on his part. 
 
 In the mean time my pamphlet went through two full editions, 
 and I had every reason to believe the judgment of the public was in 
 my favour. I entitled it " A Letter to the Right Reverend the Lord 
 
 " Bishop of O d, containing some animadversions upon a char- 
 
 " acter given of the late Doctor Bentley in a letter from a late 
 " Professor in the University of Oxford, to the Right Reverend Au- 
 " thor of the Divine Legation of Moses demonstrated." — To this I 
 subjoined, by way of motto, 
 
 Jam par ee Sepulto. 
 X 
 
154 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 The following paragraph occurs in the 9th page of this pam- 
 phlet, and is fairly pressed upon the party complained of " Re- 
 
 " collect, my Lord, the warmth, the piety, with which you remon- 
 
 " strated against Bishop W 's treatment of your father in a pas- 
 
 " sage of his Julian:— «i£ is not, (you therein say) in behalf of myself 
 " that I expostulate ; but of one, for whom I am much more concerned, 
 " that is — my father. These are your lordship's words — amiable, 
 " affecting expression! instructive lesson of filial devotion! alas, my 
 H lord, that you, who were thus sensible to the least speck, which 
 " fell upon the reputation of your father, should be so inveterate 
 " against the fame of one, at least as eminent and perhaps not less 
 " dear to his family." 
 
 I had traced his cafirimulgas autfossor up to its source in one of 
 the most uncleanly samples in Catullus, and in that same satire I 
 was led to the character of Suffenus, who seemed made for the very 
 purposes of retort. My uncle Bentley stood clear from all suspi- 
 cion of being guilty of the pamphlet, with the exception of one old 
 gentleman only, Mr. Commissary Greaves of Fulborne in Cam- 
 bridgeshire, a man of fortune and consequence in his county, whe 
 had ever professed a great esteem for the memory of my grandfa- 
 ther, with whom he had lived in great intimacy, and to whom I be- 
 lieve he acknowledged some important obligations. This worth} 
 old gentleman had made a small mistake as to the merit of the pam- 
 phlet, and a great one as to author; for he complimented the writ- 
 ing, and sent a handsome present to the supposed writer. When 
 this mistake was no longer a secret from Mr. Greaves, and I re- 
 ceived not a syllable on the subject from him, I sent him the fol- 
 lowing letter, of which I chanced upon the copy, for the better un- 
 derstanding of which I must premise that he had sent me notice, 
 through my relation Doctor Bentley of Nailstone, of a present of 
 books, which he had designed for me, when I was a student at col- 
 lege, amounting in value to twenty pounds, but which promise he 
 excused himself from performing, because there had been a wet 
 season, and some of his fen lands had been under water— 
 
 My letter was as follows — 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " When in the warmth of your affection for the memory 
 " of my grandfather you could praise a pamphlet written by me, 
 " and address your praises to my uncle, as supposing him to be the 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 155 
 
 « author of it, I am more flattered by your mistake, than I will at- 
 " tempt to express to you. You have ever been so good to me, 
 " that had your commendations been directed rightly, I must have 
 « ascribed the greater share of them to your charitable interpreta- 
 " tion of my zeal, and the rest I should have placed to the account 
 " of your politeness. 
 
 " When I was an Under-graduate at Trinity-college, you was 
 " so obliging as to let me be informed of your intention to encou- 
 i: rage and assist me in my studies, and though circumstances at 
 « that time intervened to postpone your kind design, you have so 
 " abundantly overpaid me, that I have no greater ambition now at 
 « heart than that I may continue so to write as to be mistaken for 
 " my uncle, and you so to approve of what you read, as to see fresh 
 " cause of applauding him, who is so truly deserving of every fa- 
 " vour you can bestow." 
 
 " I have the honour to be," &c. 
 " To William Greaves, Esquire, 
 " Fulbourne." 
 
 Before I quite dismiss this subject I beg leave to address a very 
 few words to my friend Mr. Hayley, who in his desultory remarks, 
 prefixed to his third volume of Cowper's Letters, has in his mild 
 and civil manner made merciless and uncivil sport with Doctor 
 Bentley's character. I give him notice that I meditate to wreak an 
 exemplary vengeance upon him, for I will publish in these memoirs 
 a copy of his verses, (very elegant in themselves, and extremely 
 flattering to me) which I have carefully preserved, and from which 
 I shall derive two very considerable advantages — the one will be the 
 credit of having such a sample of good poetry in my book; the 
 other the malicious gratification of convincing my readers, that Mr. 
 Hayley, with all his genius, does not know where to apply it, prais- 
 ing the grandson, who is not worthy of his praise, and censuring the 
 grandfather, whom, as a scholar of the highest class, he of all men 
 living ought not to have treated with flippancy and derision. 
 
 And now methinks since I have vowed this vengeance, I will not 
 let it rankle in my heart, neither will I longer withhold from my 
 readers the verses I have promised them, which, though entitled an 
 impromtu by their elegant author, I have not suffered to vanish out 
 of my possession with the rapidity, that they have probably slipt out 
 
156 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of his recollection. If he shall be angry with me for publishing 
 them, I desire he will believe, there is not a man living, who would 
 not do as I have done, when flattered by the muse of Hay ley : if the 
 following hasty and unstudied stanzas are not so good as others of 
 his finished compositions, they are still better than any one else 
 would write, or could write, upon so barren a subject — 
 
 « Impromfitu on a Letter of Mr. Cumberland's, most liberally commend- 
 « ing a Poem of the Author's-—" 
 
 " Kind nature with delight regards, 
 
 " And glories to impart, 
 " To her bold race of genuine bards 
 
 " Simplicity of heart. 
 
 " But gloomy spleen, who still arraigns 
 
 " Whate'er we lovely call, 
 " Hath said that all poetic veins 
 
 " Are ting'd with envious gall. 
 
 « Each bard, she said, would strike to earth 
 
 " His rival's wreath of fame, 
 " Nor ever to inferior worth 
 
 " Allow its humbler claim. 
 
 " But nature with a noble pride 
 
 " Maintain'd her injur'd cause—. 
 " O Spleen, peruse these lines," she cried, 
 
 " Of Cumberland's applause ! 
 
 " Enough by me hast thou been told 
 
 " Of his poetic art ; 
 " Now in his generous praise behold 
 
 " The genius of his heart I" 
 
 The sullen sprite with shame confess'd 
 
 Her sordid maxim vain, 
 And own'd the true poetic breast 
 
 Unconscious of the stain. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 15: 
 
 Whilst I have been relating the circumstances, that induced me 
 to appeal to the world against so great a man as Bishop Lowth, and 
 considering within myself how far I was justified in that appa- 
 rently presumptuous measure, some thoughts have struck me, as 
 I went on with my detail, which all arose out of the subject I was 
 upon, though they do not personally apply to the parties I have 
 been speaking of : And after all where is the difference between 
 man and man, so ascendant on one side, and so depressive on the 
 other, as should give to this an authority to insult, and take from 
 that the privilege of remonstrance ? It is a truth not sufficiently 
 enforced, and when enforced, not always admitted, though one of 
 the most useful and important for the government of our conduct, 
 and this it is — that every man, however great in station or in for- 
 tune, is mutually dependent upon those, who are dependent upon 
 him. In a social state no man can be truly said to be safe who is 
 not under the protection of his fellow-creatures ; no man can be 
 called happy, who is not possessed of their good will and good opi- 
 nion ; for God never yet endowed a human creature with sensibility 
 to feel an insult, but that he gave him also powers to express his 
 feelings, and propensity to revenge it. 
 
 The meanest and most feeble insect, that is provided with a 
 sting, may pierce the eye of the elephant, on whose very ordure it 
 subsists and feeds. 
 
 Every human being has a sting ; why then does an overgrown 
 piece of mortal clay arrogantly attempt to bestride the narrow world, 
 and launch his artificial thunder from a bridge of brass upon us 
 poor underlings in creation ? And when we venture to lift up our 
 heads in the crowd, and cry out to the folks about us — " This is 
 " mere mock thunder ; this is no true Jupiter ; we'll not truckle to 
 " his tyranny," — why will some good-natured friend be ever ready 
 to pluck us by the sleeve, and whisper in our ear — " What are you 
 " about ? Recollect yourself! he is a giant, a man-mountain; you are 
 " a grub, a worm, a beetle ; he'll crush you under his foot ; he'll 
 " tread you into atoms-—" not considering, or rather not caring — 
 
 " That the poor beetle, which he trode upon, 
 
 " In mental suffrance felt a pang as great, 
 
 " As what a monarch feels " 
 
 Let no man, who belongs to a community, presume to say that 
 he is independent. There is no such condition in society. Thank 
 
158 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 God, our virtues are our best defence. Conciliation, mildness, cha- 
 rity, benevolence— lice tibi erunt artes. 
 
 Are there not spirits continually starting out from the mass of 
 mankind, like red-hot flakes from the hammer of the blacksmith ? 
 And are not these to be feared, who are capable of setting a whole 
 city — aye, even a whole kingdom — in flames, let them only fall 
 upon the train, that is prepared for them ? Who then will under- 
 write a strutting fellow in a lofty station, puffed up with brief autho- 
 rity, who won't answer a gentleman's letter, or allow his visit, when 
 he asks admission ? If he had the integrity of Aristides, the wisdom 
 of Solon and the eloquence of Demosthenes, there would be the con- 
 gregation of an incalculable multitude to sing Te Deum at his 
 downfall. He will find himself in the plight of the poor Arab, who 
 made his cream-tarts without pepper ; for want of a little whole- 
 some seasoning he will have marred his whole batch of pastry, and 
 be condemned for a bad baker to the pillory. 
 
 A man shall sin against the whole decalogue, and in this world 
 escape with more impunity, than the proud fellow, who offends 
 against no commandment, yet provokes you to detest him. I know 
 not how to liken him to any thing alive, except it be to the melan- 
 choly mute recluse of the convent of La Trappe, who has no em- 
 ployment in life but to dig his own grave, no other society but to 
 keep company with his own coffin. If I look for his resemblance 
 amongst the irrationals, I should compare him to a poor disconso- 
 late ass, whom nobody owns and nobody befriends. The man who 
 has a cudgel, bestows it on his back, and when he brays out his 
 piteous lamentations, the dissonance of his tones provoke no com- 
 passion ; they jarr the ear, but never move the heart. 
 
 A certain duke of Alva about a century ago was the most popu- 
 lar man in Spain: the people perfectly adored him. He had a 
 revolution in his power every day that he stept without his doors. 
 The prime minister truckled to him ; the king trembled at him. 
 How he acquired this extraordinary degree of influence was a mys- 
 tery, that seemed to puzzle all conjecture — not by his eloquence, or 
 those powers of declamation, which captivate a mob ; the illustrious 
 personage could not string three sentences together into common 
 sense or uncommon nonsense : wit he had none, and virtue he by no 
 means abounded in ; few men in Spain were supposed to be mora 
 unprincipled ; if you conceived it was by his munificence and gene- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 159 
 
 rosity, he could have told you no man bought his popularity so cheap* 
 for when the secret came out, he confessed, that the whole mystery 
 consisted in his wearing out a few more hats in the year than others 
 sacrificed, who did not take off their's so often. 
 
 I knew a gentleman, who was the very immediate contrast to 
 this Spanish duke ; he was a man of strict morality, who fulfilled 
 the duties and observed the decorum of his profession in the most 
 exemplary manner ; in his meditative walk one summer-morning 
 he was greeted by a country fellow with the customary salutation-— 
 " Good morning to you, Sir ! — a fine day — a pleasant walk to you 1" 
 " —.1 don't know you," he replied, " why do you interrupt me with 
 u your familiarity ? I did not speak to you ; put your hat upon your 
 *' head, and pass on ! — " " So I will," cried the fellow, " and never 
 •' take it off again to such a proud puppy, whilst I have a head upon 
 " my shoulders — " There never was a hat stirred to that man from 
 that day, and had he fallen into a ditch, I question if there would 
 have been a hand stirred to have helped him out of it. 
 
 I return to my narrative — I had a house in Queen-Anne-Street- 
 West at the corner of Wimpole-Street, I lived there many years ; 
 my friend Mr. Fitzherbert lived in the same street, and Mr. Burke 
 nearly opposite to me. I was surprised one morning at an early 
 hour by a visit from an old clergyman, the Reverend Decimus 
 Reynolds. I knew there was such a person in existence, and that 
 he was the son of Bishop Reynolds by my father's aunt, and of 
 course his first cousin, but I had never seen him to my knowledge 
 in my life, and he came now at an hour when I was so particularly 
 engaged, that I should have denied myself to him but that he had 
 called once or twice before and been disappointed of seeing me. I 
 had my office papers before me, and my wife was making my tea, 
 that I might get down to Whitehall in time for my business, and the 
 coach was waiting at the door. He was shewn into the room ; a, 
 more uncouth person, habit and address was hardly to be met with : 
 he advanced, stopt, and stood staring with his eyes fixed upon me 
 for some time, when, putting his hand into a pocket in the lining 
 of the breast of his coat, he drew out an old packet of paper rolled 
 up and tied with whip-cord, and very ceremoniously desired me to 
 peruse it. I begged to know what it was ; for it was a work of time 
 to unravel the knots — he replied — " My will." And what am I to 
 do with your will, Sir ? — " My heir — " Well, Sir, and who is your 
 
160 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 heir ? (I really did not understand him) — " Richard Cumberland — 
 <k look at the date — left it to you twenty years ago — my whole 
 " estate — real and personal— come to town on purpose-— brought up 
 " my little deeds — put them into your hands — sign a deed of gift, 
 u and make them over to you hard and fast." 
 
 All this while I had not looked at his will ; I did not know he 
 had any property, or, if he had, I had no gUess where it lay, nor 
 did I so much as know whereabouts he lived. In the mean time 
 he delivered himself in so strange a style, by starts and snatches, 
 with long pauses and strong sentences, that I suspected him to be 
 deranged, and I saw by the expression of my wife's countenance, 
 that she was under the same suspicion also, I now cast my eye 
 upon the will ; I found my name there as his heir under a date of 
 twenty years past ; it was therefore no sudden caprice, and I con- 
 jured him to tell me if he had any cause of quarrel or displeasure 
 with his nearer relations. Upon this he sate down, took some time 
 to compose himself, for he had been greatly agitated, and having 
 recovered his spirits, answered me deliberately and calmly, that he 
 had no immediate matter of offence with his relations, but he had 
 no obligations to them of any sort, and had been entirely the founder 
 of his own fortune, which by marriage he had acquired and by 
 ceconomy improved. I stated to him that my friend and cousin 
 Mr. Richard Reynolds, of Paxton in Huntingdonshire was his natu- 
 ral heir, and a man of most unexceptionable worth and good charac- 
 ter : he did not deny it, but he was wealthy and childless, and he 
 had bequeathed it to me, as his will would testify, twenty years ago, 
 as being the representative of the maternal branch of his family : in 
 fine he required of me to accompany him to my conveyancer, and 
 direct a positive deed of gift to be drawn up, for which purpose he 
 had brought his title deeds with him, and should leave them in my 
 hands. He added in further vindication of his motives, that my 
 father had been ever his most valued friend, that he had constantly 
 watched my conduct and scrutinised my character, although he had 
 not seen occasion to establish any personal acquaintance with me. 
 Upon this explanation, and the evidence of his having inherited no 
 atom of his fortune from his paternal line, I accepted his bounty so 
 far as to appoint the next morning for calling on Mr. Heron, who 
 then had chambers in Gray's Inn, when I would state the case to 
 him, and refer myself to his judgment and good counsel. The result 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 161 
 
 of my conference with the lately deceased Sir Richard Heron was 
 the insertion of a clause of resumption, empowering the donor to re- 
 voke his deed at any future time when he should see fit, and this 
 clause I particularly pointed out to my benefactor when he signed 
 the deed. 
 
 It was with difficulty I prevailed upon him to admit it, and can 
 witness to the uneasiness it gave him, whilst he prophetically said 
 I had left him exposed to the solicitations and remonstrances of his 
 nephews, and that the time might come, when in the debility of 
 age and irresolution of mind, he might be pressed into a revocation 
 of what he had decided upon as the most deliberate act of his life. 
 
 My kind old friend stood a long siege before he suffered his pre* 
 diction to take place ; for it was not till after nearly ten years of un- 
 interrupted cordiality, that, weak and wearied out by importunity, 
 he capitulated with his besiegers, and sending his nephew into my 
 house in Queen-Ann-Street unexpectedly one morning, surprised 
 me with a demand, that I would render back the whole of his title 
 deeds : I delivered them up exactly as I had received them ; his 
 messenger put them into his hackney coach and departed. 
 
 In consequence of this proceeding I addressed the following- 
 letter to the Reverend Mr. Decimus Reynolds at Clophill in Bed- 
 fordshire. 
 
 " Queen-Ann-Street, 
 " Dear Sir, " Monday 13th Jan. 1779. 
 
 " I received your letter by the conveyance of Major 
 " George Reynolds, and in obedience to your commands have re- 
 " signed into his hands all your title deeds, entrusted to my custody. 
 " I would have had a schedule taken of them by Mr. Kipling for 
 " your better satisfaction and security, but as your directions were 
 rt peremptory, and Major Reynolds, who was ill, might have been 
 " prejudiced by any delay, I thought it best to put them into his 
 " hands without further form, which be assured I have done without 
 " the omission of one, for they have lain under seal at my banker's 
 u ever since they have been committed to my care. 
 
 " Whatever motives may govern you, dear Sir, for recalling 
 « either your confidence, or your bounty, from me and my family, 
 " be assured you will still possess and retain my gratitude and es- 
 
 Y 
 
162 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " teem. I have only a second time lost a father, and I am now too 
 " much in the habit of disappointment and misfortune, not to ac- 
 " quiesce with patience under the dispensation. 
 
 " You well can recollect, that your first bounty was unexpected 
 " and unsolicited : it would have been absolute, if I had not thought 
 " it for my reputation to make it conditional, and subject to your re- 
 " vocation : perhaps I did not believe you would revoke it, but since 
 " you have been induced to wish it, believe me I rejoice in the re- 
 " flection, that every thing has been done by me for your accommo- 
 " dation, and I had rather my children should inherit an honourable 
 " poverty, than an ample patrimony, which caused the giver of it 
 " one moment of regret. 
 
 " I believe I have some few papers still at Tetworth, which I 
 " received from you in the country. I shall shortly go down thither, 
 " and will wait upon you with them. At the same time, if you wish 
 " to have the original conveyance of your lands, as drawn up by Sir 
 " Richard Heron, I shall obey you by returning it: the uses being 
 " cancelled, the form can be of little value, and I can bear in memory 
 " your former goodness without such a remembrancer. 
 
 " Mrs. Cumberland and my daughters join me in love and re- 
 " spects to you and Mrs. Reynolds, whom by this occasion I beg to 
 " thank for all her kindness to me and mine. I spoke yesterday to 
 " Sir Richard Heron" \_Sir Richard Heron was Chief Secretary in 
 Irelancl\ " and pressed with more than common earnestness upon 
 " him to fulfil your wishes in favour of Mr. Decimus Reynolds in 
 " Ireland. It would be much satisfaction to me to hear the deeds 
 " came safe to hand, and I hope you will favour me with a line to 
 « say so. 
 
 « I am, &c. &c. 
 
 « R. C." 
 
 I have been the more particular in the detail of this transaction, 
 because I had been unfairly represented by a relation, whom in the 
 former part of these memoirs I have recorded as the friend of my 
 youth ; a man, whom I dearly loved, and towards whom I had con- 
 ducted myself through the whole progress of this affair with the 
 strictest honour and good faith, voluntarily subjecting myself, the 
 father of six children, to be deprived of a valuable gift, which the be- 
 stower of it wished to have been absolute and irrevocable. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 163 
 
 That relation is yet living, and by some few years an older man 
 than I am. Though I may have ceased to live in his remembrance, 
 he has not lost his place in my affection and regard. I wish him 
 health and happiness for the remainder of his days, and, in the per- 
 fect consciousness of having merited more kindness than I have re- 
 ceived, bid him heartily farewel. 
 
 There was more celebrity attached to the success of a new play 
 in the days, of which I am speaking, than in the present time 
 when — 
 
 Portents and prodigies are grown so frequent^ 
 That they have lost their name. 
 
 The happy hit of The West-Indian drew a considerable resort 
 of the friends and followers of the Muses to my house. I was su- 
 perlatively blest in a wife, who conducted my family with due atten- 
 tion to my circumstances, yet with every elegance and comfort, that 
 could render it a welcome and agreeable rendezvous to my guests. I 
 had six children, whose birth days were comprised within the period 
 of six years, and they were by no means trained and educated with that 
 laxity of discipline, which renders so many houses terrible to the 
 visitor, and almost justifies Foote in his professed veneration for the 
 character of Herod. My young ones stood like little soldiers to be 
 reviewed by those, who wished to have them drawn up for inspec- 
 tion, and were dismissed like soldiers at a word. Few parents had 
 more excuse for being vain than my wife and I had, for I may be 
 allowed to say my daughters even then gave promise of that grace 
 and beauty, for which they afterwards became so generally and con- 
 spicuously noticed ; and my four boys were not behind them in form 
 or feature, though hot climates and hard duty by sea and landman the 
 service of their king and country, have laid two of them in distant 
 graves, and rendered the survivors war-worn veterans before their 
 time. Even poor Fitzherbert, my unhappy and lamented friend, 
 with all his fond benignity of soul could not with his caresses intro- 
 duce a relaxation of discipline in the ranks of our small infantry ; and 
 though Garrick could charm a circle of them about him whilst he 
 acted the turkey-cocks, and peacocks, and water-wagtails to their 
 infinite and undescribable amusement, yet at the word or even look 
 of the mother, hi moius animorum were instantly composed, and order 
 
164 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 re-established, whenever it became time to release their generous 
 entertainer from the trouble of his exertions. 
 
 Ah ! I would wish the world to believe, that they take but a very 
 short and impartial estimate of that departed character, who only 
 appreciate him as the best actor in the world : he was more and 
 better than that excellence alone could make him by a thousand 
 estimable qualities, and much as I enjoyed his company, I have 
 been more gratified by the emanations of his heart than by the sal- 
 lies of his fancy and imagination. Nature had done so much for 
 him, that he could not help being an actor ; she gave him a frame 
 of so manageable a proportion, and from its flexibility so perfectly 
 under command, that by its aptitude and elasticity he could draw 
 it out to fit any sizes of character, that tragedy could offer to him, 
 and contract it to any scale of ridiculous diminution, that his Abel 
 D rugger, Scrub, or Fribble, could require of him to sink it to. His 
 eye in the mean time was so penetrating, so speaking ; his brow 
 so moveable, and all his features so plastic, and so accommodating, 
 that wherever his mind impelled them they would go, and before 
 his tongue could give the text, his countenance would express the 
 spirit and the passion of the part he was encharged with. 
 
 I always studied the assortment of the characters, who honoured 
 me with their company, so as never to bring uncongenial humours 
 into contact with each other. How often have I seen all the objects 
 of society frustrated by inattention to the proper grouping of the 
 guests ! The sensibility of some men of genius is so quick and 
 captious, that you must first consider whom they can be happy 
 with, before you can promise yourself any happiness with them. 
 A rivalry in wit and humour will oftentimes render both parties 
 silent, and put them on their guard ; if a chance hit, or lucky sally, 
 on the part of a competitor, engrosses the applause of the table, ten 
 to one if the stricken cock ever crows upon the pit again : a matter- 
 of-fact man will make a pleasant fellow sullen, and a sullen fellow, 
 if provoked by raillery, will disturb the comforts of the whole 
 society. 
 
 It is tiresome listening to the nonsense of those, who can talk 
 nothing else, but nonsense talked by men of wit and understanding, 
 in the hour of relaxation, is of the very finest essence of conviviality, 
 and a treat delicious to those, who have the sense to comprehend it. 
 I have known, and could name many, who understood this art in 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 165 
 
 its perfection, but as it implies a trust in the company, not always 
 to be risked, their practice of it was not very frequent. 
 
 Raillery is of all weapons the most dangerous and two-edged ; of 
 course it ought never to be handled, but by a gentleman, and never 
 should be played with, but upon a gentleman ; the familiarity of a 
 low-born vulgar man is dreadful ; his raillery, his jocularity, like the 
 shaking of a water-spaniel, can never fail to soil you with some 
 sprinkling of the dunghill, out of which he sprung. 
 
 A disagreement about a name or a date will mar the best story, 
 that was ever put together. Sir Joshua Reynolds luckily could not 
 hear an interrupter of this sort ; Johnson would not hear, or if he 
 heard him, would not heed him ; Soame Jenyns heard him, heeded 
 him, set him right, and took up his tale, where he had left it, with- 
 out any diminution of its humour, adding only a few more twists to 
 his snuff-box, a few more taps upon the lid of it, with a preparatory 
 grunt or two, the invariable forerunners of the amenity, that was at 
 the heels of them. He was the man, who bore his part in all 
 societies with the most even temper and undisturbed hilarity of 
 all the good companions, whom I ever knew. He came into your 
 house at the very moment you had put upon your card ; he dressed 
 himself to do your party honour in all the colours of the jay ; his 
 lace indeed had long since lost its lustre, but his coat had faithfully 
 retained its cut since the days, when gentlemen embroidered figured 
 velvets with short sleeves, boot cuffs, and buckram skirts ; as nature 
 had cast him in the exact mould of an ill-made pair of stiff stays, 
 he followed her close in the fashion of his coat, that it was doubted 
 if he did not wear them : because he had a protuberant wen just 
 under his pole, he wore a wig, that did not cover above half his 
 head. His eyes were protruded like the eyes of the lobster, who 
 wears them at the end of his feelers, and yet there was room 
 between one of these and his nose for another wen that added 
 nothing to his beauty ; yet I heard this good man very innocently 
 remark, when Gibbon published his history, that he wondered any 
 body so ugly could write a book. 
 
 Such was the exterior of a man, who was the charm of the cir- 
 cle, and gave a zest to every company he came into ; his pleasantry 
 was of a sort peculiar to himself; it harmonized with every thing; 
 it was like the bread to our dinner ; you did not perhaps make it 
 the whole, or principal part, of your meal, but it was an admirable 
 
166 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 and wholesome auxiliary to your other viands. Soame Jenyns told 
 you no long stories, engrossed not much of your attention, and was 
 not angry with those that did ; his thoughts were original, and were 
 apt to have a very whimsical affinity to the paradox in them : he 
 wrote verses upon dancing, and prose upon the origin of evil, yet 
 he was a very indifferent metaphysician and a worse dancer; ill nature 
 and personality, with the single exception of his lines upon Johnson, 
 J never heard fall from his lips ; those lines I have forgotten, though 
 I believe I was the first person to whom he recited them ; they 
 were very bad, but he had been told that Johnson ridiculed his 
 metaphysics, and some of us had just then been making extempo- 
 rary epitaphs upon each other: though, his wit was harmless, yet 
 the general cast of it was ironical ; there was a terseness in his 
 repartees, that had a play of words as well as of thought, as when 
 speaking of the difference between laying out money upon land, or 
 purchasing into the funds, he said, " One was principal without 
 " interest, and the other interest without principal." Certain it is 
 he had a brevity of expression, that never hung upon the ear, and 
 you felt the point in the very moment that he made the push. It 
 was rather to be famented that his lady Mrs. Jenyns had so great a 
 respect for Ms good sayings, and so imperfect a recollection of 
 them, for though she always prefaced her recitals of them with — 
 as Mr. Jenyns says — it was not always what Mr. Jenyns said, and 
 never, I am apt to think, as Mr. Jenyns said ; but she was an excel- 
 lent old lady, and twirled her fan with as much mechanical address 
 as her ingenious husband twirled his snuff-box. 
 
 The brilliant vivacity of Garrick was subject to be clouded ; 
 little flying stories had too much of his attention, and more of his 
 credit than they should have had; and certainly there were too 
 many babblers who had access to his ear. There was some precau- 
 tion necessary as to the company you associated with him at your 
 table; Fitzherbert understood that in general admirably well, yet 
 he told me of a certain day, when Garrick, who had perhaps been 
 put a little out of his way, and was missing from the company, was 
 found in the, back yard acting a turkey-cock to a black boy, who 
 was capering for joy and continually crying out — " Massa Garrick, 
 « do so make me laugh : I shall die with laughing — " The story 
 I have no doubt is true ; but I rather think it indicates the very 
 contrary from a ruffled temper, and marks good humour in its 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 167 
 
 strongest light. To give amusement to children, and to take plea- 
 sure in the act, is such a symptom of suavity, as can never be 
 mistaken. 
 
 I made a visit with him by his own proposal to Foote at Par- 
 son's Green ; I have heard it said he was reserved and uneasy in 
 his company ; I never saw him more at ease and in a happier flow 
 of spirits than on that occasion. 
 
 Where a loud-tongued talker was in company, Edmund Burke 
 declined all claims upon attention, and Samuel Johnson, whose 
 ears were not quick, seldom lent them to his conversation, though 
 he loved the man, and admired his talents: I have seen a dull 
 damping matter-of-fact man quell the effervescence even of Foote's 
 unrivalled humour. 
 
 But I remember full well, when Garrick and I made him the 
 visit above-mentioned, poor Foote had something worse than a dull 
 man to struggle with, and matter of fact brought home to him in a 
 way, that for a time entirely overthrew his spirits, and most com- 
 pletely frighted him from his firofiriety. We. had taken him by 
 surprise, and of course were with him some hours before dinner, 
 to make sure of our own if we had missed of his. lie seemed over- 
 joyed to see us, engaged us to stay, walked witfljjpn his garden, 
 and read to us some scenes roughly sketched for his Maid of Bath. 
 His dinner was quite good enough, and his wine superlative : Sir 
 Robert Fletcher, who had served in the East Indies, dropt in before 
 dinner and made the fourth of our party : When we had passed 
 about two hours in perfect harmony and hilarity, Garrick called 
 for his tea, and Sir Robert rose to depart: there was an unlucky 
 screen in the room, that hid the door, and behind which Sir Robert 
 hid himself for some purpose, whether natural or artificial I know 
 not ; but Foote, supposing him gone, instantly began to play off his 
 ridicule at the expense of his departed guest. I must confess 
 it was (in the cant phrase) a nvay that he had, and just now a very 
 unlucky way, for Sir Robert bolting from behind the screen, cried 
 out — " I am not gone, Foote ; spare me till I am out of hearing ; 
 " and now with your leave I will stay till these gentlemen depart, 
 « and then you shall amuse me at their cost, as you have amused 
 " them at mine." 
 
 A remonstrance of this sort was an electric shock, that could 
 not be parried. No wit could furnish an evasion, no explanation 
 
168 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 could suffice for an excuse. The offended gentleman was to the 
 full as angry as a brave man ought to be with an unfortunate wit, 
 who possessed very little of that quality, which he abounded in. 
 This event, which deprived Foote of all presence of mind, gave 
 occasion to Garrick to display his genius and good nature in their 
 brightest lustre : I never saw him in a more amiable light ; the infi- 
 nite address and ingenuity, that he exhibited, in softening the 
 enraged guest, and reconciling him to pass over an affront, as gross 
 as could well be put upon a man, were at once the most comic and 
 the most complete I ever witnessed. Why was not James Boswell 
 present to have recorded the dialogue and the action of the scene ? 
 My stupid head only carried away the effect of it. It was as if 
 Diomed (who being the son of Tydeus was I conclude a great hero 
 in a small compass) had been shielding Thersites from the wrath of 
 Ajax; and so wrathful was our Ajax, that if I did not recollect 
 there was a certain actor at Delhi, who in the height of the mas- 
 sacre charmed away the furious passions of Nadir Shaw, and saved 
 a remnant of the city, I should say this was a victory without a pa- 
 rallel. I hope Foote was very grateful, but when a man has been 
 completely humbled, he is not very fond of recollecting it. 
 
 There waW^entleman of very general notoriety at this time, 
 who had the address to collect about bim a considerable resort of 
 men of wit and learning at no other expense on his part than of the 
 meat and drink, which they consumed ; for as he had no predilection 
 for reading their works, he did not put himself to the charge of 
 buying them. The gentleman himself was of the Scottish nation; 
 in that nobody could be mistaken ; all beyond that was matter of 
 conjecture, save only that it was universally understood that Mr. 
 Thomas Mills was under the protection of the great Lord Mansfield. 
 Having been Town-Major of Quebec, he took the title of a field- 
 officer, and having been squire to a knight of the Bath on the cere- 
 mony of an installation, he became Sir Thomas, and a knight him- 
 self. It was chiefly through my acquaintance with this gentleman 
 that I became a member of a very pleasant society (for we never 
 had the establishment of a club) who used to dine together upon 
 stated days at the British Coffee-House, then kept by Mrs. Ander- 
 son, a person of great respectability. Many of the members of this 
 society were men of the first eminence for their talents, and as there 
 was no exclusion in our svstem of any member's friend ©r friends, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 169 
 
 our parties were continually enlivened by the introduction of new 
 guests, who of course furnished new sources for conversation from 
 which politics and party seemed by general consent decidedly pro- 
 scribed. Foote, Reynolds, Fitzherbert, Goldsmith, Garrick, Mac- 
 pherson, Doctors Carlisle, Robinson, Beattie, Caleb Whitefoord, 
 with many others, resorted there as they saw fit. 
 
 In one of these meetings it was suggested and recommended to 
 me to take up the character of a North-Briton, as I had those of 
 an Irishman and West-Indian. I observed, in answer to this, that 
 I had not the same chance for success as I had in my sketch of 
 O'Flaherty, for I had never resided in Scotland, and should be per- 
 fectly to seek for the dialect of my hero. " How could that be," 
 Fitzherbert observed, " when I was in the very place to find it, 
 (alluding to the British-Coffee-House and the company we were in) 
 4 ' however," he added, " give your Scotchman character, and take 
 u your chance for dialect. If you bring a Roman on the stage, you 
 " don't make him speak Latin—." « No, no," cried Foote, " and if 
 u you don't make him wear breeches, Garrick will be much obliged 
 M to you. When I was at Stranraer I went to the Kirk, where the 
 " Mess-John was declaiming most furiously against luxury, and, as 
 " heaven shall judge me, there was not a pair of shoes in the whole 
 " congregation." 
 
 This turned the conversation from my comedy to matters more 
 amusing, but the suggestion had taken hold of my fancy, and I 
 began to frame the character of Colin Macleod upon the model of 
 a Highland servant, who with scrupulous integrity, and a great 
 deal of nationality about him, managed all the domestic affairs of 
 Sir Thomas Mills's household, and being a great favourite of every 
 body, who resorted there, became in time, as it were, one of the 
 company. With no other guide for the dialect of my Macleod than 
 what the Scotch characters of the stage supplied me with, I endowed 
 him with a good heart, and sent him to seek his fortune. 
 
 I was aware I had some little fame at stake, and bestowed my 
 utmost care and attention upon the writing of this comedy: I 
 availed myself of Mr. Garrick's judgment at all proper intervals as 
 I advanced towards the completion of it. This I have acknow- 
 ledged in the advertisement, and though I did not form sanguine 
 hopes of its obtaining equal success with The West-Indian in re- 
 presentation, I confess I flattered myself that I had outgone that 
 
f 
 
 170 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 drama in point of composition. When I found that Garrick 
 thought of it as I did, I ventured to avow my preference in the 
 prologue. I have been reading it over with attention, and so many 
 years have passed since I wrote it, that I have very little of the 
 feeling of the author when I speak of it. I rather think I was right 
 in giving it the preference to the West-Indian, though I am far 
 from sure I was unprejudiced in my judgment at that time. An 
 author, who is conscious that his new work will not be equally 
 popular with his preceding one, will be very apt to imitate the 
 dealer, who, having a pair of horses to sell, will bestow all his praise 
 upon the worst, and leave the best to recommend himself. I verily 
 believe if The Fashionable Lover was not my composition, and I 
 were called upon to give my opinion of it, (speaking only of its 
 merits, and reserving to myself my opinion of its faults) I should 
 be inclined to say it was a drama of a^moral, grave and tender castj 
 inasmuch as I discovered in it sentiments, laudably directed against 
 national prejudice, breach of trust, seduction, gaming, and the 
 general dissipation of the time then present. I could not deny it a 
 preference to the West-Indian in a moral light, and perphaps, if I 
 were in very good humour with its author, I might be tempted to 
 say that in point of diction it approached very nearly to what I con- 
 ceived to be the true style of comedy— Joca non infra soccum^ seria 
 non usque cothurnum. 
 
 At the time when this play came out, the demands of the stage 
 for novelty were much limited, and of course the excluded many 
 had full leisure to wreak their malice on the selected few. I was 
 silly enough to be in earnest and make serious appeals against ca- 
 villers and slanderers below notice : this induced my friend Garrick 
 to call me the man without a skin, and sure enough I should have 
 been without a skin, if the newspaper beadles could have had their 
 will of me, for I constantly stood out against them, and would never 
 ask quarter. I have been long since convinced of my folly, but I 
 am not at all ashamed of my principle, for I always made common 
 cause with my contemporaries, and never separated my own particu- 
 lar interests from those of literature in general, as will in part appear 
 by the following paragraph, extracted from the advertisement, which 
 I prefixed to this comedy on its publication — " Whether the re- 
 « ception of this comedy," I therein say, " may be such as shall 
 « encourage me to future efforts is of small consequence to the 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 171 
 
 " public, but if it should chance to obtain some little credit with the 
 " candid part of mankind, and its author for once escape without 
 " those personal and unworthy aspersions, which writers, who hide 
 " their own names, fling on them, who publish their's, my success, 
 " it may be hoped, will draw forth others to the undertaking with 
 " far superior requisites ; and that there are numbers under this de- 
 " scription, whose sensibility keeps them silent, I am well persuaded, 
 " when I consider how general it is for men of the finest parts to 
 " be subject to the finest feelings ; and I would submit whether this 
 " unhandsome practice of abuse is not calculated to create in the 
 " minds of men of genius not only a disinclination to engage in dra- 
 " matic compositions, but a languid and unanimated manner of exe- 
 " cuting them, &c. Sec. — " 
 
 The remark is just, but I remember Lord Mansfield on a certain 
 occasion said to me, that if a single syllable from his pen could at 
 once confute an anonymous defamer, he would not gratify him with 
 the word. This might be a very becoming rule for him to follow, 
 and yet it might by no means apply to a man of my humble sort, 
 and in truth there was a filthy nest of vipers at that time in league 
 against every name, to which any degree of celebrity was attached, 
 and they kept their hold upon the papers till certain of their leaders 
 were compelled to fly their country, some to save their ears and 
 some to save their necks. They were well known, and I am sorry 
 to say some men, whose minds should have been superior to any 
 terrors they could hold out, made suit to them for favour, nay even 
 combined with them on some occasions, and were mean enough to 
 enroll themselves under their despicable banners. It is to the ho- 
 nour of the present time, and infinitely to the repose of the present 
 writers for the stage, that all these dirty doings are completely done 
 away, and an aera of candour and human kindness has succeeded to 
 one, that was scandalously its opposite. 
 
 At this time I did not know Oliver Goldsmith even by person ; 
 I think our first meeting chanced to be at the British-CofTee-House ; 
 when we came together, we very speedily coalesced, and I believe 
 he forgave me for all the little fame I had got by the success of my 
 West-Indian, which had put him to some trouble, for it was not his 
 nature to be unkind, and I had soon an opportunity of convincing 
 him how incapable I was of harbouring resentment, and how zea- 
 lously I took my share in what concerned his interest and reputa- 
 
172 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tion. That he was fantastically and whimsically vain all the world 
 knows, but there was no settled and inherent malice in his heart. 
 He was tenacious to a ridiculous extreme of certain pretensions, that 
 did not, and by nature could not, belong to him, and at the same time 
 inexcusably cureless of the fame, which he had powers to command. 
 His table-talk was, as Garrick aptly compared it, like that of a, 
 parrot, whilst he wrote like Apollo ; he had gleams of eloquence, 
 and at times a majesty of thought, but in general his tongue and 
 his pen had two very different styles of talking. What foibles he 
 had he took no pains to conceal, the good qualities of his heart were 
 too frequently obscured by the carelessness of his conduct, and the 
 frivolity of his manners. Sir Joshua Reynolds was very good to him, 
 and would have drilled him into better trim and order for society, if 
 he would have been amenable, for Reynolds was a perfect gentle- 
 man, had good sense, great propriety with all the social attributes, 
 and all the graces of hospitality, equal to any man. He well knew 
 how to appretiate men of talents, and how near a kin the Muse of 
 poetry was to that art, of which he was so eminent a master. From 
 Goldsmith he caught the subject of his famous Ugolino ; what aids 
 he got from others, if he got any, were worthily bestowed and hap- 
 pily applied. 
 
 There is something in Goldsmith's prose, that to my ear is un- 
 commonly sweet and harmonious ; it is clear, simple, easy to be 
 understood ; we never want to read his period twice over, except 
 for the pleasure it bestows ; obscurity never calls us back to a re- 
 petition of it. That he was a poet there is no doubt, but the pau- 
 city of his verses does not allow us to rank him in that high station, 
 where his genius might have carried him. There must be bulk, 
 variety and grandeur of design to constitute a first-rate poet. The 
 Deserted Village, Traveller and Hermit are all specimens beautiful 
 as such, but they are only birds eggs on a string, and eggs of small 
 birds too. One great magnificent whole must be accomplished be- 
 fore we can pronounce upon the maker to be the o ^oivtr^. Pope 
 himself never earned this title by a work of any magnitude but his 
 Homer, and that being a translation only constitutes him an accom- 
 plished versifier. Distress drove Goldsmith upon undertakings, nei- 
 ther congenial with his studies, nor worthy of his talents. I re- 
 member him, when in his chamber in the Temple, he shewed me 
 the beginning of his Animated Nature ; it was with a sigh, such as 
 
 \ 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 173 
 
 genius draws, when hard necessity diverts it from its bent to drudge 
 for bread, and talk of birds and beasts and creeping things, which, 
 Pidcock's show-man would have done as well. Poor fellow, he 
 hardly knew an ass from a mule, nor a turkey from a goose, but 
 when he saw it on the table. But publishers hate poetry, and Pa- 
 ternoster-Row is not Parnassus. Even the mighty Doctor Hill, 
 who was not a very delicate feeder, could not make a dinner out of 
 the press till by a happy transformation into Hannah Glass he turn- 
 ed himself into a cook, and sold receipts for made dishes to all the 
 savoury readers in the kingdom. Then indeed the press acknow- 
 ledged him second in fame only to John Bunyan ; his feasts kept 
 pace in sale with Nelson's fasts, and when his own name was fairly 
 written out of credit, he wrote himself into immortality under an 
 alias. Now though necessity, or I should rather say the desire of 
 finding money for a masquerade, drove Oliver Goldsmith upon 
 abridging histories and turning Buffon into English, yet I much 
 doubt if without that spur he would ever have put his Pegasus into 
 action ; no, if he had been rich, the world would have been poorer 
 than it is by the loss of all the treasures of his genius and the con- 
 tributions of his pen. 
 
 Who will say that Johnson himself would have been such a 
 champion in literature, such a front-rank soldier in the fields of 
 fame, if he had not been pressed into the service, and driven on to 
 glory with the bayonet of sharp necessity pointed at his back ? If 
 fortune had turned him into a field of clover, he would have laid 
 down and rolled in it. The mere manual labour of writing would 
 not have allowed his lassitude and love of ease to have taken the 
 pen out of the inkhorn, unless the cravings of hunger had reminded 
 him that he must fill the sheet before he saw the table cloth. He 
 might indeed have knocked down Osbourne for a blockhead, but 
 he would not have knocked him down with a folio of his own 
 writing. He would perhaps have been the dictator of a club, and 
 wherever he sate down to conversation, there must have been that 
 splash of strong bold thought about him, that we might still have 
 had a collectanea after his death ; but of prose I guess not much, 
 of works of labour none, of fancy perhaps something more, espe- 
 cially of poetry, which under favour I conceive was not his tower 
 •^f strength. I think we should have had his Rasselas at all events. 
 
174 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 for he was likely enough to have written at Voltaire, and brought 
 the question to the test, if infidelity is any aid to wit. An orator 
 he must have been ; not improbably a parliamentarian, and, if such, 
 certainly an oppositionist, for he preferred to talk against the tide. 
 He would indubitably have been no member of the Whig Club, no 
 partisan of Wilkes, no friend of Hume, no believer in Macpherson ; 
 he would have put up prayers for early rising, and laid in bed all 
 day, and with the most active resolutions possible been the most in- 
 dolent mortal living. He was a good man by nature, a great man 
 by genius, we are now to enquire what he was by compulsion. 
 
 Johnson's first style was naturally energetic, his middle style 
 was turgid to a fault, his latter style was softened down and har- 
 monized into periods, more tuneful and more intelligible. His 
 execution was rapid, yet his mind was not easily provoked into ex- 
 ertion ; the variety we find in his writings was not the variety of 
 choice arising from the impulse of his proper genius, but tasks im- 
 posed upon him by the dealers in ink, and contracts on his part sub- 
 mitted to in satisfaction of the pressing calls of hungry want ; for, 
 painful as it is to relate, I have heard that illustrious scholar assert 
 (and he never varied from the truth of fact) that he subsisted him- 
 self for a considerable space of time upon the scanty pittance of 
 four-pence half-penny per day. How melancholy to reflect that his 
 vast trunk and stimulating appetite were to be supported by what 
 will barely feed the weaned infant ! Less, much less, than Mas- 
 ter Betty has earned in one night, would have cheered the mighty 
 mind, and maintained the athletic body of Samuel Johnson in com- 
 fort and abundance for a twelvemonth. Alas ! I am not fit to paint his 
 character ; nor is there need of it ; Etiam mortuus loquitur : every 
 man who can buy a book, has bought a Bosivdl ; Johnson is known 
 to all the reading world. I also knew him well, respected him 
 highly, loved him sincerely : it was never my chance to see him in 
 those moments of moroseness and ill humour, which are imputed 
 to him, perhaps with truth, for who would slander him ? But I 
 am not warranted by any experience of those humours to speak of 
 him otherwise than of a friend, who always met me with kindness, 
 and from whom I never separated without regret. When I sought 
 his company he had no capricious excuses for withholding it, but 
 lent himself to every invitation with cordiality, and brought good 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 175 
 
 humour with him, that gave life to the circle he was in. He pre- 
 sented himself always in his fashion of apparel ; a brown coat with 
 metal buttons, black waistcoat and worsted stockings, with a flow- 
 ing bob wig was the style of his wardrobe, but they were in per- 
 fectly good trim, and with the ladies, which he generally met, he 
 had nothing of the slovenly philosopher about him ; he fed hearti- 
 ly, but not voraciously, and was extremely courteous in his com- 
 mendations of any dish, that pleased his palate ; he suffered his 
 next neighbour to squeeze the China oranges into his wine glass 
 after dinner, which else perchance had gone aside, and trickled 
 into his shoes, for the good man had neither straight sight nor 
 steady nerves. 
 
 At the tea table he had considerable demands upon his favour- 
 ite beverage, and I remember when Sir Joshua Reynolds at my 
 house reminded him that he had drank eleven cups, he replied — 
 " Sir, I did not count your glasses of wine, why should you num- 
 " ber up my cups of tea ?" And then laughing in perfect good hu- 
 mour he added — " Sir, I should have released the lady from any 
 " further trouble, if it had not been for your remark ; but you have 
 " reminded me that I want one of the dozen, and I must request 
 " Mrs. Cumberland to round up my number — " When he saw the 
 readiness and complacency, with which my wife obeyed his call, he 
 turned a kind and cheerful look upon her and said — " Madam, I 
 " must tell you for your comfort, you have escaped much better 
 " than a certain lady did awhile ago, upon whose patience I intru- 
 " ded greatly more than I have done on yours ; but the lady asked 
 " me for no other purpose but to make a Zany of me, and set me 
 " gabbling to a parcel of people I knew nothing of ; so, madam, I 
 " had my revenge of her ; for I swallowed five and twenty cups of 
 " her tea, and did not treat her with as many words — " I can only 
 say my wife would have made tea for him as long as the New River- 
 could have supplied her with water. 
 
 It was on such occasions he was to be seen in his happiest mo- 
 ments, when animated by the cheering attention of friends whom 
 he liked, he would give full scope to those talents for narration, in 
 which I verily think he was unrivalled both in the brilliancy of his 
 wit, the flow of his humour and the energy of his language. Anec- 
 dotes of times past, scenes of his own life, and characters of hu- 
 
176 MEMOIRS Or 
 
 mourists, enthusiasts, crack-brained projectors and a variety of 
 strange beings, that he had chanced upon, when detailed by him 
 at length, and garnished with those episodical remarks, sometimes 
 comic, sometimes grave, which he would throw in with infinite fer- 
 tility of fancy, were a treat, which, though not always to be purcha- 
 sed by five and twenty cups of tea, I have often had the happiness 
 to enjoy for less than half the number. He was easily led into topics ; 
 it was not easy to turn him from them ; but who would wish it ? If 
 a man wanted to shew himself off by getting up and riding upon 
 him, he was sure to run restive and kick him off : you might as 
 safely have backed Bucephalus, before Alexander had lunged him. 
 Neither did he always like to be over-fondled ; when a certain gen- 
 tleman out-acted his part in this way, he is said to have demanded 
 of him — " What provokes your risibility, Sir ? Have I said any 
 " thing that you understand ? — Then I ask pardon of the rest of 
 " the company — •" But this is Henderson's anecdote of him, and 
 I won't swear he did not make it himself. The following apology 
 however I myself drew from him, when speaking of his tour I ob- 
 served to him upon some passages as rather too sharp upon a coun- 
 try and people, who had entertained him so handsomely — " Do you 
 " think so, Cumbey ?" he replied. " Then I give you leave to say, 
 u and you may quote me for it, that there are more gentlemen in 
 " Scotland than there are shoes. — " 
 
 But I don't relish these sayings, and I am to blame for retailing 
 them ; we can no more judge of men by these droppings from their 
 lips, than we can guess at the contents of the river Nile by a pitcher 
 of its Water. If we were to estimate the wise men of Greece by 
 Laer ius's scraps of their sayings, what a parcel of old women should 
 we account them to have been ! 
 
 The expanse of matter, which Johnson had found room for in 
 his intellectual storehouse, the correctness with which he had as- 
 sorted it, and the readiness with which he could turn to any article 
 that he wanted to make present use of, were the properties in him, 
 which I contemplated with the most admiration. Some have called 
 him a savage ; they were only so far right in the resemblance, as 
 that, like the savage, he never came into suspicious company without 
 his spear in his hand and his bow and quiver at his back. In quickness 
 of intellect few ever equalled him, in profundity of erudition many 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 177 
 
 have surpassed him. I do not think he had a pure and classical 
 taste, nor was apt to be best pleased with the best authors, but as 
 a general scholar he ranks very high. When I would have con- 
 sulted him upon certain points of literature, whilst I was mak- 
 ing my collections from the Greek dramatists for my essays in 
 The Observer, he candidly acknowledged that his studies had 
 not lain amongst them, and certain it is there is very little show 
 of literature in his Ramblers, and in the passage, where he quotes 
 Aristotle, he has not correctly given the meaning of the original. 
 But this was merely the result of haste and inattention, neither is 
 he so to be measured, for he had so many parts and properties of 
 scholarship about him, that you can only fairly review him as a 
 man of general knowledge. As a poet his translations of Juvenal 
 gave him a name in the world, and gained him the applause of 
 Pope. He was a writer of tragedy, but his Irene gives him no 
 conspicuous rank in that department. As an essayist he merits 
 more consideration; his Ramblers are in every body's hands; 
 about them opinions vary, and I rather believe the style of these 
 essays is not now considered as a good model ; this he corrected 
 in his more advanced age, as may be seen in his Lives of the Po- 
 ets, where his diction, though occasionally elaborate and highly 
 metaphorical, is not nearly so inflated and ponderous, as in the 
 Ramblers. He was an acute and able critic ; the enthusiastic ad- 
 mirers of Milton and the friends of Gray will have something to 
 complain of, but criticism is a task, which no man executes to all 
 men's satisfaction. His selection of a certain passage in the 
 Mourning Bride of Congreve, which he extols so rapturously, is 
 certainly a most unfortunate sample ; but unless the oversights 
 of a critic are less pardonable than those of other men, we may 
 pass this over in a work of merit, which abounds in beauties far 
 more prominent than its defects, and much more pleasing to con- 
 template. In works professedly of fancy he is not very copious; 
 yet in his Rasselas we have much to admire, and enough to make 
 us wish for more. It is the work of an illuminated mind, and of- 
 fers many wise and deep reflections, clothed in beautiful and 
 harmonious diction. We are not indeed familiar with such per- 
 sonages as Johnson has imagined for the characters of his fable, 
 but if we are not exceedingly interested in their story, we are in- 
 finitely gratified with their conversation and remarks. In conclu- 
 sion, Johnson's sera was not wanting in men to be distinguished 
 
 a a 
 
178 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 for their talents, yet if one^was to be selected out as the first great 
 literary character of the time, I believe all voices would concur 
 in naming him. Let me here insert the following lines, descrip- 
 tive of his character, though not long since written by me and t© 
 be found in a public print 
 
 " On Samuel Johnson. 
 " Herculean strength and a Stentorian voice, 
 " Of wit a fund, of words a countless choice: 
 " In learning rather various than profound, 
 " In truth intrepid, in religion sound : 
 " A trembling form and a distorted sight, 
 " But firm in judgment and in genius bright; 
 " In controversy seldom known to spare, 
 " But humble as the Publican in prayer; 
 " To more, than merited his kindness, kind, 
 "And, though in manners harsh, of friendly mind; 
 "Deep ting'd with melancholy's blackest shade, 
 " And, though prepar'd to die, of death afraid — 
 " Such Johnson was; of him with justice vain, 
 " When will this nation see his like again ?" 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith began at this time to write for the stage, and 
 it is to be lamented that he did not begin at an earlier period of 
 life to turn his genius to dramatic compositions, and much more 
 to be lamented, that, after he had begun, the succeeding period of 
 his life was so soon cut off. There is no doubt but his genius, 
 when more familiarised to the business, would have inspired him 
 to accomplish great things. His first comedy of The Good-natured 
 Man was read and applauded in its manuscript by Edmund Burke, 
 and the circle in which he then lived and moved: under such pa- 
 tronage it came with those testimonials to the director of Covent 
 Garden theatre, as could not fail to open all the avenues to the 
 stage, and bespeak all the favour and attention from the perform- 
 ers and the public, that the applauding voice of him, whose ap- 
 plause was fame itself, could give it. This comedy has enough 
 to justify the good opinion of its literary patron, and secure its 
 author against any loss of reputation, for it has the stamp of a 
 man of talents upon it, though its popularity with the audience 
 did not quite keep pace with the expectations, that were grounded 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 179 
 
 on the fiat it had antecedently been honoured with. It was a first 
 effort however, and did not discourage its ingenious author from 
 invoking his Muse a second time. It was now, whilst his labours 
 were in projection, that I first met him at the British Coffee-house, 
 as I have already related somewhat out of place. He dined with 
 us as a visitor, introduced as I think by sir Joshua Reynolds, and 
 we held a consultation upon the naming of his comedy, which 
 some of the company had read, and which he detailed to the rest 
 after his manner with a great deal of good humour. Somebody 
 suggested — She Stoofis to Conquer — and that title was agreed upon. 
 When I perceived an embarrassment in his manner towards me, 
 which I could readily account for, I lost no time to put him at his 
 ease, and I flatter myself I was successful. As my heart was ever 
 warm towards my contemporaries, I did not counterfeit, but really 
 felt a. cordial interest in his behalf, and I had soon the pleasure to 
 perceive that he credited me for my sincerity — u You and 1," said 
 he, " have very different motives for resorting to the stage. I 
 write for money, and care little about fame — ." I was touched 
 by this melancholy confession, and from that moment busied my- 
 self assiduously amongst all my connexions in his cause. The 
 whole company pledged themselves to the support of the ingenu- 
 ous poet, and faithfully kept their promise to him. In fact he 
 needed all that could be done for him, as Mr. Colman, then ma- 
 nager of Covent Garden theatre, protested against the comedy, 
 when as yet he had not struck upon a name for it. Johnson at 
 length stood forth in all his terrors as champion for the piece, and 
 backed by us his clients and retainers demanded a fair trial. Col- 
 man again protested, but, with that salvo for his own reputation, 
 liberally lent his stage to one of the most eccentric productions, 
 that ever found its way to it, and She Stoops to Conquer was put 
 into rehearsal. 
 
