ON THE MOST ExMINENT AND INSTRUCTIVE BRITISH CHARACTERS; INTERSPERSED WITH NUMEROUS ANECDOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE OF THEIR LIVES AND ACTIONS, AND OF THE TIMES IN WHICH THEY LIVED. BY THE REV. WILLIAM* BINGLEY, M.A. F.L.S. Late of Peter-house, Cambridge^ and Author of Animal Biography, S^c, BcSlgHEtJ for ti)£ U%Z of ^oatng ^erSCiB%7:;r-;r::; LONDON: ^"^S^j^l^^^ PRINTED FOR JOHN SHARPE, '^t l^ailes'« Uttfaenile Xilirare, IConUon jmuseunt, ^ittatJillw. By C, WHITTINGHAM, CHISWICK, 1818, s^a? PREFACE. The delight that is experienced, and the information that is often elicited in domestic circles, by the familiar discussion of literary and scientific subjects, suggested the plan of the present work. It occurred to the author, that, if such discussions were capable of yielding important instruction, conversations on the human character, illustrative of the develope- ment, the progress, and attainments of the human mind, must be capable of yielding instruction of still greater importance : if, as Pope says, " The proper study of mankind be man," there can, indeed, be no species of improvement more apposite to this peculiar mode of writing than Biography, It is true that numerous objections have been made to what are called books in dialogue ; but these objections are chiefly appHcable to such as are in question and answer. The questions are said to in- terrupt the current of the narration, to occupy a space which might be filled with more important a 2 i VI PREFACE. matter ; and to give to the works in which they are found, the character of a disagreeable and monoto- nous uniformity. All these objections, however, may, without difficulty, be avoided, by introduc- ing numerous characters, and adopting a dramatic form. Experience has shown that such form is pecu- liarly attractive to young persons. Their own ideas become, as it were, embodied with what they read ; and they fancy themselves taking part in the dis- cussion with those of whom they read. This mode of instruction has other advantages. It admits of scope for numerous incidental reflections and obser- vations of which no other form is so capable ; and,, from an attentive perusal of judicious discussions of this nature, the young may also be taught to dis- cuss similar subjects by themselves. The present volume has been drawn up with a still further view. Each of the lives may be turned into an exercise in English composition, if, for this purpose, it be attentively read, and if, from recollection, its prin- cipal contents be written down, in the form of a narrative. With respect to the peculiar plan that has been adopted, of arrangement under distinct heads, of Statesmen, Philosophers, Divines, &c. ; this, it was PREFACE. Vll considered, would be useful in giving a greater latitude to particular subjects ; and, at the same time, in affording, to the juvenile reader, an imme- diate view of some of those persons who have been most eminent in each of the classes. But, under such arrangement, it will be evident that an unavoid- able difficulty must sometimes occur, arising from many individuals having been celebrated for various acquirements. Some, for instance, who have been arranged under the head of divines, might, with equal propriety, have been placed among the philo- sophers ; and some among general writers, who are also celebrated as poets. Another particular must be noticed. It is known, to all readers of biography, that the most important information is not, in every case, to be looked for in the lives of those persons who have attained the greatest celebrity. In the present work the author has endeavoured to select such liyes only as were capable of affording instruction, and of making the strongest and most permanent impression on the minds of those readers, to whose use they are here alone appropriated. Another part of his design has been to insert, in every life, as many anecdotes as possible ; well knowing that the attention of young persons is. VIU PREFACE. in general, mueh more easily fixed by example than by precept; by incident than by observation. With a view to the formation of the youthful mind, he has inserted as many important particulars as pos- sible, relative to the education, and progress in knowledge, of the individuals whose lives he has made the subject of discussion ; and by the anec- dotes he has been able to collect, he has endeavoured to illustrate the advantages that result to young per- sons, from submission to authority and restraint, from application to study, from industry, integrity, and obedience ; and the unhappiness that is the inva- riable consequence of disobedience, indolence, im- prudence, bad company, and dissipation. But, as infinitely the most important of all, he has invariably endeavoured to show the necessity of early religious instruction and habits. Charlotte Street, Bloomshury, London, Dec, 15, 18 L7. BIOGRAPHICAL INDEX. Page Addison, Joseph 152 BsLCOUy Lord 27 Bacon, Roger 67 Barrow, Dr. Isaac 115 Becket, Archbishop ...... 