 We were not over-sanguine of success, but perfectly deter- 
 mined to struggle hard for our author: we accordingly assembled 
 our strength at the Shakspeare Tavern in a considerable body for 
 an early dinner, where Samuel Johnson took the chair at the head 
 of a long table, and was the life and soul of the corps: the poet 
 took post silently by his side with the Burkes, Sir Joshua Rey- 
 nolds, Fitzherbert, Caleb Whitefoord and a phalanx of North-Bri- 
 tish pre-determined applauders, under the banner of Major Mills, 
 all good men and true. Our illustrious president was in inimita- 
 
180 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ble glee, and poor Goldsmith that day took all his raillery as pa- 
 tiently and complacently as my friend Boswell would have done 
 any day, or every day of his life. In the mean time we did not 
 forget our duty, and though we had a better comedy going, in 
 which Johnson was chief actor, we betook ourselves in good time 
 to our separate and allotted posts, and waited the awful drawing 
 up of the curtain. As our stations were pre-concerted, so were 
 our signals for plaudits arranged and determined upon in a man- 
 ner, that gave every one his cue where to look for them, and how 
 to follow them up. 
 
 We had amongst us a very worthy and efficient member, long 
 since lost to his friends and the world at large, Adam Drummond, 
 of amiable memory, who was gifted by nature with the most sono- 
 rous, and at the same time the most contagious, laugh, that ever 
 echoed from the human lungs. The neighing of the horse of the 
 son of Hystaspes was a whisper to it; the whole thunder of the 
 theatre could not drown it. This kind and ingenuous friend fairly 
 fore-warned us that he knew no more when to give his fire than 
 the cannon did that was planted on a battery. He desired there- 
 fore to have a flapper at his elbow, and I had the honour to be de- 
 puted to that office. I planted him in an upper box, pretty nearly 
 over the stage, in full view of the pit and galleries, and perfectly 
 well situated to give the echo all its play through the hollows and 
 recesses of the theatre. The success of our manoeuvres was com- 
 plete. All eyes were upon Johnson, who sate in a front row of a 
 side box, and when he laughed every body thought themselves 
 warranted to roar. In the mean time my friend followed signals 
 with a rattle so irresistibly comic, that, when he had repeated it 
 several times, the attention of the spectators was so engrossed by 
 his person and performances, that the progress of the play seem- 
 ed likely to become a secondary object, and I found it prudent to 
 insinuate to him that he might halt his music without any preju- 
 dice to the author; but alas, it was now too late to rein him in; 
 he had laughed upon my signal where he found no joke, and now 
 unluckily he fancied that he found a joke in almost every thing 
 that was said; so that nothing in nature could be more mal-a-pro- 
 pos than some of his bursts every now and then were. These 
 were dangerous moments, for the pit began to take umbrage; 
 but we carried our play through, and triumphed not only over 
 Colman's judgment, but our own. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 181 
 
 As the life of poor Oliver Goldsmith was now fast approach- 
 ing to its period, I conclude my account of him with gratitude for 
 the epitaph he bestowed on me in his poem called Retaliation. 
 It was upon a proposal started by Edmund Burke, that a party of 
 friends who had dined together at sir Joshua Reynolds's and my 
 house, should meet at the St. James's Coffee-House, which ac- 
 cordingly took place, and was occasionally repeated with much fes- 
 tivity and good fellowship. Dr. Bernard, Dean of Deny, a very 
 amiable and old friend of mine, Dr. Douglas, since Bishop of 
 Salisbury, Johnson, David Garrick, sir Joshua Reynolds, Oliver 
 Goldsmith, Edmund and Richard Burke, Hickey, with two or 
 three others constituted our party. At one of these meetings 
 an idea was suggested of extemporary epitaphs upon the parties 
 present; pen and ink were called for, and Garrick off hand wrote 
 an epitaph with a good deal of humour upon poor Goldsmith, 
 who was the first in jest, as he proved to be in reality, that we 
 committed to the grave. The dean also gave him an epitaph, 
 and sir Joshua illuminated the dean's verses with a sketch of his 
 bust in pen and ink, inimitably caricatured. Neither Johnson, nor 
 Burke wrote any thing, and when I perceived Oliver was rather 
 sore, and seemed to watch me with that kind of attention, which 
 indicated his expectation of something in the same kind of bur- 
 lesque with their's, I thought it time to press the joke no fur- 
 ther, and wrote a few couplets at a side-table, which when I had 
 finished and was called upon by the company to exhibit, Gold- 
 smith with much agitation besought me to spare him, and I was 
 about to tear them, when Johnson wrested them out of my hand, 
 and in a loud voice read them at the table. I have now lost all re- 
 collection of them, and in fact they were little worth remember- 
 ing, but as they were serious and complimentary, the effect they 
 had upon Goldsmith was the more pleasing for being so entirely 
 unexpected. The concluding line, which is the only one I can 
 ©all to mind, was — 
 
 " All mourn the poet, I lament the man — ." 
 
 This I recollect, because he repeated it several times, and 
 seemed much gratified by it. At our next meeting he produced 
 his epitaphs as they stand in the little posthumous poem above- 
 mentioned, and this was the last time he ever enjoyed the com- 
 pany of his friends. 
 
182 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 As he had served up the company under the similitude of va- 
 rious sorts of meat, I had in the mean time figured them under 
 that of liquors, which little poem I rather think was printed, but 
 of this I am not sure. Goldsmith sickened and died, and we had 
 one concluding meeting at my house, when it was decided to pub- 
 lish his Retaliation, and Johnson at the same time undertook to 
 write an epitaph for our lamented friend, to whom we proposed to 
 erect a monument by subscription in Westminster- Abbey. This 
 epitaph Johnson executed ; but in the criticism, that was attempt- 
 ed against it, and in the Round-Robin signed at Mr. Beauclerc's 
 house I had no part. I had no acquaintance with that gentleman, 
 and was never in his house in my life. 
 
 Thus died Oliver Goldsmith in his chambers in the Temple 
 at a period of life, when his genius was yet in its vigour, and for- 
 tune seemed disposed to smile upon him. I have heard Dr. John- 
 son relate with infinite humour the circumstance of his rescuing 
 him from a ridiculous dilemma by the purchase-money of his Vi- 
 car of Wakefield, which he sold on his behalf to Dodsley, and, as 
 I think, for the sum of ten pounds only. He had run up a debt 
 with his landlady for board and lodging of some few pounds, and 
 was at his wit's-end how to wipe off the score and keep a roof 
 over his head, except by closing with a very staggering proposal 
 on her part, and taking his creditor to wife, whose charms were 
 very far from alluring, whilst her demands were extremely urgent. 
 In this crisis of his fate he was found by Johnson in the act of me- 
 ditating on the melancholy alternative before him. He shewed 
 Johnson his manuscript of The Vicar of Wakefield, but seemed 
 to be without any plan, or even hope, of raising money upon the 
 disposal of it; when Johnson cast his eye upon it, he discovered 
 something that gave him hope, and immediately took it to Dods- 
 ley, who paid down the price above-mentioned in ready-money, 
 and added an eventual condition upon its future sale. Johnson de- 
 scribed the precautions he took in concealing the amount of the 
 sum he had in hand, which he prudently administered to him by 
 a guinea at a time. In the event he paid off the landlady's score, 
 and redeemed the person of his friend from her embraces. Gold- 
 smith had the joy of finding his ingenious work succeed beyond 
 his hopes, and from that time began to place a confidence in the 
 resources of bis talents, which thenceforward enabled him to keep 
 his station in society, and cultivate the friendship of many emi- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 183 
 
 nent persons, who, whilst they smiled at his eccentricities, es- 
 teemed him for his genius and good qualities. 
 
 My father had been translated to the see of Kilmore, which 
 placed him in a more civilised country, and lodged him in a more 
 comfortable house. I continued my yearly visits, and again went 
 over to Ireland with part of my family, and passed my whole sum- 
 mer recess at Kilmore. I had with unspeakable regret perceived 
 some symptoms of an alarming nature about him, which seemed 
 to indicate the breaking up of a most excellent constitution, which, 
 nursed by temperance and regularity, had hitherto been blest with 
 such an uninterrupted course of health, that he had never through 
 his whole life been confined a single day to his bed, except when 
 he had the small pox in his childhood. In all his appetites and 
 passions he was the most moderate of men : ever cheerful in his 
 family and with his friends, but never yielding to the slightest ex- 
 cess. My mother in the mean time had been gradually sinking 
 into a state of extreme debility and loss of health, and I plainly 
 saw that my father's ceaseless agitation and anxiety on her ac- 
 count had deeply affected his constitution. He had flattered me 
 with the hope that he would attempt a journey to England with 
 her, and in that expectation, when my time was expired, I pain- 
 fully took leave of him — and, alas! never saw him, or my mother, 
 more. 
 
 In the winter of that same year, whilst I was at Bath by ad- 
 vice for my own health, I received the first afflicting intelligence 
 of his death from Primate Robinson, who loved him truly and la- 
 mented him most sincerely. This sad event was speedily suc- 
 ceeded by the death of my mother, whose weak and exhausted 
 frame sunk under the blow: those senses so acute, and that mind 
 so richly endowed, were in an instant taken from her, and after 
 languishing in that melancholy state for a short but distressful 
 period, she followed him to the grave. 
 
 Thus was I bereft of father and mother without the consola- 
 tion of having paid them the last mournful duties of a son. One 
 surviving sister, the best and most benevolent of human beings, 
 attended them in their last moments, and performed those duties, 
 which my hard fortune would not suffer me to share. 
 
 In a small patch of ground, enclosed with stone walls, adjoin- 
 ing to the church-yard of Kilmore, but not within the pale of the 
 consecrated ground, my father's corpse was interred beside the 
 
184 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 grave of the venerable and exemplary Bishop Bedel. This little 
 spot, as containing the remains of that good and great man, my 
 father had fenced and guarded with particular devotion, and he 
 had more than once pointed it out to me as his destined grave, 
 saying to me, as I well remember, in the words of the Old Pro- 
 phet of Beth-el, " When I am dead, then bury me in this se- 
 pulchre, wherein the man of God is buried ; lay my bones be- 
 side his bones—." This injunction was exactly fulfilled, and the 
 Protestant Bishop of Kilmore, the mild friend of mankind, the im- 
 partial benefactor and unprejudiced protector of his Catholic poor, 
 who almost adored him whilst living, was not permitted to deposit 
 his remains within the precincts of his own church-yard, though 
 they howled over his grave, and rent the air with their savage la- 
 mentations. 
 
 Thus, whilst their carcases monopolise the consecrated ground, 
 his bones and the bones of Bedel make sacred the unblest soil, in 
 which they moulder ; but whilst I believe and am persuaded, that 
 his incorruptible is received into bliss eternal, what concerns it me 
 where his corruptible is laid? The corpse of my lamented mother, 
 the instructress of my youth, the friend and charm of my maturer 
 years, is deposited by his side. ,. 
 
 My father's patronage at Kilmore was very considerable, and 
 this he strictly bestowed upon the clergy of his diocese, promot- 
 ing the curates to the smaller livings, as vacancies occurred, and 
 exacting from every man, whom he put into a living, where there 
 was no parsonage-house, a solemn promise to build; but I am sorry 
 to say that in no single instance was that promise fulfilled ; which 
 breach of faith gave him great concern, and in the cases of some 
 particular friends, whom he had promoted in full persuasion of 
 their keeping faith with him, afflicted him very sensibly, as I had 
 occasion to know and lament. The opportunities he had of bene- 
 fiting his fortune and family by fines, and the lapse of leases, 
 which might have been considerable, he honourably declined to 
 avail himself of, for when he had tendered his renewals upon the 
 most moderate terms, and these had been delayed or rejected in 
 his days of health, he peremptorily withstood their offers, when 
 he found his life was hastening to its period, esteeming it accord- 
 ing to his high sense of honour not perfectly fair to his successor 
 to take what he called the packing-penny, and sweep clean before 
 his departure. He left his see therefore much more valuable 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 185 
 
 than he found it by this liberal and disinterested conduct, by which 
 it was natural to hope he had secured to his executors the good 
 offices and assistance of his successor in recovering the outstand- 
 ing arrears due to his survivors — but in that hope we were shame- 
 fully disappointed; neither these arrears, nor even his legal de- 
 mands for monies expended on improvements, beneficial to the 
 demesne, and regularly certified by his diocesan, could be reco- 
 vered by me for my sister's use, till the Lord Primate took the 
 cause in hand, and enforced the sluggish and unwilling satisfac- 
 tion from the bishop, who succeeded him. 
 
 Previous to these unhappy events I had written my fourth co- 
 medy of The Choleric Man, and left it with Mr. Garrick for repre- 
 sentation. Whilst I was at Bath the rehearsals were going on, 
 and the play was brought upon the stage during my absence. It 
 succeeded to the utmost of my wishes, but when I perceived that 
 the malevolence of the public prints suffered no abatement, and 
 saw myself charged with having vented contemptuous and illibe- 
 ral speeches in the theatre, where I could not have been, against 
 productions of my contemporaries, which I had neither heard nor 
 seen, galled with such false and cruel aspersions, which, under the 
 pressure of my recent losses and misfortunes, fell on me with ac- 
 cumulated asperity, I was induced to retort upon my defamers, 
 and accordingly prefixed to the printed copy of my comedy a De- 
 dication to Detraction, in which I observe that " Ill-health and 
 other melancholy attentions, which I need not explain, kept me 
 at a distance from the scene of its decision — ." The chief object 
 of this dedication was directed to a certain tract then in some de- 
 gree of circulation, entitled An Essay on the Theatre, in which the 
 writer professes to draw a comparison between laughing and senti- 
 mental Comedy, and under the latter description particularly points 
 his observations at The Fashionable Lover. There is no occasion 
 for me to speak further of this dedication, as it is attached to the 
 comedy, which is yet in print, except to observe that I can still 
 repeat with truth what I there assert to my imaginary patron, that 
 " I can take my conscience to witness I have paid him no sacri- 
 fice, devoted no time or study to his service, nor am a man in any 
 respect qualified to repay his favours — ." 
 
 Garrick wrote the epilogue to this comedy, as he also did that 
 to the West-Indian, and Mrs. Abington spoke it. That charming 
 actress was now at the height of her fame, and performed the part 
 
 Bb 
 
186 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of Laetitia in a style, that gave great support to the representation. 
 The two brothers, formed upon the plan of Terence's Adelphi, 
 •were well cast between Mr. King and Mr. Aickin, and Western 
 personated Jack Nightshade with inimitable humour. The chief 
 effect in this play is produced by the strong contrast of character 
 between Manlove and the Choleric Man, and again with more 
 4comic force between Charles the courtly gentleman and Jack the 
 rustic booby, who at the first meeting with his brother exclaims 
 ■ — " Who wou'd think you and I were whelps of the same breed? 
 You are as sleek as my lady's lap-dog, I am rough as a water- 
 spaniel, be-daggled and be-mired, as if I had come out of the fens 
 with wild fowl ; why, I have brought off as much soil upon my 
 boots only as wou'd set up a Norfolk farmer — ." 
 
 It was observed of this comedy that the spirit of the two first 
 acts was not kept up through the concluding three, and the gene- 
 ral sense of the public was said to confirm this remark, therefore 
 I presume it is true. It was a successful play in its time, though 
 it has not been so often before the public as any of the three, 
 which preceded it, and since W T eston's decease it has been con- 
 signed to the shelf. If ever there shall be found an editor of my 
 dramatic works as an entire collection, this comedy will stand for- 
 ward as one of the most prominent amongst them. The plot in- 
 deed is not original, but the characters are humorously contrast- 
 ed, and there is point and spirit in the dialogue. Such as it is, 
 it was the fourth produced in four succeeding seasons, and if I 
 acquired any small share of credit by those, which preceded it, I 
 did not forfeit it by the publication of this. To this comedy I ap- 
 positely affixed the following motto from Plautus — 
 
 Jam istoec insifiientia est 
 Sic iram in firomfitu gerere. 
 
 In the autumn of this year I made a tour in company with my 
 friend the Earl of Warwick to the Lakes in Cumberland. He 
 took with him Mr. Smith, well known to the public for his ele- 
 gant designs after nature in Switzerland, Italy, and elsewhere: 
 my noble friend himself is a master in the art of drawing and de- 
 signing landscapes in a bold and striking character, of which our 
 tour afforded a vast variety. Whilst we passed a few days at 
 Keswick, I hastily composed an irregular ode, " which was lite- 
 rally struck out on the spot, and is addressed to the Sun ; for as 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 187 
 
 the season was advancing towards winter, we had frequent temp- 
 tations to invoke that luminary, who was never very gracious to 
 our suit, except whilst we were viewing the lake of Keswick and 
 its accompaniments." 
 
 With this invocation my ode commences— 
 " Soul of the world, refulgent Sun, 
 " Oh, take not from my ravish'd sight 
 " Those golden beams of living light, 
 w Nor, ere thy daily course be run 
 
 " Precipitate the night. 
 " Lo, where the ruffian clouds arise, 
 " Usurp the abdicated skies, 
 " And seize th' xtherial throne : 
 " Sullen sad the scene appears, 
 " Huge Hebvellyn streams with tears j 
 "Hark! 'tis giant Skiddaw's groan; 
 " I hear terrific Lawdoor roar; 
 " The sabbath of thy reign is o'er, 
 " The anarchy's begun. 
 " Father of light, return; break forth, refulgent Sun ! v 
 &c. &c. 
 This Ode, with one addressed to Doctor James, was published 
 and sold by Mr. Robson in New Bond-street in the year 1776, 
 and is I believe to be found in the Tour to the Lakes. The Ode 
 to Doctor Robert James was suggested by the recovery of my 
 second son from a dangerous fever, effected under Providence 
 by his celebrated powders. I am tempted to insert the following 
 short extract, descriptive of the person of Death 
 
 " On his pale steed erect the monarch stands, 
 " His dirk and javelin glittering in his hands : 
 " This from a distance deals th' ignoble blow, 
 "And that dispatches the resisting foe: 
 " Whilst all beneath him, as he flies, 
 "Dire are the tossings, deep the cries, 
 " The landscape darkens and the season dies — . v 
 &c. &c. 
 These Odes I addressed to Mr. George Romney, then lately 
 teturned from pursuing his studies at Rome. 
 
 The next piece that I presented to the stage under the ma- 
 nagement of Mr. Garrick was Timon of At hens , altered from 
 
188 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Shakspeare, to which I prefixed the following Advertisement, 
 when it was published by Becket — 
 
 " I wish I could have brought this play upon the stage with 
 less violence to its author, and not so much responsibility on my 
 own part. New characters of necessity require some display. 
 Many original passages of the first merit are still retained, and 
 in the contemplation of them my errors I hope will be overlooked 
 or forgiven. In examining the brilliancy of a diamond few peo- 
 ple throw away any remarks upon the dulness of the foil — ." 
 Barry played the part of Timon, and Mrs. Barry that of Evan- 
 the, which was engrafted on the original for the purpose of writ- 
 ing up the character of Alcibiades, in which a young actor of the 
 name of Crofts made his first appearance on the stage. As the 
 entire part of Evanthe, and with very few exceptions the whole of 
 Alcibiades are new, the author of this alteration has much to an- 
 swer for, and much it behoved him to make his new matter har- 
 monize with the old ; with what degree of success this is done it 
 scarce becomes me to say; the public approbation seemed to 
 sanction the attempt at the first production of the play, the neg- 
 lect, with which the stage has passed it over since, disposes us to 
 draw conclusions less in favour of its merit. 
 
 As few, who read these memoirs, have ever met, or probably 
 ever will meet with this altered play, which is now out of print, I 
 trust that such at least will forgive me if I extract a short speci- 
 men from my own new matter in the second act — ■ 
 
 "Act 2. Scene 3. 
 
 " Lucullus and Lucius. 
 
 Lucul. — " How now, my Lord ; in private ? 
 Luc. — "Yes, I thought so, 
 
 " Till an unwelcome intermeddling Lord 
 
 " Stept in and ask'd the question. 
 Lucul. — "What, in anger! 
 
 "By heav'ns I '11 gall him! for he stands before me. 
 
 " In the broad sunshine of Lord Timon's bounty, 
 
 " And throws my better merits into shade. \_Aside. 
 
 Luc. — "Now would I kill him if I durst. {Aside. 
 
 Lucul.—" Methinks 
 
 "You look but coldly. What has cross'd your suit? 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 189 
 
 " Alas, poor Lucius ! but I read your fate 
 " In that unkind-one's frown. 
 
 Luc. — "No doubt, my Lord, 
 
 " You, that receive them ever, are well vers'd 
 " In the unkind-one's frowns : as the clear stream 
 " Reflects your person, so may you espy 
 " In the sure mirror of her scornful brow 
 " The clouded picture of your own despair. 
 
 Lucul. — "Come, you presume too far; talk not thus idly 
 " To me, who know you. 
 
 Luc. — " Know me ? 
 
 Lucul. — " Aye, who know you. 
 
 " For one, that courses up and down on errands, 
 
 " A stale retainer at Lord Timon's table ; 
 
 " A man grown great by making legs and cringes, 
 
 " By winding round a wanton spendthrift's heart, 
 
 " And gulling him at pleasure — Now do I know you? 
 
 Luc. — " Gods, must I bear this? bear it from Lucullus? 
 
 " I, who first brought thee to Lord Timon's stirrup, 
 
 " Set thee in sight and breath'd into thine ear 
 
 "The breath of hope? What hadst thou been, ingrateful, 
 
 " But that I took up Jove's imperfect work, 
 
 "Gave thee a shape and made thee into man? 
 
 " Alcibiadcs to them. 
 
 Alcib.— " What, wrangling, Lords, like hungry curs for crusts ? 
 
 " Away with this unmanly war of words ! 
 
 " Pluck forth your shining rapiers from their shells, 
 
 " And level boldly at each other's hearts. 
 
 " Hearts did I say ? Your hearts are gone from home, 
 
 " And hid in Timon's coffers — Fie upon it! 
 Luc. — " My Lord Lucullus, I shall find a time. 
 Alcib.—" Hah ! find a time! the brave make time and place. 
 
 " Gods, gods, what things are men! you '11 find a time? 
 
 "A time for what? — To murder him in 's sleep? 
 
 " The man, who wrongs me, at the altar's foot 
 
 " I '11 seize, yea, drag him from the sheltering xgis 
 
 " Of stern Minerva. 
 Z,mc.-~" Aye; 'tis your profession. 
 Akib. — " Down on your knees and thank the gods for that, 
 
190 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " Or woe for Athens, were it left to such 
 " As you are to defend. Do ye not hate 
 " Each other heartily ? Yet neither dares 
 " To bear his trembling falchion to the sun. 
 " How tame they dangle on your coward thighs I 
 Lucid.— .« We are no soldiers, Sir. 
 Alcib. — "No, ye are Lords: 
 
 "A lazy, proud, unprofitable crew: 
 " The vermin gender'd from the rank corruption 
 " Of a luxurious state — No soldiers, say you ? 
 " And wherefore are ye none ? Have ye not life, 
 "Friends, honour, freedom, country to defend? 
 " He, that hath these, by nature is a soldier, 
 " And, when he wields his sword in their defence, 
 " Instinctively fulfils the end he lives for — ." 
 &c &c. 
 When Moody from the excellence of his acting in the part of 
 Major O'Flaherty, became the established performer of Irish 
 characters, I wrote in compliance with his wishes another Hiber- 
 nian upon a smaller scale, and composed the entertainment of 
 The Note of Hand, or Trip, to Newmarket, which was the last piece 
 of my writing, which Mr. Garrick produced upon his stage be- 
 fore he disposed of his property in Drury-lane theatre, and with- 
 drew from business. 
 
 During my residence at Bath I had been greatly pleased with 
 the performance of the part of Shylock by Mr. Henderson, and, 
 upon conversing with him, found that his wishes strongly pointed 
 to an engagement, if that could be obtained, at Drury-lane, then 
 under the direction of Mr. Garrick. When I had seen him in 
 different characters, and became confirmed in my opinion of his 
 merit, I warmly recommended him to Mr. Garrick, and was 
 empowered to contract for his engagement upon terms, that to 
 my judgment, and that of other intermediate friends, appeared 
 to be extremely reasonable. At first I conceived the negociation 
 as good as concluded, but some reports, that rather clashed with 
 mine, rendered Mr. Garrick cool in the business, and disposed to 
 consult other opinions as to Mr. Henderson's abilities ; and amongst 
 these he seemed greatly to depend upon his brother George's 
 judgment, whose report was by no means of the same sanguine 
 complexion with mine. Poor George had come to Bath in a la- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 191 
 
 racntable state of health, and must have seen Henderson with dis- 
 tempered eyes to err so egregiously as he did in his account of 
 him. It proved however in the upshot decisive against my ad- 
 vice, and after a languishing negociation, which got at length into 
 other hands than mine, Garrick made the transfer of his property 
 in the theatre without the name of Henderson upon the roll of 
 his performers. Truth obliges me to say that the negociation in 
 all its parts and passages was not creditable to Mr. Garrick, and 
 left impressions on the mind of Henderson, that time did not 
 speedily wear out. He had wit, infinite pleasantry and inimitable 
 powers of mimickry, which he felt himself privileged to employ, and 
 employed only too successfully. The season of the winter theatres 
 passed over, and when the Haymarket house opened, Henderson 
 came from Bath with all the powers of his genius on the alert, and 
 upon the summer stage fully justified everything that I and others 
 had said of him through the winter, and established himself com- 
 pletely in the public favour. A great resort of men of talents 
 now flocked around him ; the town considered him as a man in- 
 juriously rejected, and though, when they imputed it to envy I 
 am sure they were mistaken, yet when Garrick found that by 
 lending his ear to foolish opinions, and quibbling about terms, he 
 had missed the credit of engaging the best actor of the time, him- 
 self excepted, it is not to be wondered at if the praise, bestowed 
 on Henderson's performances, was not the most agreeable topic, 
 that could be chosen for his entertainment. He could not indeed 
 always avoid hearing these applauses, but he did not hold him- 
 self obliged to second them, and when curiosity drew him to the 
 summer theatre to see Henderson in the part of Shylock, he said 
 nothing in his dispraise, but he discovered great merit in Tubal, 
 which of course had been the cast of some second-rate performer. 
 Henderson in the mean time was transferred from the Hay- 
 market theatre to Drury-lane, under the direction of Mr. Sheri- 
 dan, where I brought out my tragedy of The Battle of Hastings , 
 in which he played the part of Edgar Atheling, not indeed with 
 the happiest effect, for he did not possess the graces of person or 
 deportment, and as that character demanded both, an actor might 
 have been found, who with inferior abilities would have been a 
 fitter representative of it. As for the play itself, it was published 
 and is to be found in more collections than one ; its readers will 
 probably be of opinion, that it is better written than planned ; a 
 
192 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 judgment, to which I shall most readily submit, not only in this 
 instance but in several others. 
 
 About this time died the earl of Halifax. He had filled the 
 high stations of First Lord of Trade and Plantations, Lord Lieu- 
 tenant of Ireland, Principal Secretary of State, First Lord of the 
 Admiralty, Lord Lieutenant of the county of Northampton, and 
 Knight of the Garter. He had no son, and his title is extinct. 
 His fine mansion and estate of Stansted, left to him by Mr. Lum- 
 ley-, was sold after his decease. I saw him in his last illness, when 
 his constitution was an absolute wreck: I was subpcena'd to give 
 evidence on this point before the Lord Chief Justice Mansfield, 
 and according to my conscience deposed what was my opinion of 
 his hopeless state; his physician sir Noah Thomas, whose profes- 
 sional judgment had justly more authority and influence than 
 mine, by his deposition superseded mine, and the death of his pa- 
 tient very shortly after contradicted his. I never knew that man, 
 whose life, if circumstantially detailed, would furnish a more 
 striking moral and a more tragical catastrophe. Nature endowed 
 him liberally with her gifts, Fortune showered her favours pro- 
 fusely upon him, Providence repeatedly held forth the most ex- 
 traordinary vouch-safements — What a mournful retrospection ! I 
 am not bound to dwell upon it. I turn from it with horror. 
 
 A brighter scene now meets me, for whilst I was yet a subaltern 
 in the Board of Trade, uncomfortably executing the office of .clerk 
 of the reports, by the accession of Lord George Germain to the 
 seals for the colonial department I had a new principal to look up 
 to. I had never been in a room with him in my life, except dur- 
 ing his trial at the Horse-Guards for the affair of Minden, which 
 I attended through the whole of its progress, and regularly report- 
 ed what occurred to Mr. Dodington, who was then out of town ; 
 some of his letters I preserved, but of my own, according to cus- 
 tom, I took no copies. When Lord George had taken the seals, 
 I asked my friend Colonel James Cunningham to take me with 
 him to Pail-Mall, which he did, and the ceremony of paying my 
 respects was soon dismissed. I confess I thought my new chief 
 was quite as cold in his manner as a minister need be, and rather 
 more so than my intermediate friend had given me reason to ex- 
 pect. I was now living in great intimacy with the Duke of Dor- 
 set, and asked him to do me that grace with his uncle, which the 
 honour of being acknowledged by him as his friend would natu- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 193 
 
 rally have obtained for me. This I am confident he would rea- 
 dily have done but for reasons, which precluded all desire on my 
 part to say another word upon the business. I was therefore left 
 to make my own way with a perfect stranger, whilst I was in ac- 
 tual negociation with Mr. Pownall for the secretaryship, and had 
 understood Lord Clare to be friendly to our treaty in the very mo- 
 ment, when he ceased to be our first lord, and the power of ac- 
 commodating us in our wishes was shifted from his hands into 
 those of Lord George. I considered it therefore as an opportu- 
 nity gone by, and entertained no further hopes of succeeding. A 
 very short time sufficed to confirm the idea 1 had entertained of 
 Lord George's character for decision and dispatch in business: 
 there was at once an end to all our circumlocutory reports and inef- 
 ficient forms, that had only impeded business, and substituted am- 
 biguity for precision : there was (as William Gerard Hamilton, 
 speaking of Lord George, truly observed to me) no trash in his 
 mind ; he studied no choice phrases, no superfluous words, nor 
 ever suffered the clearness of his conceptions to be clouded by the 
 obscurity of his expressions, for these were the simplest and most 
 unequivocal that could be made use of for explaining his opinions, 
 or dictating his instructions. In the meanwhile he was so mo- 
 mentarily punctual to his time, so religiously observant of his en- 
 gagements, that we, who served under him in office, felt the 
 sweets of the exchange we had so lately made in the person of 
 our chief. 
 
 I had now no other prospect but that of serving in my subor- 
 dinate situation under an easy master with security and comfort, 
 for as I was not flattered with the show of any notices from him 
 but such as I might reasonably expect, I built no hopes upon his 
 favour, nor allowed myself to think I was in any train of succeed- 
 ing in my treaty with our secretary for his office ; and as I had 
 reason to believe he was equally happy with myself in serving 
 under such a principal, I took for granted he would move no fur- 
 ther in the business. 
 
 One day, as Lord George was leaving the office, he stopt me 
 on the outside of the door, at the head of the stairs, and invited 
 me to pass some days with him and his family at Stoneland near 
 Tunbridge Wells. It was on my part so unexpected, that I 
 doubted if I had rightly understood him, as he had spoken in a 
 low and submitted voice, as his manner was, and I consulted h\% 
 
194 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 confidential secretary Mr. Doyley, whether he would advise me 
 to the journey. He told me that he knew the house was filled 
 from top to bottom with a large party, that he was sure there 
 would be no room for me, and dissuaded me from the undertak- 
 ing. I did not quite follow his advice by neglecting to present 
 myself, but I resolved to secure my retreat to Tunbridge Wells, 
 and kept my chaise in waiting to make good my quarters. When 
 I arrived at Stoneland I was met at the door by Lord George, who 
 soon discovered the precaution I had taken, and himself conduct- 
 ing me to my bed-chamber, told me it had been reserved for me, 
 and ever after would be set apart as mine, where he hoped I 
 would consent to find myself at home. This was the man I had 
 esteemed so cold, and thus was I at once introduced to the com- 
 mencement of a friendship, which day by day improved, and 
 which no one word or action of his life to come ever for an in- 
 stant interrupted or diminished. 
 
 Shortly after this it came to his knowledge that there had been 
 a treaty between Mr. Pownall and me for his resignation of the 
 place of Secretary, and he asked me what had passed ; I told him 
 how it stood, and what the conditions were, that my superior in 
 office expected for the accommodation. I had not yet mentioned 
 this to him, and probably never should. He said he would take 
 it into his own hands, and in a few days signified the king's plea- 
 sure that Mr.Pownall's resignation was accepted, and that I should 
 succeed him as Secretary in clear and full enjoyment of the place, 
 without any compensation whatsoever. Thus was I, beyond all 
 hope and without a word said to me, that could lead me to expect 
 a favour of that sort, promoted by surprise to a very advantage- 
 ous and desirable situation. I came to my office at the hour ap- 
 pointed, not dreaming of such an event, and took my seat at the 
 adjoining table, when, Mr. Pownall being called out of the room, 
 Lord George turned round to me and bade me take his chair at 
 the bottom of the table, announcing to the Board his majesty's 
 commands, as above recited, with a positive prohibition of all sti- 
 pulations. When I had endeavoured to express myself as pro- 
 perly on the occasion, as my agitated state of spirits would allow 
 of, I remember Lord George made answer, " That if I was as 
 Well pleased upon receiving his majesty's commands, as he was 
 in being the bearer of them, I was indeed very happy " — If I 
 served him truly, honestly and ardently ever after, till I followed 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 195 
 
 him to the grave, where is my merit? How could I do other- 
 wise? 
 
 The conflict in America was now raging at its height; that 
 was a business out of my office to be concerned in, and I willingly 
 pass it over; but it was in my way to know the effects it had upon 
 the anxious spirit of my friend, and very much it was both my 
 wish and my endeavour by every means in my capacity to be help- 
 ful at those hours, which were necessary for his relaxation, and 
 take to my share as many of those burthensome and vexatious 
 concerns, as without intrusion upon other people's offices I could 
 relieve him from. All that I could I did, and as I was daily with 
 him, and never out of call, I reflect with comfort, that there 
 were occasions when my zeal was not unprofitably exerted for his 
 alleviation and repose. I might say more, for those were trying 
 and unquiet times. It is not a very safe or enviable predicament 
 to be marked out for a known attachment to an unpopular cha- 
 racter, and be continually under arms to turn out and encounter 
 the prejudices of mankind. There is a middle kind of way, which 
 some men can hit off, between doing all and doing nothing, which 
 saves appearances and satisfies easy consciences ; but some con- 
 sciences are not so easily satisfied. 
 
 I had now four sons at Westminster-school boarding at one 
 house, and my two daughters coming into the world, so that the 
 accession to my circumstances, which my promotion in office 
 gave me, put me greatly at my ease, and enabled me to press 
 their education with advantage. My eldest son Richard went 
 through Westminster with the reputation of an excellent school- 
 scholar, and I admitted him of Trinity College, but in one of his 
 vacations having prevailed with me to let him volunteer a cruize 
 With Sir Charles Hardy, then commander of the home fleet, the 
 rage of service seized him, and by his importunity I may say in 
 the words of Polonius he wrung from me my slow leave to let him 
 enter himself an ensign in the first regiment of foot-guards. This 
 at once gave fire to the train, and the three remaining heroes 
 breathed nothing but war: my second boy George took to the sea, 
 and sailed for America; my third Charles enrolled himself an en- 
 sign in the tenth, and my youngest William disposed of himself 
 as my second had done, and also took his departure for America 
 under the command of the late Sir Richard Hughes. 
 
 I had been dispossessed of my delightful residence at Tyring- 
 
196 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ham, near to which Mr. Praed, the present possessor, has now 
 built a splendid mansion, and I had taken a house at Tetworth in 
 Bedfordshire to be near my kind and ever honoured friend Lady- 
 Frances Burgoyne, sister to Lord Halifax. Here I passed the sum- 
 mer recesses, and in one of these I wrote the Opera of Caly/iso, for 
 the purpose of introducing to the public the compositions of Mr. 
 Butler, then a young man, newly returned from Italy, where he 
 had studied under Piccini, and given early proofs of his genius. 
 He passed the summer with me at Tetworth, and there he wrote 
 the music for Calypso in the style of a serious opera. Calypso 
 was brought out at Covent Garden, but that theatre was not by 
 any means possessed of such a strength of vocal performers, as 
 have of late years belonged to it. Mrs. Kennedy in the part of 
 Telemachus, and Leoni in that of Proteus, were neither of them 
 very eminently qualified to grace the action of an opera, yet as that 
 was a consideration subordinate to the music, it was to them that 
 Mr. Butler addressed his chief attention, and looked up for his sup- 
 port. I believe I may venture to say that more beautiful and ori- 
 ginal compositions were never presented to the English stage by a 
 native master, though I am not unmindful of the fame of Artaxerx- 
 es; but Calypso, supported only by Leoni and Mrs. Kennedy, did 
 not meet success proportioned to its merit, and I should humbly 
 conceive upon the same stage, which has since been so powerfully 
 mounted by Braham, Incledon and Storace, it might have been re- 
 vived with brilliant effect. Why Mr. Butler did not publish his 
 music, or a selection at least of those airs, which were most ap- 
 plauded, I cannot tell ; but so it was, and the score now remains 
 in the depot of Covent Garden, whilst a few only of the songs, 
 and those in manuscript, are in the possession of my second 
 daughter Sophia, whom he instructed in singing, and with the 
 aid of great natural talents on her part, accomplished her very 
 highly. Calypso as a drama has been published, therefore of my 
 share in it as an opera I need not say much ; it is before the read- 
 er, but I confess I lament that music, wfcich I conceive to be so 
 exquisitely beautiful, should be buried in oblivion. Mr. Butler 
 has been long since settled at Edinburgh as a teacher and writer 
 of music, and is well known to the professors and admirers of 
 that art. 
 
 That I may not again recur to my dramatic connexions with 
 this ingenious composer, I will here observe that in the following 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 197 
 
 season I wrote a comic opera, which I entitled The Widow of Del- 
 fihi, or The Descent of the Deities, the songs of which he set to 
 music. Mr. Butler published a selection of songs, Sec. from this 
 opera, but as I was going out of England I did not send my copy 
 to the press, and having now had it many years in my hands by 
 the frequent revisions and corrections, which I have had oppor- 
 tunities of giving to this manuscript, I am encouraged to believe 
 that if I, or any after me, shall send it into the world, this dra- 
 ma will be considered as one of my most classical and creditable 
 productions. 
 
 Having adverted to the happiness and honour, which I enjoyed 
 in the friendship of Lady Frances Burgoyne, it occurs to me to re- 
 late the part, which at her request I undertook, in the behalf of the 
 unfortunate Robert Perreau, when under trial for his life. The de- 
 fence, which he read at the bar, was to a word drawn up by me, 
 under the revision of his counsel Mr. Dunning, who did not change 
 a syllable. I dined with Garrick on the very day when Robert Per- 
 reau had delivered it in court; there was a large company, and he 
 was expatiating upon the effect of it, for he had been present ; he 
 even detailed the heads of it with considerable accuracy, and was 
 so rapturous in his praises of it, that he predicted confidently, 
 though not truly, that the man, who drew up that defence, had 
 saved the prisoner's life, and what would he not give to know who 
 it was? I confess my vanity was strongly moved to tell him; but 
 he shortly after found it out, and perhaps repented of his hyper- 
 boles, for it was not good policy in him to over-praise a writer 
 for the stage. When poor Dodd fell under the like misfortune, 
 he applied to me in the first instance for the like good offices, but 
 as soon as I understood that application had been made to Doc- 
 tor Johnson, and that he was about to be taken under his shield, 
 I did what every other friend to the unhappy would have done, 
 consigned him to the stronger advocate, convinced that if the 
 powers of Johnson could not move mercy to reach his lamenta- 
 ble case, there was no further hope in man; his penitence alone 
 could save him. 
 
 I had known sir George Brydges Rodney in early life, and 
 whilst he was residing in France, pending the uneasy state of his 
 affairs at home, had spared no pains to serve his interest and pave 
 the way for his return to his own country, where I was not without 
 hopes by the recommendation of Lord George Germain to procure 
 
<96 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 him an employment worthy of his talents and high station in the 
 navy. I drew up from his minutes a memorial of his services, and 
 petitioned for employ : he came home at the risque of his liberty 
 to refute some malicious imputations, that had been glanced at his 
 character: this he effectually and honourably accomplished, and I 
 was furnished with testimonials very creditable to him as an officer; 
 his situation in the meanwhile was very uncomfortable and his exer- 
 tions circumscribed, yet in this pressure of his affairs, to mark his 
 readiness and zeal for service, he addressed a letter to the king, 
 tendering himself to serve as volunteer under an admiral, then go- 
 ing out, who, if I do not mistake, was his junior on the list. In 
 this forlorn unfriended state, with nothing but exclusion and de- 
 spair before his eyes, when not a ray of hope beamed upon him 
 from the admiralty, and he dared not set a foot beyond the 
 limits of his privilege, I had the happy fortune to put in train 
 that statement of his claim for service and employ, which through 
 the immediate application of Lord George, taking all the responsi- 
 bility on himself, obtained for that adventurous and gallant admi- 
 ral the command of that squadron, which on its passage to the 
 West Indies made capture of the Spanish fleet fitted out for the 
 Caraccas. The degree of gratification, which I then experienced, 
 is not easily to be described. It was not only that of a triumph 
 gained, but of a terror dismissed, for the West India merchants 
 had been alarmed and clamoured against the appointment so ge- 
 nerally and so decidedly as to occasion no small uneasiness to my 
 friend and patron, and drew from him something, that resembled 
 a remonstrance for the risque I had exposed him to. But in the 
 brilliancy of this exploit all was done away, and past alarms were 
 only recollected to contrast the joy which this success diffused. 
 
 Here I hope to be forgiven if I record an answer of Lord 
 George Germain's to an officious gentleman, who upon some re- 
 ference to me in his concerns expressed himself with surprise at 
 the degree of influence which I appeared to have — " You are very 
 right," replied my friend, " that gentleman has a great deal to do 
 with me and my affairs, and if you can find any other to take his 
 place as disinterestedly attached to me and as capable of serving 
 me, I am confident he will hold himself very highly obliged to 
 you for relieving him from a burden, that brings him neither pro- 
 fit nor advantage, and only subjects him to such remarks, as you 
 have now been making — .?' 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 199 
 
 It happened to me to be present, and sitting next to Admiral 
 Rodney at table, when the thought seemed first to occur to him 
 of breaking the French line by passing through it in the heat of 
 the action. It was at Lord George Germain's house at Stone- 
 land after dinner, when having asked a number of questions about 
 the manoeuvring of columns, and the effect of charging with them 
 on a line of infantry, he proceeded to arrange a parcel of cherry 
 stones, which he had collected from the table, and forming them 
 as two fleets drawn up in line and opposed to each other, he at 
 once arrested our attention, which had not been very generally 
 engaged by his preparatory enquiries, by declaring he was deter- 
 mined so to pierce the enemy's line of battle, (arranging his ma- 
 noeuvre at the same time on the table) if ever it was his fortune 
 to bring them into action. I dare say this passed with some as 
 mere rhapsody, and all seemed to regard it as a very perilous and 
 doubtful experiment, but landsmen's doubts and difficulties made 
 no impression on the admiral, who having seized the idea held it 
 fast, and in his eager animated way went on manoeuvring his 
 cherry stones, and throwing his enemy's representatives into such 
 utter confusion, that already possessed of that victory in imagina- 
 tion, which in reality he lived to gain, he concluded his process 
 by swearing he would lay the French admiral's flag at his sove- 
 reign's feet; a promise which he actually pledged to his majesty 
 in his closet, and faithfully and gloriously performed. 
 
 He was a singular and extraordinary man; there were some 
 prominent and striking eccentricities about him, which on a first 
 acquaintance might dismiss a cursory observer with inadequate 
 and false impressions of his real character; for he would very 
 commonly indulge himself in a loose and heedless style of talking, 
 which for a time might intercept and screen from observation the 
 sound good sense that he possessed, and the strength and dignity 
 of mind, that were natural to him. Neither ought it to be for- 
 gotten that the sea was his element, and it was there, and not on 
 land, that the standard ought to be planted by which his merits 
 should be measured. We are apt to set that man down as vain- 
 glorious and unwise, who fights battles over the table, and in the 
 ardour of his conversation though amongst enviers and enemies* 
 keeps no watch upon his words, confiding in their candour and 
 believing them his friends. Such a man was Admiral Lord Rod- 
 ney, whom history will record amongst the foremost of our naval 
 
200 , MEMOIRS OF 
 
 heroes, and whoever doubts his courage might as well dispute 
 against the light of the sun at noon-day. 
 
 That he carried this projected manoeuvre into operation, and ' 
 that the effect of it was successfully decisive all the world knows. 
 My friend sir Charles Douglas, captain of the fleet, confessed to 
 me that he himself had been adverse to the experiment, and in 
 discussing it with the admiral had stated his objections; to these 
 he got no other answer but that "his counsel was not called for; 
 "he required obedience only, he did not want advice — " sir 
 Charles also told me that whilst the project was in operation, (the 
 battle then raging) his own attention being occupied by the gal- 
 lant defence made by the French Glorieux against the ships that 
 were pouring their fire into her, upon his crying out — " Behold, 
 sir George, the Greeks and Trojans contending for the body of 
 Patroclus! — " The admiral, then pacing the quarter deck in 
 great agitation pending the experiment of his manoeuvre, (which 
 in the instance of one ship had unavoidably miscarried) peevishly 
 exclaimed — "Damn the Greeks and damn the Trojans; I have 
 other things to think of — ." When in a few minutes after, his sup- 
 porting ship having led through the French line in a gallant style, 
 turning with a smile of joy to sir Charles Douglas, he cried out — 
 " Now my dear friend, I am at the service of your Greeks and 
 Trojans, and the whole of Homer's Iliad, or as much of it as 
 you please, for the enemy is in confusion, and our victory is se- 
 cure — ." This anecdote, correctly as I relate it, I had from that 
 gallant officer, untimely lost to his country, whose candour scorn- 
 ed to rob his admiral of one leaf of his laurels, and who, disclaim- 
 ing all share in the manoeuvre, nay confessing he had objected to 
 it, did in the most pointed and decided terms again and again re- 
 peat his honourable attestations of the courage and conduct of his 
 commanding officer on that memorable day. 
 
 In a short time after, when, upon a change of the adminis- 
 tration, this victorious admiral was superseded and called home? 
 he confirmed by his practice that maxim, which he took every 
 opportunity to inculcate, (and a very wise one and well worthy of 
 being recorded it is,) viz. — " That our naval officers have nothing 
 " to do with parties and politics, being simply bound to carry their 
 "instructions into execution, to the best of their abilities, without 
 "deliberating about men and measures, which forms no part of 
 "their duty, and for which they are in no degree responsible — ." 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 201 
 
 It was to this transaction I alluded in the following lines, which 
 I wrote and inclosed to Lord Mansfield about this time. I had 
 the honour and happiness of enjoying his society frequently, but 
 the immediate reason for my addressing him in this style has no 
 connexion with the subject here referred to— 
 
 To the Earl of Mansfield. 
 
 " Shall merit find no shelter but the grave, 
 " And envy still pursue the wise and brave? 
 " Sticks the leech close to life, and only drops 
 " When its food fails and the heart's current stops? 
 " Though sculptur'd laurels grace the hero's bust, 
 " And tears are mingled with the poet's dust, 
 " Review their sad memorials, you will find 
 " This fell by faction, that in misery pin'd. 
 
 " When France and Spain the subject ocean swept, 
 " Whilst Briton's tame inglorious lion slept, 
 " Or lashing up his courage now and then, 
 " Turn'd out and growl'd, and then turn'd in again, 
 " Rodney in that ill-omen'd hour arose, 
 "Crush'd his own first and next his country's foes; 
 " Though all that fate allow'd was nobly won, 
 " Envy could squint at something still undone ; 
 " Injurious faction stript him of command, 
 6i And snatch'd the helm from his victorious hand, 
 " Summon'd the nation's brave defender home, 
 "Prejudg'd his cause and warn'd him to his doom; 
 a Whilst hydra-headed malice open'd wide 
 " Her thousand mouths, and bay'd him till he died. 
 
 " The poet's cause comes next— and you my Lord, 
 Ci The Muse's friend, will take a poet's word ; 
 a Trust me our province is replete with pain ; 
 " They say we 're irritable, envious, vain : 
 u They say — and Time has varnish'd o'er the lie 
 " Till it assumes Truth's venerable dye — 
 " That wits, like falcons soaring for their prey, 
 u Pounce every wing that flutters in their wav, 
 Dd 
 
2QZ MEMOIRS <OF 
 
 " Plunder each rival songster's tuneful breast 
 
 " To deck with others plumes their own dear nest ; 
 
 " They say — but 'tis an office I disclaim 
 
 " To brush their cobwebs from the roll of fame, 
 
 " There let the spider hang and work his worst, 
 
 " And spin his flimsy venom till he burst ; 
 
 " Reptiles beneath the holiest shrine may dwell, 
 
 u And toads engender in the purest well. 
 
 " Genius must pay its tax like other wares 
 " According to the value which it bears ; 
 " On sterling worth detraction's stamp is laid, 
 " As gold before 'tis current is assay'd. 
 " Fame is a debt time present never pays, 
 "But leaves it on the score to future days; 
 "And why is restitution thus deferr'd 
 " Of long arrears from year to year incurr'd ? 
 " Why to posterity this labour given 
 " To search out frauds and set defaulters even ? 
 " If our sons hear our praise 'tis well, and yet 
 " Praise in the father's ear had sounded sweet. 
 
 " Still there is one exception we must own, 
 " Whom all conspire to praise, and one alone ; 
 "One on whose living brow we plant the wreath;' 
 " And almost deify on this side death : 
 " He in the plaudits of the present age 
 " Already reads his own historic page, 
 " And, though preeminence is under heav'n 
 "The last of crimes by man to be forgiv'n, 
 " Justice her own vice-gerent will defend, 
 " The orphan's father and the widow's friend; 
 " Truth, virtue, genius mingle beams so bright, 
 "Envy is dazzl'd with excess of light: 
 " Detraction's tongue scarce stammers out a fault, 
 " And faction blushes for its own assault. 
 "His is the happy gift, the nameless grace, 
 " That shapes and fits the man to every place, 
 " The gay companion at the social board, 
 " The guide of councils, or the senate's lord, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 203 
 
 " Now regulates the law's discordant strife, 
 
 " Now balances the scale of death or life, 
 
 " Sees guilt engendering in the human heart, 
 
 " And strips from falsehood's face the mask of art. 
 
 " Whether, assembled with the wise and great, 
 
 " He stands the pride and pillar of the state, 
 
 " With well-weigh'd argument distinct and clear 
 
 " Confirms the judgment and delights the ear, 
 
 " Or in the festive circle deigns to sit 
 
 " Attempering wisdom with the charms of wit— 
 
 " Blest talent, form'd to profit and to please, 
 
 " To clothe Instruction in the garb of Ease, 
 
 " Sublime to rise, or graceful to descend, 
 
 " Now save an empire and now cheer a friend. 
 
 " More I could add, but you perhaps complain, 
 ; ' And call it mere creation of the brain; 
 " Poets you say will flatter — true, they will ; 
 " But I nor inclination have nor skill — 
 " Where is your model, you will ask me, where? 
 " Search your own breast, my Lord, you '11 find it there." 
 