3 Boyle, Hon. Robert 73 Boyse, Samuel 247 Brindley, James 316 Burke, Edmund 48 Burnet, Bishop 119 Bums, Robert 283 Buxton, Jedidiah 308 Chatham, Earl of.' 41 Chatterton, Thomas 255 Clarendon, Earl of. 34 Clarke, Dr. Samuel 126 Collins, William 252 Cowper, William 293 Cranmer, Archbishop.... 99 Crichton, James 302 Cumberland, Richard.... 209 Dermody, Thomas 259 Doddridge, Dr 133 Dryden, John 238 Ferguson; James 333 j Fox, Charles James 61 Page Goldsmith, Oliver 176 Howard, John 340 Jewel, Bishop.... 110 Johnson, Dr. Samuel 187 Jones, Sir William 201 Jonson, Ben 223 Locke, John 79 Latimer, Bishop 104 Milton, John 229 More, Sir Thomas 20 Newton, Sir Isaac 85 Otway, Thomas 244 Paley, Archdeacon 146 Pattison, William 246 Pitt, William 56 Pope, Alexander 264 Shakspeare, William 217 Skelton, Rev. Philip 137 Smeaton, John 322 Steele, Sir Richard 159 Swift, Dean 165 Thomson, James 273 Watts, Dr. Isaac 130 Wickliffe, John 96 Wolsey, Cardinal 13 Younar, Dr 277 INDEX THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS. Pa?e Lord Bacon 32 I Thomas a Becket .... 11 Ambition. — Examples and dangers of Ambition. Paee Lord Clarendon 39 Cai'dinal Wolsey . . . 17-18 Application to Study.— Advantages of early Application; and examples of rapid progress in Study. Sir William Jones . . 202-204 Milton 229 Sir Thomas More .... 21 Sir Isaac Newlon . . . 86-87 Dr.Paley 147 Pitt 56 Skelton 137 Dean Swift 166 Dr. Watts 130 Wicklifte 97 Cardinal Wolsey .... 13 Lord Bacon 28 Friar Bacon 68 Thomas k Becket .... 5 Bojle 74 Barke 48-49 Bishop Burnet 120 Dr. Samuel Clarke .... 127 Archbishop Cranmer . , . 100 Crichton 304 Cumberland 210 Ferguson 333 Bishop Jewel 110 Adversity. — Conduct of good men in Adversity. Lord Clarendon 36 | Bishop Latimer 108 Archbishop Cranmer . . . 103 | Sir Thomas More . . . 23-25 Bad Company. — Pernicious effects of bad Company. Challerton 258 1 Otway 244 Dermody 259 1 ^ Christian Religion. — Opinions of eminent men concerning the excellence, the necessity, and the advantages of the Christian Religion. >05-208 . 83 . 164 . 164 . 132 . 282 Addison 157 Boyle 75-78 Burke 55 Lord Chatham 47 Lord Clarendon . , . , . 35 Dr. Johnson 190 Contentment. — Advantages and examples of Contentment. Sir William Jones Locke .... Sir Isaac Newlon Sir Richard Steele Dr. Watts . . . Dr. Young . . Smeaton . . . . . . . 322 Thomson 275 Ferguson 333 Sir Thomas More .... 25 Skelton 138 Courage and Presence of Mind, — Instances of. Barrow . , 117 I Sir Thomas More . INDEX OF THE PRINCIPAI, CONTENTS. DlSSlPATION.- Dissipalion. Boyse . . . Barns . . . Chatlerlon -Disadvantages and unhappiiiess resulting tVoui 247 258 Derraody 262 Jonson 227 Otway 244 Education. — Advantages of parental attention in the super- intendence of youth. Addison 152 I Pitt 56 Sir William Jones . . . .202 Thomson 273 Dr. Johnson 188 Extravagance* Lord Bacon 32 Royse 248-249 Collins 253 Pernicious consequences of Extravagance. Fox 63 Otway 245 Greatness of Mind.— Examples of Greatness of Mind, and Self-command. Lord Bacon 32 Bishop Latimer . . . Lord Clarendon 34 Sir Tliomas More . . Archbishop Cranmer . . . 103 Honours, — Generous contempt of. Boyle 76-77 Bishop Burnet 119 Bishop Latimer 104 Imprudence, — Pernicious effects of. BoTse .247 Burns 287, &c. Collins 252 Chalterton 258 Dryden . . ... . . .241 Locke .... Sir Thomas More Dr. Goldsmith . Jonson .... Pattison . . . Otway .... Sir Richard Steele 106 82 23 177, &c. . . 227 . . 246 . . 244 160, &c. Integrity, — Advantages and examples of. Bishop Latimer ..... 108 Sir Thomas More . . 21, &c. Sir Isaac Newton .... 91 Smeaton ....... 322 Addison 154 Lord Chatham 42 Lord Clarendon , . , , , 36 Cumberland 212 Dr. Goldsmith 186 Integrity, — Bad consequences of departing from. Sir Francis Bacon 31 Low Situations in Life. — Examples of men having risen into eminence, by industry and merit, from low situations in life. Sir Isaac Newton .... 85 Shakspeare ?17 Skelton 137 Ferguson 333 Dr. Johnson 188 Bishop Latimer 104 Locke 79 VVicklifte 97 A/' INDEX OF THE PRINCIPAL CONlENlS. Ostentation and Pride, — Examples of. Thomas a Becket .... 10 | Cardinal Wolsey .... Piety. — Instances of exemplary Piety. See also Religion, Collins 254 Dr. Doddridge 135 Bishop Jewel ...... 112 16 Dr. Johnson . . . 190-193-199 Sir Thomas More .... 23 Skelton 138 Religion. — Examples of the consolation of Religion in adver- sity, and at the approach of death. Addison 158 Lord Bacon 32 Boyle 77 Bishop Burnet 124 Burke 55 Locke 83 Sir Thomas More ... 25-26 Sir Isaac Newton .... 93 Dr. Paley 148 Restraint in Youth, — Pernicious effects of a want of. Boyse 248 L Pattison 246 Dermody 260 j Sir Richard Steele .... 160 Study, — Examples of intense application to. A.rchbishop Cranmer . . . 103 Cumberland ... . . . 214 Dr. Johnson . . . . . .200 Sir William Jones .... 208 Bishop Latimer 109 Pitt 59 Dr. Watts 132 Dr. Young 282 Bishop Jewel 112 Milton . . . . . . . .235 Sir Isaac Newton .... 92 Friar Bacon 68 Bishop Burnet 120 Lord Clarendon 34 Dr. Samuel Clarke . . . .127 Talent.— Examples of men of extraordinary, or great ver- satility of Talent. Friar Bacon ..... 67-70 Lord Bacon 28 Dr. Isaac Barrow .... 116 Dermody 260 Ferguson 333 Fox . . . 62 Thomas a Becket .... 5 Boyle 73 Brindley 316 Burke 30 Bishop Burnet 119 Burns 285 Truth, — Value of a strict regard for. Boyle 74 [ Dr. Johnson Cumberland . . . . . . 210 | Jedidiah Buxton 308 Dr. Clarke 128 Crichton 304 Bishop Jewel Ill Sir William Jones .... 208 Dr. Johnson .... 188-192 Sir Thomas More .... 20 Sir Isaac Newton .... 85 Pitt 58 Sraeaton 322 Wickliffe $7 189 3$ioerapi^tcal €on'i>tt0Mmx0* INTRODUCTION. XT was a little before Christmas that Frederic Mon- tagu, accompanied by his tutor the Rev. Mr. Allen, had arrived at Seaford Castle, in Devonshire, the seat of his uncle Sir Charles Irwin. They had been invited to pass there a few months previously to Frederic making his final preparations for college. Sir Charles's family at this time consisted of himself, Lady Irwin, his son Edmund, a youth about seven- teen years of age, and two daughters, of whom Louisa was the elder, but both of them younger than their brother. The education of Edmund had been wholly con- ducted by Sir Charles, who, as far as it was possible, had sought to let recreation and instruction go hand in hand, and to communicate knowledge through the medium of amusement. B INTRODUCTION. Frederic had not been long at Seaford before Sir Charles, in conjunction with Mr. Allen, had con- certed several plans for the useful occupation of. their time. One of these was that, in the evenings, w^hen they were otherwise disengaged, they should discuss the lives and characters of different persons, eminent for their talents, their learning, and their virtues. It was proposed that Edmund and Frede- ric should prepare themselves, on the respective subjects, from books in Sir Charles's library ; and it was considered thkt the discussion would not only afford Sir Charles and Mr. Allen a means of exa- mining them as to the information they should thus obtain, but also of communicating to them any im- portant facts or observations that might escape their researches. The scheme was no sooner suggested than the young gentlemen were eager to put it into execu- tion. They were requested to select the lives of such persons as they considered most interesting. The choice was left wholly to themselves. All the direction they received was, that these were to be discussed in classes, and, as far as convenient, according to the order of time in which they had flourished. EMINENT STATESMEN. FIRST EVENING. 1 HE family party had assembled in Sir Charles Irwin's library, and after the servants had brought in the tea, Sir Charles, playfully quoting Cowper, exclaimed, Now stir the fire, now close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round; And, while the bubbling, and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column — let our strife Commence. Frederic and Edmund. We are quite prepared, sir. Lady Irivin, I shall have great pleasure in being permitted occasionally to join in your conversation. The plan that Sir Charles has mentioned, appears to me a very useful one; and I am confident you will each derive much information from it. Sir Charles, With the least attention on their part it cannot be otherwise ; for of all the kinds of narrative with which I am acquainted, I know none that is capable of yielding more important instruction, that is more eagerly read, or can be more easily applied to the purposes of life, than biography. But let me not be misunderstood. By biography I do not mean a mere chronological detail of actions, or of the dates of events that have occurred. Little indeed that the memory is able to retain can be derived from such. It is the office of biography, as Dr. Johnson has justly observed, to find out the paths which lead to our finest sensibilities; and, by acquainting us with domestic transactions, introducing us to private hours, and dis- B 2 4 STATESMKN. closing to lis the secret propensities, enjoyments, and weaknesses of mankind, to increase our sympathy, heighten our curiosity, teach us to feel for the situation of others, and, by the effect of their examples, how to correct and conduct our own lives. Lady L^win, It has often occurred to me that anec- dotes of private and domestic life must have a