 It is in this period of my life's history, that by accepting a 
 commission, which took me into Spain, I was subjected to events, 
 that have very strongly contrasted and changed the complexion of 
 my latter days from that of the preceding ones. 
 
 • I will relate no other circumstances of this negociation than I 
 am in honour and strict conscience warranted to make public. 
 For more than twenty years I have been silent, making no ap- 
 peals at any time but to my official employers, who were pledged 
 to do me justice. What I gained by those appeals, and how far 
 that justice was administered to me, will appear from the detail, 
 which I am now about to give ; and though I hope to render this 
 narrative not unentertaining to my readers, yet I do most faith- 
 fully assure them that no tittle of the truth shall be sacrificed to 
 description, being resolved to give no colour to facts and events, 
 but such as they can strictly bear, nor ever knowingly permit a 
 word to stand in these pages inconsistent with that veracity, to 
 which I am so solemnly engaged. 
 
204 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 In the year 1780, and about the time of Rodney's capture of 
 the Caracca fleet, I had opportunities of discovering through a 
 secret channel of intelligence many things passing, and some con- 
 certing, between the confidential agents of France and Spain, 
 (particularly the latter) resident in this country, and in private 
 correspondence with the enemies of it. Of these communications 
 I made that use, which my duty dictated, and to my judgment 
 seemed advisable. By these, in the course of their progress, a 
 prospect was opened of a secret negociation with the Minister 
 Florida Blanca, to which I was personally committed, and of 
 course could not decline the undertaking it. My destination was 
 to repair to the neutral port of Lisbon, there to abide whilst the 
 Abbe Hussey, chaplain to his Catholic Majesty, proceeded to 
 Aranjuez, and by the advice, which he should send me, I was to 
 be governed in the alternative of either going into Spain for the 
 purpose of carrying my instructions into execution, or of return- 
 ing home by the same ship, that conveyed me thither, which was 
 ordered to wait my determination for the space of three weeks, 
 unless dismissed or employed by me within that period. 
 
 I was to take my wife and two daughters Elizabeth and Sophia 
 with me on the pretence of travelling into Italy upon a passport 
 through the Spanish dominions, and having received my instruc- 
 tions and letters of accreditation from the Earl of Hillsborough, 
 Secretary of State, on the 17th day of April, 1780, I took my de- 
 parture for Portsmouth, there to embark on board his majesty's 
 frigate Milford, which I had particularly asked for, as knowing 
 her character to be that of a remarkable swift sailer. On my ar- 
 rival at Portsmouth I found she had gone out upon a short cruize 
 after a French privateer, but was expected every hour. On the 
 21st she came in from her cruize, and I delivered to her Captain 
 sir William Burnaby two letters from the Admiralty, one direct- 
 ing him to receive me and my family on board, the other to be 
 opened when he came off the Start-point. 
 
 This frigate being from long and constant service in a weak 
 and leaky state, on which account sir William had lately brought 
 her into port, and undergone a court martial in consequence of it, 
 I found him and his officers under some alarm as to the unknown 
 extent of my destination, suspecting that I might be bound to 
 the West Indies, and justly doubting the sea-worthiness of the 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 205 
 
 ship for any distant voyage. On this point I could give them no 
 satisfaction, but on the day following her arrival, (viz. April 22d) 
 went on board to assist in adjusting the accommodations for the 
 females of my family. 
 
 In consequence of strong and adverse winds we remained at 
 Spithead till the 28th, when at eight o'clock in the morning we 
 weighed anchor with the wind at south, and brought to at Cowes. 
 Here I fixed three double-headed shot to the box, that contained 
 my papers and instructions, and the wind still hanging in the 
 south-west, foul and unfavourable, it was not till the 2d of May, 
 when upon its veering to the north-east we took our departure in 
 the forenoon from Cowes, and upon its dying away anchored in 
 mid-channel for the night in 20 fathom water, Needle-rocks S. W. 
 by YV. Yarmouth S. E. by S. 
 
 Being off the Start-point on the 3d instant sir William Bur- 
 naby opened his orders, and with great satisfaction found his des- 
 tination to be to Lisbon ; we saw a large fleet to westward at the 
 Start -point, which proved to be the Quebec trade outward-bound 
 under convoy. On the 6th having passed the Land's-end, we 
 found the fore-mast sprung below the trussel trees, and by the 
 next day the carpenter had moulded a fish on it, when the gale 
 having freshened with rain and squalls, we struck top-gallants, 
 handed the fore-sail and hove to under the main-sail ; on the 9th 
 the gale increased, and having reefed and furled the main-sail, 
 we laid to under the main-stay-sail and mizen-stay-sail : Lat. 49 p 
 4'; Long. 1° 45'. Land's-end. 
 
 Our situation now became very uncomfortable, and our safety 
 suspicious, for the sea was truly mountainous, and broke over our 
 low and leaky frigate in a tremendous style, which in the mean- 
 while occasionally received such hard and heavy shocks, as caused 
 serious apprehensions even in those to whom danger was fami- 
 liar. I had in my passages to Ireland been in angry seas and 
 blowing weather, but nothing I had seen bore any resemblance to 
 the fury of this gale, nor could any thing but the confidence I 
 had reason to place in British seamen, and the exertions, which 
 I witnessed on their part, have stood between me and absolute 
 despair. The dreadful sight and deafening uproar of those tre^ 
 mendous seas, that by turns whelmed us under a canopy of water, 
 making darkness at mid-day, and rendering every voice inaudi- 
 
206 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ble, were as much as my nerves could bear, and whilst the ship 
 was quivering and settling, as I conceived, upon the point of go- 
 ing down, 1 thought it high time to set out in search of those be- 
 loved objects, who had embarked themselves with me, and were 
 as I supposed suffering the extreme of terror and alarm. How 
 greatly was I mistaken in the calculation of their fortitude! I 
 found my wife, then far gone with child, in her cot within the 
 cabin, the water flowing through it like a sluice, so perfectly col- 
 lected and composed, that I forbore to speak of the situation we 
 were in, and did not hint at the purpose, which brought me to 
 her; but she, who knew too well what was passing to be deceived 
 as to the motive of my coming to her, said to me — " You are 
 alarmed I believe ; so am not I. We are in a British ship of war,, 
 manned with British seamen, and, if we are in danger, which I con- 
 clude we are, I don't doubt but they know how to carry us through 
 it." Thus divested of my alarm by the intrepidity of the very 
 person, who had so great a share in causing it, I made my way 
 with some difficulty to the ward-room, where my daughters had 
 taken shelter, whilst Mr. Lucas the purser was serenading them 
 with what would have been a country dance, if the ship had not 
 danced so violently out of all time and tune. In this moment 
 the Abbe Hussey, who had followed me, upon a sudden pitch of 
 the ship burst head foremost into the ward-room, and with the 
 momentum of a gun broken loose from its lashings overturned 
 poor Lucas, demolishing his violin, the table, and every thing 
 frangible that his colossal figure came in contact with. 
 
 Such was our situation on the 9th of May, and when upon the 
 morning following the gale moderated we set the mizen and fore- 
 top-mast stay-sail, and swaying the top-gallant-mast up, set main- 
 sail and fore-sail, working the pumps to keep the ship free, whilst 
 the sea ran very lofty with a heavy swell. This was the last time 
 the Milford frigate ever went to sea, for by the time we anchored 
 in the Tagus her main-deck exhibited sufficient proofs how com- 
 pletely she was broken-backed by straining in the gale. 
 
 I will here relate an incident no otherwise interesting or cu- 
 rious but as a mere matter of chance, which tends in some de- 
 gree to shew the credulity of our seafaring countrymen. I had 
 been in the habit of wearing in my pocket a broad silver piece 
 given to me as a keeji-sake by my son George, who received his 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 207 
 
 death at the siege of Charlestown in South Carolina the very day 
 after he had taken command of an armed vessel, to which he was 
 appointed. This piece had been beaten out from a dollar by a 
 marine belonging to the Milford then on the American sta- 
 tion, and presented by him to my son then a midshipman serv- 
 ing on board : on this piece the artist had engraved the Milford 
 in full sail, and on the reverse my coat of arms, and upon my 
 discovering that this same ingenious marine, now become a Ser- 
 jeant, was on the same quarter-deck with me, I had been talking 
 with him upon the incident, and shewing him that I had care- 
 fully preserved his present, which to this hour I have done, and 
 am now wearing it in my pocket. This man, though a brave and 
 orderly soldier, had so completely yielded himself up to a kind of 
 religious enthusiasm as to be plunged in the profoundest apathy 
 and indifference towards life ; still he exhibited on this occasion 
 some small show of sensibility at the sight of his own work, and 
 the recollection of an amiable youth, now untimely lost. The 
 wind was adverse to our course, our ship still labouring in a heavy 
 sea, whilst strong and sudden squalls, which every now and then 
 annoyed us, together with the incessant labour of the pumps, deni- 
 ed our people that repose, which their past toils demanded : in this 
 gloomy moment the fancy struck me to make trial of the supersti- 
 tion of the man at the helm by laying this silver piece on the face 
 of the compass, as a charm to turn the wind a point or two in our 
 favour, which I boldly promised it would do. I found my gallant 
 shipmate eagerly disposed to confide in the experiment, which he 
 put out of all doubt by clinching his belief in it with a deposition 
 upon oath, quite sufficient to convince me of his sincerity, and 
 something more than necessary for the occasion. Accordingly I 
 laid my charm upon the glass of the compass with all the solemnity 
 I could assume, whilst my friend kept his eyes alternately employ- 
 ed upon that and the dog-vane, till in a few minutes with a second 
 oath, much more ornamented and embroidered than the former, he 
 announced to the conviction of all present a considerable shift of 
 wind in our favour. Credulity now began to circulate most rapidly 
 through the ship; even the officers seemed to have caught some 
 touches of its influence, and my friend the meditative serjeant raised 
 his eyes with some astonishment from his book, where they had 
 been riveted to a few dirty pages loose and torn, as it seemed, 
 
208 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 out of Sherlock's volume upon death. My first prediction having 
 succeeded so luckily, I boldly promised them a prize in view, and 
 whimsical as the incident is, yet it so chanced that in a very short 
 time the man at the mast-head sung out two ships bearing north 
 standing to the southward ; this happened at one o'clock ; at half- 
 an-hour past the sternmost tacked and made sail to the northward ; 
 we found our ship gaining fast upon her, and at four hoisted Dutch 
 colours; at three quarters after hoisted St. George's ensign, and 
 fired a shot at her ; at five she hoisted French colours and fired a 
 broadside into us, and at six she struck, and proved to be the Due 
 de Coigny private frigate of 28 guns, Mignionet commander, be- 
 longing to Granville ; this gallant Frenchman had scarcely pro- 
 nounced his anathema against the man, that should offer to strike 
 his colours, when his head was blown to atoms by one of our can- 
 non balls: the prize lost her second captain also and had 50 of her 
 men killed and wounded: we had two seamen and one marine 
 killed, and four seamen and one marine wounded. 
 
 This was a new and striking spectacle to a landsman like me, 
 and though I am dwelling on an incident which to a naval reader 
 may seem trifling, yet as it was my good fortune to be present at 
 an animating scene, which does not occur to every man, who oc- 
 casionally passes the seas in my situation, I presume I am ex- 
 cusable for my description of it. 
 
 When I witnessed the dispatch, with which a ship is cleared for 
 action, the silence and good order so strictly observed, and the com- 
 mands so distinctly given upon going into action, I was impressed 
 with the greatest respect for the discipline and precision observed 
 on board our ships of war. Such coolness and preparatory ar- 
 rangement seemed to me a security for success and conquest. Our 
 spirited purser Mr. Lucas performed better with his musket than 
 his violin, and whilst standing by him on the quarter-deck I plainly 
 saw him pick off a French officer in a green coat, whom he jocu- 
 larly called the parrot, the last of three whom he had dismissed to 
 their watery graves. My melancholy friend the engraver had his 
 arm shattered by the first fire of the enemy, which he received with 
 the most stoical indifference, and would not be persuaded to leave 
 the quarter-deck till the action was over, when going down to be 
 dressed as my eldest daughter (now Lady Edward Bentinck) was 
 Coming up from below he gallantly presented that very arm to as- 
 sist her, and when, observing him shrink upon her touching it, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 209 
 
 she said to him — " Serjeant, I am afraid you are wounded — ?* he 
 calmly replied — " To be sure I am, Madam, else I should not have 
 " been so bold to have crossed you on the stairs — " This was a 
 strain of chivalry worthy of the days of old, and something more 
 than Tom Jones's gallantry to Sophia Western, who only offered her 
 his serviceable arm, and kept the broken one unemployed. One 
 other incident, though of a very different sort, occurred as I was 
 handing her along the main-deck from the bread room, when slip- 
 ping in the blood and brains of a poor fellow, who laid dead beside 
 his gun, an insensible brat who was boasting and rejoicing at his own 
 escape, cried out — u Have a care, Miss, how you tread. Look at 
 " this fellow ; I stood close by him, when he got this knock : the shot 
 " went clear over me, and this damn'd fool put his head in the way 
 « of it. Was'nt that a droll affair ?— " 
 
 The shifting the prisoners was a task of danger, as the sea ran 
 very high, and they were beastly drunk. In this our people were 
 employed all night : when they had refitted the rigging shot away 
 in the action, and hoisted in the boats, we made sail with the prize 
 in company. The carpenters were employed in repairing the boats, 
 which were stove in shifting the prisoners, of which we took on 
 board 155 French and Americans: Lat. 49° 6'. Long. 1° 45'. 
 
 Our surgeon and his assistants being exhausted with their duty 
 on board both ships, my anxiety kept me sleepless through a turbu- 
 lent night, and I went about the ship to the wounded men, one of 
 whom (James Eaton by name) a quarter-master and one of the finest 
 fellows I ever saw, expired as I stood by him without any external 
 hurt, having been struck in the side by a splinter. I read the burial 
 service over him the next morning, whilst Abbe Hussey performed 
 that office for the other two, who were Irish and of his communion. 
 
 On the 1 1th we took the prize in tow ; we had fresh breezes with 
 dark cloudy weather, and at midnight we wore ship, and in veering 
 having broken the hawser we shortened sail for the prize, but soon 
 after made signal for her to stand about and go into port, which she- 
 safely effected. In the course of this day I wrote a song for my 
 amusement descriptive of our action, and adapted it to the tune of — 
 
 Whilst here at Deal we're lying, boijs, 
 With the noble Commodore — 
 
210 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Our crew were very musically inclined, and we had some passa- 
 bly good singers amongst them, which suggested to me the idea of 
 writing this sea-song; we frequently sung it at Lisbon in lusty 
 chorus, but their delicacy would not allow them to let it be once 
 heard till their prisoners were removed ; and this was the answer 
 made to me by a common seaman, when I asked why they would 
 not sing it during the voyage : an objection, which had escaped me, 
 but which I felt the full force of, when stated to me by him. 
 
 The song was as follows, and the circumstances, under which it 
 was hastily written, must be my apology for inserting it 
 
 " 'Twas up the wind three leagues or more 
 
 " We spied a lofty sail ; 
 " Set your top-gallant sails, my boys, 
 
 " And closely hug the gale. 
 
 " Nine knots the nimble Milford ran, 
 
 " Thus, thus, the master cried ; 
 " Hull up we brought the chace in view, 
 
 " And soon were side by side. 
 
 « Dowse your Dutch ensign, up Saint George i 
 
 " To quarters now all hands ; 
 « With lighted match beside his gun 
 
 '• Each British hero stands. 
 
 " Give fire our gallant captain cries, 
 
 " 'Tis done, the cannons roar; 
 « Stand clear, Mounseers, digest these pills, 
 
 " And soon we'll send you more." 
 
 " Our chain-shot whistles in the wind 
 
 " Our grape descends like hail — 
 " Hurrah, my souls ! three cheering shouts, 
 
 " French hearts begin to quail. 
 
 « Rak'd fore and aft her shatter'd hull 
 " Lets in the briny flood, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND, 311 
 
 " Her decks are carnag'd with the slain, 
 " Her scuppers stream with blood. 
 
 * Her French jack shivers in the wind, 
 
 " Its lilies all look pale ; 
 " Down it must come, it must come down, 
 
 " For Britons will prevail. 
 
 " And see! 'tis done: she strikes, she yields; 
 
 " Down haughty flag of France : 
 " Now board her, boys, and on her staff 
 
 " The English cross advance ! 
 
 « There, there triumphantly it flies, 
 
 " It conquers and it saves — 
 " So gaily toss the can about, 
 
 " For Britons rule the waves/' 
 
 During the 12th, 13th, and 14th, we had fresh gales and squally, 
 till on the night of the latter, being then in Lat. 44° 2'. Long. 3° 16'. 
 we had light airs and fair weather, when descrying a frigate under 
 English colours to the southward, standing to the northward, we 
 cleared ship for action, but soon after lost sight of her. The next 
 day, viz. the 15th, we saw a fleet of the enemy to the southward 
 standing to the westward, forty -five in number, of which were eight 
 sail of the line and three or four frigates. They proved to be the 
 French squadron under the command of Tournay, and having 
 brought to on the starboard tack dispatched a line of battle ship in 
 chace of us ; coming down in a slanting course she appeared at first 
 to gain upon us, till at half past eight in the evening, (our rate being 
 then better than at twelve knots) she left off chace, having given us 
 her lower guns, whilst the prisoners, expecting us to be captured, be- 
 came so unruly, that our men were obliged to drive them down with 
 the hand-spikes. 
 
 On the 16th we brought to and took a Portuguese pilot on board, 
 passed the Burlings, and the next day at six in the evening anchored 
 with the best bower in eight fathom water, Belem Castle N. E. 
 Abbe Hussey and I with the second lieutenant landed at the castle, 
 and at eight at night we obtained pratique. We found riding here 
 
212 MEMOIRS 0¥ 
 
 his majesty's ship Romney, Captain Home, with the Cormorant 
 sloop, Captain John Payne, under the command of Commodore 
 Johnstone. 
 
 One of my first employments was to purchase a large stock of 
 oranges for the refreshment of the ship's company, especially the 
 wounded, and of these my friend the Serjeant condescended to par- 
 take, though he had been so extremely occupied with his medita- 
 tions upon death, as hardly to be persuaded to let his arm be dress- 
 ed, answering all the kind enquiries of his comrades in the most 
 sullen and oftentimes abusive terms — " They were wicked wretches 
 " and deserved damnation for presuming to condole with him. It 
 " was God's good pleasure to exercise his spirit with pain, and he 
 " had supreme satisfaction in bearing it. What business was it of 
 " their's to be troubling him with their impertinent enquiries ?" — 
 This was in the style of his civilest replies ; to some his answers were 
 very short and extremely gross. 
 
 The day after our arrival we weighed and dropt farther up the 
 river ; at night we discharged the prisoners, and the commodore 
 visited us in his barge. Mr. Hussey prepared for his journey into 
 Spain, and I provided apartments for my family at Mrs. Duer's hotel 
 at Buenos Ayres. The next day the comirodore entertained us at 
 Belem, and the day ensuing he, with Captains Home and Payne, 
 dined with us on board. 
 
 My orders were to wait at Lisbon till Mr. Hussey wrote to me 
 from Aranjeuz, and according to the tenor of his report I was to use 
 my discretion as to proceeding onwards, or returning home ; and 
 this being a point decisive as to my credit or discredit in the ma- 
 nagement of the business I was entrusted with, I was most urgent 
 and precise with Mr. Hussey in conjuring him to be extremely 
 careful and correct in his report, by which I was to guide myself, 
 and this he solemnly promised me that he would observe. On the 
 19th and 20th I prepared my dispatches, and on the 21st delivered 
 them to the pacquet master, who took his departure that very day. 
 
 In the mean time I understood from Mr. Hussey, that in apply- 
 ing to the Spanish ambassador Count Fernan Nunez for his pass- 
 port, he had committed himself to a conversation, from which he 
 drew very promising expectations ; of this I informed my proper 
 minister Lord Hillsborough, as will appear by the following extracl 
 of my letter dated the 19th of May 1780. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 2L3 
 
 « My Lord, 
 
 * When Mr. Hussey waited on Count Fernan Nunez 
 « yesterday for his passport, he would have made his commission 
 " for the exchange of prisoners the pretence for his journey into 
 « Spain, but the ambassador gave him plainly to understand he was 
 « confidential with Count Florida Blanca in the business upon which 
 " we are come. This being the case, Mr. Hussey though it by no 
 " means necessary to decline a conversation with the ambassador 
 ** under proper reserve. He was soon told that his arrival was 
 " anxiously expected at Aranjuez. No expression of good will to 
 " him, to me, and to the commission I am entrusted with was omit- 
 " ted. It was proposed by the ambassador to pay me the honour of 
 " a visit, if acceptable, in any way I liked best ; but this Mr. Hus- 
 a sey without referring to me very properly and readily prevented. 
 
 " He entered into many pertinent enquiries as to the state of the 
 u ministry, and the manner in which Lord North had been pressed 
 " in the House of Commons ; he would have stirred the question of 
 " an accommodation with France, but was plainly answered by 
 " Mr. Hussey that he had no one word to say upon that subject ; 
 " the channel was open, he observed, but ours was not that chan- 
 « nel— * * 
 
 " The conversation then closed with such assurances of a sin- 
 " cere pacific disposition on the part of Spain, that if Count Fernan 
 " Nunez reports fairly and is not imposed on, our business seems to 
 
 * be in an auspicious train — * * *" 
 
 My gratitude to Sir William Burnaby and his officers induced 
 me to address the following letter and request to Lord Hillsbo- 
 rough, which I made separate, and sent under cover of the same 
 dispatch. 
 
 * To the Earl of Hillsborough:' 
 
 « May the 20th 1780. 
 " My Lord, « Milford frigate off Be Jem. 
 
 " I cannot let this opportunity go by without expressing 
 •» to your Lordship, and through you to Lord Sandwich, my most 
 
 * thankful acknowledgments for indulging my wishes by putting 
 " me on board the Milford under the care and command of Sir 
 '< William Burnabv, whose unremitted kindness and attention tp 
 
214 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 il me and my family, I can neither duly relate nor repay. Through- 
 " out a long and an eventful passage* .whether we were struggling 
 ** with a gale, or clearing ship for action, both he and his officers 
 M uniformly conducted themselves with that harmony, temper and 
 " precision, as seemed to put them in assured possession of success ; 
 " the men themselves have been so long attached to their officers, 
 ** and all of them to the ship itself, that the severest duty is here 
 « directed without an oath, and obeyed without a murmur. — 
 u Though we have been encumbered with such a crowd of priso- 
 " ners, many of whom seemed to possess the spirit of mutiny in full 
 w force, our discipline has kept all in perfect quiet, and such hu- 
 " mane attention has been paid to their health, that not a single 
 « prisoner has sickened or complained. 
 
 " I take the liberty of intruding upon your lordship with these 
 " particulars to introduce a suit to you, which I have most anxiously 
 " at heart, and in which I am joined with equal anxiety by my 
 " friend Mr. Hussey : it is, my lord, to beseech you to promote the 
 " application made by Sir William Burnaby to Lord Sandwich in 
 " behalf of his first lieutenant Mr. William Grosvenor to be made 
 " master and commander ; an officer of ten years standing, well 
 * known in the navy and distinguished for activity, sobriety and 
 " professional skill and ability : he went round the world with Ad- 
 " miral Byron, and is highly respected by him ; he has been in this 
 " ship during the whole war, and assisted in the capture of near 
 " fourscore prizes, by which he has acquired very little more than 
 a the approbation of his captains, and the love and reverence of the 
 " men. 
 
 " Had our prize been a king's ship Mr. Grosvenor would have 
 ** come home in her, and his promotion would most probably have 
 " followed in train ; however, as she is a very fine new frigate and 
 " will I dare say be reported fit for the king's use, the opportunity 
 a is judged favourable for recommending Mr. Grosvenor's preten- 
 « sions, and as the Miiford may be said to be now acting under your- 
 '.' lordship's orders, I flatter myself you will take her under your 
 " protection by granting your good offices with Lord Sandwich in 
 4 f Mr. Grosvenor's behalf; an obligation, that I shall ever gratefully 
 4i carry in remembrance. 
 
 " I have the honour to be, Sec. &e. 
 
 « R. C." 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 215 
 
 This letter produced no advantage to Mr. Grosvenor, nor any 
 -other gratification to me except the recollection that I had done my 
 best to serve a meritorious officer. 
 
 At Buenos Ay res I was visited by our minister Mr. Walpole, 
 Commodore Johnstone, Sir John Hort the consul, Captain Payne 
 and several gentlemen of the factory. On the 25th instant the cere- 
 mony of the Corpus Christi took place in a day excessively sultry, 
 when the king and prince walked with the patriarch of Lisbon, the 
 religious orders, knights of Christ and nobility of Portugal, in pro- 
 cession through the streets, of which even the ruins were decorated 
 with rich tapestries, silks and velvets, forming at once a splendid 
 and a melancholy scene. I was with my daughters at a house, from 
 which we had a very good view of what was passing, and as they 
 presented themselves at an open window in their English dresses, 
 (and I may add without vanity in all their native charms) they most 
 evidently arrested the attention of the holy brotherhood in a man- 
 ner, that by no means harmonised with the solemnity of their office ; 
 more perfect wolves in sheep's cloathing never were beheld. The 
 haughtiness and ill-breeding of the Portuguese nobles is notorious 
 to a proverb. One of these, the son of the minister Pombal, came 
 into the room where I was waiting for the procession above men- 
 tioned ; turning to me with an air of supercilious protection, very 
 awkwardly assumed, and making a motion with his hand towards a 
 chair, he was pleased to tell me that / might sit down — There was 
 an insolence in the manner of it irresistibly provoking, and I am not 
 ashamed to say my answer was at least as contemptuous as his ad- 
 dress was insolent. 
 
 Early in the morning of the 30th I went with rny daughters, and 
 some of our naval friends to Cintra, visiting the palace of Queluz in 
 the way : the terrors of an earthquake are evidently expressed in 
 the construction of this palace, which is nothing more than a long 
 range of pavilions in the Moorish character very richly furnished 
 and profusely gilt ; the heat was quite oppressive, but the shady 
 walks and delicious odour of the orange groves, the refreshing sight 
 of the fountains and exquisite beauty of the flowers in high bloom 
 and boundless abundance recompensed all we suffered by the mid- 
 day violence of the burning sun. In the romantic and more tempe- 
 rate retreat of Cintra we enjoyed the most charming and enchanting 
 scenes and prospects nature can display. The rock, the cork con- 
 
216 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 vent and the ancient palace of Cintra are objects that surpass de- 
 scription ; from the latter of these the rock and town of Cintra, with 
 all the country about it as far as to the palace of Mafra, till where it 
 is bounded by the sea, form a most superb and interesting scene ; 
 the interior of the castle is unfurnished, though the painted tiles, 
 gilded ceilings and arrangement of the apartments, opening to par- 
 terres, cut out of the rock in stories and terraces one above the 
 other, is singularly grand and striking- In one of the great cham- 
 bers the ceiling is ornamented with the scutcheons of all the noble 
 families of Portugal affixed to the necks of stags of no ordinary 
 painting or design, and, though very ancient, their remarkable 
 freshness bespeaks the extreme softness and dryness of the climate ; 
 in this collection the bearings and titles of the noble family of 
 D'Aveiro had a conspicuous station, from which they are now dis- 
 lodged and their very name expunged. 
 
 On our return to Lisbon we passed the remarkable aqueduct of 
 Alcantara so often described, and on the 5th of June at early morn- 
 ing I received the expected dispatch from Mr. Hussey with letters 
 inclosed for the Earl of Hillsborough and Lord George Germain — 
 His letter to me was as follows — 
 
 " Aranjuez, 31st May 1780 
 " My dear friend, 
 
 " I arrived here three days ago, conversed with the 
 " minister of state upon the subject of your journey, and do find 
 " that the delays, which this business met with, and the different 
 « turn, which matters have taken, render this negociation every day 
 " exceedingly arduous and difficult. However as the minister is so 
 " very desirous of finding some means to bring it to a happy conclu- 
 " sion, and as you are already so far advanced on your journey, I 
 « think it by all means advisable that you come, (giving out that 
 " you mean to pass through Spain for the benefit of your health) 
 " and so give the negociation a fair trial. You know me too well 
 " to suspect that I shall be wanting to cultivate the good wishes of 
 " the minister of state, and to incline him towards an accommo- 
 " dation. My servant Daly carries a memorandum of the road and 
 " the different places where the relays of carriages are to meet 
 " you. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 217 
 
 " Do not forget to mention to Mrs. Cumberland and the young 
 " ladies, their's and 
 
 " Your affectionate friend 
 
 " Thomas Hussey. 
 
 ; ' P. S. His Catholic majesty's orders are gone to Badajoz, the 
 " frontier town, not to examine your baggage — " 
 
 Embarrassed by this letter, and doubtful of the part I ought to 
 take, I obeyed my instructions by resorting to our minister Mr, 
 Walpole, and delivered to him a letter from Lord Hillsborough, the 
 contents of which I was privy to, and by which I was directed to be 
 confidential and explicit with him. As there was but one point, 
 upon which he hesitated, and which I had good reason to know 
 would not be made a stipulation obstructive to my measures, I was 
 disposed according to Mr. Hussey's advice to give the negotiation a 
 trials though his letter was by no means such as I exacted from 
 him, nor so explicit as to give me a safe rule to go by. Nevertheless 
 upon full consideration of all circumstances, and under the persua* 
 sion that delay, (which was the utmost that Mr. Walpole suggested) 
 would in effect be tantamount to absolute abandonment, I determin- 
 ed for the journey, and gave my reasons for pursuing the advice of 
 Mr. Hussey, and meeting the advances of the Spanish minister, ex- 
 emplified by his preparations for receiving me, in the following dis- 
 patch, which I transmitted to Lord Hillsborough by Sir William 
 Burnaby, then upon his departure for England — 
 
 « To the Earl of Hillsborough." 
 
 " Lisbon, June 6th, 1780. 
 " My Lord, 
 
 " In my letter No. 1. Unformed your lordship of my 
 arrival here on the 17th of last month at six in the afternoon, and of 
 Mr. Hussey's departure for Aranjuez on the 19th following at eleven 
 o'clock in the forenoon. I have now the honour of transmitting to 
 you a letter, which I received yesterday morning by express from 
 Aranjuez, addressed to your lordship, and I inclose one also, which 
 I had from Mr. Hussey of the 31st of last month by the same con- 
 veyance. 
 
 " The letter of my instructions is explicit for my returning to 
 England, or advancing to Spain, as that court shall make or not 
 
 f f 
 
218 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 make the cession of Gibraltar the basis of a negotiation. The sim- 
 ple resolution of this question formed the whole purport of Mr. 
 Hussey's journey, and as I well know it was clearly understood on 
 his part, I expected a reply in the same style of precision with 
 these instructions : the case is now unexpectedly become exceed- 
 ingly embarrassing and delicate. As he does not say that Spain 
 stipulates for the cession aforesaid; I do not consider myself under 
 orders to return ; on the other hand as he does not tell me that she 
 will treat without it, I am doubtful whether I am warranted to ad- 
 vance. He says the minister is venj desirous of finding means of 
 bringing things to a hafifiy conclusion, and I have not only his authority, 
 but good grounds from private information, to give credit to his as- 
 sertion: I am also furnished with the necessary passports from the 
 minister of Spain and from her ambassador at this court. It remains 
 therefore a question with me, and a very difficult one I feel it, whe- 
 ther I should wait at Lisbon and require a further explanation, or 
 proceed without it. 
 
 " If I take the first part of this alternative, I must expect it will 
 create offence to the punctilio of the Spanish court who have given 
 me their passport for myself and family, have not only provided me 
 with every convenience of coaches and relays through Spain, but 
 have directed their ambassador here to give me every furtherance 
 from hence, that can accommodate me to Badajoz, and I have this 
 day received Count Fernan Nunez's passport with a letter of recom- 
 mendation to the Marquis de Ustariz, intendant of Badajoz. By 
 the terms, in which Count Florida Blanca has couched my passport, 
 it is set forth that I am travelling through Spain towards Italy for 
 the establishment of my health : under this pretext it is in my power 
 to take my route as a private traveller, and by no means deliver to 
 the minister your lordship's letter until I have explicit satisfaction 
 in the leading points of my instructions : should I find the court of 
 Spain acquiescent under these particulars, success will justify a 
 doubtful measure ; whereas if I withstand the invitation and advice 
 of Mr. Hussey, sent no doubt with the privity of the minister, and 
 expressive of his good wishes and desires for an accommodation, I 
 shall throw every thing into heat and ferment, ruin all Mr. Hussey's 
 influence, from which I have so much to expect, and at once blast all 
 his operations, now in so fair a train for success, and which probably 
 have been much advanced since Daly's departure. In short, my 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 219 
 
 lord, I regard this dilemma as a case, in which personal caution 
 points to one side, and public service to the other. In this light I 
 view it, and although Mr. Hussey's letter to your lordship, (for it 
 was under a flying seal) is as silent on the same material point, as 
 that to me is, I have after full deliberation thought it for his ma- 
 jesty's service that I should no longer hesitate to pursue the advice 
 of Mr. Hussey, but resolve to set out upon my journey for Spain. 
 
 " The high opinion I entertain of Mr. Hussey's understanding- 
 weighs strongly with me for this measure, because I know he has 
 intuition to penetrate chicanery, and discretion enough not to expose 
 me to it ; and though he does not expressly say that there is no ob- 
 stacle in my way, yet this I am persuaded must be his firm assur- 
 ance and belief before he would commit me to the journey. The 
 verbal message he has sent me by his servant Daly that all is well, is 
 to me a very encouraging circumstance, because it is a concerted 
 token and pass-word between us, agreed upon when we were toge- 
 ther in the frigate. The underlined expressions in the memoran- 
 dum for my journey have not escaped my observation, and I inclose 
 you the original for your inspection : he says, I am impatient to tell 
 you a thousand things, which I do not write. This marks to me an 
 embarrassment and reserve in his letter, which probably arose from 
 the necessity of his communicating it to the sub-minister Campo, or 
 to the minister himself. The letters to your lordship and me were 
 couched nearly in the same words, and these so much out of his 
 style of expression, that they seem either shaped to meet another 
 man's thoughts, or to be of another man's dictating. He tells me in 
 the same memorandum, that at Aranjuez every thing else, as well 
 as his heart, will be ready to receive me : these expressions from 
 Mr. Hussey I know to be no trivial indications of his thoughts, and 
 though I am sensible my duty instructs me to take clearer lights for 
 my guidance than side-way hints and insinuations can supply, yet 
 such circumstances may come as aids, though not as principals, in 
 the formation of an opinion. 
 
 " I think it material to add that I have reason to believe the dis- 
 patch, which the Spanish ambassador received from the minister by 
 the hands of Daly, Mr. Hussey's servant, is expressive of the same 
 disposition to a separate accommodation with Great-Britain, and 
 accords with what is stated by Mr. Hussey in his letter to your lord- 
 ship. 
 
220 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " Through the same intelligence I have discovered the channel, 
 by which the propositions fabricated in this place were conveyed 
 to the Spanish minister, and am to the bottom made acquainted 
 with that whole intrigue. I can only by this opportunity inform 
 your lordship, that it is a discovery of much importance to me in 
 my future proceedings, gives me power over, and possession of, an 
 agent in trust and confidence with the minister of Spain, as well as 
 with the ambassador here, and that the deductions I draw from it 
 strongly operate to incline my judgment to the resolution I have now 
 taken of entering Spain. 
 
 " I have the honour, Sec. Sec. R. C." 
 
 Having hired carriages and provided myself with things neces- 
 sary for my lourney to Badajoz, I wrote on the next morning the 
 following leter to the Secretary of State, separate and distinct from 
 the dispatch, inserted as above 
 
 « To the Earl of Hillsborough." 
 
 " Lisbon, June 7th, 1780. 
 u My Lord, Wednesday morning 5 o'clock. 
 
 " I am sensible I have taken a step, which exposes me 
 to censure upon failure of success, unless the reasons, on which I 
 have acted, shall be weighed with candour and even with indulgence. 
 In the decision, I have taken for entering Spain, I have had no other 
 object but to keep alive a negociation, to which any backwardness 
 or evasion on my part in the present crisis would I am persuaded 
 be immediate extinction. I know where my danger lies, but as 
 my endeavours for the public service and the honour of your admi- 
 nistration are sincere, I have no doubt but I shall obtain your protec- 
 tion. 
 
 " Though I dare not rest my public argument so much on private 
 opinion as I am disposed to confess to you, yet you will plainly see 
 how far I am swayed by my confidence in Mr. Hussey, and this will 
 be the more evident when I must fairly own that Mr. Walpole's opi- 
 nion is not with me for my immediate journey into Spain : I owe 
 this justice to him, that, if I fail, it may be known he is free from all 
 participation in my error. I have delivered your letter, and in gene- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 221 
 
 ral opened the business to him as I was directed to do, but I have 
 disclosed to him no other instruction, except that, on which Mr. 
 Hussey's errand turns. He appears to me totally to discredit the 
 sincerity of Spain towards any accommodation with Great-Britain, 
 and this opinion certainly coloured his whole argument upon the 
 subject: had we agreed in this principal position, it is not likely we 
 should have differed in deductions from it. 
 
 " I have written to Mr. Hussey, and beg leave to send you a 
 copy of my letter. I had fully purposed, in conformity to what I said 
 to your lordship, that my family should not accompany me upon 
 my journey, but the nature of the passport and the circumstances 
 that have arisen, make it indispensable for me to take them with 
 me, not only as an excuse for my delay upon the road till Mr. 
 Hussey shall meet me, but also as a cover for my pretence of health, 
 should I find it necessary to pass through Spain without an explana- 
 tion with the minister, &c. &c. 
 
 R. C." 
 
 At three o'clock in the afternoon of the 8th instant, I took my 
 departure from Lisbon, embarking in one of the queen's barges for 
 Aldea Gallega, whilst my wife and daughters accompanied me in 
 the Milford's cutter with the first lieutenant and master. 
 
 The passage to Aldea Gallega is about nine miles up the river, 
 which here forms a magnificent sheet of water. At the wretched 
 Posada in this place we had our first sample of that dirt and loath- 
 someness, which admit of no description, and which every baiting 
 place throughout Portugal and Spain with little variation presented 
 to us. Men may endure such scenes ; to women of delicacy they are, 
 and must be nauseous in the extreme. The policy of these courts 
 agrees in prohibiting the publican from furnishing any thing to the 
 traveller but firing : provisions must be purchased by the way, and 
 the kid, whose carcass has dangled on your carriage in the sun and 
 dust, half fried by the one, and more than half basted by the other, 
 must be roasted for your meal by the faggot, that you purchase of 
 your host, which in the meanwhile if you do not manfully defend, 
 the muleteer and way-faring carrier will take a share of, and in- 
 cense your poor carrion kid with the execrable fumes of his rank 
 mess of oil and garlick. This rarely fails to stir up strife and fierce 
 contention, which the host takes little or no pains to allay, some- 
 
222 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 times ferments, till, if your people cannot drive off the interlopers 
 with a high hand, you call in the peace-officer of the village or town 
 to adjust your rights, which he is in no haste to do till you quicken 
 his tardy sense of justice with a portion of your roast meat. I was 
 once driven to this reference, when my people were out-numbered, 
 and then my defender gave me gravely to understand that his spouse 
 was extremely partial to cold turkey, that alluring object having been 
 incautiously exposed to his eager ken. I tried if he would compound 
 for a leg, but his spouse had a decided preference for the wing, and 
 nothing short of half could move him to give sentence for my right. 
 I had purchased at Lisbon two grey mules for the saddle at a high 
 price ; they were beautiful creatures, very fast trotters and perfectly 
 sure-footed, so that I rode occasionally and could make short excur- 
 sions, when there was any thing better than a dreary wilderness to 
 tempt me out of the road. 
 
 On the 9th at three o'clock in the morning, Captain Payne ar- 
 rived, having been all night on the water ; we breakfasted, and 
 having taken leave of our friends, departed from Aidea Gallega, 
 our road lying over a sandy country, interspersed however with the 
 olive and cork tree, and almost covered with myrtle bushes in full 
 bloom. We passed by Vendas Novas, an unfurnished palace of the 
 Queen's, and put up our beds for the night at a lone house near 
 Silveira. On the 10th we passed Montemor, situated on a beautiful 
 eminence, and further on Arrayolas, where there are the remains of a 
 stately castle of Moorish construction, as it should seem, and con- 
 cluded our day's journey at a lone house, called Venda do Duque. 
 On the 1 1th, passing through Estremos we came to Elvas, the fron- 
 tier town of Portugal, within sight of Badajoz in the plain at three 
 leagues distance. The works erected by Count la Lippe on the 
 hill, which commands the town, and the fortifications of the town 
 itself seemed very extensive and in perfect repair, and the troops 
 well accoutred and in good order, but the more striking sight to me 
 was that of the aqueduct: it is raised on four lofty arches of stone 
 one over the other, and enters the town in a very grand style. The 
 suburbs are finely planted and laid out into walks by Count la Lippe, 
 the projector, to whom Elvas is indebted for those public works, 
 that constitute at once both her ornament and her defence. As our 
 minister at Lisbon had not furnished me with any letter to the 
 governor of Elvas, I was not only put to trouble about my baggage, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 223 
 
 but evidently became an object of suspicion. The former of these 
 difficulties I got over by a bribe, but the latter subjected me to 
 restraint, for upon attempting to walk out of my inn I found a guard 
 of soldiers with fixed bayonets at the gate, who prevented me from 
 stirring out, and mounted on me through the remainder of the day 
 and the whole night, which I passed there. The next morning, 
 whilst my carriages were in waiting for me, an Irish benedictine 
 walked into my room, and in a very authoritative and unceremonious 
 style insisted on my staying there all day, and even was proceeding 
 to countermand my carriages. He believed, or pretended to believe, 
 -that I was an American agent or negociator, travelling into Spain, 
 and began to inveigh most virulently against the king and country, 
 of which he was a subject born: if he was employed to sound me 
 (which is not improbable) he executed his office very clumsily, yet 
 his insolent importunity was a considerable interruption and ex- 
 tremely troublesome. His language in the mean time was intole- 
 rably offensive, and his action worse, for as I reached out my hand 
 to take my pistols from the table, the saucy fellow caught at them, 
 with an action so suspicious, that I was obliged to put him from me, 
 and sending my ladies out of the room before me to the carriages, 
 got in last myself and ordered the postillions to proceed. The per- 
 tinacious monk still continued to oppose my going, and even vented 
 his anathemas on the drivers, if they presumed to move. When 
 I saw at the same time that there was a party of dragoons mounted 
 and parading at the gate with drawn swords before the heads of my 
 muies, I doubted whether they were in fact an escort of honour or 
 arrest, but in a few minutes my leading carriage moved, and thus 
 guarded I passed the barriers, whilst the monk, keeping his hand 
 upon my carriage, and vociferating without intermission, never left 
 me till we had passed through all the out-posts, and fairly entered 
 the plain in sight of Badajoz. 
 
 It was not pleasant, and I did not think that the proper pre- 
 cautions had been taken for me. When I had got rid of my monk, 
 (the guard having taken no notice of his insolent behaviour) in about 
 a league and a half's driving a foot's pace we came to a small stream, 
 which divides the territories of Portugal from Spain. Here we 
 watered the mules, whilst on the opposite bank I perceived a party 
 of Spanish infantry waiting as it seemed to receive and escort me. 
 My Portuguese dragoons in perfect silence wheeled about an4 
 
224 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 departed, and no sooner had I touched the Spanish soil than the party 
 presented arms, and a messenger in the livery of the king with his 
 badge of office on his sleeve, signified to me that coaches were in 
 waiting for me at Badajoz, and that he had his Catholic majesty's 
 commands to attend upon me through my journey. During this, 
 my Portuguese postillions, finding themselves in my power, and 
 apprehending no doubt that their hesitation in obeying me against 
 the denunciations of the aforesaid benedictine, might justly have 
 offended me, fell on their knees in the most abject manner, kissing 
 the skirts of my coat and imploring pardon and forgiveness. Having 
 ordered them to mount and proceed, we soon reached Badajoz, and 
 were received into the garrison with all the honours they could shew 
 us. As a town Badajoz has nothing to engage the traveller, and 
 as a fortified place stands in no degree of comparison with Elvas. 
 The troops, being mostly invalids, made a very indifferent appear- 
 ance, but the windows and balconies were thronged with spectators, 
 who bestowed every mark of favour and good will upon us as we 
 passed the streets. 
 
 Here I found a coach and six mules in waiting, and after some 
 stay set forward at midnight, the gates being opened for me, and 
 a guard turned out by order of the governor, and we proceeded to 
 Miajada, where a fresh relay was in readiness. The province of 
 Estremadura is miserably barren, producing nothing to relieve the 
 eye but cork trees thinly scattered, and here and there a few dis- 
 torted olive trees. The like disconsolate aspect of a country, where 
 neither cattle nor habitations were to be seen, prevailed through the 
 whole of our next stage to Truxillo, where we halted on the night 
 of the 1 4th instant. 
 
 In this stage we were warned by our attendant messenger to be 
 upon our guard against robbers, and in truth the country furnished 
 most appropriate scenes and inviting opportunities for such adven- 
 turers. I had three English servants and two men hired in Lisbon, 
 besides the messenger above-mentioned, and myself and my English 
 servants in particular were excellently armed and ammunitioned, 
 My Englishmen consisted of Mr. Hussey's man Daly, a London 
 hair-dresser of the name of Legge, whom I took for the convenience 
 of my wife and daughters, and my own faithful servant Thomas 
 Camis, of tried courage and attachment, who had lived with me 
 from the age of ten years. In the middle of the night, when we 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 223 
 
 were in the depth of the forest, or rather wilderness, the Spaniard 
 rode up to my coach window, and telling me we were then in the 
 most suspicious part of our road, recommended it to me to collect 
 my people about me and keep them together. Daly indeed was 
 not far behind, but in a state of absolute intoxication and sleeping 
 on his mule: my hair-dresser pretty much in the same state, but 
 totally disabled from excess of cowardice, of which he had given 
 some unequivocal and most ridiculous tokens before and during our 
 action in the frigate ; I had not much reliance on my Portuguese, 
 one of whom was a black-fellow, and in the me>n time my brave 
 and trusty servant Camis was not to be found, nor did he answer to 
 any call. Distressed with apprehension lest some fatal accident 
 had befallen this most valuable man, I got out of my coach deter- 
 mined not to move from the spot without him, and sent the Spanish 
 messenger and two other men in search of him. During their ab- 
 sence I heard a trampling of horses, and soon discovered through 
 the dusk of night two men armed with guns, which they carried 
 under the thigh, who rode smartly up to the carriage and proved 
 to be archers on the patrole. This confirmed the report that the 
 road was infested by robbers, and whilst this was passing I had the 
 satisfaction to be joined by my servant Thomas Camis on foot, his 
 mule having sunk under him, exhausted with fatigue. He now 
 mounted behind the coach, and the men dispatched in search for 
 him having come in, we pursued our route and arrived in safety at 
 Truxillo. 
 
 From Truxillo we passed a very rugged and mountainous tract 
 of country to Venta del Lugar Nuevo on the banks of the Tagus. 
 This is a very romantic station, and the bridge a curious and most 
 striking object passing from one rock to another upon two very 
 lofty Roman arches, the river flowing underneath at a prodigious 
 depth. 
 
 On the 16th we passed through La Calzada to Talavera la Reina, 
 a town in New Castile of considerable population and extent. A 
 silk fabric is here established under the king's especial patronage. 
 Here the following letter from Mr. Hussey met me— — - 
 
226 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " From Mr. Hussey to me." 
 
 " Aranjuez, Wednesday morning, 
 14th June 1780. 
 " My dearest friend, 
 
 " How could you suspect that I would send for you if I 
 " found the obstacle in my way, which makes you so uneasy ? But 
 " it was always my intention to go part of the way from Aranjuez to 
 " meet you, to indulge my affection by personally attending you and 
 " your family as soon as possible ; but as you do not mention what 
 " delay you intended to make in Badajoz, I cannot precisely guess 
 u the day of your arrival here, and therefore I dispatch this letter to 
 " meet you at Talavera la Reina, that I may know it more exactly, 
 " which will be by returning a line to me, informing me of the day, 
 " and whether you think it will be in the morning or evening. As 
 " the distance between Talavera and Aranjuez is too great for one 
 " day's journey with the same mules, I have ordered a fresh set to 
 " be posted for you seven leagues from this place at La Venta de 
 " Olias, two leagues and a half from that part of the Tagus called 
 " Las Barcas de Azecar, where you cross the water, and probably 
 " you will meet me ; otherwise you will come on and meet me on 
 « the road. This fresh set of mules was absolutely necessary, be- 
 " cause you could find no place to sleep in between Talavera and 
 " Aranjuez. You do not come through Toledo. I long to embrace 
 " you and my amiable friends, and open my mind to your satifaction, 
 " as well as my pleasure. 
 
 " Adieu ! 
 
 « T. H." 
 
 To this letter I answered as follows 
 
 " To Mr. Hussey." 
 
 " Talavera la Reina, Friday 1 6th 
 " June half-past 5 evening 
 ^ My dearest friend, 
 
 " Your consolatory letter meets me at the end of a long 
 « and laborious journey, and like a magical charm puts all my cares 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 227 
 
 *• to rest at once. Say not however how could I susfiect — Had that 
 "•been the case, how could I advance? Yet I am come at every 
 " risque upon the reliance, which I am fixed to repose in your 
 " honour and friendship upon all occasions. 
 
 " I have entered on an arduous service without any conditions, 
 « and I fear without securing to myself that sure support, which 
 " they, by whom and for whom I am employed, ought to hold forth 
 " to me ; but you know full well who is, and who is not, my corres- 
 " ponding minister, and if success does not bear me through in this 
 " step, which I have taken, my good intentions will not stand me in 
 " much stead. Still, when I saw that my reluctance would affect 
 " your situation, dash every measure you have laid, and annihilate 
 " all chance of rendering service to my country in this trying crisis, 
 " I did not hesitate to risque this journey, even against the advice of 
 « Mr. W. 
 
 " We are not long since arrived after a most sultry stage, and 
 " have been travelling all night without a halt. I dare not but give 
 " Mrs. Cumberland an hour or two's repose, and shall not take my 
 " departure from hence till midnight. I shall stop at La Venta de 
 " Olias to relieve my party from a few hot hours, and shall be there 
 " to-morrow morning about ten or eleven. I shall set out from 
 " thence at seven o'clock in the evening at latest, and reach the ferry 
 " at Las Barcas de Azecar at nine that evening — There if we meet, 
 " or whenever else more convenient to yourself, it will I trust in 
 " God be remembered as one of the happy moments, that here and 
 " there have sparingly chequered the past life of your 
 
 « Affectionate R. C." 
 
 From Talavera oil the 1 7th instant we came to the little village 
 of Olias about half-way, where we took the necessary relief of rest, 
 and as the weather was now intolerably hot, my wife and daughters 
 being almost exhausted with fatigue, we laid by for the whole of the 
 day. Here the Alcayde of the village very hospitably sent me re- 
 freshments, and called on me at my inn, offering his house, and 
 whatever it afforded. I returned his visit, and found the good old 
 man surrounded by his children and grand-children, a numerous fa- 
 mily, grouped in their degrees, and sitting in their best apartment 
 ready to receive me. After chocolate had been served the guitar 
 was introduced, and the younger parties danced their sequedilias. 
 
2i28 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 When they had animated themselves with this dance, the player on 
 the guitar began to sound the notes of the fandango: I had seated 
 myself by the oid grandfather, a feeble nerveless creature, and ob- 
 served with some concern a paralytic motion vibrating in all his limbs 
 and muscles, when at once unable to keep his seat he started up in a 
 kind of ecstasy, and began snapping his fingers like castanets and 
 dancing the fandango to my surprise and amusement. This was 
 the first time I had seen it performed, and I ceased to wonder at the 
 extravagant attachment which the Spaniards show for that national 
 tune and dance. 
 
 On Sunday the 18 th of June, at five o'clock in the morning, we 
 arrived at Aranjuez. and were most affectionately welcomed by Mr. 
 Hussey. He delivered a paper to me dictated by the minister, and 
 first appearances argued favourably for my negociation. The day 
 following I was visited by the sub-minister Campo, Anduaga and 
 -Escarano, (belonging to the minister's department,) also by the Due 
 d'Almodovar, Abbe Curtis and others, and in the evening of that day 
 I had my first interview with the Count Florida Blanca. 
 
 I shall not enter upon local descriptions ; it is neither to my pur- 
 pose, nor can it edify the reader, who will find all this done so much 
 better by writers who have travelled into Spain, and been more at 
 leisure for looking about them than I ever was. My thoughts were 
 soon distressfully occupied by the account, which met me, of the 
 riots and disturbances in London by what was called Lord George 
 Gordon's mob, which all but quite extinquished my hopes of success 
 in the very outset of my business. I had repeated interviews with the 
 minister, whom I visited by night, ushered by his confidential valet 
 through a suite of five rooms, the door of every one of which was 
 constantly locked as soon as I had passed it. The description of 
 those dreadful tumults was given to the Spanish court by their am- 
 bassador at Paris, Count d'Aranda, and faithfully given without 
 exaggeration. The effect it had upon the King of Spain was great 
 indeed, and for me most unfortunate, for I had no advices from my 
 court to qualify or oppose it. How this intelligence operated on the 
 mind of his Catholic Majesty can only be conceived by such as were 
 acquainted with his character, and know to what degree he remain- 
 ed affected by the insurrection, then not long passed, in his own capi- 
 tal of Madrid. I will only say that my treaty was in shape, and such 
 as my instructions would have warranted me to transmit and recom- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 229 
 
 mend. Spain had received a recent check from Admiral Rodney, 
 Gibraltar had been relieved with a high hand, she was also upon very 
 delicate and dubious terms with France. The crisis was decidedly 
 in my favour ; my reception flattering in the extreme ; the Spanish 
 nation was anxious for peace, and both court, ecclesiastics and mili- 
 tary professedly anti-gailican. The minister did not lose an hour 
 after my arrival, but with much apparent alacrity in the cause im- 
 mediately proceeded to business. I never had any reason upon re- 
 flection to doubt the sincerity of Count Florida Blanca at this mo- 
 ment, and verily believe we should have advanced the business of 
 the preliminaries, if the fatal news of the riots had not most critically 
 come to hand that very day, on which by the minister's own appoint- 
 ment we were to meet for fair discussion of the terms, while nothing 
 seemed to threaten serious difficulty or disagreement between us. 
 