peculiar tendency to excite interest, as the happiness or misery vrliich is detailed in such anecdotes, it is at least within the bounds of possibility, we may ourselves experience. Sir Charles. We will now, if you please, proceed to business. Who, Frederic, is to be the subject of this evening's conversation? Frederic, Edmund and I have looked over the History of England, as far as it relates to the reigns of Henry the Second and Henry the Eighth; and the different lives with which your library has furnished us of Archbishop Becket, and Cardinal Wolsey. We have selected these first, from their having been emi- nent statesmen of early times, and having had con- siderable alliance, in character and fortune, to each other. Sir Charles, Of these, Thomas a Becket, as he is usually called, w^as by far the most ancient. You shall therefore commence with him; and, in the first place, let me ask you who he was ? Edmund, He was Archbishop of Canterbury, and High Chancellor of England during part of the reign of Henry the Second. Wolsey was chancellor in the reign of Henry the Eighth. Mr, Allen, Which of you can inform me in what the duties of chancellor consist? Frederic, T can. He is the chief magistrate in the judicial establishment of this country, and sits as judge in a court called the Court of Chancery. The office of chancellor used formerly to be conferred on some dignified clergyman, who w^as remarkable for his abili- ties, and for his knowledge of the law. Such were THOMAS A BECKET. 5 botli Becket and Wolsey. The Lord Chancellor has also the custody of the Great Seal, and is President or Speaker of the House of Lords. Sir Charles. Right: — but it must be observed that this office is now, in many particulars, different from what it was formerly ; and is by no means so extensive either in its powers or its privileges. In what station of life were the parents of Becket? Edmund, His father was a London merchant who had been taken prisoner at Jerusalem during the cru- sades, and was assisted in his escape by a Saracen lady, daughter of the person in whose custody he was detained. She fell in love with him, and was after- wards married to him; and their son was Thomas h, Becket. Frederic, When of sufficient age this boy was sent to Merton Abbey, in Surry, for his education. He afterwards pursued his studies in the University of Oxford, and subsequently in Paris. His advance- ment in life was extremely rapid. Mr, Allen, And to what was this chiefly owing ? Frederic, To his very extraordinary talents; but I do not recollect by what means he obtained his first elevation. Edmund. I am surprised at that, Frederic. I will tell you. Theobald, Archbishop of Canterbury, in- formed of his rapid progress in learning, was induced to take him under his protection, and send him into Italy to study the canon and civil law. At his return he gave him considerable preferment in the church; and so strongly recommended him to the notice of Henry the Second, that he was appointed tutor to the prince, the son of that king; and, before he was forty yeai's of age, was elevated to the rank of chan- cellor. Frederic, Now I recollect; and I recollect also the manner in which he is said to have conducted himself in his new office. He wholly laid aside his former character of a clergyman, and assumed that of a 6 STATESMEN. courtier. He now conformed, in every particular, to the king's humour; partook of all his diversions, affected to observe the same hours of eating and going to bed, and to follow, in almost every other particular, the conduct of the king. Sir Charles. William Fitz-Stephen, a monk of Can- terbury, who had been his private secretary, informs us that nothing could exceed at this time the splen- dour of Becket's household. He lived in the utmost magnificence, and entertained such numerous guests at his banquets, that he was obliged to have his rooms every day covered with clean hay or straw in winter, and with green boughs or rushes in summer, lest his guests, not finding seats at his table, should soil their clothes by sitting on the floor. Mr. Allen. And it is related that he has been known to spend as much as five pounds on a single dish of eels. Edmund. That was very extravagant, particularly as I know that five pounds were then equal in value to a larger sum than at present. Mr, Allen. Indeed they were, an infinitely larger sum than you have any notion of. Five pounds, at that time, were five pounds weight of silver ; and these would purchase articles of the value of more than a hundred and fifty pounds of present money. Edmund. You astonish me ! Mr. Allen. But this was not all. When he travelled in state he is said to have been attended by more than two hundred knights, and by numerous other gay do- mestics. In his suite he had eight waggons. Two of these carried his ale ; three the furniture of his chapel, of his bed-chamber, and his kitchen ; and in the re- maining three were conveyed his provisions, and other things requisite to the support of his establishment. Twelve pack-horses bore his money, plate, and utensils. To each waggon was chained a fierce mastiff, and on each pack-horse sat a baboon. Frederic. How absurd a cavalcade ! The baboons must have made a very ridiculous appearance ! THOMAS A BECKET. 7 Mr. Allen, In an age of ignorance all this mum- mery may have excited astonishment; but at present such conduct could only rouse our contempt. Edmund, Frederic has obsen ed, that when Becket became chancellor he wholly laid aside his character of a clergyman. W hat you have mentioned sufficiently proves this ; but it is completely shown by his conduct whilst with Henry the Second in France. He there personally engaged in several military exploits, and even fought in single combat with a French knight, famous for his valour, whom he dismounted wdth his lance, and whose horse he gained and led oflF in tri- umph. This was surely very improper in a man who had ever entertained any due respect for his sacred profession. Frederic, He was now in such favour with the king, that all the most important business of the state was committed to his management. Henry honoured him with his friendship and intimacy; and when he was disposed to amuse himself in sports of any description, Becket was always admitted of the party. Edmund, A very extraordinary instance of the fami- liarity that existed betwixt the king and the chancellor has been recorded. They were one day riding togetlier in the streets of London, when they observed a beggar shivering with cold. ** It would be a good deed," said the king, ** to give that shivering wretch a coat.'^ *'True,'' replied Becket, *' and you, sir, may give him yours.^^ '* No, he shall have thine," retorted Henry ; and seizing the skirt of the chancellor's vest, after a violent struggle, in which they had nearly dismounted each other, he succeeded in pulling it off. This done, he bestovv ed it on the astonished mendicant. Sir Charles, This anecdote is not only in itself extraordinary, but is of considerable importance, as exhibiting a trait of the manners of the age to which it relates. Edmund, We should not be a little surprised at present, were we to hear of such conduct of the king a STATESMEN. and lord chancellor any where, but more particularly in the public streets of London. Frederic, Becket, by his general complaisance and good humour, had rendered himself so agreeable, and by his industry and abilities was become so useful to his master, that, on the death of the Archbishop of Canterbury, he was selected as the fittest person to fill the vacancy in that see. Mr. Allen, We might now, with reason, consider him at the summit of his ambition. He possessed the chancellorship, was Archbishop of Canterbury, and had been appointed legate or ambassador for the court of Rome. With consummate hypocrisy, however, he considered it requisite to change his character. He now affected to act the part of a saint, and sought to acquire a peculiar reputation for sanctity. Omitting even to consult the king on the subject, he gave up his commission of chancellor, pretending that he must thenceforward detach himself from worldly concerns, and employ himself wholly in the exercise of his spi- ritual functions. Frederic, And he carried this project into effect in a very singular manner. In his retinue and attendants he retained all his former pomp and grandeur — Mr, Allen, Which he still considered useful, to astonish and overawe the vulgar. Frederic, And he assumed, in his own person, the greatest austerity, and the most rigid mortification. Such conduct he no doubt imagined would have an equal, or perhaps a greater tendency to the same end. He wore sackcloth next his skin. Mr, Allen, Yes ! and by his affected care to conceal it, contrived that it should be more particularly noticed by the world. Frederic. But what is most remarkable, it was so filthy, and he changed it so seldom, that this sackcloth was filled with vermin. His usual diet was bread; and his drink water, which he even rendered further unpalatable by mixing it with unsavoury herbs. He THOMAS A BECKET. 