 According to appointment I came to him, perfectly ignorant of 
 what had come to pass in my own country: I had prepared myself 
 to the best of my capacity for a meeting and discussion which it be- 
 hoved me to manage with discretion and address, and which according 
 to my view of it promised to crown my mission with success. We 
 were to write, and Campo was to be present, so that when I entered 
 the minister's inner chamber, and saw only a small table with a single 
 candle, no Campo present and no materials for writing, I own my 
 mind misgave me : I did not wait more than two minutes before 
 Florida Blanca came out of his closet, and in a lamentable tone sung- 
 out the downfall of London ; king, ministers and government whelm- 
 ed in ruin, the rebellion of America transplanted to England, and 
 heartily as he condoled with me, how could he under such circum- 
 stances commit his court to treat with me? I did not take the 
 whole for truth, and was too much on my guard to betray any aston- 
 ishment or alarm, but left him to lament the unhappy state of my 
 wretched country, and affected to treat the narrative as a French 
 exaggeration of the transitory tumults of a London mob. In the mean 
 time I could not fail to see, that nothing was to be done on my part, 
 but to yield to the moment and wait for information, upon which I 
 might rely. All that I did in the interim was to address a letter to 
 the minister, and confidently risque a prediction that the tumult 
 would be quashed so speedily and completely, as to add dignity 
 to the king's government and stability to his ministers. He gave for 
 answer that both his Catholic Majesty and himself trembled for the 
 
230 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 king, but of the extermination of the ministry no question could be 
 made. I renewed my assertions in terms more confident than 
 before, not so much upon conviction as from desperation, well 
 knowing that, if I was undone by the event, it was of little im- 
 portance that I was disgraced by my over-confidence and presump- 
 tion. 
 
 In the course of a very few days my prediction was happily veri- 
 fied, for on the 24th I was informed by Escarano, that the rioters 
 were quelled, Lord George Gordon committed to the Tower, and 
 indemnification ordered to the sufferers in the tumult, and on the 
 day following the minister sent me the letter he had received from 
 Count d'Aranda to explain why he had delayed to inform me of the 
 news from London. I availed myself of this happy change by every 
 means in my power for bringing- back the negociation to that state of 
 forwardness, in which it stood before it was interrupted, but the 
 minds and understandings of those, with whom I had to deal, were 
 net easy to be cured of alarms once given, or prejudices once re- 
 ceived. It is not necessary for me to discuss the characters, with 
 whom it was my lot to treat, it is enough to say that during more 
 than a year's abode in Spain, I believe no moment occurred so fa- 
 vourable to the business I had in hand, as that of which ill-fortune 
 had deprived me in the very outset of my undertaking. There was 
 a gloomy being, out of sight and inaccessible, whose command as 
 Confessor over the royal mind was absolute, and whose bigotry was 
 disposed to represent every thing in the darkest colours against a 
 nation of heretics, whose late enormities afforded too good a subject 
 for his spleen to descant upon ; and in the mind, where no illumina- 
 tion, no elasticity resides, impressions will strike strongly and sink 
 deep. 
 
 On the 26th I had completed my dispatches, in which I gave a 
 full and circumstantial detail of my proceeding, the hopes I had en- 
 tertained and the interruption I had met with, the conferences and 
 correspondencies I had held with the minister, and the measures I 
 had pursued for reviving the negociation, and reconducting it ac- 
 cording to the tenour of my instructions. In this dispatch I observe 
 to the Secretary of State, " That although I relied upon his lord- 
 « ship's kind interpretation of my motives for leaving Lisbon, yet it 
 " was no inconsiderable anxiety that I suffered till my doubts were 
 « satisfied upon the points which Mr. Hussey's letter had not suffi- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 231 
 
 " ciently explained. As it appeared to me a case, where I might use 
 " my discretion, and in which the inconveniencies incidental to my 
 " disappointment bore no proportion to the good, that might result 
 " from my success, I decided for the journey, which I had now per- 
 " formed, and flattered myself his lordship would see no cause to 
 « regret the step I had taken."— 
 
 " Had I not made ready use of my passports and relays, I had 
 " good reason to believe my hesitation would have proved decisive 
 " against any treaty ; whereas now I had the satisfaction of seeing 
 " many things point to a favourable and friendly issue." — 
 
 Speaking of a probability of detaching Spain antecedent to the 
 news of the disturbances in London, I tell the Secretary of State — 
 " That the moment for detaching Spain is now peculiarly favour- 
 " able : she is upon the worst terms with France ; not only the King 
 " of Naples, but the Queen of Portugal have written prcssingly to 
 " his Catholic Majesty to make peace with England, and since 
 " my arrival a further influence is set to work to aid the friends of 
 " peace, and this is the Due de Losada, who on behalf of his nephew 
 " the Due d'AImodovar has actually solicited the embassy to Eng- 
 " land, and been favourably received. These and many other cir- 
 " cumstances conspire to press the scale for peace ; in the opposite 
 " one we may place their unretrieved disgrace in the relief of Gib- 
 " raltar, their hopes in the grand armament from Cadiz of the 28th 
 " of April, their over-rated successes in West Florida, and their 
 "belief that your expeditions to the South -American continent are 
 <( dropt, and that Sir Edward Hughes's condition disables him from 
 " attempting any enterprise against the Manillas—" I then recite 
 the circumstance that gave a check to my ncgociation, state the 
 measures I had since taken for resuming it, and transmit a summary 
 of such points in requisition as require answers and instructions, and 
 conclude with suggesting such a mode of accommodating these to 
 the punctilio of the Spanish court, as in my opinion cannot fail to 
 bring the treaty to a successful issue — " If this is conveyed," (I ob- 
 serve) " in mild and friendly terms towards Spain, who submits the 
 " mode to the free discretion of Great Britain, and requests it only 
 a as a salvo, I think I have strong grounds to say her family com- 
 u pact will no longer hold her from a separate peace with Great 
 " Britain — " 
 
232 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 On the 27th I removed with my family to Madrid, where I took 
 a commodious house in an airy situation, and on the 1st of July the 
 king and royal family arrived from Aranjuez. Though I had fre- 
 quent communications with Count Florida Blanca through the sub- 
 minister Campo, which occasioned me to dispatch letters on the 6th 
 instaiit, yet I had no appointed interview till the 15th; our treaty 
 paused for the expected answer to my transmission before mentioned, 
 and it was clear to me that the Spanish minister, under the pretence 
 of sounding the sincerity of the British cabinet, was in effect ma- 
 noeuvring upon the suspicion of their stability. Nevertheless in this 
 conversation, which he held on the 15th instant, he expressly de- 
 clares, " That if Great Britain sends back any answer, which shall 
 " be couched in mild and moderate terms towards Spain, he will 
 " then proceed upon the the treaty with all possible good will, and 
 " give me his ideas without reserve, endeavouring to adjust some 
 " expedient satisfactory to both parties ; but he fears that our minis- 
 " try is so constituted as to deceive my hopes in the temper and 
 " quality of their reply — " 
 
 During this interval, whilst I remained without an answer to my 
 dispatch, the court removed to San Ildefonso, were Count D'Estaing 
 arrived, specially commissioned to traverse my negociation, and 
 detach the Spanish court from their projected treaty with Great- 
 Britain. France in the mean time sacrificed her whole naval cam- 
 paign in the harbour of Cadiz, where a combined force of sixty line 
 of battle ships was assembled, whilst the British fleet under the suc- 
 cessive commands of Geary and Derby did worse than nothing, and 
 the capture of our great East and West-Indian convoy by the Spanish 
 squadron completed their triumph and our discomfiture. 
 
 A mind so fluctuating and feeble as that of the Spanish minister 
 was not formed to preserve equanimity in success, or to persist in 
 its resolutions against the counter-action of opinions. He was at 
 this period absolutely intoxicated not only by the capture of our 
 trading ships, but by the alluring promises of D'Estaing, and sur- 
 rendered himself to the self-interested councils of Galvez, minister 
 of the Indies, for the continuance of the war. That minister, (the 
 creature of France to all intents and purposes) had like himself been 
 raised to high office from the humble occupation of a petty advocate, 
 and by early habits of intimacy, as likewise by superiority of intel* 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 233 
 
 lect, acquired a power over his understanding little short of absolute 
 ascendancy. 
 
 Through the influence of this man and by the intrigues of Count 
 D'Estaing my situation at this period became as critical as possible ; 
 my house was beset with spies, who made report of every thing 
 they could collect or impute ; I was proscribed from all my accus- 
 tomed friends and visitors, whilst no one ventured publicly to enter 
 my doors but the empress's ambassador Count Kaunitz, whom no 
 circumstances ever separated from me, and a few religious, whose 
 visits to me were more than suspicious. The most insidious means 
 were practised to break Mr. Hussey from me, but though they had 
 their effect for a short time, his good sense soon discovered the con- 
 trivance and prevented its effects. 
 
 Finding myself thus beset, I attached to my service certain con- 
 fidential agents, who were extremely useful to me, and amongst 
 these a gentleman in the employ of one of the northern courts, the 
 ablest in that capacity, and of the most consummate address, I ever 
 became acquainted with; by his means I possessed myself of 
 authentic papers and documents, and was enabled to expose and ef- 
 fectually to traverse some very insidious and highly important ma- 
 noeuvres much to my own credit and to the satisfaction of the cabi- 
 net, before whom they were laid by my corresponding minister. 
 
 I now received the long expected answer to my first dispatch. 
 It served little more than to cover a letter to Count Florida Blanca, 
 and that letter found him now in the hands of D'Estaing, and more 
 than half persuaded that the co-operation of France would put him 
 in possession of Gibraltar, that coveted fortress, which I would not 
 suffer him even to name, and for which Spain would almost have 
 laid the map of her islands, and the keys of her treasury at my feet. 
 I must confess this letter, which I had looked to with such hope, 
 was more suited to gratify his purposes than mine, for if quibble and 
 evasion were what he wished to avail himself of at this moment, he 
 certainly found no want of opportunity for the accomplishment of 
 his wish. 
 
 But if the inclosed letter was not altogether what I hoped for, 
 the covering letter was most decidedly what I had not deserved, for 
 it conveyed a more than half implied reproof for my having written 
 to the Spanish Minister on the matter of the riots, and at the same 
 time acknowledges that my fiafier ivas cautiously wQrded, and tJmt I 
 
 H h 
 
234 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 had most certainly succeeded in my argument — Why I was not to write 
 to the minister, who had first written to me, especially when I wrote 
 so cautiously and argued so successfully, I could never comprehend. 
 When I was surprised by a very alarming and unpleasant piece of 
 intelligence, conveyed to my knowledge through the channel of my 
 country's enemy, not of my country's minister, what could I do more 
 conformable to my duty than attempt to soften the impressions it 
 had created ? I had not been five minutes arrived before the minis- 
 ter's letter and proposals were put into my hands. What could oc- 
 cur to me so natural both in policy and politeness as to write to him, 
 especially on a subject so deeply interesting, so imperiously demand- 
 ing of me an appeal, that to have sunk under it in silence would have 
 been disgraceful in the extreme ? 
 
 In the same letter I am reminded — That I was instructed not even 
 to converse upon any particular proposition, until I was satisfied of the 
 willingness of the Court of Spain to treat at all — Of this willingness his 
 lordship professes to doubt, and grounds that doubt upon what he 
 gathers from my report of the change, which seemed to have been 
 wrought in the disposition of the minister by the intelligence of the 
 disturbances in London ; whereas the conversation, which he alludes 
 to, was held before that intelligence arrived, when the willingness to 
 treat was put out of all doubt by the very progress made in that 
 treaty, and which was only not compleated by the check which 
 that intelligence gave to it. If when the premier of Spain assured 
 himself of the total overthrow of our ministry he hesitated to pro- 
 ceed in treating with the agent of that ministry, it is nothing won- 
 derful ; but it would have been wonderful, if when I had such proofs 
 of his willingness, I had not been satisfied with them, because some- 
 thing totally unforeseen might come to pass to thwart the business 
 we were then engaged in. By parity of reason I might as well have 
 been made responsible for the riots themselves, as for the conse- 
 quences that resulted from them. It is a pity that his lordship did 
 not advert to the order of time laid down in my dispatch, by which 
 he could not have failed to discover, that in one part of it I was re- 
 porting conversation held when all was well, and in the other part 
 remarking upon embarrassments naturally produced by unforeseen 
 events of the most alarming nature. 
 
 That I had been careful enough to have satisfactory proofs of a 
 willingness to treat before I committed myself to conversation is suf- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 235 
 
 ficiently clear from the circumstance above mentioned of the over- 
 tures presented to me in the very instant of my arrival, before I had 
 seen the minister, or he had seen my letter of accreditation, il'il- 
 tingness more unequivocal hardly can be conceived, and when I did 
 present that letter upon my first interview I reported to my secre- 
 tary of state the sum total of my conversation, which consisting only 
 of the following words, copied verbatim from the transcript of my 
 letter to Lord Hillsborough, couid not much edify his excellency, or 
 divulge any sectets I was instructed to be reserved upon. I tell hia 
 lordship in my letter of the 26th of June 1780, — " That after the 
 first civilities, I put into the ministers hands his lordship's letter, 
 which I desired he would consider as conveying in the language of 
 sincerity the mind of a most just and upright king, who in his love 
 of peace rejoices to meet similar sentiments in the breast of his 
 Catholic majesty, and who has been graciously pleased to send me 
 to confer with his excellency, not from my experience in negocia- 
 tion, but as one confidential to the business in all its stages, and 
 zealously devoted to conduct it to an issue — " I proceed to say — 
 That " as this visit passed wholly in expressions of civility, I shall 
 observe no further to your lordship upon it, than that I was perfect- 
 ly well pleased with my reception." 
 
 If in any one part of my conduct or conversation I had advanced 
 a step beyond the line of my instructions, or varied from them in a 
 single instance, I should not have sought to shelter myself under 
 the peculiar difficulties of my situation, I must have met the reproof 
 I merited, and was certain to receive ; but when I was arraigned for 
 giving credit to sincerity, when it did exist, and being doubtful of 
 it, when it wavered, as I was not conscious of an error, I was not 
 moved by a reproof; but without entering into any argumentation, 
 unprofitable and extraneous, applied my utmost diligence to the 
 business I was upon, and continued to dictate to Mr. Hussey my 
 dispatches for England, when I was disabled from writing them 
 by a fractured arm. 
 
 The instant I was able to endure the motion of my coach, I at- 
 tended upon the minister Florida Blanca at San Ildefonso : D'Es- 
 taing was there, in high favour and much caressed ; Hussey was not 
 permitted to accompany me ; I was alone, and closely watched. It 
 was the most unfavourable moment that I passed during my whole 
 residence in Spain. Florida Blanca, instead of taking up his nego- 
 
236 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ciation where he left it, gave little credit or attention to the letter of 
 Lord Hillsborough, but evasively adverted to certain propositions 
 which he had made before I came into Spain and transmitted 
 through the hands of Mr. Hussey, to which propositions he observ- 
 ed our ministry had returned no answer — " I admitted that no 
 answer had been given to the propositions he alluded to, because 
 they were formed upon the suggestions of Commodore Johnstone 
 at Lisbon without any authority : it was a matter I had in charge to 
 disavow those overtures in the most direct terms ; they neither 
 originated with the cabinet, nor were ever before it ; but if he could 
 stand in need of any proof to satisfy his doubts as to the disposition 
 of my court towards peace, I desired him to recollect that I had been 
 sent into Spain for that express purpose, without any interchange on 
 his part, and against the formal practice of states in actual war. — " 
 He acknowledged that my observation was fair, and that he admitted 
 it, but he again reverted to Commodore Johnstone, observing 
 " That although he might take on himself to make unauthorised 
 propositions (which by the way he must think was strange presump- 
 tion, and still more strange that it was passed over with impunity) 
 yet he said that he answered with authority ; his propositions had 
 the sanction of his court, and as such he hoped they merited an 
 answer from mine." It was now clear to me, when he was driven 
 to allude to these unaccreditated propositions, that evasion was his 
 only object. 
 
 " Did he now refer to them," I asked, (i as the actual basis of a 
 treaty ? — " 
 
 He saw no reason to the contrary. 
 
 " They contained," I said, " an article for the cession of Gib- 
 raltar." 
 
 They did. 
 
 " How then did such a stipulation accord with his word given, 
 that I should be subjected to no requisition on that point?" 
 
 He was now evidently embarrassed, and turning aside to the sub- 
 minister Campo, held some conversation with him apart: he then 
 resumed his discourse, but in a desultory way, and being one of the 
 most irritable men living, was so entirely off his guard as to let out 
 nearly the whole of Count D'Estaing's intrigue, and plainly inti- 
 mated that Gibraltar was an object, for which the king his master 
 would break the Family-Pact and every other engagement with 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 237 
 
 France, which he exemplified by stamping the very paper itself un- 
 der his feet upon the marble floor ; when recollecting himself after 
 awhile, and composing his countenance, that had been distorted 
 with agitation, he said — " That if I would bind him to his word it 
 must be so. However, if the article for Gibraltar was inadmissible, 
 what prevented our taking the remaining propositions into conside- 
 ration?" 
 
 I told him, and with truth, that I had seen his propositions, but 
 was not in possession of them. " Would he put them down afresh 
 and join me in discussing them?" 
 
 " The Abbe Hussey had his original, and he had taken no 
 copy." 
 
 As I recollected enough of these propositions to know myself 
 restrained from treating upon them, it occurred to me, as the only 
 expedient , left to keep the treaty alive, to consent to his sending 
 them over by Mr. Hussey, who was now become heartily sick of his 
 situation, and catching at every possible plea for his returning 
 home. Still I was resolved that the proposal of sending over propo- 
 sitions of that sort by Mr. Hussey should not originate with me, 
 though I was perfectly willing to acquiesce in it, as giving my mi- 
 nisters the chance of getting out of a war, which I thought good 
 policy would rather have sought to narrow in its extent than to 
 widen, and which ever since I had been in Spain presented nothing 
 but a succession of disasters. 
 
 This expedient of getting Mr. Hussey to be sent home by the 
 minister with propositions, which, though upon a broader scale of 
 treaty than my instructions allowed me to embrace, were yet in my 
 opinion of them by no means inadmissible, appeared to me the best 
 I could resort to in the present moment. With this idea in my 
 thoughts I asked Count Florida Blanca if he knew the mind of 
 France, and whether he was prepared with any overtures on her 
 part, which could be transmitted. — I put this question experimen- 
 tally for I had obtained pretty full information of what D'Estaing 
 had been about. 
 
 He had by this time recovered his serenity, and with great deli- 
 beration made answer to me, as nearly as it can be rendered, (for he 
 always spoke in his own mother-tongue) to this effect — " We have 
 no overtures to make on the part of France ; France, as well as all 
 the other courts, which have representatives here resident, has been 
 
238 MEMOIRS 6F 
 
 very inquisitive touching your business in this place; the only 
 answer given on our part has been, that the Catholic King is an 
 honourable monarch, and will faithfully observe all his engagements: 
 on the faith of this single assertion the whole matter rests. If your 
 court is sincere for peace, let her now set to work upon that business, 
 ^which sooner or later must be the business of all parties. We will 
 honestly and ardently second her endeavours ; we do not put her to 
 any thing, which may revolt her dignity ; we acknowledge and con- 
 ceive the degree of sensibility (call it if you please indignation) 
 which she must harbour against a state in actual alliance with the 
 rebel subjects of her empire; let her act with that dignity, which is 
 her due, constantly in sight; but let her meet his Catholic Majesty 
 in his disposition for finishing a war, which can only exhaust all 
 parties ; and as she best knows what her own interests will admit, 
 let her suggest such terms, as she would receive, was France the 
 proponent, and let her couple them with terms for Spain, and if 
 these be fair and reasonable on both sides, and such as Spain in her 
 particular can possibly accede to, the Catholic King will close with 
 her on his own behalf, and exert all his influence with his ally to 
 make the peace general. This is an arduous and delicate business ; 
 let us cordially unite our endeavours to bring it forward. I shall be 
 at all times ready to confer with you freely and without disguise, 
 and let no difference of opinion affect our personal good under- 
 standing." 
 
 The day following this conference Mr. Hussey arrived at San 
 Ildefonso, and having communicated to him what had passed and 
 my wish for his going to England with the minister's propositions, 
 he readily agreed to it, and before that day passed the sub-minister 
 Campo came to my house to sound me on this very expedient, ma- 
 naging as he conceived with great finesse to induce me to consent to 
 what in fact I much desired, and expressing, as from the minister, 
 his earnest hope that I would not quit Spain in the interim. Un- 
 pleasant as my situation was now become, still I was unwilling to 
 abandon the negociation, as I knew that D'Estaing was on his de- 
 parture for Cadiz, where I had good reason to believe he would lose 
 his influence and forfeit his popularity. I then availed myself of his 
 informers, and through their channel gave out what I knew would 
 come to his ears, and induce him to think that my negociation was 
 totally desperate: accordingly I departed from San Ildefonso* 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 239 
 
 leaving Mr. Hussey to settle propositions with the minister, and the 
 day following my return to Madrid, D'Estaing set out for his com- 
 mand at Cadiz. Florida Blanca offered to communicate to me 
 copies of what he transmitted by Mr. Hussey, but for obvious reasons 
 I declined his offer. 
 
 D'Estaing at Cadiz soon lost all the interest he had gained at 
 Court. He put to sea with his fleet against the protest of the 
 Spanish admiral, and with circumstances, that rendered him com- 
 pletely unpopular. The British fleet under admiral Darby was at 
 sea in his track ; the French ships were in the worst condition ima- 
 ginable, but our fleet did not avail itself of the opportunity for 
 bringing them to action, and they reached their port without ex- 
 changing a shot. How justifiable this was on our part I will not 
 doubt, how disappointing it was even to Spain, whose wishes had 
 by this time turned eJjout, and how derogatory in her opinion to the 
 credit of our arms, I can truly witness. 
 
 I had now manoeuvred the Abbe Hussey into a mission, the 
 most acceptable to him that could be devised, as it took him out of 
 Spain, and liberated him from the necessity of acting a part, which 
 he could not longer have sustained with any credit to himself; for 
 it was only whilst the treaty was in train with the sincere good will 
 of Spain that he could be truly cordial in the cause: when unfore- 
 seen events occurred to check and interrupt the progress of it, his 
 sagacity did not fail to discover that he could no longer preserve a 
 middle interest with both parties, but must be hooked into a dilemma 
 of choosing his side ; which that would have been when duplicity 
 must have been thrown off, was a decision he did not wish to come 
 to, though I perhaps can conjecture where it would have led him. 
 He had no great prejudices for England; Ireland was his native 
 country, but even that and the whole world had been renounced by 
 him, when he threw himself into the oblivious convent of La 
 Trappe, and was only dragged from out his cell by force and the 
 emancipating authority of the Pope himself. Whilst he was here 
 digging his own grave, and consigning himself to perpetual tacitur- 
 nity, he was a very young man, high in blood, of athletic strength^ 
 and built as if to see a century to its end. It was not the enthu- 
 siasm of devotion, no holy raptures, that inspired him with this 
 desperate resolution: it was the splenetic effect of disappointed 
 passion ; and such was the change, which a short time had wrought 
 
540 ' MEMOIRS OF 
 
 in him, that lather Robinson, the worthy priest, with whom he af- 
 terwards cohabited, told me, that when he attended the order for 
 his deliverance, he could hardly ascertain his person, especially as 
 he persisted to asseverate in the strongest terms that he was not 
 the man they were in search of. 
 
 When he came forth again into the world with passions, rather 
 suspended than subdued, I am inclined to think he considered him* 
 self as forced upon a scene of action, where he was to play his part 
 with as much finesse and dissimulation as suited his interest, or 
 furthered his ambition ; and this he probably reconciled to his con- 
 science by a commodious kind of casuistry, in which he was a true 
 adept. 
 
 He wore upon his countenance a smile sufficiently seductive for 
 common purposes and cursory acquaintance : his address was 
 smooth, obsequious, studiously obliging, and at times glowingly 
 heightened into an empassioned show of friendship and affection. 
 He was quick enough in finding out the characters of men, and the 
 openings through which they were assailable to flattery ; but he was 
 not equally successful in his mode of tempering and applying it; 
 for he was vain of showing his triumph over inferior understandings, 
 and could not help colouring his attentions oftentimes with such a 
 florid hue, as gave an air of irony and ridicule, that did not always 
 escape detection ; and thus it came to pass that he was little cre- 
 dited (and perhaps even less than he deserved to be) for sincerity 
 in his warmest professions, or politeness in his best attempts to 
 please. 
 
 As I am persuaded that he left behind him in his coffin at La 
 Trappe no one passion, native or engrafted, that belonged to him 
 when he entered it, ambition lost no hold upon his heart, and of 
 course I must believe that the station, which he filled in Spain, and 
 the high-sounding titles and dignities, which the favour of his Ca- 
 tholic Majesty might so readily endow him with, were to him such 
 lures, as, though but feathers, outweighed English guineas in his 
 balance: for of these I must do him the justice to say he was indig- 
 nantly regardless ; but to the honours, that his church could give, 
 to the mitre of Waterford, though merely titular, it is clear to de- 
 monstration he had no repugnance. 
 
 He made profession of a candour and liberality of sentiment, 
 bordering almost upon downright protestantism, whilst in heart he 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 241 
 
 was as high a priest as Thomas a Becket, and as stiff a catholic, 
 though he ridiculed their mummeries, as ever kissed the cross. He 
 did not exactly want to stir up petty insurrections in his native 
 country of Ireland, but to head a revolution, that should overturn 
 the church established, and enthrone himself primate in the cathe- 
 dral of Armagh, would have been his brightest glory and supreme 
 felicity : and in truth he was a man by talents, nerves, ambition, 
 intrepidity, fitted for the boldest enterprise. 
 
 After he had negociated my introduction into Spain, and set the 
 treaty on foot, the very first check, which it received by the dis- 
 turbances in London, left me very little hope of further help from 
 him ; but when the prospect was darkened by accumulated clouds, 
 and he discovered nothing through the gloom of my embarrassed 
 situation but a tottering ministry, a discontented people, an unquiet 
 capital, our trading fleets captured, and our fighting fleets no longer 
 worthy of the name ; when he saw Spain assume a proud and con- 
 quering attitude, and, (buoyed up by the promises of France) block- 
 ading Gibraltar and preparing for the actual siege of it, he began 
 to perceive he had engaged himself in a most unpromising intrigue, 
 and readily lent his ear to those, that were at hand and ready to 
 intrigue him out of it. He was assiduous in his homage to the 
 Archbishop of Toledo, and in the closest intimacy and communica- 
 tion with the minister of the Elector of Treves, and all at once, 
 without the smallest cause of offence, or any reason that I could 
 possibly divine, changed his behaviour as an inmate of my family, 
 and from the warmest and most unreserved attachment, that man 
 ever professed to man, took up a character of the severest gloom 
 and sullenness, for which he would assign no cause, but to all my 
 enquiries, all my remonstrances, was either obstinately silent, or 
 evasively uncommunicative. He would stay no longer, he was re- 
 solved to demand his passports, and actually wrote to Del-Campo to 
 that purpose. To this demand an answer was returned, refusing 
 him the passports until he had leave from Lord Hillsborough for 
 quitting Spain, which it was at the same time observed to him 
 could not be for his reputation to do in the depending state of the 
 business, on which he came. Upon this he proceeded to write a 
 short letter to Lord Hillsborough, demanding leave to return : he 
 was not hardy enough to dispatch this letter without communicating 
 it to me for my opinion : I gave it peremptorily against his sending 
 
 i i 
 
242 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 it : I stated to him my reasons why I thought both the measure a&d 
 the mode decidedly improper and dishonourable ; he grew extremely 
 warm, and so intemperate, that I found it necessary to tell him, if he 
 persisted in demanding his return of the secretary of state in those 
 terms, that it would oblige me to write home in my own justification, 
 and also to enter upon explanations with the Spanish Minister, who 
 might else impute his conduct to a cabal with me, though it was so 
 directly against my judgment and my wishes. I declared to him 
 that I had not written a line, or taken a step without his privity, and 
 that no one word had ever passed my lips, but what was dictated by 
 sincere regard and consideration for him, and this was solemnly and 
 strictly true : I said that I observed he had altered his behaviour to- 
 wards me and my family, which he could not deny, and I added that 
 this proceeding must not only ruin him with the minister of Spain, 
 but was such as might be highly prejudicial to my business, unless 
 I took every prudent precaution to explain and avert the mischief 
 it was pregnant with. The consequence of this conversation was, 
 that he did not send his letter to Lord Hillsborough, but as he was 
 not explicit on that .point, I prepared myself with a letter to Lord 
 Hillsborough, and another to Del-Campo, explanatory of his con- 
 duct, which, upon his assuring me on our next meeting that he would 
 not write to England, I also forbore to send. Upon the following 
 day, without any cause assigned or explanation given, my late sullen 
 associate met me with a smiling countenance, and was as perfectly 
 an altered man, as if he had come a second time out of the clois- 
 ters of La Trappe. He was in fact a most profound casuist, and a 
 confessor of the highest celebrity. 
 
 I cannot say this caprice of Mr. Hussey gave me much concern, 
 or created in me any extraordinary surprise, though I could never 
 thoroughly develope the cause of it ; yet at that very time my life 
 was brought into imminent danger by the unskilfulness of the sur- 
 geons, who attended upon me in consequence of my having received 
 a very serious injury by a fall from one of my Portuguese mules. I 
 was riding on the Pardo road, when the animal took fright, and in 
 the act of stopping him the bitt broke asunder in his mouth. In 
 this state, being under no command, he ran with violence against 
 an equipage drawn by six mules that was passing along the road in 
 a train with many others. In the concussion I came to the ground; 
 the carriage fortunately stopped short, and I was lifted into it 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 243 
 
 stunned with the shock and for a time insensible. I was bleeding 
 at the elbow, where the skin was torn, and upon recovering my 
 senses I found myself supported by my wife in her chariot, and 
 probably indebted to her drivers for my life. Though I had cause 
 to tremble for the consequences of the violent alarm I had given 
 her, as she was now very near her time, yet in other respects it was 
 a fortunate and extraordinary chance, that my accident should have 
 thrown me immediately into her protection, who lost not an in- 
 stant of time in conveying me home. Two surgeons, such as Ma- 
 drid could furnish, were called in and speedily arrived, but for no 
 other purpose, as it seemed, except to dispute and wrangle with 
 each other upon the question if the arm was fractured at the shoul- 
 der or at the elbow, whilst each alternately twisted and tortured 
 it as best suited him in support of his opinion. In the height of 
 their controversy a third personage made his appearance in the 
 uniform of the Guardes de Corps, being chief surgeon of that 
 corps and sent to me by authority. This gentleman silenced both," 
 but agreed with neither, for he pronounced the bone to be split 
 longitudinally from the shoulder to the elbow, and finding it by 
 this time extremely swelled and inflamed, very properly observed 
 that no operation could be performed upon it in that state. He 
 proceeded therefore to bathe it liberally with an embrocation, 
 which he affirmed was sovereign for the purpose, but if his object 
 was to reduce the swelling and assuage the inflammation, the learn- 
 ed gentleman was most egregiously mistaken, for the fiery spirit of 
 the rum, with which he fomented it, soon increased both to so 
 violent a degree with such a raging erysipelas as in a few days had 
 every symptom of a mortification actually commencing, when the 
 case being pressing, my wife, whose presence of mind never de- 
 serted her in danger, took the prudent measure of dismissing the 
 whole trio of ignoramuses, and calling to her assistance a modest 
 rational practitioner in our near neighbourhood, who under the sign 
 of a brass-bason professed the sister arts of shaving and surgery 
 conjointly, by reversing the practice so injurious and applying the 
 bark, rescued me from their hands, and under Providence preserved 
 my life. 
 
 Here I must take leave to digress a little from the tenour of my 
 tale, whilst I record an anecdote, in itself of no other material inte^ 
 rest except as it enables me to state one amongst the many reasons, 
 
2U MEMOIRS OF 
 
 which I have to love and revere the memory of a deceased friend, 
 who devoted to me the evening of every day without the exception 
 of one, which I passed during my residence in Madrid. This ex- 
 cellent old man, Patrick Curtis by name, and by birth an Irish- 
 man, had been above half a century settled in Spain, domestic 
 priest and occasionally preceptor to three successive Dukes of 
 Osuna. In this situation he had been expressly the founder of the 
 fortunes of the Premier Florida Blanca, by recommending him as 
 advocate to the employ and patronage of that rich and noble house. 
 The Abbe Don Patricio Curtis was of course looked up to as a 
 person of no small consideration ; he was also not less conspicuous 
 and universally respected for his virtues, for his high sense of ho- 
 nour, his bold sincerity of speech and generous benignity of soul ; 
 but this good man at the same time had such an over-abundant 
 portion of the amor patriot about him, was so marked a devotee to 
 the British interest and so unreserved an opponent to that of France, 
 that it seemed to demand more circumspection than he was dis- 
 posed to bestow for guarding himself against the resentment of a 
 party, whose principles he arraigned without mitigation, and whose 
 power he set at open defiance without caution or reserve. Though 
 considerably past eighty, his affections were as ardent and his feel- 
 ings as quick as if he had not reached his twentieth year. When I 
 was supposed to be out of chance of recovery this affectionate 
 creature came to me in an agony of grief to take his last farewell. 
 He told me he had been engaged in fervent prayer and intercession 
 on my behalf, and had pledged before the altar his most earnest 
 and devoted services for the consolation and protection of my be- 
 loved wife and daughters, if it should please Heaven to remove me 
 from them and reject his humble supplications for my life : he la- 
 mented that I had no spiritual assistant of my own church to resort 
 to ; he did not mean to obtrude his forms, to which I was not ac- 
 customed, but on the contrary came purposely to tender me his 
 services according to my own ; and was ready, if I would furnish 
 him with my prayer book, and allow him to secure the doors from 
 any, that might intrude or over-hear to the peril of his life, to admi- 
 nister the sacrament to me exactly as it is ordained by our church, 
 requesting only that I would reach the cup with my own hand, and 
 not employ his to tender it to me. AH this he fulfilled, omitting 
 none of the prayers appointed, and officiating in the most devout 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 245 
 
 impressive manner, (though at times interrupted and overcome by- 
 extreme sensibility) to my very great comfort and satisfaction. Had 
 the office of Inquisition, whose terrific mansion stood within a few 
 paces of my gates, had report of this which passed in my heretical 
 chamber, my poor friend would have breathed out the short rem- 
 nant of his days between two walls, never to be heard of more. 
 From six o'clock in the afternoon till ten at night he never failed to 
 occupy the chair next to me in my evening circle, and though I saw 
 with infinite concern that his constitution was rapidly breaking up 
 for the last six or seven weeks of my stay, no persuasion could keep 
 him from coming to me and exposing his declining health to the 
 night air ; at last when I was recalled and had fixed the day for my 
 departure, dreading the effect, which the act of parting for ever 
 might have upon his exhausted frame, I endeavoured to impose 
 upon him a later hour of the morning than I meant to take for my 
 setting out, and enjoined strict secresy to all my party : but these 
 precautions were in vain ; at three o'clock in the morning, when I 
 entered the receiving room I found my poor old friend alone and 
 waiting, with his arms extended to embrace me and bathed in 
 tears, scarcely able to support himself on his tottering legs, now 
 miserably tumified, a spectacle that cut my heart to the quick, 
 and perfectly unmanned me. He had purchased a number of 
 masses of some pious mendicants, which he hoped would be effica- 
 cious and avail for our well-doing : he had no great faith in amu- 
 lets, he told me, yet he had brought me a ring of Mexican work- 
 manship and materials, very ancient and consecrated and blessed 
 by a venerable patriarch of the Indies, since canonized for his 
 miracles ; which ring had been highly prized by the late Duchess 
 of Osuna for its efficacy in preserving her from thunder and light- 
 ning, and though he did not presume to think that I would place 
 the slighest confidence in its virtue, yet he hoped I would let him 
 bestow it on the person of the infant daughter, which was born to 
 me in Spain, whom I then gave into his arms, whilst he invoked a 
 thousand blessings upon her. He brought a very fine crucifix cut in 
 Ivory ; he said he had put up his last prayers before it, and had 
 nothing more to do but lie down upon his bed and die, which as 
 soon as I departed he was prepared to do, sensible that his last 
 hour was near at hand, and that he should survive our separation 
 a very few days. I prevailed with him to retain his crucifix, but I 
 
246 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 accepted an exquisite Ecce Homo by El Divino Morales, and ex- 
 changed a token of remembrance with him ; I saw him led out of 
 my house to that of the Duke of Osuna near at hand, and whilst I was 
 yet on my journey the intelligence reached me of his death, and 
 may the God of mercy receive him into bliss ! 
 
 When I had so far advanced in my recovery as to be able to 
 wear my arm in a sling, and endure the motion of a carriage, I 
 dispatched my servant Camis to San Ildefonso, and proposed to 
 the minister a conference with him there upon the supposed me- 
 diation of Russia, on which he had thought fit to sound me. My ser- 
 vant returned, bringing a letter from the sub-minister Carnpo, in 
 which he signifies the minister's wish that I would consent to defer 
 my visit, but adds that " If I think otherwise I shall always be 
 " welcome — " I well knew to whom and to what I was indebted 
 for this letter, and naturally was not pleased with it, yet I thought 
 it best and most prudent to answer it as follows 
 
 " To Senor Don Bernardo Del-Campo." 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " My servant returned with your letter of this day in 
 time to prevent my setting out for San Ildefonso. 
 
 " When I tell you that it is with pleasure I accommodate myself 
 to the wishes of Count Florida Blanca, I not only consult my own 
 disposition, but I am persuaded I conform to that of my court, and 
 of the minister, under whose immediate instructions I am acting. 
 The reconciliation of our respective nations is an object, which I 
 look to with such cordial devotion, that I would on no account inter- 
 pose myself in a moment unacceptable to your court for any consi- 
 deration short of my immediate duty. I am persuaded there is that 
 honour and good faith in the councils of Spain, and in the minister, 
 who directs them, that I shall not suffer in his esteem by this proof 
 of my acquiescence, and I know too well the sincerity of my own 
 court to apprehend for the part I have taken. 
 
 " At the same time that I signify to you my acquiescence as 
 above stated, I think my predicament thereby becomes such as to 
 require an immediate report to my court, and I desire you will re- 
 quest of his excellency Count Florida Blanca to send me a blank 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 247 
 
 passport, to be filled up by me with the name of such person, as I 
 may find convenient to dispatch to England by the way of Lisbon. 
 
 I am, &c. Sec. 
 
 R. C." 
 
 This letter produced a most courteous invitation, and thence en- 
 sued those conferences already described, which separated Mr. Hus- 
 sey from me, and sent him home with propositions, which my in- 
 structions did not allow me to discuss. By this chasm in the business 
 I was upon, I found myself so far at leisure, that I was tempted to 
 indulge my curiosity by a visit to the Escurial, and accordingly set 
 out for that singular place with a letter from the minister to the 
 Prior, signifying the king's pleasure that I should have free access 
 to the manuscripts, and every facility, that could be given to my re- 
 searches of whatever description. I had been informed by Sir John 
 Dalrymple of a curious manuscript, purporting to be letters of 
 Brutus, to which he could not get access ; these letters are written 
 in Greek, and are referred to by Doctor Bentley in his controversy 
 with Boyle as notoriously spurious, fabricated by the sophists, of 
 which there can be no doubt. I obtained a sight of the manuscript, 
 and the fathers favoured me with a copy of the Greek original, and 
 also of the Latin translation by Petrarch. I have them by me, but 
 they are good for nothing, and bear decided evidence of an impos- 
 ture. This the worthy father, who introduced himself to me as libra- 
 rian and professor of the learned languages, discovered by a very 
 curious process, observing to me that these could not be the true 
 letters of 3rutus, forasmuch as they profess to have been written 
 after the death of Julius Caesar, which he had found out to be a 
 flagrant anachronism, assuring me that Brutus, having died before 
 Caesar, could not be feigned to have written letters after the decease 
 of the man who survived him. When I apologized for my hesita- 
 tion in admitting his chronology, and asked him if Brutus was not- 
 suspected of having a hand in the murder of Csesar, he owned 
 that he had heard of it, but that it was a mere fable, and hasten- 
 ing to his cell brought me down a huge folio of chronology, follow- 
 ing me into the court, and pointing out the page, where I might 
 read my own conviction. I thanked him for his solicitude, and as- 
 sured him that his authority was quite sufficient for the fact, and re- 
 
248 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 collecting how few enjoyments he probably had in that lugubrous 
 mansion, left him in possession of his victory and triumph. 
 
 I took nobody with me to the Escurial but my servants and a 
 Milanese traiteur, who opened an empty hotel, and provided me 
 with a chamber and my food. There were indeed myriads of annoy- 
 ing insects, who had kept uninterrupted possession of their quarters, 
 against whom I had no way of guarding myself but by planting my 
 p6rtable crib in the middle of the room, with its legs immersed in 
 pails of water. The court was expected, but not yet arrived, and 
 the place was a perfect solitude, so that I had the best possible oppor- 
 tunity of viewing this immense edifice at my ease and leisure. I 
 am not about to describe it; assuredly it is one of the most wonder- 
 ous monuments that bigotry has ever dedicated to the fulfillment 
 of a vow. Yet there is no grace in the external, which owes its 
 power of striking to the immensity of its mass: The architect x^.as 
 been obliged to sacrifice beauty and proportion to security against 
 the incredible hurricanes of wind, which at times sweep down from 
 the mountains that surround it; of a scenery more savage, nature 
 hardly has a sample to produce upon the habitable globe : yet within 
 this gioomy and enormous receptacle, there is abundant food for 
 curiosity in paintings, books and consecrated treasures exceeding 
 all description. There is a vast and inestimable collection of 
 pictures, and the great masters, whose works were in my poor 
 judgment decidedly the most prominent and attractive, are Raphael, 
 Titian, Rubens, Velasquez and Coello, of which the two last were 
 natives of Spain and by no means unworthy to be classed with the 
 three former. Of Raphael there are but four pre-eminent speci- 
 mens, of which the famous Perla is one, but hung very disadvan- 
 tageous^ : of Titian there is a splendid abundance ; of Rubens not 
 many, but some that shew him to have been a mighty master of the 
 passions, and speak to the heart with incredible effect ; they throw 
 the gauntlet to the proudest of the Italian schools, and seem to leave 
 Vandyke behind him almost out of sight: of Velasquez, if there 
 was none other than his composition of Jacob, when his sons are 
 showing him the coat of Joseph, it would be enough to rank him 
 with the highest in his art : Coello's fame may safely rest upon his 
 inimitable altar-piece in the private chapel. Were it put to me to 
 single out for my choice two compositions, and only two, from out 
 the whole inestimable collection, I would take Titian's Last Supper 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 249 
 
 in the refectory for my first prize, and this altar-piece of Coello's for 
 my second, leaving the Perla and Madona del pesce of Raphael, the 
 Dead Christ of Rubens, and the Joseph of Velasquez with longing 
 and regret, but leaving them notwithstanding. 
 
 The court removed from San Ildefonso to the Escurial in a few 
 days after I had been there, and I was invited to bring my family 
 thither, which accordingly I did. My reception here was very dif- 
 ferent from what I had experienced at San Ildefonso. The king, one 
 of the best tempered men living, was particularly gracious ; in walk- 
 ing through his apartments in the Escurial, I surprised him in his 
 bed-chamber: the good man had been on his knees before his pri- 
 vate altar, and upon the opening of the door, rose ; when seeing me 
 in the act of retiring, he bade me stay, and condescended to show 
 me some very curious South American deer, extremely small and 
 elegantly formed, which he kept under a netting; and amongst 
 others a little green monkey, the most diminutive and most beauti- 
 ful of its species I had ever seen. He also shewed me the game he 
 had shot that morning of various sorts from the bocafica to the vul- 
 ture. He was alone, and seemed to take peculiar pleasure in grati- 
 fying our curiosity. No monarch could well be more humbly lodged, 
 for his state consisted in a small camp-bed, miserably equipped with 
 curtains of faded old damask, that had once been crimson, and a 
 cushion of the same by his bedside, with a table, that held his cruci- 
 fix and prayer book, and over that a three-quarters picture of the 
 Mater -dolorosa by Titian, which he always carried with him for his 
 private altar-piece ; of which picture I was fortunate enough to pro- 
 cure a very perfect copy by an old Spanish master (Coello as I sus- 
 pect) upon the same sized cloth, and very hardly to be distinguished 
 from the original. This picture I brought home with me, and it is 
 now in my possession. His majesty's dress was, like his person, 
 plain and homely ; a buff leather waistcoat, breeches of the same, 
 and old-fashioned boots (made in Pall Mall), with a plain drab coat, 
 covered with snuff and dust, a bad wig and a worse hat constituted 
 his wardrobe for the chace, and there were very few days in the 
 year, when he denied himself that recreation. 
 
 The Prince of Asturias, now the reigning sovereign, was always 
 so good as to notice the respect I duly paid him with the most flat- 
 tering and marked attention. He spoke of me and to me with dis- 
 tinguished kindness, and caused it to be signified to me, that he was 
 
 k k 
 
250 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 sorry circumstances of etiquette did not allow him to show me those 
 more pointed proofs of his regard, by which it was his wish to make 
 appear the good opinion he was pleased to entertain of me. Such 
 a testimony from a prince of his reserved and distant cast of charac- 
 ter was to be valued for its sincerity. On my way from San Ilde- 
 fonso to Segovia one morning at an early hour, as I was mounting 
 a hill, that opened that extensive plain to my view, I discovered a 
 party of horsemen and the prince considerably advanced before 
 them at the full speed of his horse ; I had just time to order my 
 chariot out of the road, and halt it under some cork trees by the 
 way -side, and according to my custom I got out to pay him my res- 
 pects. The prince stopped his horse upon the instant, and with his 
 hat in his hand wheeled him about to come up to me, when the 
 high-spirited animal, either resenting the manoeuvre, or taking 
 fright, as it seemed, at the gleamy reflection of my grey mules half- 
 covered with the cork branches, reared and wheeled upon his hinder 
 legs in a most alarming manner. The prince appeared to me in 
 such imminent danger, that I was about to seize the bitt of his bridle, 
 but he was much too complete a cavalier to accept of assistance, and 
 after a short but pretty severe contest, brought his horse up to me 
 in perfect discipline, and with many handsome acknowledgments 
 for the anxiety I had shewn on his account, in a very gracious man- 
 ner took his leave, and pursued his road to San Ildefonso : he was a 
 man of vast bodily strength, and a severe rider; the fine animal, one 
 of the most beautiful I had seen in Spain, shewed the wounds of the 
 spur streaming with blood down his glossy-white sides from the 
 shoulder to the flank. 
 
 This prince had a small but elegant pavilion at a short distance 
 from the Escurial, which in point of furniture and pictures was a 
 perfect gem : he did me and my family the honour to invite us to 
 see it ; at the appointed hour we found it prepared for our recep- 
 tion, with a table set out and provided with refreshments j some of 
 the officers of his household were in waiting ; the dukes of Alva, 
 Grenada, Almodovar and others of high rank accompanied us through 
 the apartments, and when I returned to my hotel at the Escurial, 
 the prince's secretary called on me by command to know my opinion 
 of it. There could be no difficulty in delivering that, for it really 
 merited all the praise that I bestowed upon it. In a very short time 
 after, the same gentleman returned and signified the prince's ex- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 251 
 
 press desire to know if there was any thing in the style of furniture, 
 that struck me as defective, or any thing I could suggest for its im- 
 provement. With the like sincerity I made answer, that in my 
 humble opinion the fitting of the principal room in the Chinese 
 style, though sufficiently splendid, was not in character with the rest 
 of the apartments, that were hung round with some of the finest 
 pictures of the Spanish and Italian masters, where a chaster style in 
 point of ornament had been preserved. 
 
 I heard no more of my critique for some days, and began to sus- 
 pect that I had made my court very ill by risquing it, when another 
 message called me to review the complete change, which that apart- 
 ment had undergone, to the exclusion of every atom of Japan work, 
 in consequence of my remark. 
 
 It was on this occasion that the minister Florida Blanca in the 
 moment of that favour and popularity, which I then enjoyed, ad- 
 dressed me in a very different style from any he had ever used, and 
 with an air of mock solemnity charged me with having practised 
 upon the heir apparent of the crown of Spain by some secret charm, 
 or love-fioivder, to the engagement of his affections, " which," said 
 he, " I perceive you are so exclusively possessed of, that I must 
 " throw myself on your protection, and request you to preserve to 
 " me some place in his regard — " As I had found his excellency 
 for the first time in the humour for raillery, I endeavoured to keep 
 up the spirit of it by owning to the love-fioivder ; in virtue of which 
 I had gained that power over the prince, as to seize the bridle of his 
 horse, and arrest him on the road, which- led me to relate the anec- 
 dote of our rencounter on the way to Segovia above-described. He 
 listened to me with great good humour, appearing to enjoy my nar- 
 rative of the adventure, and at the conclusion observed to me, that 
 my life was forfeited by the laws of Spain ; but as he supposed I 
 had no evil design against the prince himself, but only wanted to 
 possess myself of so fine a charger, as an offering to my excellent 
 and royal master, whose virtues made his life and safety dear to all 
 the world, he would in confidence disclose to me that order was 
 given out by his Catholic Majesty to select from his stud in the 
 Mancha ten the noblest horses, that could be chosen, and out of 
 those, upon trial of their steadiness and temper, to select two, which 
 I might tender as my offering to the acceptance of my sovereign; 
 and this he observed was a present never before made to any crown- 
 
252 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ed head in Europe but of his majesty's own immediate family, al- 
 luding to the King of Naples. 
 
 A few days after my return to Madrid this gracious promise was 
 fulfilled, and two horses of the royal stud, led by the king's grooms 
 and covered by cloths, on which the royal arms Sec. were embroi- 
 dered, were brought into the inner court of my house, and there 
 delivered to me. I flatter myself they were such horses, as had not 
 been brought out of Spain for a century before, and not altogether 
 unworthy of the acceptance of the illustrious personage, who conde- 
 scended to receive them. I was at dinner when they arrived, and 
 Count Kaunitz, the imperial ambassador, was at the table with me. 
 I had not spoken to him, or any other person, of this expected pre- 
 sent, and his astonishment at seeing that, which had been the great 
 desideratum of many ambassadors, and himself amongst the num- 
 ber, thus voluntarily and liberally bestowed upon me, (the secret 
 and untitled agent of a court at war with Spain) surprised him into 
 some comments, which had the only tincture of jealousy, that I ever 
 discovered in him. A crowd had followed these horses to the gates, 
 which enclosed my courts; one of these opened to the Plazuela de 
 los Amigidos, and the other to the street of the inquisition ; I caused 
 these gates to be thrown open, and when the people saw the horses 
 with their royal coverings upon them led into my stable, they gave 
 a shout expressive of their pleasure and applause. If my very amia- 
 ble friend Kaunitz was not quite so highly gratified by these occur- 
 rences as I was, he was perfectly excuseable. 
 
 I kept these horses in my stables at Madrid, and should not 
 have used them but at the special requisition of the royal donor ; 
 when that was signified to me, my daughters and myself rode them, 
 as occasion suited, and as a proof how noble they were by nature, the 
 following instance will suffice. As my eldest daughter was passing 
 a small convent, not a mile from the gate of San Bernandino, a 
 large Spanish mastiff of the wolf-dog kind rushed out of the con- 
 vent, and seizing her horse by the breast, hung there by his teeth, 
 whilst the tortured animal rushed onwards at full speed, showing 
 no manner of vice, and only eager to shake off his troublesome en- 
 cumbrance. In this situation she was perceived and rescued by a 
 Spanish officer on foot, who presenting himself in the very line of 
 the horse's course, gave him the word and signal to stop, when to 
 my equal joy and astonishment (for I saw the action) the generous 
 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 253 
 
 animal obeyed, the dog dropped his hold, and the lady, still firm and 
 unshaken in her seat, though alarmed and almost breathless, was 
 seasonably set free by the happy presence of mind of her deliverer, 
 and the very singular obedience of her royal steed, whose gene- 
 rous breast long retained the marks of his ignoble and ferocious as- 
 sailant. 
 
 When I had received my recall I sent these horses before me 
 under the care of two Spaniards, father and son, of the name of 
 Velasco, who led them from Madrid through Paris to Ostend, walk- 
 ing on foot, and sleeping by them in their stables every night ; and 
 taking their passage from Ostend to Margate, arrived with them at 
 my door in Portland-Place, and delivered them without spot or ble- 
 mish in perfect order and condition to his majesty's grooms at the 
 royal Mews. 
 
 If my gratitude to the memory of the late benevolent sovereign, 
 who was pleased by this and many other favours graciously to mark 
 the sincere, though ineffectual, efforts of an humble individual, 
 defeated in his hopes by unforeseen events, which he could not 
 controul, and afterwards abandoned to distress and ruin by his em- 
 ployers for want of that success, which he could not command ; if 
 my gratitude (I repeat it) to the deceased King of Spain causes me 
 to be too particular, or prolix, in recording his goodness to me, it 
 is because I naturally must feel it with the greater sensibility from 
 the contrast, which I painfully experienced, when I returned 
 bankrupt, broken-hearted and scarce alive to my native country. 
 But of this more at large in its proper place. 
 