9 daily, on his knees, in imitation of Christ, waslied the leet of thirteen beggars, whom he afterwards dismissed with presents ; and he seemed to be perpetually em- ployed in reciting prayers, in pious lectures, or in perusing religious writings. Edmund, Surely he must have been sincere or he would not have endured such painful and mortifying deprivations as these. Sir Charles, All men of penetration were able to discover that under this disguise he was meditating some great design ; and that his ambition and ostenta- tion had only been turned towards some new and more dangerous object. Frederic, His violent and overbearing conduct was almost immediately afterwards the cause of a rupture betwixt himself and the king ; and Henry, enraged at his ingratitude, overstepped the bounds both of mode- ration and prudence, in his determination if possible to punish him. After a long and bitter contest, on different subjects relative to the then unbounded pri- vileges of the clergy, he caused Becket to be prose- cuted on a charge of having, while chancellor, applied to his own use the public money. Edmund, And, during the trial, we are told that Becket insolently entered the council room, with his crosier in his hand, to intimidate the judges ; but, not- withstanding his boldness, he was condemned. Frederic, He w as so ; but he found means to avoid punishment by escaping into Flanders, where he resided for some years in one of the convents. Sir Charles. What were the consequences of this quarrel and proceedure ? Edmnnd, The pope espoused Becket's cause, and so great was his power over the church at this period, that Henry was at length obliged to consent that a conference should be held for amicably adjusting the differences which had occurred. For this purpose he went into France ; and, to show his willingness towards a reconciliation, declared publicly^ in the presence of B 3 10 STATESx\lEIS. the French king, *' It Becket will only pay to me the same submission which the greatest of his predecessors have paid to the least of mine, I shall be well satisfied." Sir Charles, This appears to have been sufficiently candid on the part of the king ; and it might be pre- sumed, that Becket would, without hesitation, have assented to so reasonable a proposition. Edmund, No ; the haughty prelate had hopes, through the influence of the pope, of still fm-ther humbling his master, and at length by that means of rendering his own power over the English clergy beyond control; and on a trivial allegation he contrived that the con- ference should terminate without effect. Frederic, But Becket and the king were at length reconciled. Edmund, They were, but not mi til the king had been compelled to receive him again into his dominions on the most humiliating terms. It was agreed that all the subjects in dispute should continue in the same state as before the commencement of the controversy ; and, that Becket should in no respect be required to surrender what were termed the rights of the church. Mr, Allen, You have omitted to state, that Henry was so anxious to reconcile himself fully with Becket, that he tookfthe most extraordinary steps to flatter his vanity; and that on one occasion he even degraded himself so far as to hold the stirrup whilst the haughty churchman mounted and dismounted his horse. How did Becket conduct himself on his return to England ? Edmund, He made a public entry into London, amidst the acclamations of the populace ; and his pride having been increased by his success, he proceeded from town to town in a sort of triumphal cavalcade. Scarcely was his poAver restored than he began to exert it to the utmost extent, and to conduct himself towards all the adherents of the king in the most tyrannical and arbitrary manner. Sir Charles. And this procedure proved fatal to him» THOMAS A BECKET. 11 Edmund, It did; for the king, who was then in Normandy, exasperated to an excess by the innume- rable complaints that w^ere made to him, at length ex- claimed, in fury, ** Is there no one who will avenge their monarch's cause upon this audacious priest?" His attendants were roused almost to madness ; and four knights hastened to Canterbury, entered the cathe- dral where Becket was officiating with a few of his attendants, and slew him with their battle-axes at the foot of the altar. Sir Charles, I will request of Frederic to inform u&, what he has been able to collect respecting the character of Thomas k Becket. Frederic, Most willingly, sir. He was a man of extraordinary talents, elevated mind, and invincible coinage ; but of an overbearing and turbulent spirit ; passionate, haughty, and vain-glorious ; in liis resolu- tions inflexible, and in his resentments implacable. Lord Lyttleton, in his history of Henry the Second, has indeed delineated his character in such strong and various lights, that he has left us at a loss to determine, whether we can more admire the polished courtier and able statesman, or detest the haughty prelate and the bigotted and outrageous incendiary. Mr, Allen, But how was the character of Becket esteemed by the people after his death ? Frederic, Oh ! the clergy, whose power at this un- eiiliglited period Was unbounded, contrived to influence the minds of the populace in such a manner, that they considered him a mart} r to the cause of religion. His resolution during life, and the heroism with which he is said to have died, confirmed their former notions of his sanctity. Every advantage was taken of this ; and shortly afterwards it was declared, that miracles had been wrought at his tomb. These at length were believed to have been so numerous, that one of the monkish writers informs us, there were two large volumes of them recorded and kept in the church of Canterbury. 12 STATESMEN. Lady Irwin, What were the kind of miracles chiefly believed to have been wrought there ? Mr. Allen, They were of almost every description. The contrivances of the monks were such, that they imposed on the people a belief not only that men, but that cows, dogs, and horses had been restored to life on his tomb. They even reported, that he rose from hi3 coffin before he was buried, to light the tapers de- signed for his own funeral; and, that when that cere- mony was ended, he stretched forth his hand to bless the people. It seems scarcely possible to conceive the credulity which existed respecting St. Thomas of Canter- bury, as he was subsequently denominated. Pilgrimages from almost all parts of Europe were made to his tomb. A hundred thousand pilgrims to Canterbury have been registered at one time; and the devotion paid to him was infinitely greater than that paid to deity himself. Lady Irwin, I suppose this mockery of religion must have terminated at the reformation of the church, in the reign of Henry the Eighth. Mr, Allen, It did; and in a manner not a little absurd. By an extraordinary legal process Thomas ^ Becket, more than three hundred and fifty years after he had been dead, was cited to appear in court, and was then tried and condemned as a traitor to Henry the Second. After this his name was ordered to be struck out of the calendar, his bones to be degraded and burnt, and their ashes to be scattered in the air. Sir Charles Irwin here interrupted the conversation, by observing, that as the life of Becket had occupied a considerably longer time than he had expected, he should prefer closing the discussion for that night ; and deferring the account of Wolsey till the next. This arrangement was immediately assented to ; and the principal remaining part of the evening was occupied v/ith music. CARDINAL WOLSEY. 13 SECOND EVENING. It will be recollected that Frederic had given, as a reason for selecting the life of Cardinal Wolsey to follow that of Becket, that the characters of these two personages had many points of near resemblance. Sir Charles Irwin, on the name of A^^olsey being now introduced, took the opportunity to remark, that ambi- tion, pride, and ostentation, or a love of pageantry, were common to them both : that they had each risen from insignificant stations in life to the highest offices of the state ; and that they furnish us with examples as extraordinary as any that are on record of the vicissi- tude of human affairs. In reply to an inquiry from Sir Charles respecting the origin of AVolsey, Frederic stated, that he was generally believed to have been the son of a butcher, who lived at Ipswich ; and to have been born there in the year 1471. Edmund, however, remarked, that some persons were of opinion his father had been a gentleman of independent fortune. Sir Charles Irwin then inquired respecting his edu- cation ? Frederic, When very young he was sent to a gram- mar school ; and, by the time he was twelve years of age, was admitted a member of Magdalen- college, Oxford. Edmund, He was much younger than you, Frederic, Nearly six years. Students are not now admitted at the imiversities at so early an age as they were formerly. But Wolsey was remarkably young, so much so indeed, that when he took his first degree of Bachelor of Arts, he was often distinguished by the title of '^ the boy bachelor." His first preferment in the church was Edmund, Stay, Frederic; you are omitting all ac- count of his early life. Wolsey, when a young man, you must recollect, was induced to settle in the country 14 STATESxMEN. in the capacity of a schoolmaster; and it is generally believed that he wrote the Accidence that is attached to Lily's Latin Grammar. He was afterwards em- ployed as a private tutor in the family of the Marquis of Dorset, from whom he obtained his first preferment in the church. Mr, Allen. The marquis gave him the lidng of Lymington, in Somersetshire ; and how did he conduct himself when he went to reside there ? Edmund. Not as a clei^yman ought, certainly. His dissipated habits had induced him to go to a neighbour- ing fair, where he got drunk, and as a punishment was set in the stocks ; a very pretty example truly to such of his parishioners as happened to have been assembled there. Frederic. One