 I have hinted at the surprise, which my friend Count Kaunitz 
 expressed upon the present of the royal horses, it was again his 
 chance to experience something of the like nature, when he did me 
 the honour to dine with me upon the 4th of June, when with a few 
 cordial friends I was celebrating my beloved sovereign's birth-day 
 in the best manner my obscurity and humble means allowed of. On 
 this occasion I confess my surprise was as great as his, when the 
 music of every regiment in garrison at Madrid, not excepting the 
 Spanish guards, filed into my court-yard, and afforded me the ex- 
 quisite delight of hearing those, who were in arms against my coun- 
 try, unite in celebrating the return of that day, which gave its mo- 
 narch birth. 
 
254 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 I frequently visited the superb collection of paintings in the pa- 
 lace at Madrid ; the king was so good as to give orders for any pic- 
 tures to be taken down and placed upon the eazel, which I might 
 wish to have a nearer view of; he also gave direction for a cata- 
 logue to be made out at my request, which I have published and 
 attached to my account of the Spanish painters ; he authorised me 
 to say, that if the king my master thought fit to send over English 
 artists to copy any of the pictures in his collection, either for engrav- 
 ings or otherwise, he would give them all possible facility and main- 
 tain them at free cost, whilst they were so employed ; this I made 
 known on my return. He gave direction to his architect Sabbatini, 
 to supply from the quarries in Spain any blocks or slabs of marble, 
 according to the samples, which I brought over to the amount of 
 above a hundred, whenever any such should be required for the 
 building or ornamenting the royal palaces in England. 
 
 I bear in my remembrance many other favours, which after what 
 I have related are not necessary to enumerate. They were articles, 
 to which his grace and goodness gave a value, and exactly such as 
 I could with perfect consistency of character accept. The present 
 of Viguna cloth from the royal manufactory, which he had given to 
 the ambassador Lord Grantham, in the same proportion was bestow- 
 ed upon me. The superior properties of the Spanish pointer are 
 well known, and dogs of the true breed are greatly coveted : the 
 king understood I was searching after some of this sort, and was 
 pleased to offer me the choice of any I might wish to have from out 
 his whole collection ; but I had already possessed myself of two very 
 fine ones, which his majesty saw, and thought them at least equal to 
 any of his own ; I therefore thankfully acknowledged his kind offer, 
 but did not avail myself of it. 
 
 The Princess of Asturias, now reigning Queen of Spain, had 
 taken an early opportunity of giving a private audience to my wife 
 and daughters, and gratifying their curiosity with a sight of her 
 jewels, most of which she described to be of English setting. She 
 condescended to take a pattern of their riding habits, though they 
 were copied from the uniform of our guards, and, when apprised of 
 this, replied, that it was a further motive with her for adopting the 
 fashion of it ; I remember, however, that she caused a broad gold 
 lace to be carried round the bottom of the skirt. She also conde- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 255 
 
 scended to send for several other articles of their dress, as samples, 
 whilst they were conforming to the costuma of Spain to the minutest 
 particular, and wearing nothing but silks of Spanish fabric, reject- 
 ing all the finery of Lyons, and every present or purchase, however 
 tempting, of all French manufactures whatever. This lure for po- 
 pularity succeeded to such a degree, that when these young Eng- 
 lishwomen, habited in their Spanish dresses, (and attractive, as I 
 may presume to say they were by the bloom and beauty of their 
 persons) passed the streets of Madrid, their coach was brought to 
 frequent stops, and hardly found its passage through the crowd. A 
 Spanish lady, when she rides, occupies both sides of her palfry, and 
 is attended by her lacquies on foot, her horse in the mean time, mo- 
 venS) sed non firomovens, brandishing his legs, but advancing only by 
 inches. When my wife and daughters on the contrary, who were 
 all admirable riders, according to the English style and spirit, put 
 their horses to their speed, it was a spectacle of such novelty, and 
 oftentimes drew such acclamations, particularly from the Spanish 
 guards whilst we were at the Escurial, as might have given rise to 
 some sensations, if persisted in, which in good policy made it pru- 
 dent for me to remand them to Madrid. 
 
 Here I considered myself bound in duty to adapt my mode of 
 life to the circumstances of my situation, and the undefined charac- 
 ter in which I stood. I was not restricted from receiving my friends, 
 but I made no visits whatsoever, and the journal of any one day may 
 serve for a description of the whole. The same circle assembled every 
 afternoon at the same minute, and with the same regularity broke up. 
 The ladies had a round table of low Pope-Joan, and I had a party of 
 sitters-by. My house was extremely spacious, and that space by 
 no means choaked up with furniture ; I had fourteen rooms on the 
 principal floor, and but one fire place ; in this, during the winter 
 months, I burnt pieces of wood, purchased of a coach-maker, many 
 of them carved and gilt, the relics of old carriages, and it was no 
 uncommon thing to discover fragments of arms and breasts of Ca- 
 reatides, who had worn themselves out in the service of some de- 
 parted Grandee, who had left them, like the wreck of Pharaoh's 
 chariots, to their disgraceful fate. I found my mansion in the na- 
 ked dignity of brick floors and white walls ; upon the former I 
 spread some matts, and on the other I pasted some paper. I farm- 
 ed my dinners from a Milanese traiteur, exorbitantly dear and un- 
 
256 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 pardonably bad ; but I had no resource : they came ready cooked 
 to my house, and were heated up afresh in my stoves. The lacquies, 
 that I hired, had two shillings per day, and dieted themselves ; my 
 expense in equipage was very great, for the mules appropriate to 
 my town use could not go upon the road ; others were to be hired 
 for posting, and less than six had been against all rule. I had a 
 stable full of capital Spanish horses, exclusive of the king's, three of 
 which were lent to me for the use of the ladies, and two given to me 
 by Count Kaunitz ; one of these, a most beautiful creature of the 
 under-size, and a favourite of my wife's, I brought to England : the 
 other was an aged horse, milk-white, the victor over nine bulls, and 
 covered in his flanks and sides with honourable scars ; he had been 
 devoted to the amphitheatre under suspicion of having the glan- 
 ders, but he outlived the imputation, and in the true character of the 
 Spanish horse carried himself in the proudest style of any I ever 
 saw, possessing the sweetest temper with the noblest spirit, and 
 when in the possession of the great Grandee Altamira, had been 
 prized and admired above all other horses of his day. My eldest 
 daughter seldom failed to prefer him, but, thinking him too old to 
 undergo any great fatigue, I did not risk the bringing him to Eng- 
 land, but returned him to the noble donor. 
 
 This amiable personage, son to the Imperial Minister Count 
 Kaunitz, had been ambassador to Russia, and was now filling that 
 distinguished station at the court of Spain. When I had been but 
 a few days in Madrid, whilst I was in my box at the comedy, with 
 my wife and daughters, he asked leave to enter, and placed himself 
 in a back seat : the drama, as far as I could understand it, seemed 
 to be grounded on the story of Richardson's Pamela, and amongst 
 the characters of the piece there was one, who meant to personate 
 a British sea-captain. When this representative of my countryman 
 made his entrance on the stage, Kaunitz, who perhaps discovered 
 something in my countenance, which the ridiculous dress and ap- 
 pearance of the actor very possibly excited, leaning forwards and 
 addressing himself to me for the first time, said — " I hope, Sir, you 
 " will overlook a small mistake in point of costuma, which this gen- 
 " tleman has very naturally fallen into, as I am convinced he would 
 .« have been proud of presenting himself to you in his proper uni- 
 " form, could he have found amongst all his naval acquaintance any 
 « one, who could have furnished him with a sample of it." This 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 257 
 
 apology, at once so complimentary and ingenious, set off by his 
 elegant manner of address, led us into conversation, and from that 
 evening I can hardly call to mind one, in which he failed to honour 
 me with his company. In his features he bore a striking resem- 
 blance to the portrait, which he gave me of his father ; in his man- 
 ners, which were those of a perfect gentleman, he was correctly fit- 
 ted to the situation that he filled, and for that situation his talents, 
 though not pre-eminently brilliant, w r ere doubtless all-sufficient. He 
 was not unconscious of those high pretensions to which his birth and 
 station entitled him, but it was very rarely indeed that I could dis- 
 cover any symptoms in his behaviour, that betokened other than a 
 proper and becoming sensibility towards his honour and his office. 
 With a constitution rather delicate, he possessed a heart extremely 
 tender, and how truly and entirely that heart was devoted to the el- 
 der of my daughters, I doubt not but he severely felt, when frustra- 
 ted in his honourable and ardent wishes to be united to her, he saw 
 her depart out of Spain, and after one day's journey in our company- 
 took his melancholy leave for ever ; for after the revolution of a few 
 months, when it may be presumed he had conquered his attachment, 
 and reconciled himself to his disappointment, this amiable young 
 man, being then upon his departure for his native country, sickened 
 and died at Barcelona. 
 
 There were two other gentlemen of the imperial party, who very 
 constantly were pleased to grace my evening circle; the one Signor 
 Giusti, an Italian, secretary of the embassy ; the other General 
 Count Pallavicini, a man not more ennobled by the splendor of 
 his birth, than by the services he had performed, and the fame he 
 had acquired. In the short war between Austria and Prussia, this 
 gallant officer by a very brilliant coup-de-main had surprised a fortress 
 and made prisoners the garrison, which covered him with glory and 
 the favours of his sovereign : he was now making a military tour by 
 command and at the charge of the Empress Queen, and came into 
 Spain, consigned 'as I may ay) to Count Kaunitz. for the purpose 
 of being passed into the Spanish lines, then investing Gibraltar. — ■ 
 Into this fortress he was anxiously solicitous to obtain admission, and 
 when no accommodation could be granted to his wishes through the 
 influence of Count Kaunitz, I gave him letters to Mr. Walpcle, 
 whicn he carried to him ai Lisbon, and by a route, which that mi- 
 nister pouted out, assisted by his and my introduction to General 
 
 L 1 
 
258 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Elliot, succeeded in his wishes, aud I believe no man entertained a 
 higher respect for the brave defenders of that fortress, or a warmer 
 sense of the gratifying indulgence, which they granted to him in so 
 liberal a manner. Count Pallavicini was in the prime of life, of a 
 ncble-air and high-born countenance ; tall, finely formed, gay, na- 
 tural, open-hearted ; his spirit was alive in every feature ; it did not 
 need the aid of suscitation; no dress could hide the soldier, or 
 disguise the gentleman. He had a happy flow of comic humour 
 at command, unobtrusive however, and only resorted to at times and 
 seasons; of the suavity and pomposity of the Castilian character he 
 seemed to have taken up a very contemptible impression, and would 
 no otherwise fall in with any of their habits and customs, than 
 for the purpose of ridiculing them by imitations designedly carica- 
 tured. There are twenty ways of arranging the Spanish Capa ; he 
 never would be taught any one of them, though he underwent a 
 lecture every night at parting, but in an one-and-twentieth way of 
 his own hung it on his shoulders, and marched off most amusingly 
 rioic^.icus. I think it never was my lot to make acquaintance with 
 a man, for whom my heart more rapidly warmed into friendship, 
 than it did towards this engaging gallant hero ; he continued to me 
 his affectionate correspondence, till turning out against the Turks, 
 and ever foremost in the field of glory, his head was sabred from 
 his body at a stroke, and he died, as he had lived, in the very arms 
 of victory ; his ardent courage, though it turned the battle, did not 
 serve him to ward off the blow. 
 
 From this lamented friend, whose memory will be ever dear to 
 me, I have now in my possession letters, written from Prague, 
 where he had a separate command of eight thousand men, by which 
 letters, though he could not prevail with either of my daughters (for 
 he successively addressed himself to each) to change their country 
 and forsake their parents and connections, yet I trust he was assured 
 and satisfied from the answers he received, that it was because they 
 could not detach themselves from ties like these, and not because 
 they were insensible to his merits, when in their humble station 
 they felt themselves compelled to reject those offers, that would 
 have conferred honour on them, had they ranked amongst the 
 highest. 
 
 The Nuncio Colonna, cardinal elect, paid me some attentions, 
 and the Venetian ambassador favoured me with his visits. The 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 259 
 
 Saxon minister, Count Gerstoff, was frequently at our evening par- 
 ties, and the Danish minister Count Reventlau seldom failed. The 
 former of these was an animated lively man, and a most agreeable 
 companion : Reventlau had been in a diplomatic character at the 
 court of London, and had brought with him the language, manners 
 and habitudes, of an Englishman of the first fashion. His partiality 
 to our native country created in me and my family a reciprocal 
 partiality for him, and so interesting was this elegant young Dane 
 in person, countenance and address, that the eye, which could have 
 contemplated him with indifference, must have held no correspond- 
 ence with the heart. We passed the whole evening before our 
 departure with this engaging and affectionate friend ; the parting 
 was to all most painful, but by one in particular more acutely felt 
 than I will attempt to describe. Reventlau was one, and not the 
 eldest of a very numerous and noble family : his father had been 
 minister, but his hereditary property was by no means large, and 
 the purity of his principle disdained the accumulation of any other 
 advantages or rewards, than those, which attached themselves to 
 his reputation, and were rigidly consistent with the character of a 
 patriot. 
 
 Colonel O'Moore of the Walloons, a very worthy and respect- 
 able man, and Signer Nicolas Marchetti of the corps of Engineers, 
 a Sicilian, were constant parties in our friendly circle. There were 
 other Irish officers in the Spanish service, some Religious also of 
 that nation, and some in the commercial line, who frequently re- 
 sorted to me ; but to the generous and benevolent Marchetti in parti- 
 cular, who accompanied me through the whole, of my disastrous 
 journey from Madrid, by the way of Paris, I am beholden for the 
 means that enabled me to reach my native country, as will appear 
 hereafter. 
 
 Count Pietra Santa, lieutenant-colonel of the Italian band of 
 body-guards, was my most dear and intimate friend ; by that name 
 in its truest and most appropriate sense I must ever remember him, 
 (for he is now no more) and though the days that I passed with him 
 iu Spain did not out-number those of a single year, yet in every one 
 ese I had the happiness to enjoy so many hours of his society, 
 that in his case, as in that of the good old Abbe Curtis, whilst we 
 were but young in acquaintance, we might be fairly said to be old 
 in friendship. It is ever matter of delight to me, when I can sec 
 
26Q MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the world disposed to pay tribute to those modest unassuming cha- 
 racters, who exact no tribute, but in plain and pure simplicity of 
 heart recommend themselves to our affections, and borrowing no- 
 thing from the charms of wit, or the display of genius, exhibit 
 virtue — in itself how lovely. Such was my deceased friend, a man, 
 whom every body with unanimous assent denominated the good 
 Pietra Santa, whom every body loved, for he that ran could read 
 him, and who together with the truest courage of a soldier and the 
 highest principles of honour combined such moral virtues with such 
 gentle manners and so sweet a temper, that he seemed destined to 
 give the rare example of a human creature, in whom no fault could 
 be discovered. 
 
 In this society I could not fail to pass my hours of relaxation 
 very much to my satisfaction without resorting to public places or 
 assemblies, in which species of amusement Madrid was very scan- 
 tily provided, for there was but one theatre for plays, no opera, 
 and a most unsocial gloomy style of living seemed to characterise 
 the whole body of the nobles and grandees. I was not often tempted 
 to the theatre, which was small, dark, ill-furnished, and ill-attended, 
 yet when the celebrated tragic actress, known by the title of the 
 Tiranna, played, it was a treat, which I should suppose no other 
 stage then in Europe could compare with. That extraordinary 
 woman, whose real name I do not remember, and whose real origin 
 cannot be traced, till it is settled from what particular nation or 
 people we are to derive the outcast race of gipsies, was not less 
 formed to strike beholders with the beauty and commanding majesty 
 of her person, than to astonish all that heard her, by the powers that 
 nature and art had combined to give her. My friend Count Pietra 
 Santa, who had honourable access to this great stage heroine, inti- 
 mated to her the very high expectation I had formed of her per- 
 formances, and the eager desire I had to see her in one of her capital 
 characters, telling her at the same time that I had been a writer 
 for the stage in my own country : in consequence of this intimation 
 she sent me word that I should have notice from her, when she 
 wished me to come to the theatre, till when, she desired I would 
 not present myself in my box upon any night, though her name 
 might be in the bill, for it was only when she liked her part, and was 
 in the humour to play well, that she wished me to be present. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 261 
 
 In obedience to her message I waited several days, and at last 
 received the looked-for summons; I had not been many minutes in 
 the theatre before she sent a mandate to me to go home, for that 
 she was in no disposition that evening for playing well, and should 
 neither do justice to her own talents, nor to my expectations. I 
 instantly obeyed this whimsical injunction, knowing it to be so per- 
 fectly in character with the capricious humour of her tribe. When 
 something more than a week had passed, I was again invited to the 
 theatre, and permitted to sit out the whole representation. I had 
 not then enough of the language to understand much more than the 
 incidents and action of the play, which was of the deepest cast of 
 tragedy, for in the course of the plot she murdered her infant chil- 
 dren, and exhibited them dead on the stage lying on each side of 
 her ; whilst she, sitting on the bare floor between them (her attitude, 
 action, features, tones, defying all description) presented such a 
 high-wrought picture of hysteric phrensy, laughing wild amidst se- 
 verest woe, as placed her in my judgment at the very summit of her 
 art ; in fact I have no conception that the powers of acting can be car- 
 ried higher, and such was the effect upon the audience, that whilst 
 the spectators in the pit, having caught a kind of sympathetic phren- 
 sy from the scene, were rising up in a tumultuous manner, the word 
 was given out by authority for letting fall the curtain, and a catas- 
 trophe, probably too strong for exhibition? was not allowed to be 
 completed. 
 
 A few minutes had passed, when this wonderful creature, led in 
 by Pietra Santa, entered my box ; the artificial paleness of her 
 cheeks, her eyes, which she had dyed of a bright vermilion round 
 the edges of the lids, her fine arms bare to the shoulders, the wild 
 magnificence of her attire, and the profusion of her dishevelled 
 locks, glossy black as the plumage of the raven, gave her the ap- 
 pearance of something so more than human, such a Sybil, such an 
 imaginary being, so awful, so impressive, that my blood chilled as 
 she approached me not to ask but to claim my applause, demand- 
 ing of me if I had ever seen any actress, that could be compared 
 with her in my own, or any other country. " I was determined," 
 she said, " to exert myself for you this night ; and if the sensibility 
 "of the audience would have suffered me to have concluded the 
 " scene, I should have convinced you that I do not boast of my own 
 u performances without reason." 
 
262 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 The allowances, which the Spanish theatre could afford to make 
 to its performers, were so very moderate, that I should doubt if the 
 whole year's salary of the Tiranna wculd have more than paid for 
 the magnificent dress, in which she then appeared ; but this and all 
 other charges appertaining to her establishment were defrayed from 
 the coffers of the Duke of Osuna, a grandee of the first class and 
 commander of the Spanish Guards. This noble person found it in- 
 dispensably necessary for his honour to have the finest woman in 
 Spain upon his pension, but by no means necessary to be acquaint- 
 ed with her, and at the very time, of which I am now speaking, 
 Pietra Santa seriously assured me, that his excellency had indeed 
 paid large sums to her order, but had never once visited, or even 
 seen her. He told me at the same time that he had very lately 
 taken upon himself to remonstrate upon this want of curiosity, and 
 having suggested to his excellency how possible it was for him to 
 order his equipage to the door, and permit him to introduce him to 
 this fair creature, whom he knew only by report and the bills she 
 had drawn upon his treasurer, the duke graciously consented to 
 my friend's proposal, and actually set out with him for the gallant 
 purpose of taking a cup of chocolate with his hitherto invisible mis- 
 tress, who had notice given her of the intended visit. The distance 
 from the house of the grandee to the apartments of the gipsy was 
 not great, but the lulling motion of the huge state-coach, and the 
 softness of the velvet cushions had rocked his excellency into so 
 sound a nap, that when his equipage stopped at the lady's door, there 
 was not one of his retinue bold enough to undertake the invidious 
 task of troubling his repose. The consequence was, that after a 
 proper time was passed upon the halt for this brave commander to 
 have waked, had nature so ordained it, the coach wheeled round and 
 his excellency having slept away his curiosity, had not at the time 
 when I left Madrid ever cast his eyes upon the person of the in- 
 comparable Tiranna. I take for granted my friend Pietra Santa 
 drank the chocolate, and his excellency enjoyed the nap. I will 
 only add in confirmation of my anecdote, that the good Abbe Curtis, 
 who had the honour of having educated this illustrious sleeper, 
 verified the fact. 
 
 When Count Pallavicini left Madrid and went to Lisbcn in the 
 hope of getting into Gibraltar through the introduction, that I gave 
 him to the minister Mr. Walpolc and others of my correspondents 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 263 
 
 in that city, I availed myself of that opportunity for conveying my 
 dispatches of the 12th of December 1780, to the Secretary of State 
 Lord Hillsborough. They embraced much matter and very many 
 particulars, interesting at that time, but now so long since gone by, 
 that the insertion of them here could answer no purpose but to set 
 forth my own unwearied assiduity, and good fortune in procuring 
 intelligence, which in the event proved perfectly correct. On the 
 3d of the month following, viz. January 1781, I inform Lord Hills- 
 borough, that " having found means to obtain copies of some state 
 " papers, the authenticity of which may be relied upon, I have the 
 a honour to transmit them to your lordship by express to Lisbon — " 
 These were all actual dispatches of the minister Florida Blanca, 
 secret and confidential, to the Spanish envoy at the court of Peters- 
 burgh, and developed an intrigue, of which it was highly important 
 that my court should be apprised. This project it was my happy 
 chance to lay open and defeat by the acquisition of these papers 
 through the agency of one of the ablest and most efficient men, that 
 ever was concerned in business of a secret nature : had my corres- 
 ponding minister listened to the recommendation I gave of this gen* 
 tleman, I could have taken him entirely into the pay and service of 
 my court, and the advantages to be derived from a person of his 
 talents and address were incalculable. He served me faithfully and 
 effectually on this, and some other occasions, and it was not without 
 the most sensible regret I found myself constrained to leave him 
 behind me. 
 
 When I had sent my faithful servant Camis express with this 
 important dispatch, I received the following letter from the Earl of 
 Hillsborough 
 
 " St. James's, 9th December, 1780. 
 « Sir, 
 
 " I have duly received your letters from No. 7 to 
 No. 12 inclusive, and laid them before the king. The last number 
 was delivered to me by Mr. Hussey. That gentleman has commu- 
 nicated to me the purport of Count Florida Blanca's conversation 
 with him, for which purpose alone he appears to me to have re- 
 turned to London. The introduction of Gibraltar and the American 
 rebellion into that conversation, convinces me that there is no inten- 
 tion in the court of Spain to make a separate treaty of peace with 
 
264 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 us. I do not however as yet signify to you the king's command for 
 your return^ though I see little utility in your remaining at Madrid. 
 
 " If you should obtain any further intelligence concerning the 
 mediation, which you informed me you understood had been pro- 
 posed by the Empress of Russia, I desire you will acquaint me 
 with it. 
 
 " Mr. Hussey undertakes to deliver this letter to you. I have 
 nothing further to add, but to repeat to you, that the king expects 
 from you the strictest adherence to your instructions, without any 
 deviation whatsoever during the remainder of the time you shall con- 
 tinue at Madrid. 
 
 " I am, with great truth and regard, 
 « Sir, 
 
 " Your most obedient 
 Mr. Cumberland. " Humble servroit, 
 
 (Signed) " Hillsborough. 
 
 This was sufficient authority for me to believe that my mission 
 was fast approaching to its conclusion, and I prepared myself ac- 
 cordingly. In the mean time Mr. Hussey who undertook to deliver 
 this letter to me^ was stopped at Lisbon and not permitted to con- 
 tinue his journey into Spain ; for in fact the train, which my mi- 
 nister had now contrived to throw the negociation into, was not ac- 
 ceptable to the Spanish court, and the rigour, with which I was 
 enjoined to adhere to my instructions, operated so effectually 
 against the several overtures, which were repeatedly made to me on 
 the part of Florida Blanca, that I must ever believe the negociation 
 was lost on our part by transferring it to one, with whom Spain was 
 not inclined to treat, and tying up my hands, with whom there 
 seemed every disposition to agree. In fact we parted merely on a 
 punctilio, which might have been qualified between us with the 
 most consummate ease ; they wanted only to talk about Gibraltar, 
 and I was not permitted to hear it named ; the most nugatory article 
 would have satisfied them, and if I had dared to have given in 
 writing to the Spanish minister the salvo, that I suggested in con- 
 versation after my receiving the letter above referred to, I have 
 every reason to be confident that the business wouic! have been con- 
 cluded, and the object of a separate treaty accomplished without 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 265 
 
 any other sacrifice than that of a little address and accommodation 
 in the matter of a mere punctilio. 
 
 When some conferences had passed, in which, fettered as I 
 was by my instructions, I found it impossible to put life into our 
 expiring negociation, favoured though I was by the court and 
 minister to the last moment of my stay, I wrote to Lord Hillsbo- 
 rough as follows — 
 
 " Madrid, January 18th, 178 L 
 « No. 19. My Lord, 
 
 " In consequence of a letter, which Mr. Hussey 
 ►will receive by this conveyance from Count Florida Bianca, I am 
 to conclude, that he will immediately return to England, without 
 coming to this court. In the copy of this letter, which his excel- 
 lency has communicated to me, he remarks, that, in case the ne- 
 gociation shall break off upon the answer now given, my longer 
 residence at Madrid will become unnecessary : and as I am per- 
 suaded that your lordship and the cabinet will agree With the mi- 
 nister of Spain in this observation, I shall put myself in readiness 
 to obey his majesty's recall. In the mean time I beg leave to repeat 
 to your lords. :ip, that I shall strictly adhere to his majesty's com- 
 mands, trusting that you will have the goodness to represent to his 
 majesty my faithful zeal and devotion, how ineffectual soever they 
 may have been, in the fairest light. 
 
 " Understanding that the king had been pleased to accept from 
 the late Prince Masserano a Spanish horse, which was in great 
 favour, and hoping that it might be acceptable to his majesty, if 
 occasion offered of supplying his stables with another of the like 
 quality, I desired permission of the minister to take out of Spain a 
 horse, which I had in my eye, and his excellency having report- 
 ed this my desire to the King of Spain, his Catholic Majesty was 
 so good as to give immediate direction for twelve of the best horses 
 in Andalusia of his breed of royal Caribaneers to be drafted out, 
 and from these two of the noblest and steadiest to be selected, and 
 •given to me for the above purpose. I have accordingly received 
 them, and as they fully answer my expectations both in shape and 
 quality, and are superior to any I have seen in this kingdom, I hope: 
 
 u m 
 
£66 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 they will be approved of by his majesty, if they are fortunate in a 
 safe passage, and shall arrive in London without any accident. 
 
 " Don Miguel Louis de Portugal, ambassador from her most 
 faithful majesty to this court, died a few days ago of a tedious and 
 painful decay. The Infanta of Spain is sufficiently recovered to 
 remove from Madrid to the Pardo, where the court now resides. 
 " I have the honour to be, Etc. &c. 
 
 « R. C." 
 
 Whilst the court was at the Pardo, a complaint, founded on the 
 grossest misrepresentations was started and enforced upon me by 
 the minister respecting the alledged ill treatment of the Spanish 
 prisoners of war in England. I traced this complaint to the reports 
 of a certain Captain Nunez, then on his parole and lately come 
 from England ; with this gentleman there came a nephew of my 
 friend the Abbe Curtis, who had been chaplain on board Captain 
 Nunez's frigate, when she was taken, and who was now liberated, 
 having brought over with him a complete copy of the minutes of 
 parliament, in which the matter in complaint was fully cdid com- 
 pletely enquired into, and the allegations in question confuted upon 
 the clearest evidence, Captain Nunez himself being present at the 
 examination and testifying his satisfaction and ^"entire conviction 
 upon the result of it. These documents the worthy nephew of my 
 friend very honourably put into my hands, and, armed with these, 
 I proved to the court of Spain, that, upon a sickness breaking out 
 amongst the Spanish prisoners from their own uncleanliness and 
 neglect, our government, with a benevolence peculiar to the British 
 character, had made exertions wholly out of course, furnishing them 
 with entire new bedding at a great expense, supplying them with 
 medicines and all things needful, whilst in attendance on the dis- 
 eased more than twenty surgeons (I speak from memory, and I be- 
 lieve I am correct) had sacrificed their lives. If in the refutation of 
 a charge so grossly unjust and injurious as this, I lost my patience 
 and for a short time forgot the management befitting my peculiar 
 situation, I can truly say it was the only error I committed of that 
 sort, though it was by no means the only instance that occurred to 
 provoke me to it, as the following anecdote will demonstrate. 
 
 There was a young man, by name Antony Smith, a native of 
 London, living at Madrid upon a small allowance, paid to him 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 267 
 
 upon the decease of his father, who had been watch-maker to the 
 King of Spain. I took this young man into my family upon the 
 recommendation of the Abbe Curtis, and employed him in tran- 
 scribing papers, arranging accounts and ether small affairs, in which 
 his knowledge of the language rendered him very useful. One day 
 about noon the criminal judge with his attendants walked into my 
 house, and seizing the person of this young man took him tG prison, 
 and shut him up in a solitary cell without assigning any cause for 
 the proceeding, or stating any crime, of which he was suspected. 
 I took the course natural for me to take, and from the effect, which 
 my remonstrance and appeal to the minister instantly produced, I 
 had no reason to think him privy to the transaction, for late in the 
 evening of the next day Antony Smith was brought to my gates by 
 the officers of justice, from whom I would not receive him, but sent 
 him back till the day following, when I required him to be deliver- 
 ed to me at the same hour and in the same public manner as they 
 had chosen to take him from me, and further insisted that the same 
 criminal judge with his attendants should be present at the surren- 
 der of their prisoner. All this was exactly complied with, and the 
 foolish magistrate was hooted at by the populace in the most con- 
 temptuous manner. It seemed that this wise judge was in search 
 of an assassin, who was described as an old black-complexioned 
 fellow with a lame foot, whereas Smith was a very fair young man, 
 with red hair, and perfectly sound and active on his legs. What 
 were the motives for this wanton act of cruelty I never could disco- 
 ver ; I brought him with me to England, but the terrors he had suf- 
 fered during his short but dismal confinement haunted him through 
 every stage of his journey, till we passed the frontiers of Spain. 
 When we arrived in London I recommended him to my friend 
 Lord Rodney > as Spanish clerk on board his flag ship, but poor 
 Smith's spirit was so broken, that he declined the service, and found 
 a more peaceful occupation in a merchant's counting-house. 
 
 I was now in daily expectation of my recal, and as my own im- 
 mediate negeciation was shifted, for a time, into other hands, I 
 availed myself of those means, which by my particular connexions 
 I was possessed of, for collecting such a body of useful information, 
 as might safely be depended upon, and this I transmitted to my 
 corresponding minister in my dispatches N° 20 of the 31st of 
 January, and N° 21 of the 3d of February, 1781. I had now no 
 
268- . MEMOIRS OF 
 
 longer any hope of bringing Spain into a separate treaty, whilst my 
 eourt continued to receive overtures, and return answers- through 
 the channel of Mr. Hussey then at Lisbon, and Florida Bianca 
 having imparted to me a dispatch, which he affected to call his 
 ultimatum, I plainly saw extinction to the treaty upon the face of 
 that paper, for he would still persist in the delusive notion, that he 
 could insinuate articles and stipulations for Gibraltar in his commu- 
 nications through Mr. Hussey, though I by my instructions could 
 not pass a single proposition, in which it might be named. When 
 he had written this letter, which he called his ultimatum, it seems 
 to have occurred to him to communicate it to me rather too late 
 for any good purpose, inasmuch as he had taken His Catholic Ma- 
 jesty's pleasure upon it, and made it a stale paper, before he put it 
 into my hands. He nevertheless was earnest with me to give him 
 my opinion of it, and I did not hold myself in any respect bound to 
 disguise from him what I thought of it, neither did I scruple to 
 suggest to him the idea, which I had formed in my mind, or an ex- 
 pedient, that might have conciliated both parties, and would at all 
 events have obviated those consequences, to which his unqualified 
 requisition could not fail to lead. It will suffice to say that he can- 
 didly declared his readiness to adopt my idea, and form his letter 
 anew in conformity to it, if he had not, by laying it before the 
 King, made it a state paper, and put it out of his power to alter and 
 new-model it, without a second reference to the royal pleasure. 
 This however he was perfectly disposed to do, provided I would 
 give him my suggestions in writing, as a produceable authority for 
 re-considering the question. Here my instructions stood so irre- 
 moveably in my way, that, although he tendered me his honour that 
 my interference should be kept secret, I did not venture to com- 
 mit myself, nor could he be brought to consider conversation as au- 
 thority. 
 
 Upon the failure of this my last effort I regarded the negocia- 
 tion as lost, and, reflecting upon what had passed in the confer- 
 ence above referred to, when I had finished my letter N c 20 of 
 the 31st of January, 1781, I attached to it the following paragraph, 
 viz. — 
 
 " Since Count Florida Blanca dispatched his express to Lisbon I 
 have not heard from Mr. Hussey, neither do I know any thing of 
 his commission, but what Count Florida Blanca's answer opens ta 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 269 
 
 me, and as I must believe that in great part a finesse, I cannot but 
 lament, that it had not been prepared by discussion. — " 
 
 As the court of Spain was now become the centre of some very 
 interesting and important intrigues, by which she was attempting to 
 impose the project of a general pacification under the pretended me- 
 diation of Russia only, and to substitute this project in the place of 
 the separate and exclusive treaty, now on the point of dissolution, I 
 felt myself justified in taking every measure, which my judgment 
 dictated, and my connexions gave me opportunity to pursue, for 
 bringing that event to pass, of which I apprize Lord Hillsborough in 
 the following paragraph of my letter N° 20, viz. — 
 
 " An express from Vienna brought to Count Kaunitz, in the 
 evening of the 27th instant, the important particulars relative to the 
 mediation of his imperial majesty jointly with the empress of Russia. 
 This court being at the Pardo, the Ambassador Kaunitz took the next 
 day for communicating with Count Florida Blanca, and yesterday a 
 courier arrived from Paris with the instructions of that court to Count 
 Montmorin on the subject. 
 
 " When the minister of Spain shall deliver the sentiments of His 
 Catholic Majesty to the imperial ambassador, which will take place 
 on the day after to-morrow, they will probably be found conforma- 
 ble to those of France, of which I find Count Kaunitz is already 
 possest. I shall think it my duty to apprize your lordship of any par- 
 ticulars, that may come to my knowledge, proper for your informa- 
 tion.—" 
 
 In my letter N° 21, of the 3d of February, I acquaint Lord Hills- 
 borough that " the answer of Spain to the proposition of the Empe- 
 ror's mediation was made on the day mentioned in my letter N° 20, 
 and as I then believed it would conform to that of France, so in effect 
 it happened, with this further circumstance, that in future reference 
 is to be made to the Spanish ambassador at Paris, who in concert 
 with the minister of France is :o speak for his court, being instruct- 
 ed in all cases for that purpose." 
 
 Upon this arrangement I observe that it is made — " As well to 
 sooth the jealousy of the French court, who in their answer glanced 
 at the separate negociation here carrying on with Great Britain, as 
 for other obvious reasons — " In speaking of the Emperor's pro- 
 posed mediation I explain the reasons that prevailed with me for 
 expressing my wishes in a letter N° 8 of the 4th of August — " That 
 
270 MEMOIRS Ol 
 
 the good offices of the imperial court might maintain their prece- 
 dency before those of any other, and that I am well assured it was 
 owing to the knowledge Russia had of these overtures made by the 
 imperial court, that she put her propositions to the belligerent 
 powers in terms so guarded and so general, as should not awaken 
 any jealousy in the first proponent," and I add, " that I know the 
 instructions of Monsieur de ZinowiefT, the Russian ambassador, to 
 have been so precise on this head, so far removed from all idea 
 of the formal overture pretended by the Spanish minister, that I 
 think he would hardly have been induced to deliver in any writing, 
 as Monsieur Simolin did in London, although it had been so de- 
 sired." 
 
 I shall obtrude upon my readers only one more extract from this 
 letter, in which — « I beg leave to add a word in explanation of what 
 I observe at the conclusion of my letter N° 20. touching the answer 
 made to Mr. Hussey, viz. that it were to be wished it had been preced- 
 ed by a discussion-— this I said, my Lords because the answer was no 
 sooner settled and given to the King, than a disposition evidently 
 took place to have re-considered and modified the stipulation for 
 Gibraltar, now so glaringly inadmissible; but this and every other 
 observation touching our negociation, traversed by so many unfore- 
 seen events, will for the future, as I hope, find its course in a more, 
 general and successful channel — ." 
 
 I make no other comment upon the good or ill policy of laying 
 me under those restrictions, but that I could else have prevented the 
 transmission of that article, which gave the death-blow to my nego- 
 ciation. 
 
 For this I was prepared, and after the revolution of a few days 
 received his majesty's recal, communicated to me in the following 
 letter : — . 
 
 "St. James's, 14th February, 1781. 
 « Sir, 
 
 " I am sorry to find from your last letter N° 19, and from that 
 written from Count de Florida Blanca to Mr. Hussey, which the 
 latter received at Lisbon, that an entire stop is put to the pleasing 
 expectation, which had been formed from your residence in 
 Spain. Hid I been as well informed of the intentions of the court 
 of Madrid, when you went abroad, as I now am, you would cer- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 271 
 
 tainly not have had the trouble and fatigue of so long a voyage and 
 journey. 
 
 " There remains nothing now for me but to acquaint you, that I 
 am comniRiiaed by the King to signify to you His majesty's plea- 
 sure, that you do immediately return to England : when I say im- 
 mediately, it is not intended that your departure should have the 
 appearance of resentment, or that you should be deprived of the 
 opportunity of expressing a just sense of the marks of civility and 
 attention, which Mr. Cumberland has received since his arrival in 
 Madrid. 
 
 I am, with great truth and regard, 
 Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient 
 
 Humble servant, 
 (Signed) Hillsborough." 
 
 I had now his majesty's commands, signified to me as above, for 
 my return to England, and his lordship's interpretation of them to 
 direct my behaviour in avoiding all appearance of resentment, which 
 I did not feel, and expressing that sense of gratitude, which I did feel, 
 for the many marks of civility and attention, which I had received in 
 the person of Mr. Cumberland, since his arrival in Madrid. To these 
 excellent rules of conduct I was prepared to pay the most correct and 
 cheerful obedience. 
 
 For the favour of his lordship's information, that he would have 
 spared me the trouble and fatigue of my long journey, if he had 
 been aware that there was no occasion for my taking it, I could not 
 but be duly thankful, and I am most sincerely sorry that nobody 
 could be found with prescience to inform his lordship what the 
 intentions of the court of Madrid would be for a whole year to come, 
 nor to apprize me what my recompense would be upon the expira- 
 tion of it. If such inspiration had been vouchsafed to both, I 
 think I can guess, who would have been the greater gainer of the 
 two. 
 
 Had any kind good-natured incendiary been so confidential as 
 to have told me, that it was his intention to set fire to London as 
 soon as I was well out of it ; or had Count Florida Blanca had the 
 candour to have premised, that his invitation of me into Spain had 
 no other object in view, but to give me the amusement of a toui% 
 
272 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 and himself the pleasure of my company, it would perhaps have 
 been very flattering to my vanity, but I don't think it would have 
 suited my principle to have passed it off for a negotiation, and I 
 am quite convinced it would not have suited my finances to have 
 paid his excellency the visit, and sacrificed my fortune to the amuse- 
 ment of it. 
 
 It certainly would be extremely convenient, if we could always 
 see to the end of an experiment before we undertake it. I could 
 not see to the end of the riots in London, when they were reported 
 to be so terrible, yet I predicted as truly as if I had foreseen it, and 
 was reprimanded notwithstanding ; if then I acted wrong by guess- 
 ing right at the only favourable occurrence, that happened whilst I 
 was in Spain, how should I have escaped a severer reproof if I had 
 been as successful in foretelling the many evil occurrences of that 
 disastrous year, during the whole course of which I kept alive a 
 treaty, which was never lost till it was taken out of my hands ? 
 
 If here I seem to speak too vainly of my unsuccessful services, 
 I have to appeal to the testimony of that great and able minister, 
 Prince Kaunitz, who together with his tender of the mediation of 
 the imperial court, communicated to the British cabinet, suggests 
 a wish, that I may be included in the commission, if such shall be 
 appointed, at the general congress ; and is pleased to give for his 
 reason, the favourable impressions, which bis correspondence with 
 Spain, had given him, of my conduct there in carrying on a very 
 arduous business, which many circumstances contributed to embar- 
 rass. — .This I should never have had the gratification to know, had it 
 not been communicated to me by a friend after my return to Eng- 
 land, who, concluding I had been informed of it, was compliment- 
 ing me upon it. Thus I went abroad to find friendship and protec- 
 tion, and came home to meet injustice and oppression. 
 
 If the following fact, which is correctly true, and which I now 
 for the first time make public, shall prove that those, whom I could 
 not put at peace with my country, were yet at perfect peace with 
 me, I hope I shall not be suspected of having overstrained the pri- 
 vilege allowed me by my letter of recal, and carried my complai- 
 sance too far upon my farewell visit to the Spanish minister at the 
 Pardo. I certainly harboured no resentment in my heart, and hav- 
 ing free leave to avoid the appearance of it, had no object but to 
 express as well as I was able the grateful sense I entertained of thf 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 273 
 
 many favours, which the King and court of Spain had condescended 
 to bestow upon me and mine. In replying to these acknowledg- 
 ments, so justly clue, Count Florida Blunca, assuming an air of more 
 than ordinary gravity, and delivering himself slowly and distinctly, 
 as one, who wishes that a word should not be lost, addressed the 
 following speech to me, which according to my invariable practice, 
 I wrote down and rendered into English in my entry book, whilst it 
 was yet fresh in my memory ; and from that record I iiave trans- 
 cribed not only this, but every other speech, that I have given as 
 authentic in these Memoirs 
 
 " Sir, the King my Sovereign has been entirely satisfied with 
 every part of your conduct during the time you have resided amongst 
 us. His majesty is convinced that you have done your duty to your 
 own court, and exerted yourself with sincere good will to promote 
 that pacification, which circumstances out of your reach to foresee, 
 Or to controul, seem for the present to have suspended. And now, 
 Sir, you will be pleased to take in good part wh A I have to say to 
 you with regard to your claims for indemnification on the score of 
 your expenses, in which I have reason to apprehend you will find 
 yourself abandoned and deceived by your ersp.oyers. I have it 
 therefore in command to tell you, that the King my Sovereign has 
 taken this into his gracious consideration, and tenders to you through 
 me full and ample compensation for all expenses, which you have 
 incurred by your coming into Spain ; being unwilling that a gen- 
 tleman, who has resorted to his court, and put himself under his 
 immediate protection, without a public character, honestly endea- 
 vouring to promote the mutual good and benefit of both count, ies, 
 should suffer, as you surely will do, if you withstand the offer, which 
 I have now the honour to make known to you—.." 
 
 What I said in answer to this generous, but inadmissible offer, 
 I shall make no parade of; it is enough to say that I did not accept 
 a single dollar from the King of Spain, or any in authority under 
 him, which, as far as a negative can be proved, was made clear, 
 when upon my journey homewards my bills were stopped, and my 
 credit so completely bankrupt, that I might have gone to prison a£ 
 Bayonne, if I had not borrowed five hundred pounds of my friendly 
 fellow-traveller Marchetti, w T hich enabled me to pay my way through 
 France and reach my own country. 
 
 n n 
 
274 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 How it came to pass that my circumstances should be so well 
 known to Count Florida Blanca is easily accounted for, when the 
 dishonouring of my bills by Mr. Devisme at Lisbon, through whose 
 hands the Spanish banker passed them, was notorious to more than 
 half Madrid, and could not be unknown to the minister. The fact 
 is, that I had come into Spain without any other security than the 
 good faith of government, upon promise, pledged to me through 
 Mr. Robinson, secretary of the treasury, that all bills drawn by me 
 upon my banker in Pall Mall, should be instantly replaced to my 
 credit, upon my accompanying them with a letter of advice to the 
 said secretary Robinson. This letter of advice I regularly attached 
 to every draft I made upon Messrs. Crofts, Devaynes and Co. but 
 from the day that I left London to the day that I returned to it, in- 
 cluding a period of fourteen months, not a single shilling was re- 
 placed to my account with my bankers, who persisted in advancing 
 to my occasions with a liberality and confidence in my honour, that 
 I must ever reflect upon with the warmest gratitude. If I was im- 
 provident in relying upon these assurances, they, who made them, 
 were inexcusable in breaking them, and betraying me into unme- 
 rited distress. I solemnly aver that I had the positive pledge of 
 Treasury through Mr. Robinson for replacing every draft I should 
 make upon my banker, and a very large sum was named, as appli- 
 cable at my discretion, if the service should require it. I could ex- 
 plain this further, but I forbear. I had one thousand pounds ad- 
 vanced to me upon setting out ; my private credit supplied every 
 farthing beyond that ; for the truth of which I need only to refer the 
 reader to the following letter — 
 
 a To John Robinson Esquire, &c. 
 
 " Madrid, 8th of March, 1781. 
 « Sir, 
 
 " My banker informs me of a difficulty, which has arisen in re- 
 placing the bills, which I have had occasion to draw upon him for 
 the expenses of my commission at this court. 
 
 " As I have not had the honour of hearing from you on this sub- 
 ject, and as it does not appear that he had seen you, when he 
 wrote to me, the alarm, which such an event would else have 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 275 
 
 given me, is mitigated by this consideration, as I am sure there 
 can be no intention in government to disgrace me at this court in 
 a commission, undertaken on my part without any other stipula- 
 tion than that of defraying my expenses. I flatter myself there- 
 fore that you have before this done what is needful in conformity 
 to wnat was settled on our parting. Suffer me to add, that by 
 the partition I have made of my office with the gentleman, who 
 executes it, by the expenses preparatory to my journey, all which 
 I took on myself, and by many others since my departure, which 
 I have not thought proper to put to the public account, I have 
 greatly burdened my private affairs during my attendance on the bu- 
 siness I am engaged in. 
 
 " That I have regulated my family here for the space of near a 
 twelvemonth with all possible ceconomy upon a scale in every 
 respect as private, and void of ostentation, as possible, is noto- 
 rious to all who know me here ; but a man must also know this 
 court and country to judge what the current charges of my situa- 
 tion must inevitably be; what the occasional ones have been can 
 only be explained by myself; and as I can clearly make it ap- 
 pear, that I have neither misapplied the money, nor abused the 
 trust of government in any instance, I cannot merit, and I am 
 persuaded I shall not experience, any misunderstanding or unkind- 
 ness. 
 
 " I have the honour to be, Sec. &c. 
 
 « R. C." 
 
 I might have spared myself the trouble of this humiliating ap- 
 peal. It produced just what it should produce — -nothing ; for it was 
 addressed to the feelings of those who had no feelings; and called 
 for justice, where no justice was, no mercy, no compassion, honour 
 or good faith. 
 
 I wearied the door of Lord North till his very servants drove me 
 from it. I withstood the offer of a benevolent monarch, whose mu- 
 nificence would have rescued me ; and I embraced ruin in my own 
 country to preserve my honour as a subject of it ; selJing every acre 
 of my hereditary estate, jointured on my wife by marriage settle- 
 ment, who generously concurred in the sacrifice, which my impro- 
 vident reliance upon the faith of government compelled me to 
 make. 
 
?76. MEMOIRS OF 
 
 But I ought to speak of these things with more moderation, so 
 many years having passed, and so many of the parties having died, 
 since they took place. In prudence and propriety these pages ought 
 not to have seen the light, till the writer of them was no more ; nei- 
 ther would they, could I have persisted in my resolution for with- 
 holding them, till that event had consigned them into other hanls; 
 but there is something paramount to prudence and propriety, which 
 wrests them from me — 
 
 My poverty ) but not my nvill^ consents. 
 
 The copyright of these Memoirs produced to me the sum of 
 five hundred pounds, and if, through the candour and protection of 
 a generous public, they shall turn out no bad bargain to the purchas- 
 er, I shall be most sincerely thankful, and my conscience will be at 
 rest — .but I look back, and find myself still at Madrid, though on the 
 point of my departure.— On the 15th of March I write to the Earl 
 of Hillsborough as follows, viz. 
 
 " My Lord, 
 
 " On the 11th instant I had the honour of your lordship's letter, 
 dated the 14th of February, and in obedience to his majesty's com- 
 mands, therein signified, I took occasion on the same day of demand- 
 ing my passports of the minister of Spain. Agreeably to the indul- 
 gence, granted me by His Majesty, I yesterday took leave of Count 
 Florida Blanca at the P^rdo, and this day my family presented them- 
 selves to the Princess of Asturias at the convent of Santo Domingo 
 el Real, who received their parting acknowledgments with many ex- 
 pressions of kindness and condescension. I am to see the King of 
 Spain on Sunday, and expect to leave Madrid on Tuesday or Wed- 
 nesday next. 
 
 " The ambassador of France having in the most obliging manner 
 given me a passport, and your lordship's letter containing no direc- 
 tions to the contrary, I propose to return by Bayonne and Bourdeaux, 
 to w ich route I am compelled by the state of my health, and that 
 of part of my family. 
 
 " I have the honour to be, Sec. 8cc. 
 
 « R. C." 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 277 
 
 " I hope your lordship has received my letter N° 18, also those 
 numbered 20 and 21, which conclude what I have written." 
 
 To the sub-minister Campo, who had been confidential through-, . 
 out, and present at almost every conference I had held with the Pre- 
 mier, I wrote as follows — 
 
 « Madrid, March 20th, 1781. 
 
 " You have done all things, my clear Sir, with the greatest kind- 
 ness and the politest attention. I have your passports, and as my 
 baggage is now ready to be inspected, I wait the directions of 
 the Minister Musquiz, which I pray you now to dispatch. To- 
 morrow in the forenoon at 1 1 o'clock, or any other hour more 
 convenient to the officers of the customs will suit me to attend 
 upon them. 
 
 " You tell me that no more could be done for me, were I an am- 
 bassador; I am persuaded of it, for being as I am, a dependant on 
 your protection, and entrusted to you by my country, how can I 
 doubt but that the Spanish point of honour will concede to me not 
 less, (and I should not wonder if it granted more) than any ambas- 
 sador can claim by privilege. 
 
 " I have never ceased to feel a perfect confidence in my situa- 
 tion, nor ever wished for any other title to all the rights of hos- 
 pitality and protection, than what I derive from the trust, which 
 my court has consigned to me, and that which I repose in yours. 
 
 " I bring this letter in my pocket to the Pardo, lest you should 
 not be visible at the hour I shall arrive. I beg to recommend to 
 you the case of the English prisoners, who have undersigned the in- 
 closed paper. 
 
 " I hope to set out on Friday ; be assured I shall carry with me 
 a lasting remembrance of your obliging favours, and I shall ardently 
 seize every occasion in my future life of expressing a due sense of 
 them. 
 
 " If your leisure serves to favour us with another visit at Ma- 
 drid, we shall be happy to see you, and I shall be glad to confer 
 with you on the subject of the Spanish prisoners, and apprize 
 you of the language I shall hold on that topic upon my return 
 home. 
 
 " On all occasions,, and in every place I shall conscientiously 
 
B-5H 
 
 378 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 adhere to truth. Let me say for the last time 1 shall speak of 
 myself, that no man ever entered Spain with a more conciliating 
 disposition, and I hope I leave behind me some proofs of pa- 
 tience. 
 
 ** Farewel ! ever faithfully yours, 
 
 « R. G.*' 
 
 On the 24th of March 1781, having* taken a last painful leave of 
 the worthy Abbe Curtis and the rest of my friends, at half past ten 
 in the forenoon I set out upon my journey. My party consisted of 
 my wife, my two eldest daughters and my infant daughter, born in 
 Spain, at the breast of a Spanish nurse, a wild but affectionate crea- 
 ture, native of San Andero : the good Marchetti and the poor re- 
 deemed prisoner Antony Smith accompanied us, and we had three 
 English servants, two of which, (Thomas Camis and Mary Samson) 
 had been in my family from their earliest years, and have never since 
 served any other master. Two Spanish coaches, drawn by six mules 
 each, with mules for our out-riders, constituted our travelling equi- 
 page and I contracted for their attending upon us to Bayonne. — They 
 are heavy clumsy carriages, but they carry a great deal of baggage, 
 and if the traveller has patience to put up with their very early 
 hours and slow place, there is nothing else to complain of. 
 
 Madrid, which may be considered as the capital of Spain, though 
 it is not a city, disappoints you if you expect to find suburbs, or vil- 
 las, or even gardens when you have passed the gates, being almost 
 as closely environed with a desart as Palmyra is in its present state of 
 ruin. The Spaniards themselves have no great taste for cultivation, 
 and the attachment to the chace, which seems to be the reigning 
 passion of the Spanish sovereigns, conspires with the indolence of the 
 people in suffering every royal residence to be surrounded by a sa- 
 vage and unseemly wilderness. The lands, which should contribute 
 to supply the markets, being thus delivered over to waste and barren- 
 ness, are considered only as firese?~ves for game of various sorts, 
 which includes every thing the gun can slay, and these are as much 
 res sacra as the altars, or the monks, who serve them. This solitudo 
 ante ostium did not contribute to support our spirits, neither did the 
 incessant jingling of the mules' bells relieve the taedium of the road 
 to Guadarama, where we were agreeably surprised by the Counts 
 Kaunitz and Pietra Santa, who passed that night in our company* 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 279 
 
 and next mornin g with many friendly adieus departed for Madrid, 
 never to meet again— 
 
 Animas quels candidiores 
 JVusquam terra tulit — 
 
 The next day we passed the mountains of Guadaramaby a mag- 
 nificent causeway, and entered Old Castile. Here the country began 
 to change for the better; the town of Villa Castin presents a very- 
 agreeable spectacle, being new and flourishing, with a handsome 
 house belonging to the Marchioness of Torre-Manzanares, who is 
 in part proprietor of the town. This illustrious lady was just now 
 under a temporary cloud for having been party in a frolic with the 
 young and animated Duchess of Alva, who had ventured to exhibit 
 her fair person on the public parade in the character of postillion 
 to her own equipage, whilst Torre-Manzanares, mcunted the box as 
 coachman, and other gallant spirits took their stations behind as 
 footmen, all habited in the splendid blue and silver liveries of the 
 house of Alva. In some countries a whim like this would have 
 passed off with eclat, in many with impunity? but in Spain, under 
 the government of a moral and decorous monarch, it was regarded 
 in so grave a light, that, although the great lady postillion escaped 
 with a reprimand, the lady coachman was sent to her castle at a dis- 
 tance from the capital, and doomed to do penance in solitude and 
 obscurity. 
 
 We were now in the country for the Spanish wool, and this place 
 being a considerable mart for that valuable article, is furnished with 
 a very large and commodious shearing-house. We slept at a poor 
 little village called San Chidrian, and being obliged to change our 
 quarters on account of other travellers, who had been before-hand 
 with us, we were fain to put up with the wretched accommodations 
 of a very wretched posada. 
 
 The third day's journey presented to us a fine champaign coun- 
 try, abounding in corn and well peopled. Leaving the town of Are- 
 balo, which made a respectable appearance, on our right, we pro- 
 ceeded to Almedo, a very remarkable place, being surrounded with 
 a Moorish wall and towers in very tolerable preservation ; Almedc* 
 also has a fine convent and a handsome church. 
 
230 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 The fourth day's journey, being March the 27th, still led us 
 through a fair country, rich in corn and wine. The river Adaga 
 runs through a grove of pines in a deep channel very romantic, 
 wandering through a vast tract of vineyards without fences. The 
 weather was serene and fresh, and gave us spirits to enjoy the 
 scenery, which was new and striking. We dined at Valdestillas, a 
 mean little town, and in the evening reached Valladolid, where 
 "bigotry may be said to have established its head quarters. The 
 gate of the city, which is of modern construction, consists of three 
 arches of equal span, and that very narrow ; the centre of these is 
 elevated with a tribune, and upon that is placed a pedestrian statue 
 of Carlos III. This gate delivers you into a spacious square, sur- 
 rounded by convents and churches, and passing this, which offers 
 nothing attractive to delay you, you enter the old gate of the city, 
 newly painted in bad fresco, and ornamented with an equestrian sta- 
 tue of the reigning king with a Latin inscription, very just to his 
 virtues, but very little to the honour of the writer of it. You now 
 find yourself in one of the most gloomy, desolate and dirty towns, 
 that can be .conceived, the great square much resembling that of the 
 Plaza-mayor in Madrid, the houses painted in grotesque fresco, des- 
 picably executed, and the whole in miserable condition. I was in- 
 formed that the convents amount to between thirty and forty. There 
 is both an English and a Scotish college ; the former under the go- 
 vernment of Doctor Shepherd, a man of very agreeable, cheerful, 
 natural manners : I became acquainted with him at Madrid through 
 the introduction of my friend Doctor Geddes, late Principal of the 
 latter college, but since Bishop of Mancecos, Missionary and Vicar 
 General at Aberdeen. I had an introductory letter to the Inten- 
 dant, but my stay was too short to avail myself of it ; and I visited 
 no church but the great cathedral of the Benedictines, where Mass 
 was celebrating, and the altars and whole edifice were arrayed in aft 
 their splendour. The fathers were extremely polite, and allowed 
 me to enter the Sacristy, where I saw some valuable old paintings 
 of the early Spanish masters, some of a later date, and a series of 
 Benedictine Saints, who if they are not the most rigid, are indis- 
 putably the richest, order of Religious in Spain. 
 
 Our next day's journey advanced us only six short leagues, and 
 set us down in the ruinous town of Duenas, which like Olmedo is 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 281 
 
 surrounded by a Moorish fortification, the gate of which is entire. 
 The Calasseros, obstinate as their mules, accord to you in nothing, 
 but in admitting indiscriminately a load of baggage, that would 
 almost revolt a waggon, and this is indispensible, as you must carry 
 beds, provisions, cooking vessels, and every article for rest and 
 sustenance, not excepting bread, for in this country an inn means 
 a hovel, in which you may light a fire, if you can defend your right 
 to it, and find a dunghill called a bed, if you can submit to lie down 
 in it. 
 
 Our sixth day's stage brought us to the banks of the Douro, 
 which we skirted and kept in sight during the whole day from 
 Duenas through Torrequemara to Villa Rodrigo. The stone-bridge 
 at Torrequemara is a noble edifice of eight and twenty arches. 
 The windings of this beautiful river and its rocky banks, of which 
 one side is always very steep, are romantic and present fine shapes 
 of nature, to which nothing is wanting but trees, and they not al- 
 ways. The vale, through which it flows, inclosed within these rocky 
 cliffs, is luxuriant in corn and wine ; the soil in general of a fine 
 loam mixed with gravel, and the fallows remarkably clean ; they 
 deposit their wine in caves hollowed out of the rocks. In the mean 
 time it is to the bounty of nature rather than to the care and indus- 
 try of man, that the inhabitant, squalid and loathsome in his person^ 
 is beholden for that produce, which invites exertions, that he never 
 makes, and points to comforts, that he never tastes. In the midst 
 of all these scenes of plenty you encounter human misery in its worst 
 attire, and ruined villages amongst luxuriant vineyards. Such a 
 bountiful provider is God, and so improvident a steward is his vice- 
 gerent in this realm. 
 
 It should seem, that in this valley, on the banks of the fertilizing 
 Douro, would be the proper scite for the capital of Spain ; whereas 
 Madrid is seated on a barren soil, beside a meagre stream, which 
 scarce suffices to supply the washer-women, who make their troughs 
 in the shallow current, which only has the appearance of a rivet*, 
 when the snow melts upon the mountains, and turns the petty 
 Manzanares, that just trickles through the sand, into a roaring and 
 impetuous torrent. Of the environs of Madrid I have already 
 spoken, and the climate on the northern side of the Guadaramas is 
 of a much superior and more salubrious quality, being not so sub- 
 ject to the dangerous extremes of heat and cold, and much oftener 
 
282 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 refreshed with showers, the great desideratum, for which the monks 
 of Madrid so frequently importune their poor helpless saint Isidore, 
 and make him feel their vengeance, whilst for months together 
 the unrelenting clouds will not credit him with a single drop of rain. 
 Upon our road this day we purchased three lambs at the price of 
 two pisettes (shillings) a-piece, and, little as it was, we hardly could 
 be said to have had value for our money. Our worthy Marchetti, 
 being an excellent engineer, roasted them whole with surprising 
 expedition and address in a kitchen and at a fire, which would have 
 puzzled all the resources of a French cook, and which no English 
 scullion would have approached in her very worst apparel. A crew 
 of Catulunian carriers at Torrequemara disputed our exclusive title 
 to the fire, and with their arroz a la Valenciana would soon have 
 ruined our roast, if our gallant provedor had not put aside his capa, 
 and displayed his two epaulets, to which military insignia the sturdy 
 interlopers instantly deferred. 
 
 There is excellent morality to be learnt in a journey of this sort. 
 A supper at Villa Rodrigo is a better corrective for fastidiousness 
 and false delicacy than all that Seneca and Epictetus can administer, 
 and if a traveller in Spain will carry justice and fortitude about him, 
 the Calasseros will teach him patience, and the Posadas will enure 
 him to temperance ; having these four cardinal virtues in possession, 
 he has the whole; all Tully's offices can't find a fifth. 
 
 On the seventh day of our travel we kept the pleasant Douro still 
 in sight. Surely this river plays his natural sovereign a slippery 
 trick ; rises in Galicia, is nourished and maintained in his course 
 through Spain, and as soon as he is become mature in depth and 
 size (or trade and navigation, deserts and throws himself into the 
 service of Portugal. This is the case with the Tagus also: this river 
 affords the Catholic King a little angling for small fry at Aranjuez, 
 and at Lisbon becomes a magnificent harbour to give wealth and 
 splendour to a kingdom. The Oporto wines, that grow upon the 
 banks of the Douro in its renegado course, find a ready and most 
 profitable vent in England, whilst the vineyards of Castile languish 
 from want of a purchaser, and in some years are absolutely cast 
 away, as not paying for the labour of making them into wine. 
 
 The city and casde of Burgos are well situated on the banks of 
 the river Relancon. Two fine stone-bridges are thrown over that 
 stream, and several plantations of young trees line the roads as you 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 2a3 
 
 approach it. The country is well watered, and the heights furnish 
 excellent pasture for sheep, being of a light downy soil. The ca- 
 thedral church of Burgos deserves the notice and admiration of 
 every traveller, and it was with sincere regret I found myseii at 
 leisure to devote no more than one hour to an edifice, that requires 
 a day to examine it within side and without. It is of that order of 
 Gothic, which is most profusely ornamented and enriched ; the 
 towers are crowned with spires of pierced stone-work, raised upon 
 arches, and laced all through with open-work like filigree : the 
 windows and doors are embellished with innumerable figures, admi- 
 rably carved in stone, and in perfect preservation ; the dome over 
 the nave is superb, and behind the grand altar there is a spacious 
 and beautiful chapel, erected by a Duke of Frejas, who lies en- 
 tombed with his duchess with a stately monument recumbent 
 with their heads resting upon cushions, in their robes and coronets, 
 well sculptured in most exquisite marble or the purest white. The 
 bas-relieves at the back of the grand altar, representing passages 
 in the life and actions of our Saviour, are wonderful samples of 
 sculpture, and the carrying of the cross in particular is expressed 
 with ail the delicacy of Raphael's famous Pasma de Sicilia. The 
 stalls of the choir in brown oak are finely executed and exhibit an 
 innumerable groupe of figures : whilst the seats are iudicrously in- 
 laid with grotesque representations of fauns and satyrs unaccount- 
 ably contrasted with the sacred history of the carved work, that 
 encloses them. The altars, chapels, sacristy and cloisters are equally 
 to be admired, nor are there wanting some fine paintings, though 
 not profusely bestowed. The priests conducted me through every 
 part of the cathedral with the kindest attention and politeness, though 
 Mass was then in high celebration. 
 
 When I was on my departure, and my carriages were in waiting, 
 a parcel of British seamen, who had been prisoners of war, most 
 importunately besought me, that I would ask their liberation of the 
 Bishop of Burgos, and allow them to make their way out of the 
 country under my protection. This good bishop, in his zeal for 
 making converts, had taken these fellows upon their word into his 
 list of pensioners, as true proselytes, and allowed them to establish 
 themselves in various occupations and callings, which they now 
 professed themselves most heartily disposed to abandon, and doubted 
 not but I should find him as willing to release them, as they were to 
 
284 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 be set free. Though I gave little credit to their assertions, I did not 
 refuse to make the experiment, and wrote to the bishop in their 
 behalf, promising to obtain the release of the like number of Spa- 
 nish prisoners, if he would allow me to take these men away with 
 me. To my great surprise I instantly received his free consent and 
 permit under his hand and seal to dispose of them as I saw fit. This 
 I accordingly did, and by occasional reliefs upon the braces of my 
 carriages marched my party of renegadoes entire into Bayonne, 
 where I got leave upon certain conditions to embark them on board 
 a neutral ship bound to Lisbon, and consigned them to Commodore 
 Johnstone, or the commanding officer for the time being, to be put 
 on board, and exchanged for the like number of Spanish prisoners 
 which accordingly was done with the exception of one or two, who 
 turned aside by the way. I have reason to believe the good bishop 
 was thoroughly sick of his converts, and I encountered no oppo- 
 sition from the ladies, whom two or three of them had taken to 
 wife. 
 
 We pursued our eighth day's journey over a deep rich soil, with 
 mountains in sight covered with snow, which had fallen two days 
 before. There was now a scene of more wood, and the face of the 
 country much resembled parts of England. We advanced but seven 
 leagues, the river Relancon accompanying us for the last three, 
 where our road was cut out of the side of a steep cliff, very narrow, 
 and so ill defended, that in many places the precipice, consider- 
 ing the mode, in which the Spanish Calasseros drive, was seriously 
 alarming. The wild woman of San Andero, who nursed my infant, 
 during this day's journey was at high words with the witches, who 
 twice pulled of her redecilla, and otherwise annoyed her in a very 
 provoking manner till we arrived at Breviesca, a tolerable good Spa- 
 nish town, where they allowed her to repose, and we heard no more 
 of them. 
 
 From Breviesca we travelled through a fine picturesque country 
 of a rich soil to Pancorvo at the foot of a steep range of rocky 
 mountains, and passing through a most romantic fissure in the rock, 
 a work of great art and labour, we reached the river Ebro, which 
 forms the boundary of Old Castile. Upon this river stands the town 
 of Miranda, which is approached over a new bridge of seven stone 
 arches and we lodged ourselves for the night in the posada at the 
 foot of it: a house of the worst reception we had met in Spain. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 285 
 
 which is giving it as ill a name as I can well bestow upon any house 
 whatever. 
 
 A short stage brought us from Ereviesca to the town of Vittoria, 
 the capital of Alaba, which is one portion of the delightful province 
 of Biscay. We were now for the first time lodged with some degree 
 of comfort. We shewed our passport at the custom-house, and the 
 administrator of the post-office having desired to have immediate 
 notice of our arrival, I requested my friend Marchetti to go to him, 
 and in the mean time poor Smith passed a very anxious interval of 
 suspense, fearing that he might be stopped by order of government 
 in this place, (a suspicion I confess not out of the range of probabi- 
 lities) but it proved to - be only a punctilio of the Sub-minister 
 Campo, who had written to this gentleman to be particular in his 
 attentions to us, inclosing his card, as if in person present to take 
 leave ; this mark of politeness on his part produced a present from 
 the administrator of some fine asparagus, and excellent sweatmeats, 
 the produce of the country, with the further favour of a visit from 
 the donor, a gentleman of great good manners and much respecta- 
 bility. 
 
 The Marquis Legarda, Governor of Vittoria, to w T hom I had a 
 letter from Count D'Yranda, the Marquis D'Allamada, and other 
 gentlemen of the place, did us the honour to visit us, and were ex- 
 tremely polite. We were invited by the Dominicans to their con- 
 vent, and saw some very exquisite paintings of Ribeira and Murillo. 
 At noon Ave took our departure for Mondragone, passing through a 
 country of undescribable beauty. The scale is vast, the heights 
 are lofty without being tremenduous, the cultivation is of various 
 sorts, and to be traced in every spot, where the hand of industrv 
 can reach : a profusion of fruit trees in blossom coloured the land- 
 scape with such vivid and luxuriant tints, that we had new charms 
 to admire upon every shift and winding of the road. The people 
 are laborious, and the fields being full of men and women at their 
 work (for here both sexes make common task) nothing could be 
 more animated than the scenery; 'twas not in human nature to pre- 
 sent a stronger contrast to the gloomy character and squalid indo- 
 lence of the Castilians. And what is it, which constitutes this 
 marked distinction between such near neighbours, subjects of the 
 same King, and separated from each other only by a narrow stream ? 
 It is because the regal pow T er, which in Castile is arbitrarv, is limit 
 
2,86 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ed by local laws in Catatonia, and gives passage for one ray of liberty 
 to visit that happier and more enlightened country. 
 
 From Mondragone we went to Villa Franca, where we dined, 
 and finished our twelfth day's journey at Tolosa ; the country still 
 presented a succession of the most enchanting scenery, but I was 
 now become insensible to its beauties, being so extremely ill, that 
 it was not without much difficulty, so excruciating were my pains, 
 that I reached Tolosa. Here I staid three days, and when I found 
 my fever would not yield to James's powder, I resolved to attempt 
 getting to Bayonne, where I might hope to find medical assistance, 
 and better accommodation. 
 
 On the seventeenth day, after suffering tortures from the rough- 
 ness of the roads, I reached Bayonne, and immediately put myself 
 under the care of Doctor Vidal, a Huguenot physician. Here I 
 passed three miserable weeks, and though in a state of almost con- 
 tinual delirium throughout the whole of this time, I can yet recol- 
 lect that under Providence it is only owing to the unwearied care 
 and tender attentions of my ever-watchful wife, (assisted by her 
 faithful servant Mary Samson) that I was kept alive ; from her 
 hands I consented to receive sustenance and medicine, and to her 
 alone in the disorder of my senses I was uniformly obedient. 
 
 It was at this period of time that the aggravating news arrived 
 of my bills being stopped, and my person subjected to arrest. I 
 was not sensible to the extent of my danger, for death hung over 
 me, and threatened to supersede all arrests but of a lifeless corpse : 
 the kind heart however of Marchetti had compassion for my dis- 
 consolate condition, and he found means to supply me with five 
 hundred pounds, as I have already related. It pleased God to 
 preserve my life, and this seasonable act of friendship preserved my 
 liberty. The early fruits of the season, and the balmy temperature 
 of the air in that delicious climate, aided the exertions of my phy- 
 sician, and I was at length enable to resume my journey, taking a 
 day's rest in the magnificent town of Bourdeaux, from whence 
 through Tours, Blois and Orleans I proceeded to Paris, which how- 
 ever I entered in a state as yet but doubtfully convalescent, ema- 
 ciated to a skeleton, the bones of my back and elbows still bare and 
 staring through my skin. 
 
 I had both Florida Blanca's and Count Montmorin's passports, 
 but my applications for post-horses were in vain, and here I should 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 287 
 
 in all probability have ended my career, as I felt myself relapsing 
 apace, had I not at length obtained the long-withheld permission to 
 pass onwards. They had pounded the King of Spain's horses also 
 for the space of a whole month, but these were liberated when I got 
 my freedom, and I embarked them at Ostend, from whence I took 
 my passage to Margate, and arrived at my house in Portland-Place, 
 destined to experience treatment, which I had not merited, and en- 
 counter losses, I have never overcome. 
 
 I will here simply relate an incident without attempting to draw 
 any conjectures from it, which is, that whilst I laid ill at Bayonne, 
 insensible, and as it was supposed at the point of death, the very 
 monk, who had been so troublesome to me at Elvas, found his way 
 into my chamber, and upon the alarm given by my wife, who per- 
 fectly recognized his person, was only driven out of it by force. 
 Again when I was in Paris, and about to sit down to dinner, a sallad 
 was brought to me by the lacquey, who waited on me, which was 
 given to him for me by a red-haired Dominican, whose person ac- 
 cording to his description exactly tallied with that of the aforesaid 
 monk ; I dispatched my servant Camis in pursuit of him, but he had 
 escaped, and my suspicion of the sallad being poisoned was confirmed 
 by experiment on a dog. 
 
 I shall only add that somewhere in Castile, I forget the place, 
 
 but it was between Valladolid and Burgos, as I was sitting on a 
 
 bench at the door of a house, where my calasseros were giving 
 
 water to the mules, I tendered my snuff-box to a grave elderly man, 
 
 who seemed of the better sort of Castilians, and who appeared to 
 
 have thrown himself in my way, sitting down beside me as one who 
 
 invited conversation. The stranger looked steadily in my face, and 
 
 after a pause put his fingers into my box, and, taking a very small 
 
 portion of my snuff between them, said to me-—" I am not afraid, 
 
 Sir, of trusting myself to you, whom I know to be an Englishman, 
 
 and a person, in whose honour I may perfectly repose. But there 
 
 is death concealed in many a man's snuff-box, and I would seriously 
 
 advise you on no account to take a single pinch from the box of any 
 
 stranger, who may offer it to you ; and if you have done that already, 
 
 I sincerely hope no such consequences as I allude to will result 
 
 from your want of caution." I continued in conversation with 
 
 this stranger for some time ; I told him I had never before been 
 
 apprised of the practices he had spoken of, and, being perfectly 
 
288 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 without suspicion, I might, or might not, have exposed myself to 
 the danger, he was now so kind as to apprise me of, but I observed 
 to him that however prudent it might be to guard myself against 
 such evil practices in other countries, I should not expect to meet 
 them in Castile, where the Spanish point of honour most decidedly 
 prevailed. " Ah, Senor," he replied, « they may not all be Spa- 
 niards, whom you have chanced upon, or shall hereafter chance 
 upon, in Castile." When I asked him how this snuff operated on 
 those who took it, his answer was, as I expected — « On the brain." 
 I was not curious to enquire who this stranger was, as I paid little 
 attention to his information at the time, though I confess it occurred 
 to me, when after a few days I was seized with such agonies in my 
 head, as deprived me of my senses : I merely give this anecdote, 
 as it occurred; I draw no inferences from it. 
 
 I have now done with Spain, and if the detail, which I have 
 truly given of my proceedings, whilst I was there in trust, may 
 serve to justify me in the opinion of those, who read these Memoirs, 
 I will not tire their patience with a dull recital of my unprofitable 
 efforts to obtain a just and equitable indemnification for my ex- 
 penses according to agreement. The evidences indeed are in my 
 hands, and the production of them would be highly discreditable 
 to the memory of some, who are now no more ; but redress is out of 
 my reach ; the time for that is long since gone by, and has carried 
 me on so far towards the hour, which must extinguish all human 
 feelings, that there can be little left for me to do but to employ the 
 remaining pages of this history in the best manner I can devise, 
 consistently with strict veracity, for the satisfaction of those, who 
 may condescend to peruse them, and to whom I should be above 
 measure sorry to appear in the character of a querulous, discon- 
 tented and resentful old man ; I rather hope that when I shall have 
 laid before them a detail of literary labours, such as few have exe- 
 cuted within a period of the like extent, they will credit me for my 
 industry, at least, and allow me to possess some claim upon the fa- 
 vour of posterity as a man, who in honest pride of conscience has 
 not let his spirit sink under oppression and neglect, nor suffered his 
 good will to mankind, or his zeal for his country's service and the 
 honour of his God, to experience intermission or abatement, nor 
 made old age a plea for indolence, or an apology for ill humour, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 289 
 
 Nevertheless, as I have charged ray employers with a direct 
 breach of faith, it seems necessary for my more perfect vindication, 
 to support that charge by an official document, and this considera- 
 tion will I trust be my sufficient apology for inserting the following 
 statement of mv claim 
 
 « To the Right Honourable Lord North Sec. &c. Sec. 
 
 " The humble Memorial of Richard Cumberland 
 « Sheweth, 
 
 " That your Memorialist in April 1780, received His Majes- 
 ty's most secret and confidential orders and instructions to set out 
 for the Court of Spain in company with the Abbe Hussey, one of 
 His Catholic Majesty's chaplains, for the purpose of negociating a 
 separate peace with that court. 
 
 " That to render the object of this commission more secret, your 
 Memorialist was directed to take his family with him to Lisbon, 
 under the pretence of recovering the health of one of his daughters, 
 which he accordingly did, and having sent the Abbe Hussey before 
 him to the Court of Spain, agreeably to the King's instructions, your 
 Memorialist and his family soon after repaired to Aranjuez, where 
 His Catholic Majesty then kept his court. 
 
 " That your Memorialist upon setting out on this important 
 undertaking received by the hands of John Robinson, Esquire, one 
 of the secretaries of the Treasury, the sum of one thousand pounds 
 on account, with directions how he should draw, through the chan- 
 nel of Portugal, upon his banker in England for such further sums 
 as might be necessary, (particularly for a large discretionary sum to 
 be employed, as occasion might require in secret services) and your 
 Memorialist was directed to accompany his drafts by a separate let- 
 ter to Mr. Secretary Robinson, advising him what sum or sums he 
 had given order for, that the same might be replaced to your Me- 
 morialist's credit with the bank of Messieurs Crofts and Co. in Pall 
 MalL 
 
 " That your Memorialist in the execution of this commission, 
 for the space of nearly fourteen months, defrayed the expenses of 
 the Abbe Hussey's separate journey into Spain, paid all charges in- 
 curred by him during four months residence there, and supplied him 
 
 p p 
 
290 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 with money for his return to England, no part of which has been 
 repaid to your Memorialist, 
 
 " That your Memorialist with his family took two very long and 
 expensive journies, (the one by way of Lisbon and the other through 
 France) no consideration for which has been granted to him. 
 
 " That your Memorialist, during his residence in Spain, was 
 obliged to follow the removals of the court to Aranjuez, San Ilde- 
 fonso, the Escurial and Madrid, besides frequent visits to the Pardo ; 
 in all which places, except the Pardo, he was obliged to lodge him- 
 self, the expense of which can only be known to those, who in the 
 service of their court have incurred it. 
 
 " That every article of necessary expense, being inordinately 
 high in Madrid, your Memorialist, without assuming any vain ap- 
 pearance of a minister, and with as much domestic frugality as pos- 
 sible, incurred a very heavy charge. 
 
 " That your Memorialist having no courier with him, nor any 
 cypher, was obliged to employ his own servant in that trust, and the 
 servant of Abbe Hussey, at his own proper cost, no part of which 
 has been repaid to him. 
 
 " That your Memorialist did at considerable charge obtain pa- 
 pers and documents, containing information of a very important 
 nature, which need not here be enumerated ; of which charge so 
 incurred no part has been repaid. 
 
 " That upon the capture of the East and West India ships by 
 the enemy, your Memorialist was addressed by many of the British 
 prisoners, some of whom he relieved with money, and in all cases 
 obtained the prayer of their memorials. Your Memorialist also, 
 through the favour of the Bishop of Burgos, took with him out of 
 Spain some valuable British seamen, and restored them to His Ma- 
 jesty's fleet ; and this also he did at his own cost. 
 
 " That your Memorialist during his residence in Spain was in- 
 dispensibly obliged to cover these his unavoidable expenses by se- 
 veral drafts upon his banker to the amount of 4500/. of which not 
 one single bill has been replaced, nor one farthing issued to his sup- 
 port during fourteen months expensive and laborious duty in the 
 Jung's immediate and most confidential service ; the consequence 
 of which unparalleled treatment was, that your Memorialist was 
 stopped and arrested at Bayonne by order from his remittancers at 
 Madrid; in this agonizing situation your Memorialist, being then hi 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 291 
 
 the height of a most violent fever, surrounded by a family of help- 
 less women in an enemy's country, and abandoned by his employers, 
 on whose faith he had relied, found himself incapable of proceeding 
 on his journey, and destitute of means for subsisting where he was: 
 under this accumulated distress he must have sunk and expired, had 
 not the generosity of an officer in the Spanish service, who had ac- 
 companied him into France, supplied his necessities with the loan 
 of five hundred pounds, and passed the King of Great-Britain's 
 bankrupt servant into his own country, for which humane action this 
 friendly officer, (Marchetti by name) was arrested at Paris, and by 
 the Count D'Aranda remanded back to Madrid, there to take his 
 chance for what the influence of France may find occasion to devise 
 against him. 
 
 " Your Memorialist, since his return to England, having, aftey 
 innumerable attempts, gained one only admittance to your lordship's 
 person for the space of more than ten months, and not one answer 
 to the frequent and humble suit he has made to you by letter, pre- 
 sumes now for the last time to solicit your consideration of his case, 
 and as he is persuaded it is not, and cannot be, in your lordship's 
 heart to devote and abandon to unmerited ruin an old and faithful 
 servant of the crown, who has been the father of four sons, (one of 
 whom has lately died, and three are now carrying arms in the ser- 
 vice of their King) your Memorialist humbly prays, that you will 
 give order for him to be relieved in such manner, as to your lord- 
 ship's wisdom shall seem meet — 
 
 " All which is humbly submitted by 
 
 tf Your lordship's most obedient 
 
 " And most humble servant, 
 
 " Richard Cumberland." 
 
 This memorial, which is perhaps too long and loaded, I am 
 persuaded Lord North never took the pains to read, for I am un- 
 willing to suppose, that, if he had, he would have treated it with 
 absolute neglect. He was upon the point of quitting office when I 
 gave it in, and being my last effort I was desirous of summing up 
 the circumstances of my case so, that if he had thought fit to grant 
 me a compensation, this statement might have been a justification 
 to his successor for the issue ; but it produced no compensation, 
 though I should presume it proved enough to have touched the 
 
292 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 feelings of one of the best tempered men living, if he would have de- 
 voted a very few minutes to the perusal of it. 
 
 It is not possible for me to call to mind a character in all essen- 
 tial points so amiable as that of this departed minister, and not wish 
 to find some palliation for his oversights ; but if I were now to say 
 that I acquit him of injustice to me, it would be affectation and hypo- 
 crisy; at the same time I must think, that Mr. Secretary Robinson, 
 who was the vehicle of the promise, was more immediately bound 
 to solicit and obtain the fulfilment of it, and this I am persuaded was 
 completely in his power to do : to him therefore I addressed such 
 remonstrances, and enforced them in such terms, as no manly spirit 
 ought to have put up with ; but anger and high words make all things 
 worse ; and language, which a man has not courage to resent, he 
 aever will have candour to forgive. 
 
 When in process of time I saw and knew Lord North in his re- 
 tirement from all public affairs, patient, collected, resigned to an 
 affiicting visitation of the severest sort, when all but his illuminated 
 mind was dark around him, I contemplated an affecting and an edi- 
 fying object, that claimed my admiration and esteem ; a man, who 
 when divested of that incidental greatness, which high office for a 
 time can give, self-dignified and independent, rose to real greatness 
 of his own creating, which no time can take away ; whose genius 
 gave a grace to every thing he said, and whose benignity shed a lustre 
 upon every thing he did ; so richly was his memory stored, and so 
 lively was his imagination in applying what he remembered, that 
 after the great source of information was shut against himself, he 
 still possessed a boundless fund of information for the instruction 
 and delight of others. Some hours (and those not few) of his society 
 he was kind in bestowing upon me : I eagerly courted, and very 
 highly prized them. 
 
 I experienced no abatement in the friendship of Lord George 
 Germain ; on the contrary it was from this time chiefly to the day 
 of his death, that I lived in the greatest intimacy with him. Whilst 
 he held the seals I continued to attend upon him both in public and 
 in private, rendering him all the voluntary service in my power, 
 particularly on his Levee-days, which he held in my apartment in 
 the Plantation office, though he had ceased to preside at the Board 
 of Trade, and here great numbers of American loyalists, who had 
 taken refuge in England, were in the. habit of resorting to him : it 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND; , 293 
 
 was an arduous and delicate business to conduct : I may add it was 
 also a business of some personal risque and danger, as it engaged 
 me in very serious explanations upon more occasions than one. 
 Upon Lord George's putting into my hands a letter he had received 
 from a certain naval officer, very disrespectful towards him, and most 
 unjustifiably so to me, for having brought him an answer to an ap- 
 plication, which he was pleased to consider as private and confiden- 
 tial, I felt myself obliged to take the letter with me to that gentleman, 
 and require him to write and sign an apology of my own dictating ; 
 whatever was his motive for doing what I peremptorily required, ■so 
 it was, that to my very great surprise he submitted to transcribe 
 and sign it, and when I exhibited it to Lord George, he acknow- 
 ledged it to be the most complete revocation and apology he had 
 ever met with. 
 
 There were other situations still more delicate, in which I occa- 
 sionally became involved, but which I forbear to mention ; but in 
 those unpleasant times men's passions were enflamed, and in every 
 case, when reasoning would not serve to allay intemperance, and 
 explanation was lost upon them, I never scrupled to abide the con- 
 sequence. 
 
 When Lord George Germain resigned the seals, the King was 
 graciously pleased in reward for his services, to call him- to the 
 House of Lords by the title of Viscount Sackville. The well known 
 circumstance, that occurred upon the event of his elevation to the 
 peerage, made a deep and painful impression on his feeling mind, 
 and if his seeming patience under the infliction of it should appear 
 to merit in a moral sense the name of virtue, I must candidly ac- 
 knowledge it as a virtue, that he had no title to be credited for, in- 
 asmuch as it was entirely owing to the influence of some, who over- 
 ruled his propensities, and made themselves responsible for his 
 honour, that he did not betake himself to the same abrupt unwar- 
 rantable mode of dismissing this insult, as he had resorted to in a 
 former instance. No man can speak from a more intimate know- 
 ledge of his feelings upon this occasion than I can, and if I was not 
 on the side of those, who no doubt spoke w r ell and wisely when they 
 spoke for peace, it is one amongst the many errors and offences, 
 which I have yet to repent of. 
 
 There was once a certain Sir Edward Sackville, whom the world 
 has heard of, who probably would not have possessed himself with 
 
294 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 so much calmness and forbearance as did a late noble head of his 
 family, whilst the question I allude to was in agitation, and he pre- 
 sent in his place. It was by the medium of this noble personage 
 that the Lord Viscount Sackville meditated to send that invitation 
 he had prepared, when the interposition and well-considered remon- 
 strances of some of his nearest friends, (in particular of Lord Am- 
 herst) put him by from his resolve, and dictated a conduct more con- 
 formable to prudence, but much less suited to his inclination. 
 
 The law, that is sufficient for the redress of injuries, does not 
 always reach to the redress of insults ; thus it comes to pass, that 
 many men, in other respects wise and just and temperate, not hav- 
 ing resolution to be right in their own consciences, have set aside 
 both reason and religion, and, in compliance with the evil practice 
 of the world about them, performed their bloody sacrifices, and im- 
 molated human victims to the idol of false honour. Truth obliges 
 me to confess that the friend, of whom I am speaking, though pos- 
 sessing one of the best and kindest hearts, that ever beat within a 
 human breast, was with difficulty diverted from resorting a second 
 time to that desperate remedy, which modern empirics have pre- 
 scribed for wounds of a peculiar sort, oftentimes imaginary and al- 
 ways to be cured by patience. 
 
 When Lord North's administration was overturned, and the 
 Board of Trade, of which I was Secretary, dismissed under the re- 
 gulations of what is commonly called Mr. Burke's Bill, I found my- 
 self set adrift upon a compensation, which though much nearer tQ 
 an equivalent than what I had received upon my Spanish claims, 
 was yet in value scarce a moiety of what I was deprived of. By the 
 operation of this reform, after I had sacrificed the patrimony I was 
 born to, a very considerable reduction was made even of the rem- 
 nant, that was left to me : I lost no time in putting my family upon 
 such an establishment, as prudence dictated, and fixed myself at 
 Tunbridge Wells. 
 
 This place, of which I had made choice, and in which I have 
 continued to reside for more than twenty years, had much to re- 
 commend it, and very little, that in any degree made against it. 
 It is not altogether a public place, yet it is at no period of the year 
 a solitude. A reading man may command his hours of study, and 
 a social man will find full gratification for his philanthropy. . Its 
 vicinity to the capital brings quick intelligence of all that passes 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 295 
 
 there : the morning papers reach us before the hour of dinner, and 
 the evening ones before breakfast the next day ; whilst between the 
 arrival of the general post and its departure there is an interval of 
 twelve hours ; an accommodation in point of correspondence that 
 even London cannot boast of. The produce of the neighbouring 
 farms and gardens, and the supplies of all sorts for the table are ex- 
 cellent in their quality ; the country is on all sides beautiful, and the 
 climate pre-eminently healthy, and in a most peculiar degree resto- 
 rative to enfeebled constitutions. For myself I can say, that through 
 the whole of my long residence at Tunbridge Wells I never expe- 
 rienced a single hour's indisposition, that confined me to my bed, 
 though I believe I may say with truth that till then I had encounter- 
 ed as many fevers, and had as many serious struggles for my life, 
 as have fallen to most men's lots in the like terms of years. 
 
 Some people can sit down in a place, and live so entirely to 
 themselves and the small circle of their acquaintance, as to have 
 little or no concern about the people, amongst whom they reside. 
 The contrary to this has ever been my habit, and wheresoever my 
 lot in life has cast me, something more than curiosity has always 
 induced me to mix with the mass, and interest myself in the con- 
 cerns of my neighbours and fellow subjects, however humble in 
 degree ; and from the contemplation of their characters, from my 
 acquaintance with their hearts and my assured possession of their 
 affections, I can truly declare that I have derived, and still enjoy 
 some of the most gratifying sensations, that reflection can bestow. 
 The Men of Kent, properly so called, are a peculiar race, well; 
 worthy of the attention and study of the philanthropist. There is 
 not only a distinguishing cast of humour, but a dignity of mind and 
 principle about them, which is the very clue, that will lead you 
 into their hearts, if rightly understood ; but, if mistaken or misused, 
 you will find them quick enough to conceive, and more than for- 
 ward enough to express, their proud contempt and resolute defi-^ 
 ance of you. I have said in my first volume of Arundel, page 220, 
 that they are — " a race distinguishable above all their fellow sub- 
 jects for the beauty of their persons, the dignity of their senti- 
 ments, the courage of their hearts, and the elegance of their 
 manners — " Many years have passed since I gave this testimony, 
 and the full experience I have now had of the men of Kent, ever 
 my kind friends, and now become my comrades and fellow soldiers, 
 
?96 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 confirms every word that I have said, or can say, expressive oi' their 
 worthiness, or my esteem. 
 
 The house, which I rented of Mr. John Fry, at that time master 
 of the Sussex Tavern, was partly new and partly attached to an old 
 foundation ; it was sufficient for my family, and when I had fitted 
 it up with part of my furniture, and all my pictures from Port- 
 land-Place, it had more the air of comfort and less the appearance 
 of a lodging house than most in the place : it was by no means the. 
 least of its recommendations, that it was well appointed with of- 
 fices and accommodations for those old and faithful domestics, who 
 continued in my service. There was a square patch of ground in 
 front, of about half an acre, fenced and planted round with trees, 
 which I converted into a flower garden and encircled with a sand 
 walk : it had now become the only lot of English terra firma, over 
 which I had a legal right, and I treated it with a lover-like atten- 
 tion ; it soon produced me excellent wall-fruit of my own rearing, 
 and at last I found a little friendly spot, the only one as yet dis- 
 covered, in which my laurels flourished. My true and trusty 
 servant Thomis Camis, (more than ever attached, because more 
 than ever necessary to me) had a passion for a flower garden, and 
 he quickly made it a bed of sweets, and a display of beauty. It 
 was now, unhappily for me, too evident, that the once-excellent 
 constitution of my beloved Avife, my best friend and under Provi- 
 dence the preserver of my life, was sinking under the effects, which 
 her late sufferings and exertions in attending upon me, had entailed 
 upon her : I had tried the sea-coast, and other places before I set- 
 tled here, but in this climate only could she breathe with freedom 
 and experience repose : the boundary of our little garden was in 
 general the boundary of her walk, and beyond it her strength but 
 rarely suffered her to expatiate : so long as she could have recourse 
 to her horse, she made a struggle for fresh air and exercise, but 
 when she had the misfortune to lose her favourite Spaniard, so in- 
 valuable and so wonderfully attached to her, she despaired of re- 
 placing him, and I can well believe there was not in all England an 
 animal that could. He had belonged to the King of Spain, and 
 came, by what means I have forgot, into the possession of Count 
 Joseph Kaunitz, who gave him to Mrs. Cumberland : he was a most 
 perfect war-horse, though upon the scale of a galloway, and whilst 
 his eyes menaced every thing that was fiery and rebellious, nothing- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 297 
 
 living was more sweet and gentle in his nature: he could not 
 speak, for he had not the organs of speech, but he had dog-like 
 sagacity, and understood the words, that were addressed to him, 
 and the caresses, that were bestowed upon him. Being entire, and 
 of course prohibited from passing out of Spain, I am persuaded 
 some villanous measures were practised on the Frontiers towards 
 him in his journey, for he died in agonies under so inveterate a 
 strangury, that though I applied all the remedies, that an excel- 
 lent surgeon could suggest for his relief, nothing could save him, 
 and he expired, whilst resting his head on my shoulder, his eyes 
 being fixed upon me with that intelligent and piteous expression, 
 which seemed to say — Can you do nothing to assuage my pain ? I 
 thank God I never angrily and unjustifiably chastised but one 
 horse to my remembrance, and that creature, (a barb given to me 
 by Lord Halifax) never whilst it had life forgave me, or would be 
 reconciled to let me ride it in any peace, though it carried my wife 
 with all imaginable gentleness. I disdain to make any apology for 
 this prattle, nor am willing to suppose it can be uninteresting to a 
 benevolent reader; for those who are not such, I have no concern. 
 The man, who is cruel to his beast is odious, and I am inclined to 
 think there may be cruelty expressed even in the treatment of 
 things inanimate ; in short I believe that I am destined to die, as I 
 have lived, with all that family weakness about me, which will 
 hardly suffer me to chastise offence, or tell a fellow creature he is a 
 rascal, for fear the intimation should give him pain. I have been 
 wrongfully and hardly dealt with ; I have had my feelings wounded 
 without mercy ; I declare to God I never knowingly wronged a fel- 
 low creature, or designedly offended; if, whilst I am giving my 
 own history, I am to give my own character, this in few words is the 
 truth ; I am too old, too conscientious, too well persuaded and too 
 fearful of a judgment to come, to dare to go to death with a lie in 
 my mouth : let the censors of my actions, and the scrutineers of 
 my thoughts, confute me, if they can. 
 
 The children, who were inmate with me, when I settled at Tun- 
 bridge Wells, were my second daughter Sophia, and the infant 
 Marianne, born to me in Spain : my three surviving sons, Richard, 
 Charles and William, were serving in the 1st regiment of guards, 
 the 10th foot and the royal navy: my eldest daughter Elizabeth 
 had married the Lord Edward Bentiek, brother to the Duke of 
 
 Q q 
 
^298 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Portland, and at that time member for the county of Nottingham; 
 of him were I to attempt at saying what my experience of his cha- 
 racter, and my affection for his person would suggest, I should only 
 punish his sensibility, and fall far short of doing justice to my own : 
 he is too well esteemed and beloved to need my praise, and how 
 truly and entirely I love him is I trust too well known to require 
 professions. 
 
 I was now within an hour's ride of Stonelands, where Lord 
 Sackville resided for part of the year, and as this was amongst the 
 motives, that led me to locate myself at Tunbridge Wells, so it was 
 always one of my chief gratifications to avail myself of my vicinity 
 to so true and dear a friend. 
 
 Being now dismissed from office I was at leisure to devote my- 
 self to that passion, which from my earliest youth had never wholly 
 left me, and I resorted to my books and my pen, as to friends, who 
 had animated me in the morning of my day, and were now to oc- 
 cupy and uphold me in the evening of it. I had happily a collec- 
 tion of books, excellent in their kind, and perfectly adapted to my 
 various and discursive course of reading. In almost every margin I 
 recognized the hand-writing of my grandfather Bentley, and where- 
 ever I traced his remains, they were sure guides to direct and gra- 
 tify me in my fondness for philological researches. My mind had 
 been harassed in a variety of ways, but the spirit, that from re- 
 sources within itself can find a never-failing fund of occupation, 
 Will not easily be broken by events, that do not touch the con- 
 science. That portion of mental energy, which nature had endowed 
 me with, was not impaired ; on the contrary I took a larger and 
 more various range of study than I had ever done before, and colla- 
 terally with other compositions began to collect materials for those 
 essays, which I afterwards compleated and made public under the 
 title of The Observer. I sought no other dissipation than the indul- 
 gence of my literary faculties could afford me, and in the mean time 
 I kept silence from complaint, sensible how ill such topics recom- 
 mend a man to society in general, and how very nearly most men's 
 show of pity is connected with contempt. 
 
 I had already published in two volumes my Anecdotes of eminent 
 Painters in S/iain. I am flattered to believe it was an interesting 
 and curious work to readers of a certain sort, for there had been no 
 <uch regular history of the Spanish school in our language, and 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 29.9 
 
 when I added to it the authentic catalogue of the paintings in the 
 royal palace at Madrid, I gave the world what it had not seen 
 before, as that catalogue was the first that had been made, and was 
 by pel-mission of the King of Spain undertaken at my request, and 
 transmitted to me after my return to England. 
 
 When these Anecdotes had been for some short time before the 
 public, I was surprised to find myself arraigned for having intro- 
 duced a passage in my second volume, grossly injurious to the re- 
 putation of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and I am sorry to add that I had 
 reason to believe, that the misconception of my motives for the in- 
 sertion of that passage was adopted by Sir Joshua himself. The 
 charge consists in my having quoted a passage from a publication of 
 Azara's, which, but for my noticing it, might have never met the 
 observation of the English reader. I own I thought this charge too 
 ridiculous to merit any answer, for I had not gone out of my way to 
 seek Azara's publication ; it was in the shops at London, and there I 
 chanced upon it and purchased it. Azara was the friend of Mengs, 
 and treats professedly of his character and compositions. A work 
 of this sort was in no degree likely to preserve its incognito, neither 
 had it so done before it came into my hands. 
 
 The following extract from my 2d vol. p. 206, comprises every 
 word, that has any reference to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and I am per- 
 suaded it cannot fail to acquit me in the judgment of every one, 
 who reads it, most clearly and completely — this it is — " Whether 
 Mengs really thought with contempt of art, which was inferior to 
 his own, I will not pretend to decide ; but that he was apt to speak 
 contemptuously of artists superior to himself, I am inclined to be- 
 lieve. Azara tells us that he pronounced of the academical lectures 
 of our Reynolds, that they were calculated to mislead young students 
 into error, teaching nothing but those superficial principles, which 
 he plainly avers are all that the author himself knows of the art he 
 professes — Del libro moderno del Sr Reynold, Ligles, decia que es una 
 obra, que fiuede conducir los Juvenes al error ; fiosque se queda en las 
 firincipios sufierjiciales, que conoce solamente a quel autor — Azara im- 
 mediately proceeds to say that Mengs was of a temperament colerico 
 y adusto, and that his bitter and satirical turn created him injinitos 
 agraviados y quejosos. W T hen his historian and friend says this, 
 there is no occasion for me to repeat the remark. If the genius of 
 
 Mengs had been capable of producing a composition equal to that 
 
 " ' *** 
 
300 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of the tragic and pathetic Ugolino, I am persuaded Such a sentence 
 as the above would never have passed his lips ; but flattery made 
 him vain, and sickness rendered him peevish ; he found himself at 
 Madrid in a country without rivals, and, because the arts had tra- 
 velled out of his sight, he was disposed to think they existed no 
 where but on his own pallet." 
 
 If this be not sufficient for my justification I could wish any of 
 my readers, who has my book within his reach, would refer himself 
 to the page in question, and read onwards till I dismiss the subject 
 of Mengs with the following strictures on his talents, dictated no 
 doubt in that spirit of resentment, which Azara's anecdote above 
 recorded had most evidently inspired ; for what more highly tinc- 
 tured with asperity could be said of Mengs, than—" that he was an 
 artist, who had seen much, and invented little ; that he dispenses 
 neither life nor death to his figures, excites no terror, rouses no 
 passions and risques no flights; that by studying to avoid- particular 
 defects, he incurs general ones, and paints with tameness and ser- 
 vility ; that the contracted scale and idea of a painter of miniatures, 
 (as which he was brought up) is to be traced in all or most of his 
 compositions, in which a finished delicacy of pencil exhibits the hand 
 of the artist, but gives no emanations of the soul of the master? If 
 it is beauty, it does not warm ; if it is sorrow, it excites no pity : that 
 when the angel announces the salutation to Mary, it is a messenger, 
 that has neither used dispatch in his errand, nor grace in his de- 
 livery of it ; that although Rubens was by one of his oracular sayings 
 condemned to the ignominious dullness of a Dutch translator, Me?igs 
 was as capable of painting Ruben's Adoration, as he was of creating 
 the star in the east, that ushered the Magi. But these are ques- 
 tions above my capacity ; I resign Mengs to abler critics and Rey- 
 nolds to better defenders ; well contented that posterity should ad- 
 mire them both, and well assured that the fame of our countryman 
 is established beyond the reach of envy or detraction." 
 
 If I had been aiming to employ the authority of Mengs against 
 the reputation of Reynolds, I think it would not have been my part 
 to take such pains for lessening the importance of it, and disap- 
 pointing my own purpose. I cannot doubt but I am fairly open 
 to reproach for these invectives against the fame of Mengs, but 
 if there is any edge in the weapon I have wielded, I may say to his 
 shade — 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 301 
 
 Pallas te hoc vulnere, Pal/as 
 
 Immolat—> 
 
 In the second volume, p. 8, where I am speaking of the great 
 luminary of the Spanish school Velazquez, I observe that, amongst 
 other studies more immediately attached to his art, he perfected 
 himself in the propositions of Euclid — " Elements, that prepare the 
 mind in every art and every science, to which the human faculties 
 can be applied ; which give a rule and measure for every thing in 
 life, dignify things familiar and familiarise things abstruse ; invigo- 
 rate the reason, restrain the licentiousness of fancy, open all the 
 avenues of truth, and give a charm even to controversy and dis- 
 pute — ." I insert this extract because it is in proof to shew that 
 my opinion with respect to the importance of an academical educa- 
 tion was at this period of life altogether as strong in favour of the 
 mathematical studies, as I have expressed it to be in the former 
 part of these Memoirs. 
 
 If it were not a ridiculous thing for an author to give his own 
 works a good word, I should be tempted to risque it in the instance 
 of these two volumes of anecdotes ; forasmuch as I bear them in 
 grateful remembrance, as having cheered some of my heaviest 
 hours, and as being the first productions sent by me into the world 
 after my return out of Spain; from which period to the present 
 hour, when I review the mass of those many and various works., 
 which my literary labours have struck out, I will venture to say, 
 that if I have merited any chance of living in the remembrance of 
 posterity, it is in these my latter years I am to look for it. 
 
 Before I settled myself at Tunbridge Wells I had written my 
 comedy of The Walloons, brought out at Covent Garden theatre, 
 where my friend Henderson exhibited a most inimitable specimen 
 of his powers in the character of Father Sullivan. If some people 
 were ingenious enough to discover any likeness of the Abbe Hus- 
 sey in that sketch, they imputed to me a design, that was never in 
 my thoughts. It was Henderson, with whom I was living in the 
 greatest intimacy, who put me upon the project of writing a cha- 
 racter for him in the cast of Congreve's Double Dealer. — " Make 
 me a fine bold-faced villain," he said, " the direst and the deepest in 
 nature I care not, so you do but give me motives, strong enough to 
 bear me out, and such a prominence of natural character, as shall 
 
302 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 secure me from the contempt of my audience ; whatever other pas- 
 sions I can inspire them with will never sink me in their esteem." 
 Upon the same principle I conceived the character of Lord Dave- 
 nan t for him in The Mysterious Husband^ and in that he was not less 
 conspicuously excellent. 
 
 He was an actor of uncommon powers, and a man of the 
 brightest intellect, formed to be the delight of society, and few 
 indeed are those men of distinguished talents, who have been more 
 prematurely lost to the world, or more lastingly regretted. What 
 he was on the stage, those who recollect his Falstaff, Shylock, Sir 
 Giles Overreach, and many other parts of the strong cast, can fully 
 testify ; what he was at his own fire-side and in his social hours, all, 
 who were within the circle of his intimates, will not easily forget. 
 He had an unceasing flow of spirits, and a boundless fund of hu- 
 mour, irresistibly amusing: he also had wit, properly so distin- 
 guished, and from the specimens, which I have seen of his sallies 
 in verse, levelled at a certain editor of a public print, who had an- 
 noyed him with his paragraphs, I am satisfied he had talents at his 
 command to have established a very high reputation as a poet. I 
 was with him one morning, when he was indisposed, and his physi- 
 cian Sir John Elliot paid him a visit. The doctor, as is well known, 
 was a merry little being, who talked pretty much at random, and 
 oftentimes with no great reverence for the subjects, which he talked 
 upon ; upon the present occasion however he came professionally 
 to enquire how his medicines had succeeded, and in his northern 
 accent demanded of his patient — " Had he taken the palls that he 
 sent him." — " He had." — " Well ! and how did they agree ? What 
 had they done ?"—« Wonders," replied Henderson ; " I survived 
 them" — " To be sure you did, said the doctor, and you must take 
 more of 'em, and iive for ever: I make all my patients immortal." — 
 a That is exactly what I am afraid of, doctor, rejoined the patient. 
 I met a lady of my acquaintance yesterday; you know her very 
 well : she was in bitter affliction, crying and bewailing herself in a 
 most piteous fashion : I asked what had happened ; a melancholy 
 event ; her dearest friend was at death's door" — " What is her 
 disease," cried the doctor ? — " That is the very question I asked, 
 replied Henderson ; but she was in no danger from her disease ; 
 'twas very slight; a mere excuse for calling in a physician" — 
 " Why, what the devil are you talking about, rejoined the doctor. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 3Q3 
 
 if she had called in a physician, and there was no danger in the dis- 
 ease, how could she be said to be at death's door?" — Because, said 
 Henderson, she had called in you : every body calls you in ; you dis- 
 patch a world of business, and, if you come but once to each, your 
 practice must have made you very rich" — Nay, nay, quoth Sir John, 
 I am not rich in this world ; I lay up my treasure in heaven" 
 — « Then you may take leave of it for ever, rejoined the other, for 
 you have laid it up where you will never find it." 
 
 Henderson's memory was so prodigious, that I dare not risque 
 the instance which I could give of it, not thinking myself entitled 
 to demand more credit than I should probably be disposed to give. 
 In his private character many good and amiable qualities might be 
 traced, particularly in his conduct towards an aged mother, to whom 
 he bore a truly filial attachment ; and in laying up a provision for 
 his wife and daughter he was at least sufficiently careful and (Econo- 
 mical. He was concerned with the elder Sheridan in a course of 
 public readings : there could not be a higher treat than to hear his 
 recitations from parts and passages in Tristram Shandy : let him 
 broil his dish of sprats, seasoned with the sauce of his pleasantry, 
 and succeeded by a dessert of Trim and my Uncle Toby, it was an 
 entertainment worthy to be enrolled amongst the nodes ccenasque 
 Divum. I once heard him read part of a tragedy, and but once 1 ; 
 it was in his own parlour, and he ranted most outrageously : he was 
 conscious how ill he did it, and laid it aside before he had finished 
 it. It was clear he had not studied that most excellent property of 
 pitching his voice to the size of the room he was in ; an art, which 
 so few readers have, but which Lord Mansfield was allowed to pos- 
 sess in perfection. He was an admirable mimic, and in his sallies 
 of this sort he invented speeches and dialogues, so perfectly appro- 
 priate to the characters he was displaying, that I don't doubt but- 
 many good sayings have been given to the persons he made free 
 with, which being fastened on them by him in a frolic, have stuck 
 to them ever since, and perhaps gone down to posterity amongst 
 their memorabilia. If there was any body now qualified to draw a 
 parallel between the characters of Foote and Henderson, I don't 
 pretend to say how the men of wit and humour might divide the 
 laurel between them, but in this all men would agree that poor 
 Foote attached to himself very few time friends, and Henderson very 
 many, and those highly respectable, men virtuous in, their lives? 
 
304 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 and enlightened in their understandings. Foote, vain, extravagant, 
 embarrassed, led a wild and thoughtless course of life, yet when 
 death approached him, he shrunk back into himself, saw and con- 
 fessed his errors, and I have reason to believe was truly nenitent. 
 Henderson's conduct through life was uniformly decorous, and in 
 the concluding stage of it exemplarily devout. 
 
 I have said he played the part of Lord Davcnant in my drama 
 of The Mysterious Husband: I believe it was upon the last night of 
 its representation, the King and Queen being present, when Hen- 
 derson's exertions in the concluding scene^ where he dies upon the 
 stage, occasioned certain agitations, which have thenceforward ren- 
 dered spectacles of that sort very properly ineligible. The late 
 Mrs. Pope was very successful and impressive in the character of 
 Lady Davenant, which I am inclined to consider as the best 
 female part I have ever tendered to the stage, but as the play is 
 printed and before the public, the public judgment will decide 
 upon it. 
 
 Though I continued to amuse my fancy with dramatic compo- 
 sition, my chief attention was bestowed upon that body of original 
 essays, which compose the volumes of The Observer. I first printed 
 two octavos experimentally at our press in Tunbridge Wells ; the 
 execution was so incorrect, that I stopped the impression as soon 
 as I had engaged my friend Mr. Charles Dilly to undertake the 
 reprinting of it. He gave it a form and shape fit to meet the public 
 eye, and the sale was encouraging. I added to the collection very 
 largely, and it appeared in a new edition of five volumes : when 
 these were out of print, I made a fresh arrangement of the essays, 
 and incorporating my entire translation of The Clouds, we edited 
 the work thus modelled in six volumes, and these being now at- 
 tached to the great edition of the British Essayists, I consider the 
 Observer as fairly enrolled amongst the standard classics of our 
 native language. This work therefore has obtained for itself an in- 
 heritance ; it is fairly off my hands, and what I have to say about it 
 will be confined to a few simple facts ; I had no acknowledgments 
 to make in my concluding essay, for I had received no aid or assist- 
 ance from any man living. Every page and paragraph, except 
 what is avowed quotation, I am singly responsible for. My much 
 esteemed friend Richard Sharp, Esquire, now of Mark Lane, had 
 the kindness, during my absence from town to correct the sheets as 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 305 
 
 they came from the press, had that judicious friend corrected them 
 before they went to the press, they would have been profited by the 
 re+brm of many more than typographical errors ; but the approbation 
 he was pleased to bestow upon that portion of the work w r hich passed 
 under his inspection, w^s a very sensible support to me in the pro- 
 secution of it ; for though I was aware what allowances I had to 
 make for his candid disposition to commend, I had too much con- 
 fidence in his sincerity to suppose him capable of complimenting 
 me against his judgment or his conscience. 
 
 I have been suspected of taking stories out of Spanish authors, 
 and weaving them into some of these essays as my own, without ac- 
 knowledging the plagiarism. One of my reviewers instances the 
 story of A'icclas Pedrosa, and roundly asserts that from internal evi- 
 dence it must be of Spanish construction, and from these assumed 
 premises leaves me to abide the odium of the inference. To this I 
 ans .\ er with the most solemn appeal to truth and honour, that I am 
 indebted to no author whatever, Spanish or other, for a single hint, 
 idea or suggestion of an incident in the story of Pedrosa, nor in that 
 of the Misanthrope, nor in any other which the work contains. In 
 the narrative of the Portuguese, who was brought before the Inqui- 
 sition what I say of it as being matter of tradition, which I collected 
 on the spot, is a mere fiction to give an air of credibility and horror 
 to the tale : the whole, without exception of a syllable, is absolute 
 and entire invention. 
 
 I take credit to myself for the character of Abraham Abrahams ; 
 I wrote it upon principle, thinking it high time that something 
 should be done for a persecuted race : I seconded my appeal to the 
 charity of mankind by the character of Sheva, which I copied from 
 this of Abrahams. The public prints gave the Jews credit for their 
 sensibility in acknowledging my well-intended services ; my friends 
 gave me joy of honorary presents, and some even accused me of 
 ingratitude for not making public my thanks for their munificence, 
 I will speak plainly on this point ; I do most heartily wish they had 
 flattered me with some token, however small, of which I might 
 have said this is a tribute to my philanthropy , and delivered it down 
 to my children, as my beloved father did to me his badge of favour 
 from the citizens of Dublin : but not a word from the lips, not a line 
 did I ever receive from the pen of any Jew, though I have found 
 myself in company with many of their nation : and in this perhaps 
 
306 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the gentlemen are quite right, whilst I had formed expectations, 
 that were quite wrong ; for if I have said for them only what they 
 deserve, why should I be thanked for it? But if I have said more, 
 much more, than they deserve, can they do a wiser thing than hold 
 their tongues ? 
 
 It is reported of me, and very generally believed, that I compose 
 with great rapidity. I must own the mass of my writings (of which 
 the world has not seen more than half), might seem to warrant that 
 report; but it is only true in some particular instances, not in the 
 general; if it were, I should not be disinclined to avail myself of so 
 good an apology for my many errors and inaccuracies, or of so good 
 a proof of the fertility and vivacity of my fancy. The fact is, that 
 every hour in the day is my hour for study, and that a minute rarely 
 passes, in which I am absolutely idle; in short, I never do nothing. 
 Nature has given me the hereditary blessing of a constitutional and 
 habitual temperance, that revolts against excess of any sort, and 
 never suffers appetite to load the frame ; I am accordingly as fit to 
 resume my book or my pen the instant after my meal as I was in 
 the freshest hours of the morning. I never have been accustomed 
 to retire to my study for silence and meditation ; in fact my book- 
 room at Tunbridge Wells was occupied as a bed-room, and what 
 books I had occasion to consult I brought down to the common 
 sitting-room, where in company with my wife and family (neither 
 interrupting them, nor interrupted by them), I wrote The Observer* 
 or whatever else 1 had in hand. 
 
 I think it cannot be supposed but that the composition of those 
 essays must have been a work of time and labour; I trust there is 
 internal evidence of that, particularly in that portion of it, which 
 professes to review the literary age of Greece, and gives a history 
 of the Athenian stage. That series of papers will I hope remain as 
 a monument of my industry in collecting materials, and of my cor- 
 rectness in disposing them ; and when I lay to my heart the conso- 
 lation I derive from the honours now bestowed upon me at the close 
 of my career by one, who is only in the first outset of his, what have 
 I not to augur for myself, when he who starts with such auspicious 
 promise has been pleased to take my fame in hand, and link it to 
 his own ? If any of my readers, are yet to seek for the author, to^ 
 whom I allude, the Comicorum Graecorum fragnunta quacdam will 
 lead them to his name, and him to their respect. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 307 
 
 If I cannot resist the gratification of inserting the paragraph, 
 (page 7) which places my dim lamp between those brilliant stars of 
 classic lustre, Richard Bentley and Richard Porson, am I to be set 
 down as a conceited vain old man ? Let it be so ! I can't help it, and 
 in truth I don't much care about it. Though the following extract 
 may be the weakest thing, that Mr. Robert Walpole, of Trinity Col- 
 lege, Cambridge, ever has written, or ever shall write, it will outlive 
 the strongest tiling that can be said against it, and I will therefore 
 arrest and incorporate it as follows — Aliunde guoque haud exiguum 
 omamentum huic -volumini accessit, siquidem Cumber landius nostras 
 amice benevoleque permissit, ut versiones suas quorundam fragment o- 
 rum, exquisitas sane Mas, mirdque elegentid conditas et commendatas 
 hue transferrem. 
 
 If there is any man, who has reached my age, and written as 
 much as I have with as little recompense for it, who can seriously 
 -condemn me, to his sentence I submit; as for the sneerers and sub- 
 critics, who can neither write themselves, nor feel for those who do, 
 they are welcome to make the most of it. 
 
 My publisher informs me that enquiries are made of him, if I 
 have it in design to translate more comedies of Aristophanes, and 
 that these enquiries are accompanied by wishes for my undertaking 
 it. I am flattered by the honour, which these gentlemen confer 
 upon me, but the version of The Chuds cost me much time and 
 trouble ; I have no right to reckon upon much more time for any 
 thing, and it is very greatly my wish to collect and revise the whole 
 of my unpublished, and above all of my unacted dramas, which are 
 very numerous ; I have also a work far advanced, though put aside 
 during the writing of these Memoirs, which, if life is granted to me, 
 I shall be anxious to complete. I must further observe that there is 
 but one more comedy in our volume of Aristophanes, viz. The 
 Plutus, which I could be tempted to translate. 
 
 As I hope I have already given a sufficient answer to those, who 
 were offended with my treatment of Socrates, I have nothing more 
 to say of The Observer, or its author. 
 
 Henderson acted in one other play of my writing for his benefit, 
 and took the part of The Arab, which gave its title to the tragedy. 
 I have now in my mind's eye the look he gave me, so comically 
 conscious of taking what his judgment told him he ought to refuse, 
 when I put into his hand my tributary guineas for the few places I 
 
308 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 had taken in his theatre — " If I were not the most covetous dog in 
 " creation," he cried, " I should not take your money ; but I cannot 
 " help it." I gave my tragedy to his use for one night only, and 
 have never put it to any use since. His death soon followed, and he 
 was hurried to the grave in the vigour of his talents, and the meri- 
 dian of his fame. 
 
 The late Mrs. Pope, then Miss Young, performed a part in 
 The Arab, and I find an epilogue, which I presume she spoke, though 
 of this I am not certain. I discovered it amongst my papers, and 
 as I flatter myself there are some points in it not amiss, I take 
 the liberty of inserting it. 
 
 "Epilogue to the Arab. 
 
 " Miss Young. 
 
 " Yes, 'tis as I predicted — There you sit 
 Expecting some smart relisher of wit. 
 
 Why, 'tis a delicacy out of season 
 
 Sirs, have some conscience! ladies hear some. reason! 
 With your accustom'd grace you come to share 
 Your humble actor's annual bill of fare ; 
 But for wit, take it how he will, I tell you, 
 All have not Falstaff's brains, that have his belly. 
 Wit is not all men's money ; when you've bought it, 
 Look at your lot. You'r trick'd. Who could have thought it? 
 Read it, 'tis folly ; court it, a coquette ; 
 Wed it, a libertine — you're fairly met. 
 No sex, age, country, character, nor clime, 
 No rank commands it; it obeys no time ; 
 Fear'd, lov'd and hated ; prais'd, ador'd and curs'd, 
 The very best of all things and the worst ; 
 From this extreme to that for ever hurl'd, 
 The idol and the outlaw of the world, 
 In France, Spain, England, Italy and Greece, 
 The joy, plague, pride and foot-ball of caprice. 
 " Is it in that man's face, who looks so wise 
 With lips half-opened and with half-shut eyes ? 
 Silent grimace ! — Flows it from this man's tongue, 
 With quaint conceits and punning quibbles hung ? 
 

 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. SQ9 
 
 A nauseous counterfeit ! — Hark ! now I hear it — 
 
 Rank infidelity ! — I cannot bear it. 
 
 See where her tea-table Vanessa spreads ! 
 
 A motley group of heterogeneous heads 
 
 Gathers around j the goddess in a cloud 
 
 Of incense sits amidst the adoring crowd, 
 
 So many smiles, nods, simpers she dispenses 
 
 Instead of five you'd think she'd fifteen senses j 
 
 Alike impatient all at once to shine, 
 
 Eager they plunge in wit's unfathom'd mine: 
 
 Deep underneath the stubborn ore remains, 
 
 The paltry tin breaks up, and mocks their pains. 
 
 " Ask wit of me ! O monstrous, I declare 
 You might as well ask it of my Lord Mayor : 
 Require it in an epilogue ! a road 
 As track'd and trodden as a birth -day ode ; 
 Oh, rather turn to those malicious elves, 
 Who see it in no mortal but themselves ; 
 Our gratitude is all we have to give, 
 And that we trust your candour will receive." 
 
 Garrick died also, and was followed to the Abbey by a long ex- 
 tended train of friends, illustrious for their rank and genius, who 
 truly mourned a man, so perfect in his art, that nature hath not yet 
 produced an actor, worthy to be called his second. I saw old Samuel 
 Johnson standing beside his grave, at the foot of Shakespeare's mo- 
 nument, and bathed in tears : a few succeeding years laid him in the 
 earth, and though the marble shall preserve for ages the exact re- 
 semblance of his form and features, his own strong pen has pictured 
 out a transcript of his mind, that shall outlive that and the very lan- 
 guage, which he laboured to perpetuate. Johnson's best days were 
 dark, and only, when his life was far in the decline, he enjoyed a 
 gleam of fortune long withheld. Compare him with his country- 
 man and contemporary last-mentioned, and it will be one instance 
 amongst many, that the man, who only brings the Muse's bantlings 
 into the world has better lot in it, than he, who has the credit of be- 
 getting them. 
 
 Reynolds, the friend of both these worthies, had a measure of 
 prosperity amply dealt out to him; he sunned himself in an un- 
 
■SIO MEMOIRS OF 
 
 clouded sky, and his Muse, that gave hiin a pallet dressed by all the 
 Graces, brought him also a cornu-copise rich and full as Flora, Ceres, 
 and Bacchus, could conspire to make it. His hearse was also fol- 
 lowed by a noble cavalcade of mourners, many of whom, I dare be- 
 lieve, left better faces hanging by the wall, than those they carried 
 with them to his funeral. When he was lost to the world, his death 
 was the dispersion of a bright and luminous circle of ingenious 
 friends, whom the elegance of his manners, the equability of his 
 temper and the attraction of his talents had caused to assemble round 
 him as the centre of their society. In all the most engaging graces 
 of his heart; in disposition, attitude, employment, character of his 
 figures, and above all in giving mind and meaning to his portraits, 
 if I were to say Sir Joshua never was excelled, I am inclined to be- 
 lieve so many better opinions would be with me, that I should not be 
 found to have said too much. 
 
 Romney in the mean time shy, private, studious and contem- 
 plative ; conscious of all the disadvantages and privations of a very 
 stinted education ; of a habit naturally hypochondriac, with aspen 
 nerves, that every breath could ruffle, was at once in art the rival, 
 and in nature the very contrast of Sir Joshua. A man of few wants* 
 strict ceconomy and with no dislike to money, he had opportunities 
 enough to enrich him even to satiety, but he was at once so eager 
 to begin> and so slow in finishing his portraits, that he was for ever 
 disappointed of receiving payment for them by the casualties and 
 revolutions in the families they were designed for, so many of his 
 sitters were killed off*, so many favourite ladies were dismissed, so 
 many fond wives divorced, before he would bestow half an hour's 
 pains upon their petticoats, that his unsaleable stock was immense, 
 whilst with a little more regularity and decision, he would have more 
 than doubled his fortune, and escaped an infinitude of petty troubles 
 that disturbed his temper. At length exhausted rather by the lan- 
 guor than by the labour of his mind, this admirable artist retired to 
 his native county in the north of England-, and there, after hovering 
 between life and death, neither wholly deprived of the one nor com- 
 pletely rescued by the other, he continued to decline, till at last he 
 sunk into a distant and inglorious grave, fortunate alone in this, that 
 his fame is consigned to the protection of Mr. Hayley, from whom 
 the world expects his history ; there if he says no more of him, than 
 that he was at least as good a painter as Mr. Cowper was a poet, he 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 311 
 
 will say enough ; and if his readers see the parallel in the light that 
 I do, they will not think that he shall have said too much. 
 
 When I first knew Romney, he was poorly lodged in New-port- 
 street, and painted at the small price of eight guineas for a three- 
 quarters portrait ; I sate to him, and was the first who encouraged 
 him to advance his terms, by paying him ten guineas for his per- 
 formance. I brought Garrick to see his pictures, hoping to interest 
 him in his favour ; a large family piece unluckily arrested his atten- 
 tion ; a gentleman in a close-buckled bob-wig and a scarlet waist- 
 coat laced with gold, with his wife and children, (some sitting, some 
 standing), had taken possession of some yards of canvass very much, 
 as it appeared, to their own satisfaction, for they were perfectly 
 amused in a contented abstinence from all thought or action. Upon 
 this unfortunate groupe when Garrick had fixed his lynx's eyes, he 
 began to put himself into the attitude of the gentleman, and turning 
 to Mr. Romney — " Upon my word, Sir, said he, this is a very re- 
 gular well-ordered family, and that is a very bright well-rubbed ma- 
 hogany table, at which that motherly good lady is sitting, and 
 this worthy gentleman in the scarlet waistcoat is doubtless a very 
 excellent subject to the state I mean, (if all these are his chil- 
 dren), but not for your art, Mr. Romney, if you mean to pursue it 
 with that success, which I hope will attend you — ." The modest 
 artist took the hint, as it was meant, in good part, and turned his 
 family with their faces to the wall. When Romney produced my 
 portrait, not yet finished — It was very well, Gariick observed: — 
 " That is very like my friend, and that blue coat with a red cape is 
 very like the coat he has on, but you must give him something to 
 do ; put a pen in his hand, a paper on his table, and make him a 
 poet; if you can once set him down well to his writing, who knows 
 but in time he may write something in your praise." These words 
 were not absolutely unprophetical : I maintained a friendship for 
 Romney to his death ; he was uniformly kind and affectionate to 
 me, and certainly I was zealous in my services to him. After his 
 death I wrote a short account of him, which was published in a 
 magazine; I did my best, but must confess I should not have un- 
 dertaken it but at the desire of my excellent friend Mr. Green, of 
 Bedford-Square, and being further urged to it by the wishes of two 
 other valuable friends Mr. Long, of Lincoln's Inn Fields, and Mr. 
 Daniel Bravthwaite, whom I sincerelv esteem, it was not for me to 
 
312 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 hesitate, especially as I was not then informed of Mr. Hay ley's pur- 
 pose to take that work upon himself. 
 
 Here I am tempted to insert a few lines, which about this time I 
 put together, more perhaps for the purpose of speaking civilly of 
 Mr. Romney than for any other use, that I could put them to ; but 
 as I find there is honourable mention made of Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 also, I give the whole copy as a further proof, that neither in verse 
 or prose did I ever fail to speak of that celebrated painter but with 
 the respect so justly due. 
 
 " When Gothic rage had put the arts to flight 
 And wrapt the world in universal night, 
 When the dire northern swarm with seas of blood 
 Had drowned creation in a second flood, 
 When all was void, disconsolate and dark, 
 Rome in her ashes found one latent spark, 
 She, not unmindful of her ancient name, 
 Nurs'd her last hope and fed the secret flame ; 
 Still as it grew, new streams of orient light 
 Beam'd on the world and cheered the fainting sight ; 
 Rous'd from the tombs of the illustrious dead 
 Immortal science rear'd her mournful head ; 
 And mourn she shall to time's extremest hour 
 The dire effects of Omar's savage power, 
 . When rigid Amrou's too obedient hand 
 Made Alexandria blaze at his command ; 
 Six months he fed the sacrilegious flame 
 With the stor'd volumes of recorded fame : 
 There died all memory of the great and good 3 
 Then Greece and Rome were finally subdu'd. 
 
 " Yet monkish ignorance had not quite effac'd 
 All that the chissel wrought, the pencil trac'd ; 
 Some precious reliques of the ancient hoard 
 Or happy chance, or curious search restor'd; 
 The wondering artist kindled as he gaz'd, 
 And caught perfection from the work he prais'd, 
 
 " Of painters then the celebrated race 
 Rose into fame with each attendant grace ; 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 313 
 
 Still, as it spread, the wonder-dealing art 
 Improved the manners and reform 'd the heart ; 
 Darkness dispers'd, and Italy became 
 Once more the seat of elegance and fame. 
 
 " Late, very late, on this sequester'd isle 
 The heaven-descended art was seen to smile ; 
 Seldom she came to this storm-beaten coast, 
 And short her stay, just seen, admir'd, and lost: 
 Reynolds at length, her favourite suiter, bore 
 The blushing stranger to his native shore ; 
 He by no mean, no selfish motives sway'd 
 To public view held forth the liberal maid, 
 Call'd his admiring countrymen around, 
 Freely declar'd what raptures he had found ; 
 Told them that merit would alike impart 
 To him or them a passage to her heart. 
 Rous'd at the call, all came to view her charms, 
 All press'd, all strove to clasp her in their arms ; 
 See Coats and Dance and Gainsborough seize the spoil, 
 And ready Mortimer that laughs at toil ; 
 Crown'd with fresh roses graceful Hum/ihrey stands, 
 While beauty grows immortal from his hands ; 
 Stubbs like a lion springs upon his prey, 
 With bold eccentric Wright that hates the day : 
 Familiar Zojfany with comic art, 
 And West, great painter of the human heart. 
 These and yet more unnam'd that to our eyes 
 Bid lawns and groves and tow'ring mountains rise, 
 Point the bold rock or stretch the bursting sail, 
 Smooth the calm sea, or drive th' impetuous gale : 
 Some hunt 'midst fruit and flowery wreaths for fame, 
 And Elmer springs it in the feather'd game. 
 
 " Apart and bending o'er the azure tide, 
 With heavenly Contemplation by his side, 
 A pensive artist stands — in thoughtful mood, 
 With downcast looks he eyes the ebbing flood ; 
 No wild ambition swells his temperate heart, 
 Himself as pure, as patient as his art, 
 
,314 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Nor sullen sorrow, nor intemperate joy 
 
 The even tenour of his thoughts destroy, 
 
 An undistinguish'd candidate for fame, 
 
 At once his country's glory and its shame : 
 
 Rouse then at length, with honest pride inspir'd, 
 
 Ro?nney, advance! be known and be admir'd." 
 
 I perceive I must resume the immediate subject of these Me- 
 moirs ; it is truly a relief to me, when I am called off from it, for 
 unvaried egotism would be a toil too heavy for my mind. When I 
 attempt to look into the mass of my productions, I can keep no 
 order in the enumeration of them ; I have not patience to arrange 
 them according to their dates ; I believe I have written at least fifty 
 dramas published and unpublished. Amongst the latter of these 
 there are some, which in my sincere opinion are better than most, 
 which have yet seen the light : they certainly have had the advan- 
 tages of a more mature correction. When I went to Spain I left in 
 Mr. Harris's hands a tragedy on the subject of The Elder Brutus ; 
 the temper of the times was by no means suited to the character 
 of the play ; I have never written any drama so much to my own 
 satisfaction, and my partiality to it has been flattered by the judgment 
 of several, who have read it. I have written dramas on the stories 
 of the False Demetrius, of Tibereus in Cafirece, and a tragedy on a plot. 
 purely inventive, which I intitled Torrendal ; these with several 
 others may in time to come, if life shall be continued to me, be form- 
 ed into a collection and submitted to the public. 
 
 About the time, at which my story points, my tragedy of The 
 Carmelite was acted at Drury-Lane, and most ably supported by 
 Mrs. Siddons, who took the part of the Lady of Saint Valori, and 
 also spoke the Epilogue. She played inimitably, and in those 
 days, when only men and women trode the stage, the public were 
 contented with what was perfect in nature, and of course admired 
 and applauded Mrs. Siddons: they could then also see merit in Mr. 
 Kemble, who was in the commencement of his career, and appeared 
 in the character of the youthful Montgomeri : the audiences of that 
 time did not think the worse of him because he had reached the 
 age of manhood, and appeared before them in the full stature and 
 complete maturity of one of the finest forms, that probably was ever 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 315 
 
 exhibited upon a public stage. A revolution since then has taken 
 place, a caprice, as ridiculous as it is extraordinary, and a general 
 act of superannuation has gone forth against every male performer, 
 that has a beard. How I am to style this young child of fortune, 
 this adopted favourite of the public, I don't rightly know ; the 
 bills of Covent-Garden announce him as Master Betty, those of 
 Drury-Lane as the Young Roscius. Roscius, as I believe upon the 
 authority of Shakspeare, was an actor in Rome, and Cicero, who ad- 
 mired him, made a speech in his praise : ail this of course is very 
 right on both sides, and exactly as it should be. Mr. Harris announces 
 him to the old women in the galleries in a phrase, that is familiar to 
 them ; whilst Mr. Sheridan, presenting him to the senators in the 
 boxes by the style and title of Roscius, fails perhaps in his little re- 
 presentative of the great Roman actor, but perfectly succeeds in his 
 own similitude to the eloquent Roman orator. In the mean time 
 my friend Smith of Bury, with all that zeal for merit, which is natu- 
 ral to him, marries him to Melpomene with the ring of Garrick, and 
 st'ewing roses of Parnassus on the nuptial couch, crowns happy 
 Master Betty, alias Young Roscius, with a never-fading chaplet of 
 immortal verse 
 
 And now when death dissolves his mortal frame, 
 His soul shall mount to heaven from whence it came 
 Earth keep, his ashes, -verse preserve his fame. 
 
 How delicious to be praised and panegerised in such a style ; to 
 be caressed by dukes, and (which is better) by the daughters of 
 dukes, flattered by wits, feasted by Aldermen, stuck up in the win- 
 dows of the printshops, and set astride (as these eyes have seen him) 
 upon the cut-water of a privateer, like the tutelary genius of the 
 British flag. 
 
 What encouragements doth this great enlightened nation hold 
 forth to merit? What a consolatory reflection must it be to the su- 
 perannuated yellow admirals of the stage, that when they shall ar- 
 rive at second childhood, they may still have a chance to arrive at 
 honours second only to these ! I declare I saw with surprise a man, 
 who led about a bear to dance for the edification of the public, lose all 
 his popularity in the street, where this exquisite gentleman has his 
 lodging ; the people ran to see him at the window, and left the bear 
 
316 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 and the bear-leader in a solitude. I saw this exquisite young gentle- 
 man, whilst I paced the streets on foot, wafted to his morning's 
 rehearsal in a vehicle, that to my vulgar optics seemed to wear 
 upon its polished doors the ensign of a ducal crown ; I looked 
 to see if haply John Kemble were on the braces, or Cooke per- 
 chance behind the coach; I saw the lacquies at their post, but Gle- 
 nalvon was not there : I found John Kembie sick at home — I said 
 within myself 
 
 Oh I nvhat a time have you chose out y brave Caius, 
 To wear a kerchief? Would you were not sick ! 
 
 We shall have a second influx of the pigmies ; they will pour 
 upon us in multitudes innumerable as a shoal of sprats, and when at 
 last we have nothing else but such small fry to feed on, an epidemic 
 nausea will take place. 
 
 There are intervals in fevers ; there are lucid moments in mad- 
 ness ; even folly cannot keep possession of the mind for ever. It is 
 very natural to encourage rising genius, it is highly commendable to 
 foster its first shoots ; we admire and caress a clever school-boy, but 
 we should do very ill to turn his master out of his office and put him 
 into it. If the theatres persist in their puerilities, they will find 
 themselves very shortly in the predicament of an ingenious mecha- 
 nic, whom I remember in my younger days, and whose story I will 
 briefly relate, in hopes it may be a warning to them. 
 
 This very ingenious artist, when Mr. Rich the Harlequin was 
 the great dramatic author of his time, and wrote successfully for the 
 stage, contrived and executed a most delicious serpent for one of 
 those inimitable productions, in which Mr. Rich, justly disdaining 
 the weak aid of language, had selected the classical fable (if I rightly 
 recollect it) of Orpheus and Eurydice, and having conceived a very 
 capital part for the serpent, was justly anxious to provide himself 
 with a performer, who could support a character of that consequence 
 with credit to himself and to his author. The event answered his 
 most ardent hopes ; nothing could be more perfect in his entrances 
 and exits, nothing ever crawled across the stage with more accom- 
 plished sinuosity than this enchanting serpent; every soul was 
 charmed with its performance; it twirled and twisted and wriggled 
 itself about in so divine a manner, the whole world was ravished with 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 317 
 
 the lovely snake: nobles and non-nobies, rich and poor, old and 
 young, reps and demi-reps nocked to see it, and admire it. The 
 artist, who had been tne master of the movement, was intoxicated 
 with his success; he turned his hands and head to nothing else but 
 serpents ; he made them of all sizes, they crawled about his siiop as 
 if he had been chief snake-catcher to the furies : the public curiosity 
 was satisfied with one serpent, and he had nests of them yet unsold; 
 his stock laid dead upon his hands, his trade was lost, and the man 
 was ruined, bankrupt anu undone. 
 
 Here it occurs to me that in one of my preceding pages I have 
 promised to address a parting word to my brethren and contempo- 
 raries in the dramatic line. If what I have now been saying coin- 
 cides with their opinions, I have said enough ; if it does not, what I 
 might add to it would be all too much, and the experience of grey- 
 hairs would be in vain opposed to the prejudices of green heads. 
 May success attend them in their efforts, whenever they shall se- 
 riously address them to the study of the legitimate drama, and the 
 restoration of good taste ! There is no lack of genius in the nation ; 
 I therefore will not totally despair, old as I am, of living still to wit- 
 ness the commencement of a brighter aera. 
 
 About this time I undertook the hardy task of differing in opi- 
 nion from one of the ablest scholars and finest writers in the king- 
 dom, and controverted the proposal of the Bishop ofXlandaff for 
 equalizing the revenues of the hierarchy and dignitaries of the 
 church established. I still think I had the best of the argument, and 
 that his lordship did a wiser thing in declining the controversy, than 
 in throwing out the proposal. I have read a charge of the bishop's 
 to the clergy of his diocese for enforcing many points of discipline, 
 and enjoining residence. As his lordship neither resides in his 
 diocese, nor executes the important duty of Regius Professor of 
 Divinity in person, I am not informed whether his clergy took their 
 rule of conduct from his precept, or from his example ; but I take 
 for granted that those, whose poverty confined them to their par- 
 sonages, did not stray from home, and that those, whose means 
 enabled them to visit other places, did not want a precedent to refer 
 to for their apology. 
 
 As I have dealt extremely little in anonymous publications, I 
 may as well confess myself in this place the author of a pamphlet 
 entitled Curtius rescued from the Gvlp.h. I conceived that Doctor 
 
318 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Parr had hit an unoffending gentleman too hard, by launching a 
 huge fragment of Greek at his defenceless head. The subject was 
 started, and the exterminating weapon produced at one of my friend 
 Dilly's literary dinners ; there were several gentlemen present bet- 
 ter armed for the encounter than myself, but the lot fell upon me 
 to turn out against Ajax. I made as good a fight as I could, and 
 rummaged my indexes for quotations, which I crammed into my 
 artillery as thick as grape shot, and in mere sport fired them off 
 against a rock invulnerable as the armour of Achilles. It was very 
 well observed by my friend Mr. Dilly upon the profusion of quota- 
 tions, which some writers affectedly make use of, that he knew a 
 presbyterian parson, who for eighteen-pence would furnish any pam- 
 phleteer with as many scraps of Greek and Latin, as would pass him 
 off for an accomplished classic. I simply discharge a debt of gra- 
 titude, justly due, when I acknowledge the great and frequent gra- 
 tifications I have received at the hospitable board of the worthy 
 friend last-mentioned, who whilst he conducted upon principles of 
 the strictest integrity the extensive business carried on at his house 
 in the Poultry, kept a table ever open to the patrons and pursuers 
 of literature, which was so administered as to draw the best circles 
 together, and to put them most completely at their ease. No man 
 ever understood this better, and few ever practised it with such 
 success, or on so large a scale : it was done without parade, and in 
 that consisted the peculiar air of comfort and repose, which charac- 
 terised those meetings : hence it came to pass that men of genius 
 and learning resorted to them with delight, and here it was that 
 they were to be found divested of reserve, and in their happiest mo- 
 ments. Under this roof the biographer of Johnson, and the plea- 
 sant tourist to Corsica and the Hebrides, passed many jovial joyous 
 hours ; here he has located some of the liveliest scenes and most 
 brilliant passages in his entertaining anecdotes of his friend Samuel 
 Johnson, who yet lives and speaks in him. The book of Boswell, 
 is, ever as the year comes round, my winter-evening's entertain- 
 ment : I loved the man ; he had great convivial powers and an inex- 
 haustible fund of good humour in society ; no body could detail the 
 spirit of a conversation in the true style and character of the parties 
 more happily than my friend James Boswell, especially when his 
 vivacity was excited, and his heart exhilerated by the circulation of 
 the glass, and the grateful odour of a well-broiled lobster. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 319 
 
 To these parties I can trace my first impressions of esteem for 
 certain characters, whose merits are above my praise, and of whose 
 friendship I have still to bo^st. From Mr. Dilly's hospitality I de- 
 rive not only the recollection of pleasure past, but the enjoyment of 
 happiness yet in my possession. Death has not struck so deep into 
 that circle, but that some are left, whose names are dear to society, 
 whom I have still to number amongst my living friends, to whom I 
 can resort and find myself not lost to their remembrance. Our hos- 
 pitable host, retired from business, still greets me with a friendly 
 welcome : in the company of the worthy Braythwaite I can enjoy 
 the contemplation of a man universally beloved, full indeed of years, 
 but warm in feeling, unimpaired in faculties and glowing with be- 
 nevolence. 
 
 I can visit the justly-admired author of The Pleasures of Memory, 
 and find myself with a friend, who together with the brightest ge- 
 nius possesses elegance of manners and excellence of heart. He 
 tells me he remembers the day of our first meeting at Mr. Dilly's; 
 I also remember it, and though his modest unassuming nature held 
 back and shrunk from all appearances of ostentation and display of 
 talents, yet even then I take credit for discovering a promise of good 
 things to come, and suspected him of holding secret commerce with 
 die Muse, before the proof appeared in shape of one of the most 
 beautiful and harmonious poems in our language. I do not say that 
 he has not ornamented the age he lives in, though he were to stop 
 where he is, but I hope he will not so totally deliver himself over to 
 the Arts as to neglect the Muses ; and I now publicly call upon Sa- 
 muel Rogers to answer to his name, and stand forth in the title page 
 of some future work that shall be in substance greater, in dignity of 
 subject more sublime, and in purity of versification not less charm- 
 ing than his poem above-mentioned. 
 
 My good and worthy friend Mr. Sharpe has made himself in 
 some degree responsible to the public, for having been the first to 
 suggest to me the idea of writing this huge volume of my Memoirs ; 
 he knows I was not easily encouraged to believe my history could 
 be made interesting to the readers of it, and in truth opinion less 
 authoritative than his would not have prevailed with me to commit 
 myself to the undertaking. Neither he nor I however at that time 
 had any thought of publishing before my death ; in proof of which 
 I have luckily laid my hand upon the following lines amongst the 
 
320 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 chaos of my manuscripts, which will shew that I made suit to him 
 to protect this and other reliques of my pen, when I had paid the 
 debt of nature 
 
 " To Richard Sharpe, Esquire, of Mark-Lane." 
 
 " If rhyme e'er spoke the language of the heart, 
 
 Or truth employ'd the measur'd phrase of art, 
 
 Believe me, Sharpe, this verse, which smoothly flows? 
 
 Hath ail the rough sincerity of prose. 
 
 False flattering words from eager lips may fly, 
 
 But who can pause to harmonize a lie ? 
 
 Or e'er he made the jingling couplet chime, 
 
 Conscience would start and reprobate the rhyme. 
 
 If then 'twere merely to entrap your ear 
 
 I call'd you friend, and pledg'd myself sincere, 
 
 Genius would shudder at the base design, 
 
 And my hand tremble as I shap'd the line. 
 
 Poets oft times are tickled with a word, 
 
 That gaiiy glitters at the festive board, 
 
 And many a man, my judgment can't approve, 
 
 Hath trick'd my foolish fancy of its love ; 
 
 For every foible natural to my race 
 
 Finds for a time with me some fleeting place ; 
 
 But occupants so weak have no controul, 
 
 No fix'd and legal tenure in my soul, 
 
 Nor will my reason quit the faithful clue, 
 
 That points to truth, to virtue and to you. 
 
 " In the vicissitudes of life we find 
 Strange turns and twinin^s in the human mind, 
 And he, who seeks consistency of plan, 
 Is little vers'd in the great map of man ; 
 The wider still the sphere in which we live, 
 The more our calls to suffer and forgive : 
 But from the hour (and many years are past) 
 From the first hour I knew you to the last, 
 Through every scene, self-center'd and at rest, 
 Your steady character hath stood the test, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 52 1 
 
 No rash conceits divert your solid thought, 
 By patience foster'd and with candour fraught ; 
 Mild in opinion, but of soul sincere, 
 And only to the foes of truth severe, 
 So unobtrusive is your wisdom's tone, 
 Your converts hear and fancy it their own, 
 With hand so fine you probe the festering mind, 
 You heal our wounds, and leave no sore behind. 
 
 " Now say, my friend— but e'er you touch the task 
 Weigh well the burden of the boon I ask — 
 Say, when the pulses of this heart shall cease, 
 And my soul quits her cares to seek her peace, 
 Will your zeal prompt you to protect the name 
 Of one not totally unknown to fame ? 
 Will you, who only can the place supply 
 Of a lost son, befriend my progeny ? 
 For when the wreck goes down there will be found 
 Some remnants of the freight to float around, 
 Some that long time hath almost snatch'd from sight. 
 And more unseen, that struggle for the light j 
 And sure I am the stage will not refuse, 
 To lift her curtain for my widow'd Muse, 
 Nor will her hearers less indulgent be, 
 When that last curtain shall be dropt on me." 
 
 I have fairly given the reasons, that prevailed with me for pub- 
 lishing these Memoirs in my life time, and I believe every man, 
 that knows them, will acknowledge they are reasons sufficiently 
 cogent. My friend Sharpe very kindly acceded to the suit above- 
 made ; Mr. Rogers has since joined him in the task, and Sir James 
 Bland Burges, of whose friendship I have had many and most con- 
 vincing proofs, has with the candour, that is natural to an enlight- 
 ened mind, generously engaged to take his share in selecting and 
 arranging the miscellaneous farrago, that will be found in my draw- 
 ers, after my body has been committed to the earth. To these 
 three friends I devote this task, and upon their judgment I rely 
 for the publication or suppression of what they may find amongst 
 my literary relics ; they are all much younger men than I am, and 
 I pray God, that death, who cannot long spare me, will not draw 
 
 T -t 
 
322 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 those arrows from his quiver, which fate has destined to extinguish 
 them, till they have completed a career equal at least in length to 
 mine, crowned with more fame, and graced with much more for- 
 tune and prosperity. I know that they will do what they have said, 
 and faithfully protect my posthumous reputation, as I have been a 
 faithful friend to them and to their living works. 
 
 The heroic poem of Richard the First is truly a very extraordi- 
 nary work. I am a witness to the extreme rapidity, with which my 
 friend the author wrote it. It far exceeded the supposed rate, at 
 which Pope translated Homer, which being at fifty lines per day, 
 Samuel Johnson hesitates to give credit to. If to this we take into 
 account the peculiar construction of the stanza, every one of which 
 involves four, three and two terminations in rhyme, and which must 
 naturally have enhanced the labour of the poet in a very consi- 
 derable degree, I am astonished at the facility, with which Sir 
 James has triumphed over the difficulties, that he chose to impose 
 upon himself, and must confess his Muse moves gracefully in her 
 fetters. I was greatly pleased to see that the learned and judicious 
 Mr. Todd in his late edition of Spenser has spoken of this poem in 
 such handsome terms, as I can never meet a stronger confirmation 
 of my own opinion, that when I find it coinciding with that of so 
 excellent a critic. The sera, in which my friend has placed his 
 poem, the hero he has chosen, and the chivalric character, with 
 which he has very properly marked it, are circumstances that might 
 naturally prevail with him for modelling it upon the stanza of the 
 Fairy Queen, which, though it has not so proud a march as the 
 herioc verse, has certainly more of the knightly prance in it, and 
 of course more to the writer's purpose than the rhyming couplet. 
 Perhaps the public at large have not yet formed a proper estimate 
 of the real merit of this heroic poem. Its adoption of a stanza, ob- 
 solete and repetitionary on the ear, is a circumstance, that stamps 
 upon it the revolting air of an imitation, which in fact it is not, and 
 deters many from reading it, who would else find much to admire, 
 and instead of discovering any traces of the Fairy Queen, would 
 meet enough to remind them of a nobler model in the Iliad of Homer. 
 In the mean time it gives me great satisfaction to know that the 
 author of Richard has since paid loyal service to the dramatic 
 Muse, and when a mind so prompt in execution, and so fully stored 
 Avith the knowledge both of men and books, shall address its la- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 323 
 
 hours to the stage, I should be loath to doubt but that the time will 
 come when classic writing shall expel grimace. 
 
 I hope I shall in no wise hurt the feelings of a lady, who now 
 most worthily fills a very elevated station, if, in speaking of my 
 humble productions in the course of my subject, I cannot avoid to 
 speak of one of the most elegant actresses that ever graced the 
 stage. When I brought out my comedy of The Natural Son, I 
 flattered myself that in the sketch of Lady Paragon I had conceived 
 a character not quite unworthy of the talents of Miss Farren : it is 
 saying little in the way of praise, when I acknowledge the partia- 
 lity I still retain for that particular part, and indeed for that play in 
 general. It was acted and published in the same season \fcith 
 the Carmelite, and though I did not either in that instance, or in 
 any other to my knowledge, obtrude myself upon the public to the 
 exclusion of a competitor, still it was so that the town was pleased 
 to interpret my second appeal to their candour, and the newspapers 
 of the day vented their malignancy against me in the most oppro- 
 brious terms. So exquisite was the style, in which Miss Farren 
 gave her character its best display, and so respectable were her 
 auxiliaries in the scene, particularly Mr. John Palmer, that they 
 could never deprive the comedy of favourable audiences, though their 
 efforts too frequently succeeded in preventing them from being full 
 ones. It was a persecution most disgraceful to the freedom of the 
 press, and the performers resented it with a sensibility, that did them 
 honour ; they traced some of the paragraphs to their dirty origin, 
 but upon minds entirely debased shame has no effect. 
 
 I now foresaw the coming-en of an event, that must inevitably 
 deprive me of one of the greatest comforts, which still adhered to 
 me in my decline of fortune. It was too evident that the constitu- 
 tion of Lord Sackville, long harassed by the painful visitation of that 
 dreadful malady the stone, was decidedly giving way. There was 
 in him so generous a repugnance against troubling his friends with 
 any complaints, that it was from external evidence only, never from 
 confession, that his sufferings could be guessed at. Attacks, that 
 would have confined most people to their beds, never moved him 
 from his habitual punctuality. It was curious, and probably in some 
 men's eyes would from its extreme precision have appeared ridicu- 
 lously minute and formal, yet in the movements of a domestic esta- 
 blishment so large as his, it had its uses and comforts, which his 
 
 
324 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 guests and family could not fail to partake of. As sure as the hand 
 of the clock pointed to the half-hour after nine, neither a minute 
 before nor a minute after, so sure did the good lord of the castle 
 step into his breakfast room, accoutred at all points according to his 
 own invariable costuma, with a complacent countenance, that pre- 
 faced his good-morning to each person there assembled ; and now, 
 whilst I recall these scenes to my remembrance, I feel gratified by 
 the reflection, that I never passed a night beneath his roof, but that 
 his morning's salutation met me at my post. He allowed an hour 
 and a half for breakfast, and regularly at eleven took his morning's 
 circuit on horseback at a foot's-pace, for his infirmity would not 
 admit of any strong gestation ; he had an old groom, who had grown 
 grey in his service, that was his constant pilot upon these excursions, 
 and his general custom was to make the tour of his cottages to re- 
 connoitre the condition they were in, whether their roofs were in 
 repair, their windows whole, and the gardens well cropped and 
 neatly kept ; all this it was their interest to be attentive to, for 
 he bought the produce of their fruit-trees, and I have heard him say 
 with great satisfaction that he has paid thirty shillings in a season 
 for strawberries only to a poor cottager, who paid him one shilling 
 annual rent for his tenement and garden ; this was the constant rate, 
 at which he let them to his labourers, and he made them pay it to 
 his steward at his yearly audit, that they might feel themselves in 
 the class of regular tenants, and sit down at table to the good cheer 
 provided for them on the audit-day. He never rode out without 
 preparing himself with a store of six-pences in his waistcoat pocket 
 for the children of the poor, who opened gates and drew out sliding 
 bars for him in his passing through the enclosures : these barriers 
 were well watched, and there was rarely any employment for a ser- 
 vant ; but these six-pences were not indiscriminately bestowed, for 
 as he kept a charity school upon his own endowment, he knew to 
 whom he gave them, and generally held a short parley with the gate- 
 opener as he paid his toll for passing. Upon the very first report 
 of illness or accident relief was instantly sent, and they were put 
 upon the sick list, regularly visited, and constantly supplied with the 
 best medicines administered upon the best advice, if the poor man 
 lost his cow or his pig or his poultry, the loss was never made up in 
 money, but in stock. It was his custom to buy the cast-off liveries 
 of his own servants as constantly as the day of cloathing came about, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 325 
 
 and these he distributed to the old and worn-out labourers, who 
 turned out daily on the iawn and paddock in the Sackville livery to 
 pick up boughs and sweep up leaves, and in short do just as much 
 work as served to keep them wholesome and alive. 
 
 To his religious duties this good man was not only regularly but 
 respectfully attentive : on the Sunday morning he appeared in gala, 
 as if he was dressed for a drawing room ; he marched out his whole 
 family in grand cavalcade to his parish church, leaving only a centi- 
 nel to watch the fires at home, and mount guard upon the spits. His 
 deportment in the house of prayer was exemplary, and more in cha- 
 racter of times past than of time present : he had a way of standing 
 up in sermon-time for the purpose of reviewing the congregation, and 
 awing the idlers into decorum, that never failed to remind me of 
 Sir Roger de Coverley, at church : sometimes, when he has 
 been struck with passages in the discourse, whic*i he wished to 
 point out to the audience as rules for moral practice worthy to 
 be noticed, he would mark his approbation of them with such cheer- 
 ing nods and signals of assent to the preacher, as were often more 
 than my muscles could withstand ; but when to the total overthrow 
 of ail gravity, in his zeal to encourage the efforts of a very young de- 
 claimer in the pulpit, I heard him cry out to the Reverend Mr. 
 Henry Eatoff in the middle of his sermon — ." Well done, Harry 1" 
 It was irresistible ; suppression was out of my power : what made it 
 more intolerably comic was, the unmoved sincerity of his manner, 
 and his surprise to find that any thing had passed, that could provoke 
 a laugh so out of time and place. He had nursed up with no -small 
 care and cost in each of his parish churches a corps of rustic psalm- 
 singers, to whose performances he paid the greatest attention, rising 
 up, and with lis eyes directed to the singing gallery, marking time, 
 which was not always rigidly adhered to, and once, when his ear, 
 which was very correct, had been tortured by a tone most glaring- 
 ly discordant, he set his mark upon the culprit by calling out to him 
 by name, and loudly saying, " Out of tune, Tom Baker — i" Now this 
 faulty musician Tom Baker happened to be his lordship's butcher, 
 but then in order to set names and trades upon a par, Tom Butcher 
 was his lordship's baker; which I observed to him was much such a 
 reconcilement of cross partners as my illustrious friend George 
 Faulkner hit upon, when in his Dublin Journal he printed — " Erra- 
 
326 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 turn in our last — For His Grace the Duchess of Dorset read Her 
 Grace the Duke of Dorset — " 
 
 I relate these little anecdotes of a man, whose character had no- 
 thing little in it, that I may show him to my readers in his private 
 scenes, and be as far as I am able the intimate and true transcriber 
 of his heart. While the marriage-settlement of his eldest daughter 
 was in preparation, he said to the noble person then in treaty for her — 
 " I am perfectly assured, my lord, that you have correctly given in a 
 statement of your affairs, as you in honour and in conscience religi- 
 ously believe them to be ; but I am much afraid they have been es- 
 timated to you for better than they really are, and you must allow 
 me therefore to apprise you, that I shall propose an alteration in my 
 daughter's fortune, more proportioned to what I now conceive to be 
 the real valuation of your lordship's property — " To this, when the 
 generous and disinterested suitor expressed his ready acquiescence, 
 my friend replied (I had the anecdote from his own mouth) " I per- 
 ceive your lordship understands me, as proposing a reduction from 
 my daughter's portion ; not so, my lord ; my purpose is to double it, 
 that I may have the gratification of supplying those deficiencies in 
 the statement, which I took the liberty of noticing, and which, as 
 you were not aware of them, might else have disappointed and per- 
 haps misled you — -" When he imparted this circumstance to me in 
 the words, as nearly as I can remember, but correctly in the spirit of 
 those words, he said to me — u I hope you don't suppose I would 
 have done this for my eldest daughter, if I had not assured myself of 
 my ability to do the same for the other two — ." 
 
 It was in the year 1785, whilst he was at Ston eland, that those 
 symptoms first appeared, which gradually disclosed such evidences 
 of debility, as could not be concealed, and shewed to demonstration, 
 that the hand of death was even then upon him. He had prepared 
 himself with an opinion deliberately formed upon the matter of the 
 Irish Propositions, and when that great question was appointed to 
 come on for discussion in the House of Lords, he thought himself 
 bound in honour and duty to attend in his place. He then for the 
 first time confessed himself to be unfit for the attempt, and plainly 
 declared he believed it would be his death. He paused for a few mo- 
 ments, as if in hesitation hew to decide, and the air of his countenance 
 was impressed with melancholy : we were standing under the great 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 327 
 
 spreading tree, that shelters the back -entrance to the house ; the day- 
 was hot ; he had dismounted heavily from his horse ; we were alone, 
 and it was plain that exercise, though gentle, had increased his lan- 
 gour ; he was oppressed both in body and spirit ; he did not attempt 
 to disguise it, for he could no longer counterfeit : he sate down upon 
 the bench at the tree-foot, and composing his countenance, as if he 
 wished to have forced a smile upon it, had his suffering given him 
 leave — " I know, said he, as well as you can tell me, what you think 
 of me just now, and that you are convinced if I go to town upon this 
 Irish business, I go to my death ; but I also know you are at heart 
 not against my undertaking it, for I have one convincing proof for 
 ever present to me, how much more you consult my honour than my 
 safety : And after all what do I sacrifice, if with the sentence of ine- 
 vitable death in my hand, I only lop off a few restless hours, and in 
 the execution of my duty meet the stroke ? In one word I teil you I 
 shall go: we will not have another syllable upon the subject ; don't 
 advise it, lest you should repent of it, when it has killed me ; and do 
 not oppose it, because it would not be your true opinion, and if it 
 were, I would not follow it — " 
 
 It was in that same day after dinner, as I well remember, the- 
 evening being most serene and lovely, we seated ourselves in the 
 chairs, that were placed out upon the garden grass-plat, which looks 
 towards Crowberry and the forest. Our conversation led us to the 
 affair of Minden ; my friend most evidently courted the discussion : 
 I told him I had diligently attended the whole process of the trial, 
 and that I had detailed it to Mr. Doddington : I had consequently a 
 pretty correct remembrance of the leading circumstances as they 
 came out upon the evidence. But I observed to him that it was not 
 upon the questions and proceeding agitated at that court, that I could 
 perfect my opinion of the case ; there must be probably a chain of 
 leading causes, which, though they could not make a part of his de- 
 fence in public court, might, if developed, throw such lights on the 
 respective conduct of the parties, as would have led to conclusions 
 different from those, which stood upon the record. 
 
 To this he answered that my remark was just : there were cer- 
 tain circumstances antecedent to the action, that should be taken into 
 consideration, and there were certain forbearances, posterior to the 
 trial, that should be accounted for. The time was come, when he 
 could have no temptation to disguise and violate the truth, and a 
 
328 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 much more awful trial was now close at hand, where he must suffer 
 for it if he did. He would talk plainly, temperately and briefly to me, 
 as his manner was, provided I would promise him to deal sincerely, 
 and not spare to press him on such points, as stuck with me for want 
 of explanation. This being premised, he entered upon a detail, 
 which unless I could give, as taken down from his lips, without the 
 variation of a word, so sacred do 1 hold the reputation of the dead en- 
 trusted to me, and the feelings of the living, whom any error of 
 mine might wound, that I shall forbear to speak of it except in ge- 
 neral terms. He appeared to me throughout his whole discourse 
 like a man, who had perfectly dismissed his passions ; his colour 
 never changed, his features never indicated embarrasment, his voice 
 was never elevated, and being relieved at times by my questions and 
 remarks, he appeared to speak without pain, and in the event his 
 mind seemed lightened by the discharge. When I compare what 
 he said to me in his last moments, (not two hours before he expired) 
 with what he stated at this conference, if I did not from my heart 
 and upon the most entire conviction of my reason and understanding, 
 solemnly acquit that injured man, (now gone to his account) of the 
 opprobrious and false imputations, deposed against him at his trial, 
 I must be either brutally ignorant, or wilfully obstinate against the 
 truth. 
 
 At the battle of Fontenoy, at the head of his brave regiment, in 
 the very front of danger and the heat of action, he received a bullet 
 in his breast, and being taken off the field by his grenadiers, was car- 
 ried into a tent belonging to the equipage of the French King, and 
 there laid upon a table,' whilst the surgeon dressed his wound ; so 
 far had that glorious column penetrated in their advance towards 
 victory, unfortunately snatched from them. Let us contemplate the 
 same man, commanding the British cavalry in the battle of Minden, 
 no longer in the front of danger and the heat of action, no longer in 
 the pursuit of victory, for that was gained, and can we think with 
 his unjust defamer, that such a man would tremble at a flying foe ? 
 It is a supposition against nature, a charge that cannot stand, an im- 
 putation that confutes itself. 
 
 Perhaps I am repeating things that I have said in my account 
 of him, published after his death, but I have no means of referring 
 to that pamphlet, and have been for some time writing at Ramsgate, 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 529 
 
 where I have not a single book to turn to, and very few papers and 
 minutes of transactions to refresh my memory. 
 
 Lord Sackville attended parliament, as he said he would, and 
 returned, as he predicted, a dying man. He allowed me to call in 
 Sir Francis Millman, then practising at Tunb ridge Wells: all me- 
 dical assistance was in vain; the saponaceous medicines, that had 
 given him intervals of ease, and probably many years of existence, 
 had now lost their efficacy, or by their efficacy worn their conductors 
 out. He wished to take his last leave of the Earl of Mansfield, then 
 at Tunbridge Wells ; I signified this to the earl, and accompanied 
 him in his chaise to Stoneland ; I was present at their interview. 
 Lord Sackville, just dismounted from his horse, came into the room, 
 where we had waited a very few minutes, and staggered as he ad- 
 vanced to reach his hand to his respectable visitor; he drew his 
 breath with palpitating quickness, and if I remember rightly never 
 rode again: there was a death-like character in his countenance, that 
 visibly affected and disturbed Lord Mansfield in a manner, that I did 
 not quite expect, for it had more of horror in it, than a firm man ought 
 to have shewn, and less perhaps of other feelings than a friend, in- 
 vited to a meeting of that nature, must have discovered, had he not 
 been frightened from his propriety. 
 
 As soon as Lord Sackville had recovered his breath, his visitor 
 remaining silent, he began by apologising for the trouble he had 
 given him, and for the unpleasant spectacle he was conscious of ex- 
 hibiting to him in the condition he was now reduced to ; " but my 
 good lord, he said, though I ought not to have imposed upon you the 
 painful ceremony of paying a last visit to a dying man, yet so great 
 was my anxiety to return you my unfeigned thanks for all your good- 
 ness to me, all the kind protection you have shewn me through the 
 course of my unprosperous life, that I could not know you was so 
 near me, and not wish to assure you of the invariable respect I have 
 entertained for your character, and now in the most serious manner 
 to solicit your forgiveness, if ever in the fluctuations of politics of 
 the heats of party, I have appeared in your eyes at any moment of 
 my life unjust to your great merits, or forgetful of your many- 
 favours. " 
 
 When I record this speech, I give it to the reader as correct ; I 
 do not trust to memory at this distance ; I transcribe it: I scorn the 
 paltry trick of writing speeches for any man, whose name is in these 
 
 u u 
 
 ; 
 
330 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Memoirs, or for myself, in whose name these Memoirs shall go 
 forth respectable at least for their veracity ; for I certainly cannot 
 wish to present myself to the world in two such opposite and inco- 
 herent characters as the writer of my own history, and the hero of 
 a fiction. 
 
 Lord Mansfield made a reply perfectly becoming and highly 
 satisfactory: he was far on in years, and not in sanguine health or a 
 strong state of nerves; there was no immediate reason to continue 
 the discourse ; Lord Sackviile did not press for it ; his visitor de- 
 parted, and I staid with him. He made no other observation upon 
 what had passed than that it was extremely obliging in Lord Mans- 
 field, and then turned to other subjects. 
 
 In him the vital principle was strong, and nature, which resisted 
 dissolution, maintained at every out-post, that defended life, a linger- 
 ing agonizing struggle. Through every stage of varied misery — 
 extremes by change more fierce — his fortitude remained unshaken, his 
 senses perfect, and his mind never died, till the last pulse was spent, 
 and his heart stopped for ever. 
 
 In this period intelligence arrived of the Propositions being with- 
 drawn in the Irish House of Commons: he had letters on this sub- 
 ject from several correspondents, and one from Lord Sydney, none 
 of which we thought fit then to give him. I told him in as few words 
 and as clearly as I could how the business passed, but requested he 
 would simply hear it, and not argue upon it — " I am not sorry, he 
 said, that it has so happened. You can witness that my predictions 
 are verified: something might now be set on foot for the benefit of 
 both countries. I wish I could live long enough to give my opinion 
 in my place ; I have formed my thoughts upon it ; but it is too late 
 for me to do any good ; I hope it will fall into abler hands, and you 
 forbid me to argue. I see you are angry with me for talking, and 
 indeed it gives me pain. I have nothing to do in this life, but to 
 obey and be silent — " From that moment he never spoke a word 
 upon the subject. 
 
 As I knew he had been some time meditating on his prepara- 
 tions to receive the sacrament, and death seemed near at hand, I re- 
 minded him of it ; he declared himself ready and at peace with all 
 mankind ; in one instance only he confessed it cost him a hard strug- 
 gle. What that instance was he needed not to explain to me, nor 
 am I careful to explain to any. I trust according to the infirmity of 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 331 
 
 man's nature he is rather to be honoured for having finally extin- 
 guished his resentment, than condemned for having fostered it too 
 long. A Christian Saint would have done it sooner: how many men 
 would not have done it ever ! 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Sackville Bayle, his worthy parish priest and 
 ever faithful friend, administered the solemn office of the sacrament 
 to him, reading at his request the prayers for a communicant at the 
 point of death. He had ordered all his bed-curtains to be opened 
 and the sashes thrown up, that he might have air and space to assist 
 him in his efforts : what they were, with what devotion he joined in 
 those solemn prayers, that warn the parting spirit to dismiss all 
 hopes that centre in this world, that reverend friend can witness ; I 
 also was a witness and a partaker ; none else was present at that 
 holy ceremony. 
 
 A short time before he expired I came by his desire to his bed- 
 side, when taking my hand, and pressing it between his, he ad- 
 dressed me for the last time in the following words — " You see me 
 now in those moments, when no disguise will serve, and when the 
 spirit of a man must be proved. I have a mind perfectly resigned, 
 and at peace within itself. I have done with this worid, and what 
 I have done in it, I have done for the best ; I hope and trust I am 
 prepared for the next. Tell not me of all that passes in health and 
 pride of heart ; these are the moments in which a man must be 
 searched, and remember that I die, as you see me, with a tranquil 
 conscience and content — " I have reason to know I am correct in 
 these expressions, because I transcribe them word for word from a 
 copy of my letter to the Honourable George Damer, now Earl of 
 Dorchester, written a few days after his uncle Lord Sackville's death, 
 and dated September 13th, 1785. 
 
 To that excellent and truly noble person I recommend and devote 
 this short but faithful sketch of his relation's character, conscious hotv 
 highly he deserved, and hoiv entirely he possessed, the love and the esteem 
 of the deceased. 
 
 It may to some appear strange that I do not rather address my- 
 self to the present lord, the eldest son of his father and the inheritor 
 of his title. He, who knows he has no plea for slighting the friend, 
 -Who has loved him, knows that he has put it out of my power, and 
 
352 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 that I must be of all men most insensible, if I did not poignantly 
 feel and feelingly lament his unmerited neglect of me. If the fore- 
 going pages ever meet his eyes, I hope tre record of his father's 
 virtues will inspire him to imitate his father's example. 
 
 I put in my plea for pardon in the very first page of my book with 
 respect to errors in the dates of my disorderly productions. I should 
 have mentioned my comedy of The Imjio&tor, and the publication of 
 my novel of Arundtl in two volumes, which I hastily put together 
 whilst I was passing a few idle weeks at Brighthelmstone, where I 
 had no books but such as a circulating novel-shop afforded. I dis- 
 patched that work so rapidly, sending it to the press by parcels, of 
 which my first copy was the only one, that I really do not remem- 
 ber what moved me to the undertaking, nor how it came to pass 
 that the caco'ethcs scribendi nugas first got hold of me. Be this as it 
 may, I am not about to affect a modesty, which I do not feel, or to 
 seek a shelter from the sin of writing ill, by acknowledging the folly 
 of writing rapidly, for I believe that Arundel has entertained as 
 many readers, and gained as good a character in the world as most 
 heroes of his description, not excepting the immaculate Sir Charles 
 Grandison, in whose company I have never found myself without 
 being puzzled to decide, whether I am most edified by his morality, 
 or disgusted by his pedantry. Arundel perhaps, of all the children, 
 which my brain has given birth to, had the least care and pains 
 bestowed upon his education, yet he is a gentleman, and has been 
 received as such in the first circles, for though he takes the wrong 
 side of the question in his argument with Mortlake upon duelling, 
 yet there is hardly one to be found, who thinks with Mortlake, but 
 would be shamed out of society, if he did not act with Arundel. In 
 the character of the Countess of G. I confess I have set virtue upon 
 ice; she slips, but does not fall; and if I have endowed the young 
 ladies with a degree of sensibility, that might have exposed them to 
 danger, I flatter myself I have taken the proper means of rescuing 
 them from it by marrying them respectively to the men of their 
 hearts. 
 
 The success however, which by this novel I obtained without 
 labour, determined me to write a second, on which I was resolved 
 to bestow my utmost care and diligence. In this temper of mind I 
 began to form to myself in idea what I conceived should be the 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 333 
 
 model of a perfect novel ; having after much deliberation settled 
 and adjusted this to the best of my judgment, I decided for the 
 novel in detail ; rejecting the epistolary process, which I had pur- 
 sued in Arundel, and also that, in which the hero speaks through- 
 out, and is his own biographer ; though in putting both these pro- 
 cesses aside I felt much more hesitation in the last-mentioned case 
 than in the first. 
 
 Having taken Fielding's admirable novel of Tom Jones as my 
 pattern in point of detail, I resolved to copy it also in its distribu- 
 tion into chapters and books, and to prefix prefatory numbers to 
 the latter, to the composition of which I addressed my best atten- 
 tion. In some of these I have taken occasion to submit those rules 
 for the construction of a novel, which I flattered myself migi.t be 
 of use to future writers in that line, less experienced than myself. 
 How far I have succeeded is not for me to say, but if I have failed, 
 I am without excuse, for I had this work in hand two full years, 
 and gave more polish and correction to the style, than ever I be- 
 stowed upon any of my published works before. The following 
 few rules which I laid down for my own guidance, and strictly 
 observed I still persuade myself are such as ought to be observed 
 by others. 
 
 I would have the story carried on in a regular uninterrupted 
 progression of events, without those dull recitals, that cali the at- 
 tention off from what is going on, and compel it to look back, per- 
 haps in the very crisis of curiosity, to circumstances antecedent to, 
 and not always materially connected with, the history in hand. I 
 am decidedly adverse to episodes and stories within stories, like 
 that of the Man of the Hill in Tom Jones, and in general ail expe- 
 dients of procrastination, which come under the description of mere 
 tricks to torture curiosity, are in my opinion to be very sparingly 
 resorted to, if not totally avoided. Casualties and broken-bones, 
 and faintings and high fevers with ramblings of delirium and rhap- 
 sodies of nonsense are perfectly contemptible. I think descriptive 
 writing, properly so distinguished, is very apt to describe nothing, 
 and that landscapes upon paper leave no picture in the mind, 
 and only load the page with daubings, that in the author's fancy 
 may be sketches after nature, but to the reader's eye offer nothing 
 but confusion. A novel, professing itself to be the delineation of 
 men and women as they are in nature, should in general confine 
 
334 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 itself to the relation of things probable, and though in skilful hands 
 it may be made to touch upon things barely possible, the seldomer 
 it risques those experiments, the better opinion I should iorm of the 
 contriver's conduct : I do not think quotations ornament it, and 
 poetry must be extremely good before I can allow it is of any use to 
 it. In short there should be authorities in nature for every thing 
 that is introduced, and the only case I can recollect in which the 
 creator of the fictitious man may and ought to differ from the biogra- 
 pher of the real man, is, that the former is bound to deal out his re- 
 wards to the virtuous and punishments to the vicious, whilst the lat- 
 ter has no choice but to adhere to the truth of facts, and leave his hero 
 neither worse nor better than he found him. 
 
 Monsters of cruelty and crime, Monks and Zelucos, horrors and 
 thunderings and ghosts are creatures of another region, tools appro- 
 priated to another trade, and are only to be handled by dealers in old 
 castles and manufacturers of romances. 
 
 As the tragic drama may be not improperly described as an epic 
 poem of compressed action, so I think we may call the novel a dilated 
 comedy ; though Henry Fielding, who was pre-eminently happy in 
 the one, was not equally so in other: non omnia possumus omnes. If 
 the readers of Henry have agreed with me in the principles laid 
 down in those prefatory chapters, and here again briefly touched 
 upon, I flatter myself they found a novel conducted throughout upon 
 those very principles, and which in no one instance does a violence 
 to nature, or resorts to forced and improbable expedients to excite 
 surprise ; I flatter myself they found a story regularly progressive 
 without any of those retrogradations or counter-marches, which 
 break the line, and discompose the arrangement of the fable : I hope 
 they found me duly careful to keep the principal characters in sight, 
 and above all if I devoted myself con amore to the delineation of 
 Zachary Cawdle, and in a more particular manner to the best services 
 I could perform for the good Ezekiel Daw, I warmly hope they did 
 not think my partiality quite misapplied, or my labour of love en- 
 tirely thrown away. 
 
 If in my zeal to exhibit virtue triumphant over the most tempt- 
 ing allurements, I have painted those allurements in too vivid colours 
 I am sorry, and ask pardon of all those, who thought the moral did 
 not heal the mischief. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 335 
 
 If my critics have not been too candid I am encouraged to be- 
 lieve, that in these volumes of Henry, and in those of The Observer, 
 I have succeeded in what I laboured to effect with all mj care — a 
 simple, clear, harmonious style ; which, taken as a model, may be 
 followed without leading the novitiate either into turgidity or ob- 
 scurity, holding a middle tone of period, neither swelling into 
 high-flown metaphor, nor sinking into inelegant and unclassical 
 rusticity. Whether or not I have succeeded, I certainly have at- 
 tempted, to reform and purify my native language from certain false 
 pedantic prevaiencies, which were much in fashion, when I first 
 became a writer; I dare not say with those, whose flattery might 
 mislead me, that I have accomplished what I aimed at, but if I 
 have done something towards it, I may say, with Pliny — Posteris an 
 ali'/ua cura nostri, nescio. A r os eerie meremur ut sit aliqua ; non di- 
 cam ingmio ; id enim sujierbum ; sed studio, sed labor e, sed reverentia 
 posttrcrum. 
 
 The mental gratification, which the exercise of the fancy in the 
 act of composition gives me, has, (with the exception only of the 
 task I am at present engaged in) led me to that inordinate consump- 
 tion of paper, of which much has been profitless, much unseen, 
 and very much of that which has been seen, would have been more 
 worthy of the world, had I bestowed more blotting upon it before I 
 committed it to the press : yet I am now about to mention a poem 
 not the most imperfect of my various productions, of which the first 
 manuscript copy was the only one, and that perhaps the fairest I had 
 ever put out of my hands. Heroic verse has been always more fa- 
 miliar to me, and more easy in point of composition, than prose : 
 my thoughts flow more freely in metre, and I can oftentimes fill a 
 page with less labour and less time in verse of that description, than 
 it costs me to adjust and harmonise a single period in prose to my 
 entire satisfaction. 
 
 The work I now allude to is my poem of Calvary, and the grati- 
 fication, of which I have been speaking, mixed as I trust with wor- 
 thier and more serious motives, led me to that undertaking. It had 
 never been my hard lot to write, as many of my superiors have been 
 forced to do, task- work for a bookseller, it was therefore my custom, 
 as it is with voluptuaries of another description, to fly from one 
 pursuit to another for the greater zest which change and contrast 
 gave to my intellectual pleasures. I had as yet done nothing in the 
 
336 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 epic way, except my juvenile attempt, of which I have given an 
 extract, and I applied myself to the composition of Calvary with 
 uncommon ardour ; I began it in the winter, and, rising every morn- 
 ing some hours before day-light, soon dispatched the whole poem of 
 eight books at the average of full fifty lines in a day, of which I kept 
 a regular account, marking each day's work upon my manuscript. 
 I mention this, because it is a fact ; but I am not so mistaken as to 
 suppose that any author can be entitled to take credit to himself for 
 the little care he has bestowed upon his compositions. 
 
 It was not till I had taken up Milton's immortal poem of Para- 
 dise Lost, and read it studiously, and completely through, that I 
 brought the plan of Calvary to a consistency, and resolved to venture 
 on the attempt. I saw such aids in point of character, incident and 
 diction, such facilities held out by the sacred historians, as encou- 
 raged me to hope I might aspire to introduce my humble Muse 
 upon that hallowed ground without profaning it. 
 
 As for the difficulties, which by the nature of his subject Milton 
 had to encounter, I perceived them to be such as nothing but the 
 genius of Milton could surmount : that he has failed in some in- 
 stances cannot be denied, but it is matter of wonder and admiration, 
 that he has miscarried in so few. The noble structure he has con- 
 trived to raise with the co-operation of two human beings only, and 
 those the first created of the human race, strikes us with astonish- 
 ment; but at the same time it forces him upon such frequent flights 
 beyond the bounds of nature, and obliges him in so great a degree 
 to depend upon the agency of supernatural beings, of whose persons 
 we have no prototype, and of whose operations, offices and intellec- 
 tual powers we are incompetent to form any adequate conception, 
 that it is not to be wondered at, if there are parts and passages in 
 that divine poem, that we either pass over by choice, or cannot read 
 without regret. 
 
 Upon a single text in scripture he has described a Battle in 
 Heavtn, in most respects tremendously sublime, in others painfully 
 reminding us how impossible it is for man's limited imagination to 
 find weapons for immortal spirits, or conceive an army of rebellious 
 angels employing instruments of human invention upon the vain 
 impossible idea, that their material artillery could shake the imma- 
 terial throne of the One Supreme Being, the Almighty Creator and 
 Disposer of them and the universe. Accordingly when we are pre- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 337 
 
 sented with the description of Christ, the meek Redeemer of man- 
 kind, going forth in a chariot to the battle, brilliant although the 
 picture is, it dazzles and we start from it revolted by the blaze. 
 But when the poet, deeming himself competent to find words for 
 the Almighty, contrives a conference between the First and Second 
 Persons in the Trinity, we are compelled to say with Pope 
 
 That God the Father tuims a school-divine. 
 
 I must entreat my readers not so to misconceive my meaning as 
 to suppose me vain enough to think, that by noticing these spots in 
 Milton's glorious sun, I am advancing my dim lamp to any the most 
 distant competition with it. I have no other motive for mentioning 
 them but to convince the patrons of these Memoirs, that I did not 
 attempt the composition of a sacred epic, where he must for ever 
 stand so decidedly pre-eminent, till by comparing the facilities of 
 my subject with the amazing difficulties of his, I had found a bow 
 proportioned to my strength, and did not presume to bend it till I 
 was certified of its flexibility. 
 
 It could not possibly be overlooked by me, that in taking the 
 Death of Christ for my subject, I had the advantage of dating my 
 poem at a point of time, the most awful in the whole history of the 
 world, the most pregnant with sublime events, and the most fully 
 fraught with grand and interesting characters ; that I had those 
 characters, and those events, so pointedly delineated and so im- 
 pressively described by the inspired historians, as to leave little else 
 for me to do, but to restrain invention, and religiously to follow in 
 the path, that was chalked out to me. Accordingly I trust there 
 will be found very little of the audacity of fancy in the composition 
 of Calvary^ and few sentiments or expressions ascribed to the Sa- 
 viour, which have not the sanction and authority of the sacred re- 
 cords. When he descends into Hades I have endeavoured to avail 
 myself of what has been revealed to us for those conjectural descrip- 
 tions, and I hope I have not far outstepped discretion, or heedlessly 
 indulged a wild imagination ; for though I venture upon untouched 
 ground, presuming to unfold a scene, which mystery has involved 
 in darkness, yet I have the visions of the Saint at Patmos to hold up 
 a light to me, and assist me in my efforts to pervade futurity, 
 
 x x 
 
338 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 - My first publication of Calvary in quarto had so languid a sale, 
 that it left me with the inconvenient loss of at least one hundred 
 pounds, and the discouraging conviction, that the public did not 
 concern itself about the poem, or the poem-maker ; I felt at the 
 same time a proud indignant consciousness, that it claimed a bet- 
 ter treatment, and whilst I called to mind the true and brotherly 
 devotion I had ever borne to the fame of my contemporaries, I was 
 stung by their neglect ; and having laid my poem on the death of 
 my Redeemer at the feet of my Sovereign, which, for aught that 
 ever reached my knowledge, he might, or might not, have received 
 by the hand of his librarian, I had nothing to console me but the 
 reflection that there would perhaps be a tribunal, that would deal out 
 justice to me, when I could not be a gainer by it, and speak favou- 
 rably of my performance, when I could not hear their praises. 
 
 I shall now take leave of Calvary after acknowledging my obli- 
 gations to my publishers for their speculation of a new edition, and 
 also to the purchasers of that edition for their reconcilement to a 
 book, which, till it w r as reduced to a more portable size, they were 
 little disposed to take away with them. 
 
 I consider Tristram Shandy as the most eccentric work of my 
 time, and Junius the most acrimonious ; we have heard much of his 
 style ; I have just been reading him over with attention, and I confess 
 I can see but little to admire. The thing to wonder at is, that a 
 secret, to which several must have been privy, has been so strictly 
 kept ; if Sir William Draper, who baffled him in some of his asser- 
 tions, had kept his name out of sight, I am inclined to think he 
 might have held up the cause of candour with success. The pub- 
 lisher of Junius I am told was deeply guaranteed; of course, although 
 he might not know his author, he must have known whereabouts to 
 look for him. I never heard that my friend Lord George Germain 
 was amongst the suspected authors, till by way of jest he told me so 
 not many days before his death : I did not want him to disavow it, 
 for there could be no occasion to disprove an absolute impossibility. 
 The man who wrote it, had a savage heart, for some of his attacks 
 are execrable ; he was a hypocrite, for he disavows private motives, 
 and makes pretensions to a patriotic spirit. I can perfectly call to 
 mind the general effect of his letters, and am of opinion that his 
 malice overshot its mark. Let the anonymous defamer be as sue- 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 339 
 
 cessful as he may, it is but an unenviable triumph, a mean and 
 cowardly gratification, which his dread of a discovery forbids him to 
 avow. 
 
 As for Tristram Shandy^ whose many plagiarisms are now de- 
 tected, his want of delicacy is unpardonable, and his tricks have 
 too much of frivolity and buffoonery in them to pass upon the rea- 
 der; but his real merit lies not only in his general conception of 
 character, but in the address, with which he marks them out by 
 those minute, yet striking, touches of his pencil, that make his 
 descriptions pictures, and his pictures life : in the pathetic he excels, 
 as his story of Lefevre witnesses, but he seems to have mistaken 
 his powers, and capriciously to have misapplied his genius. 
 
 I conceive there is not to be found in all the writings of my day, 
 perhaps I may say not in the English language, so brilliant a clus- 
 ter of fine and beautiful passages in the declamatory style, as we 
 are presented with in Edmund Burke's inimitable tract upon the 
 French Revolution. It is most highly coloured and most richly or- 
 namented, but there is elegance in its splendour, and dignity in its 
 magnificence. The orator demands attention in a loud and lofty 
 tone, but his voice never loses its melody, nor his periods their 
 sweetness. When he has roused us with the thunder of his elo- 
 quence, he can at once, Timotheus-like, chuse a melancholy theme, 
 and melt us into pity : there is grace in his anger ; for he can inveigh 
 without vulgarity ; he can modulate the strongest bursts of passion, 
 for even in his madness there is music. 
 
 I was so charmed with the style and matter of this pamphlet, 
 that I could not withstand the pleasure of intruding upon him with 
 a letter of thanks, of which I took no copy, but fortunately have 
 preserved his answer to it, which is as follows— 
 
 " Beconsfield, November 13th, 1790. 
 « Dear Sir, 
 
 « I was yesterday honoured with your most obliging letter. 
 You may be assured, that nothing could be more flattering to me 
 than the approbation of a gentleman so distinguished in literature as 
 you are, and in so great a variety of its branches. It is an earnest 
 to me of that degree of toleration in the public judgment, which 
 may give my reasonings some chance of being useful. I kn$w« 
 
340 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 however, that I am indebted to your politeness and your good nature 
 as much as to your opinion, for the indulgent manner, in which you 
 have been pleased to receive my endeavour. Whether I have de- 
 scribed our countrymen properly, time is to shew : I hope I have, 
 but at any rate it is perhaps the best way to persuade them to be 
 right by supposing that they are so. Great bodies, like great men, 
 must be instructed in the way, in which they will be best pleased to 
 receive instruction ; flattery itself may be converted into a mode of 
 counsel: laudando admonere has not always been the most unsuc- 
 cessful method of advice. In this case moral policy requires it, for 
 when you must expose the practices of some kinds of men, you do 
 nothing if you do not distinguish them from others. 
 
 " Accept once more my best acknowledgments for the very 
 handsome manner, in which you have been pleased to consider my 
 pamphlet, and do me the justice to believe me with the most per- 
 fect respect, 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " Your most faithful 
 
 " And obliged humble servant, 
 
 " Edm. Burke/' 
 
 Am I, or am I not, to regret that this fine writer devoted him- 
 self so professedly to politics? I conceive there must be two opinions 
 upon this question amongst his contemporaries, and only one that 
 will be entertained by posterity. Those who heard his parliamentary 
 speeches with delight, will not easily be induced to wish that he had 
 spoken less ; whilst those, who can only read him, will naturally re- 
 gret that he had not written more. The orator, like the actor, lives 
 only in the memory of his hearers, and his fame must rest upon 
 tradition : Mr. Burke in parliament enjoyed the triumph of a day, 
 but Mr. Burke on paper would have been the founder of his own 
 immortality. 
 
 Amongst the variety of branches, to which Mr. Burke is pleased 
 so flatteringly to allude, and which certainly are more in number 
 than the literary annals of any author in my recollection can ex- 
 hibit, I reflect with satisfaction that I have devoted much time and 
 thought to serious subjects, and been far from idle or luke-warm in 
 the service of religion. I have written at different times as many 
 sermons as would make a large volume, some of which have, been 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 341 
 
 delivered from the pulpits : I have rendered into English metre fifty 
 of the psalms of David, which are printed by Mr. Strange of Tun- 
 bridge Wells, and upon which I flatter myself I have not in vain 
 bestowed my best attention. I have for some years been in the 
 habit of composing an appropriate prayer of thanksgiving for the 
 last day in the year, and of supplication for the first day in the suc- 
 ceeding year. I published by Messrs. Lackington and Co. a reli- 
 gious and argumentative tract, intitled A few Plain Reasons for be- 
 lieving in the Evidences of the Christian Revelation ; and this tract, 
 which I conceive to be orthodox in all its points, and unanswerably 
 demonstrative as a confutation of all the false reasoners according 
 to the new philosophy, I presented with all due deference to the 
 Bishop of London, who was pleased to honour me with a very 
 gracious acknowledgment by letter, and likewise to the late Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury, who was not pleased to acknowledge it in 
 any way whatever. But I had no particular right to expect it : all 
 regulars are not equally candid to the volunteer, as I have good rea- 
 son to know. 
 
 I have selected several passages from the Old Testament, and 
 turned them into verse : they are either totally lost, or buried out 
 of sight in the chaos of my manuscripts ; I find one only amongst 
 the few loose papers I have with me, and I take the liberty of insert- 
 ing it :— 
 
 « Judges, Chapter the 5th. 
 
 u Hear, all earth's crowned monarchs, hear ! 
 Princes and judges, to my song give ear : 
 To Israel's God my voice I'll raise, 
 And joyful chaunt Jehovah's praise. 
 Lord, when in Edom's glorious day 
 Thou wentest forth in bright array, 
 Earth to her inmost centre shook, 
 The mountains melted at thy look, 
 The clouds drop't down their wat'ry store, 
 Rent with the thunder's loud tremendous roar. 
 
 " Must I remember Shamgar's gloomy days, 
 And that sad time when Jael rul'd our coast I 
 
rrz 
 
 342 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 No print of foot then mark'd our public ways, 
 Waste horror reign'd, the human face was lost. 
 Then I, I Deborah, assum'd command, 
 The nursing mother of the drooping land ; 
 Then was our nation alien from the Lord, 
 Then o'er our heads high wav'd the hostile sword^ 
 Nor shield, nor spear, was found to arm for fight, 
 And naked thousands turn'd their backs in flight. 
 
 " But now awake, my soul, and thou arise, 
 Barak ; to thee the victory is giv'n ; 
 Let our joint song ascend the skies, 
 And celebrate the majesty of heav'n. 
 On me, the priestess of the living Lord, 
 The care of Israel was bestow'd : 
 Ephraim and Benjamin obey'd my word, 
 The Scribes of Zebulun allegiance shew'd, 
 And Issachar, a princely train, 
 With glittering ensigns dazzled all the plain. 
 
 But Oh ! what sad divisions keep 
 Reuben inglorious 'midst his bleating sheep ? 
 Gilead in Jordan his asylum seeks, 
 Dan in his ships, and Asher in his creeks, 
 Whilst Naphthali's more warlike sons expose 
 Their gallant lives, and dare their country's foes. 
 Then was the battle fought by Canaan's kings 
 In Ta'anach beside Megiddo's springs : 
 The stars themselves 'gainst Sisera declare ; 
 
 Israel is heaven's peculiar care. 
 
 Old Kishon stain'd with hostile blood, 
 
 Roll'd to the main a purple flood ; 
 
 The neighing steed, the thund'ring car 
 
 Proclaim'd the terrors of the war ; 
 
 But high in honour 'bove the rest 
 
 Be Jael our avenger blest, 
 Blest above women ! to her tent she drew 
 With seeming friendship label's mighty chief; 
 Fainting with heat and toil he sought relief, 
 He slept, and in his sleep her weary guest she slew. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 543 
 
 The workman's hammer in this hand she took, 
 In that the fatal nail, then boldly struck ; 
 Through both his temples drove the deadly wound, 
 Transfixed his brain and pinn'd him to the ground. 
 Why stays my son, his absent mother cries ; 
 When shall I welcome his returning car, 
 
 Loaded with spoils of conquering war ? 
 
 Ah, wretched mother, hide thine eyes ; 
 At Jael's feet a headless trunk he lies — 
 So Sisera fell, and God made wars to cease, 
 So rested Israel, and the land had peace." 
 
 Of my dramatic pieces I must say in the gross, that if I did not 
 always succeed in entertaining the audience, I continued to amuse 
 myself. I brought out a comic opera in three acts, founded on the 
 story of Wat Tyler, which being objected to by the Lord Chamber- 
 lain, I was obliged to new model, and produce under the title of 
 The Armourer. When I had taken all the comedy out of it, I was 
 not surprised to find that the public were not very greatly edified by 
 what was left. 
 
 I also brought out a comedy called The Country Attorney at the 
 summer theatre, when it was under the direction of the elder Mr. 
 Colman. At the same theatre, under the auspices of the present 
 candid and ingenious superintendant, I produced my comedy of The 
 Box-Lobby Challenge, and my drama of Don Pedro. 
 
 When the new and splendid theatre of Drury-Lane was opened, 
 my comedy of The Jew was represented, and if I am not mistaken, 
 (I speak upon conjecture) it was the first new piece exhibited on 
 that stage. I am ashamed to say with what rapidity I dispatched that 
 hasty composition, but my friend Bannister, who saw it act by act, 
 was a witness to the progress of it ; in what degree he was a promo- 
 ter of the success of it I need not say : poor Suett also, now no more, 
 was an admirable second. 
 
 The benevolence of the audience assisted me in rescuing a for- 
 lorn and persecuted character, which till then had only been brought 
 upon the stage for the unmanly purpose of being made a spectacle 
 of contempt, and a butt for ridicule : In the success of this comedy 
 I felt of course a greater gratification, than I had ever felt before upon 
 a like occasion. 
 
344 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 The part of Sheva presented Mr. Bannister to the public in that, 
 light, in which he will always be seen, when nature fairly drawn 
 and strongly charactered is committed to his care. Let the poet 
 give him the model, and his animation will give it the action and the 
 life. 
 
 It has also served as a stepping-stone to the stage for an actor, 
 who in my judgment, (and I am not afraid of being singular in that 
 opinion) stands amongst the highest of his profession ; for if quick 
 conception, true discrimination, and the happy faculty of incarnat- 
 ing the idea of his poet, are properties essential in the almost unde- 
 finable composition of a great and perfect actor, these and many more 
 will be found in Mr. Dowton. Let those, who have a claim upon his 
 services, call him to situations not unworthy of his best exertions, 
 and the stage will feel the value of his talents. 
 
 The Wheel of Fortune came out in the succeeding season, and 
 First Love followed close upon its steps. They were successful co- 
 medies, and very powerfully supported by the performers of them 
 in every part throughout. I was fortunate in the plot of the first; 
 for there is dignity of mind in the forgiveness of injuries, which ele- 
 vates the character of Penruddock, and Mr. Kemble's just personifi- 
 cation of it added to a lucky fiction all the force and interest of a 
 reality. When so much belongs to the actor, the author must be 
 careful how he arrogates too much to himself. 
 
 Of First Love I shall only say, that when two such exquisite ac- 
 tresses conspired to support me, I will not be so vain as to presume 
 I could have stood without their help. 
 
 I think, as I am now so near the conclusion of these Memoirs, I 
 may as well wind up my dealings with the theatres before I proceed 
 any further. I am beholden to Covent Garden for accepting my 
 dramas of The Days of Yore and False Impressions — To Drury Lane 
 for The Last of the Family ', The Word for A r ature, The Dependant, 
 The Eccentric Lover, and for The Sailor's Daughter. My life has 
 been a long one, and my health of late years uninterrupted ; I am 
 very rarely called off by avocations of an undomestic kind, and the 
 man, who gives so very small a portion of his time to absolute idle- 
 ness as I have done, will do a vast deal in the course of time, espe- 
 cially if his body does not stand in need of exercise, and his mind, 
 which never knows remission of activity, incessantly demands to be 
 employed. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 345 
 
 I was in the practice of interchanging an annual visit with Mrs. 
 Bludworth of Holt near Winchester, the dearest friend of my wife. 
 When I was upon those visits I used to amuse myself with trifles, 
 that required no application to my books. A few from amongst 
 many of these fugitive compositions appear to me not totally un- 
 worthy of being arrested and brought to the bar as petti-larcenary 
 pilferers of the sonnet-writing style, of which some elegant sisters 
 of the Muses have published such ingenious originals, as ought to 
 have secured them against interlopers, who have nothing better to 
 produce than some such awkward imitations as the following — 
 
 WIT. 
 
 M.l. 
 
 " How shall I paint thee, many-colour'd Wit ? 
 Where are the pallet's brilliant tints to vie 
 With the bright flash of thine electric eye ? 
 Nor can I catch the glance ; nor wilt thou sit 
 
 Till my slow copying art can trace 
 
 One feature of thy varying face. 
 
 Soul of the social board, thy quick retort 
 Can cut the disputatious quibbler short, 
 Stop the dull pedant's circumstantial saw, 
 And silence ev'n the loud-tongu'd man of law. 
 
 The solemn ass, who dully great 
 Mistakes stupidity for state, 
 Unbends his marble jaws, and brays 
 Involuntary, painful praise. 
 
 Thou, Wit, in philosophic eyes 
 Can'st make the laughing waters rise ; 
 Proud Science vails with bended knee 
 His academic cap to thee, 
 And though thy sallies fly the test 
 Of truth, she titters at the jest, 
 yy 
 
 : 
 
346 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Thrice happy talent, couldst thou understand 
 Virtue to spare and buffet vice alone, 
 
 Would'st thou but take discretion by the hand, 
 
 The world, O Wit, the world would be thine own.'" 
 
 AFFECTATION. 
 
 M.2. 
 
 " Why, Affectation, why this mock grimace? 
 Go, silly thing, and hide that simpering face ! 
 Thy lisping prattle and thy mincing gait, 
 All thy false mimic fooleries I hate ; 
 For thou art Folly's counterfeit, and she, 
 Who is right-foolish, hath the better plea ; 
 Nature's true ideot I prefer to thee. 
 
 Why that soft languish ? Why that drawling tone ? 
 Art sick, art sleepy ? — Get thee hence ; begone ! 
 I laugh at all those pretty baby tears, 
 Those flutterings, faintings and unreal fears. 
 
 - Can they deceive us ? Can such mumm'ries move, 
 Touch us with pity, or inspire with love ? 
 No, Affectation, vain is all thine art, 
 Those eyes may wander over every part ; 
 They'll never find their passage to the heart." 
 
 VANITY. 
 
 M. 3. 
 
 *i Go, Vanity, spread forth the painted wing ; 
 I'll harm thee not, gay flutterer, not I ; 
 
 Poor innocent, thou has no sting, 
 Pass on unhurt ! I war not with a fly. 
 
 But if the Muse in sportive style 
 
 Banters thy silly freaks awhile, 
 
 Fear not— -she'll lash thee only with a smile 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 347 
 
 If thou art heard too loud of tongue, 
 
 And thy small tap of wit runs out 
 
 Too fast, and bubbles all about, 
 *Twere charity methinks to stop the bung. 
 
 If when thou should'st be staid and sage, 
 
 Thou'lt take no warning from old age, 
 
 But still run riot, and spread sail 
 In all the colours of the peacock's tail: 
 If, with two hollow cheeks bedaub'd with red, 
 The Ostrich plume nods on thy palsied head, 
 And with soft glances from lack-lustre eyes 
 Thou aim'st to make our hearts thy beauty's prize, 
 
 Then, then, Dame Vanity, beware ; 
 Look to thyself — beshrew me, if I spare." 
 
 AVARICE. 
 
 M>. 4. 
 
 " A little more, and yet a little more— 
 Oh, for the multiplying art 
 To heap the still-increasing store, 
 Till it make Ossa like a wart ! 
 
 O Avarice, thou rage accurst, 
 
 Insatiate dropsy of the soul, 
 
 Will nothing quench thy sordid thirst ? 
 
 Were the sea gold, would'st drink the whole ? 
 
 Lo ! pity pleads — What then ? There's none— 
 The widow kneels for bread — Begone— 
 Hark, in thine ears the orphans cry ; 
 They die of famine—Let them die.— 
 
 Oh scene of woe ; heart-rending sight ! 
 Can'st thou turn from them ? — Yes, behold— I 
 From all those heaps of hoarded gold 
 Not one, one piece to save them ? — Not a mite.— - 
 
S4* MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Pitiless wretch, such shall thy sentence be 
 At the last day when Mercy turns from thee. 
 
 PRUDERY. 
 
 jYo. 5. 
 
 " What is that stiff and stately thing I see ? 
 
 Of flesh and blood like you and me, 
 
 Or is it chisei'd out of stone, 
 Some statue from its pedestal stept down? 
 
 'Tis one and both— a very prude 
 
 Of marble flesh and icy blood ; 
 
 Dead and alive at once — behold, 
 It breathes and lives ; touch it, 'tis dead and cold. 
 
 Look how it throws the scowling eye 
 
 On Pleasure as she dances by ; 
 Quick flies the sylph, for long she cannot bear 
 The damping rigour of its atmosphere, 
 
 Chill as the eastern fog that blights 
 
 Each blossom upon which it lights. 
 
 Say, ye that know what virtue is, declare, 
 Is this the form her votaries must wear ? 
 Tell me in time ; if such it needs must be ? 
 Virtue and I shall never more agree." 
 
 ENVY. 
 
 M. 6. 
 
 (See The Observer. Vol. 4. M. 94 J 
 
 PRIDE. 
 
 JVo. 7. 
 
 « Curst in thyself, O Pride, thou canst not be 
 More competently curst by me. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 349 
 
 Hence, sullen, self-tormenting, stupid sot ! 
 Thy dullness damps our joys ; we want thee not. 
 
 Round the gay table side by side 
 Social we sit ; there is no room for Pride : 
 We cannot bear thy melancholy face ; 
 The company is full ; thou hast no place. 
 
 Man, man, thou little groveling elf, 
 
 Turn thine eyes inwards, view thyself; 
 
 Draw out thy balance, hang it forth, 
 
 Weigh every atom thou art worth, 
 
 Thy peerage, pedigree, estate, 
 (The pains that Fortune took to make thee great) 
 
 Toss them all in — .stars, garters, strings, 
 
 Heap up the mass of tawdry things, 
 
 The whole regalia of kings — 
 
 Now watch the beam, and fairly say 
 
 How much does all this trumpery weigh ? 
 Give in the total; let the scale be just, 
 And own, proud mortal, own thou art but dust." 
 
 HUMILITY. 
 
 JYo. 8. 
 
 « Oh sweet Humility can words impart 
 How much I love thee, how divine thou art I 
 Nurse us not only in our infant age, 
 Conduct us still through each successive stage 
 Of varying life, lead us from youth's gay prime 
 To the last step of man's appointed time. 
 
 Wit, Genius, Learning — What are these: 
 The painter's colours or the poet's lays, 
 If without thee they cannot please, 
 If without thee we cannot praise ? 
 
35Q Memoirs of 
 
 Why do I call my Iov'd Eliza fair? 
 
 Why do I doat upon her faded face ? 
 
 Nor rosy health, nor blooming youth is there ; 
 
 Plumility bestows the angel grace. 
 
 Where should a frail and trembling sinner lie, 
 How should a Christian live, how should he die, 
 But in thine arms, conscious Humility? 
 
 'Twas in thy form the world's Redeemer came, 
 And condescended to his human birth, 
 , With thee he met revilings, death and shame, 
 Though angels haiPd him Lord of heav'n and earth. 
 
 When the consequences resulting from the French revolution had 
 involved us in a war, our country called upon its patriotic volunteers 
 to turn out and assemble in its defence. I was still resident at Tun- 
 bridge Wells, and, though not proprietor of a single foot of land in 
 the county of Kent, yet I found myself in the hearts of my affec- 
 tionate friends and fellow subjects; they immediately volunteered to 
 mount and form themselves under my command as a troop of 
 yeomen cavalry : I was diffident of my fitness to head them in that 
 capacity, and, declining their kind offer, recommended to them a 
 neighbouring gentleman, who had served in the line, and held the 
 rank of a field officer upon half pay. Men of their principles and 
 spirit could not fail to be respectable, and they are now serving with 
 credit to their captain and themselves under the command of the 
 Lord Viscount Boyne, who resides at Tunbridge Wells, and 
 together with the duties attendant on his commission, as com- 
 mander of this respectable corps, executes the office of a magistrate 
 for the county, not less amiable and honourable in his private charac- 
 ter, than useful and patriotic in his public one. 
 
 Some time after this, when certain leading gentlemen of the 
 county began to make their tenders to government for raising corps 
 of volunteer infantry, I no longer hesitated to obey the wishes of the 
 loyal and spirited young men, who offered to enroll themselves un- 
 der my command, and finding them amount upon the muster to two 
 full companies, properly officered, I reported them to our excellent 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 35 1 
 
 Lord Lieutenant of the county, the Earl of Romney, and received 
 His Majesty's commission to command them with the rank of 
 Major Commandant. I had instant proof that the zeal they had 
 shewn in turning out in their king and country's cause did not eva- 
 porate in mere professions, for to their assiduity and aptitude, to their 
 exemplary and correct observance of discipline, and strict obedience 
 to their officers, the warmest testimony that I could give, would 
 only do them justice. It was winter when we first enrolled, and 
 every evening after striking work till ten o'clock at night we were 
 incessantly at the drill, and after we had been practised in the 
 manual, sometimes turning out for the march by moon-light, some- 
 times by torch-light. I had not a private that was not in the vigour 
 of his youth, their natural carriage was erect and soldier-like, they 
 fell readily into the attitude and step of a soldier on the march, for 
 they were all artizans, mechanics, or manufacturers of Tunbridge- 
 ware, and I had not one, who did the work of a mere labouring 
 peasant amongst them, whilst every officer submitted to the rule 
 I laid down, and did the duty and learnt the exercise of a private 
 in the line before he stood out and took command in his proper 
 post. 
 
 Our service being limited to the district of the counties of Kent, 
 Sussex and Surry, no sooner were my companions fit for duty, than 
 at their unanimous desire I reported them to the Secretary of State 
 as ready and willing to serve in any part of England, and this their 
 loyal tender being laid before the King, His Majesty was graciously 
 pleased to signify to us his royal approbation of our zeal through 
 his Secretary of State. 
 
 When the volunteer infantry were dismissed at the peace of 
 Amiens, my men requested leave to hold their arms and serve with- 
 out pay. At the same time they were pleased to honour me with 
 the present of a sword by the hands of their Serjeant Major, to the 
 purchase of which every private had contributed, and which they 
 rendered infinitely dear and valuable to me by engraving on the 
 hilt of it — " That it was a tribute of their esteem for their beloved 
 commander." 
 
 The renewal of hostilities has again put them under my com- 
 mand, and I trust the warmth and sincerity of my unalterable at- 
 tachment to them has now no need of appealing to professions. We 
 Know each other too well, and I am persuaded that there is not one 
 
352 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 amongst them, but will give me credit for the truth when I declare, 
 that as a father loves his children, so do I love them. We have now 
 augmented our strength to four companies, and from the experience 
 I have repeatedly had of their conduct, when upon permanent duty, 
 I am convinced, that if ever the necessity shall occur for calling 
 them out upon actual service, they will be found steady in the hour 
 of trial, and perfectly resolved never to disgrace the character of Men 
 of Kent, or tarnish that proud trophy, which they inscribe upon their 
 colours. 
 
 I humbly conceive, that if we take into our consideration the 
 prodigious magnitude and extent of the volunteer system, we shall 
 find it has been productive of more real use, and less incidental 
 embarrassment, to government, than could have been expected. 
 We must make allowances for those, who have been accustomed to 
 look for the strength and resources of the nation only in its disposable 
 force, if they are apt to undervalue the importance of its domestic 
 army. But after the proofs, which the capital and country have 
 given of the spirit, discipline and good order of their volunteers, 
 both cavalry and infantry, it is not wise or politic, or liberal to dis- 
 parage them as some have attempted to do ; there are indeed but 
 few, who have so done ; the wonder is that there are any ; but that 
 a man should be so fond of his own dull jest as to risque it upon one, 
 who has too much wit of his own not to spy out the want of it in 
 others, is perfectly ridiculous ; and I am persuaded, that a man of 
 Colonel Birch's acknowledged merit as an officer, and established 
 character for every good quality, that denotes and marks the gentle- 
 man, would infinitely rather be the object of such a pointless sarcasm, 
 than the author of it. 
 
 The man, who lives to see many days, must look to encounter 
 many sorrows. My eldest son, who had married the eldest daughter 
 of the late Earl of Buckinghamshire, and sister of the present, died 
 in Tobago, where he went to qualify for a civil employment in that 
 island ; and, some time after, death bereft me of my wife. Their 
 virtues cannot need the ornament of description, and it has ever 
 been my study to resign myself to the dispensations of Providence 
 with all the fortitude I can summon, convinced that patience is no 
 mark of insensibility, nor the parade of lamentation any evidence of 
 the sincerity or permanency of grief. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 353 
 
 My two surviving sons are happily and respectably married, and 
 have families ; I have the care, under chancery, of five children, 
 relicts of the late William Badcock, Esquire, who married my second 
 daughter, and died in my house at Tunbridge Weils, and I have 
 the happiness to number nineteen grandchildren, some of whom 
 have already lived to crown my warmest wishes, and I see a promise 
 in the rest, that flatters my most sanguine hopes. These are com- 
 forts, that still adhere to me, and whilst I have the kindness of my 
 children, the attachment of my friends and the candour of the public 
 to look up to, I have ample cause to be thankful and contented. 
 
 Charles, the elder of my surviving sons, married the daughter 
 of General Mathew, a truly noble and benevolent gentleman, loved 
 and honoured by all who know him, and who will be ever gratefully 
 remembered by the island he has governed, and the army he has 
 commanded. 
 
 William, the youngest, married Eliza, daughter of Mrs. Burt, 
 and, when commanding His Majesty's ship the La Pique, in the 
 West Indies, being seized with the fever of the country at Saint 
 Domingo, was sent home, as the only chance of saving him, and 
 constrained to forfeit the command of that very capital frigate. 
 When the young and amiable Princess Amelia was residing at Wor- 
 thing for the benefit of the sea and air, my son, then commander 
 of the Fly sloop of war, kept guard upon that station, prepared to 
 accommodate her Royal Highness with his boats or vessels in any 
 excursions on the water, which she might be advised to take. I 
 came to Worthing, whilst he was there upon duty? and was permit- 
 ted to pay my homage to the Princess. It was impossible to con- 
 template youth and beauty suffering tortures with such exemplary 
 patience, and not experience those sensations of respect and pity, 
 which such a contemplation naturally must inspire. When my 
 daughter-in-law, Lady Albinia Cumberland, took her turn of duty as 
 lady of the bed-chamber, I took the liberty through her hands to 
 offer the few stanzas which are here inserted 
 
 " How long, just heav'n, shall Britain's royal maid 
 With meek submission these sad hours sustain? 
 How long shall innocence invoke thine aid, 
 And youth and beauty press the couch of pain? 
 
354 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Enough, dread pow'r, unless it be decreed, 
 To reconcile thee in these evil times, 
 That one pure victim for the whole should bleed, 
 And by her sufferings expiate our crimes. 
 
 And sure I am, in thine offended sight 
 If nothing but perfection can atone, 
 No wonder thy chastising rod should light 
 On one, who hath no errors of her own. 
 
 But spare, Ah spare this object of our love, 
 For whose dear sake we're punish'd in our fears ; 
 Send down thy saving angel from above, 
 And quench her pangs in our repentant tears. 
 
 Yes, they shall win compassion from the skies, 
 Man cannot be more merciful than heav'n : 
 Thy pangs, sweet saint, thy patience shall suffice, 
 And at thy suit our faults shall be forgiv'n. 
 
 And if, whilst every subject's heart is rack'd, 
 Our pious King presents a father's plea, 
 What heav'n with justice might from us exact 
 Heaven's mercy will remit to him and thee. 
 
 Nor will I doubt if thy dear mother's prayer, 
 Breath'd from her sorrowing bosom, shall prevail ; 
 The sighs of angels are not lost in air, 
 Can then Amelia's sister-suitors fail ? 
 
 Come then, heart-healing cherub, from on high, 
 
 Fresh dipt in dew of Paradise descend, 
 
 Bring tender sympathy with tearful eye, 
 
 Bring Hope, bring Health, and let the Muse attend. 
 
 Stretch'd on her couch, beside the silent strand, 
 Whose skirts old Ocean's briny billows lave, 
 From the extremest verge of British land 
 The languid fair-one eyes the refluent wave. 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 355 
 
 Was ever suffering purity more meek, 
 Was ever virgin martyr more resign'd ? 
 Mark how the smile, yet gleaming on her cheek, 
 Bespeaks her gentlest, best of human kind. 
 
 Around her stand the sympathising friends, 
 Whose charge it is her weary hours to cheer, 
 Each female breast the struggling sigh distends, 
 Whilst the brave veteran drops the secret tear. 
 
 And he, whose sacred trust it is to guard 
 The fairest freight, that ocean ever bore, 
 He shall receive his loyalty's reward 
 In laurels won from Gallia's hostile shore. 
 
 Now let thy wings their healing balm distill 
 Celestial cherub, messenger of peace ! 
 'Tis done ; the tortur'd nerve obeys thy will, 
 And with thy touch its angry throbbings cease. 
 
 Light as a sylph, I see the blooming maid 
 Spring from her couch — Oh may my votive strain 
 Confirm'd evince, that neither I have pray'd, 
 Nor thou, my Muse, hast prophesied in vain." 
 
 I have now completed what occurred to me to say of an old 
 man, whose writings have been very various, whose intentions have 
 been always honest, and whose labours have experienced little in- 
 termission. I put the first pen to these Memoirs at the very close 
 of the last year, and I conclude them in the middle of September. 
 I had promised myself to the undertaking, and I was to proportion 
 my dispatch to the measure of the time, upon which without pre- 
 sumption I might venture to reckon. As many of my readers, as 
 may have staggered under the weight of such a bulky load, will 
 have a fellow feeling for me, even though I shall have sunk under 
 it : but if I have borne it through with tolerable success, and given 
 an interest to some of the many pages, which this volume numbers, 
 I hope they will not mark with too severe a censure errors and in- 
 accuracies 
 
 Qaas aut incuriafudit, 
 Aut humana fiarum cavit natura . 
 
356 MEMOIRS OF &c. 
 
 I have through life sincerely done my best according to my 
 abilities for the edification of my fellow creatures and the honour 
 of my God. I pretend to nothing, whereby to be commended or 
 distinguished above others of my rate, save only for that good will 
 and human kindness, which descended to me from my ancestors, 
 and cannot properly deserve the name of virtue, as they cost no 
 struggle for the exertion of them. I am not exempt from anger, 
 but I never let it fasten on me till it harden into malice or revenge. 
 I cannot pass myself off for better than I have been where I am 
 about to go, and if before my departure I were now to take credit 
 for merits which I have not, the few, which I have, would be all too 
 few to atone for the deceit ; but I am thoroughly weary of the task 
 of talking of myself, and it is with unfeigned joy I welcome the 
 conclusion of my task and my talk. 
 
 I have now only to devote this last page of my book (as it is 
 probable I shall the last hour of my life) to the acknowledgments, 
 which are due to that beloved daughter, who ever since the death 
 of her mother has been my inseparable companion, and the solace 
 
 of my age 
 
 Extremiun hunc, Arethusa, mihi concede labor em. 
 
 Frances Marianne, the youngest of my children, was born to me 
 in Spain. After many long and dangerous returns of illness, it has 
 pleased Providence to preserve to me the blessing of her life and 
 health. . In her filial affection I find all the comforts, that the best 
 of friends can give me ; from her talents and understanding I derive 
 all the enjoyments, that the most pleasing of companions can com- 
 municate. As she has witnessed every step in the progress of this 
 laborious work, and cheered every hour of relaxation whilst I have 
 rested from it, if these pages, which contain the Memoirs of her fa- 
 ther's life, may happily obtain some notice from the world, by whom- 
 soever they are read, by the same this testimony of my devotion to 
 the best of daughters shall be also read ; and, if it be the will of God, 
 that here my literary labours are to cease for ever, I can say to the 
 world for the last time, that this is a dedication, in which no flattery 
 is mixed, a tribute to virtue, in which fiction has no part, and an 
 effusion of gratitude, esteem and love, which flows sincerely from a 
 father's heart. 
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 
 
 Printed by Robert Carr. 
 
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