might have hoped such conduct Avould have been punished by his being degraded, and not suffered to continue a clergyman. Mr. Allen. But this was not the case. It appears in no respect even to have impeded his preferment. Sir Charles. Wolsey's greatest anxiety about this time seems to have been, how he could gain admittance at court. Frederic, It was; for he had often been heard to say, that *' if he could but set one foot there, he would soon introduce his whole body." Such were his talents, and so great his ambition, that he shortly afterwards accomplished his Avishes ; and notwithstanding the dis- grace attached to his former conduct, was admitted into the confidence and favour of King Henry the Seventh, Sir Charles. Henry employed him as a confidential agent in settling some points relative to his marriage with Margaret of Savoy, who then resided at Bruges. Do you recollect a singular anecdote that has been told relative to this embassy ? Frederic. I do, perfectly. Henry had directed Wolsey to proceed to the continent without delay; and three days afterwards was astonished to see him still at court. He began to reprove him with severity. CARDINAL WOLSEY. 15 Wolsey informed the king that he had returned from Bruges, after having successfully terminated the nego- ciation with which he had been entrusted. Edmund, To have been so expeditious, and at the same time so successful, must have given great satis- faction to Henry, at least as far as it respected the apparent anxiety of Wolsey to promote his views. Mr, Allen, At the death of the king, were not all the ambitious projects of Wolsey terminated ? Frederic, Indeed, sir, they were not ; for Henry the Seventh having been succeeded by his son, then only eighteen years of age, Wolsey soon contrived to attain an entire ascendency over him. He was at once sub- missive and enterprising: he sung, he laughed, he danced with all the dissipated characters of the court; and humoured every vicious propensity of his master. This he soon found was the path to the highest prefer- ments in the church, and the most important offices of the state. Sir Charles, What were the chief preferments and offices that he obtained ? Frederic. Henry the Eighth created him Archbishop of York ; and permitted him to hold at the same time the bishoprics of Durham and Winchester. He was afterwards made High Chancellor; the pope named him his legate or ambassador; and completed his ex- altation by creating him a cardinal. Mr, Allen, What is a cardinal? Frederic, An ecclesiastic of the church of Rome, a member of the conclave or college that is invested with the power of electing the pope, and performing other high offices in the Romish church. Sir Charles. At this period of his history, I am sure you must have noted many circumstances in the con- duct of Wolsey similar to those of Thomas a Becket. Frederic, I have remarked several, but none more extraordinary than those that relate to the ostentation exhibited in his household and establishment. The former consisted of eight hundred persons, many of 16 STATESMEN. whom were knights and gentlemen of fortune; and even some of the nobility allowed their sons to bear offices in his family as domestics. On his promotion to the chancellorship, he added to his former parade four footmen with gilt pole-axes, a gentleman to carry the great seal before him, and an additional train of attendants, who rode on horseback, while he himself was mounted on a mule, caparisoned with crimson velvet. In this state he went every Sunday from his residence of York -house, now Whitehall, to the court at Greenwich. The walls of the chief apartments in his palaces were hung with cloth of gold. He had a complete service of solid gold ; and in his chambers were several large tables wholly covered with plate. A thousand pieces of fine linen are stated to have been found among the contents of his wardrobe ; and all his other o'oods and furniture were sumptuous in proportion. Mr. Allen. Thus ostentatious, we may presume that the cardinal had no small dislike to see even any attempt to rival him in his pageantry. Frederic. This I think was evident in many instances, but certainly so in one. Cardinal Campeggio, who had been sent from the pope on important business to the court of England, wished to make a splendid entry into London. He applied to Wolsey, who supplied him with many mules richly caparisoned, and handsome trunks to convey his baggage. Unluckily liowever for him, it was so contrived that as the procession paraded along the streets, one of the mules should be thrown down ; and the chests upon his back flying open ex- posed to view, not as might have been expected, rich copes and embroidered vestments, not golden chalices and massy plate, but old shoes, worn-ovit stockings, tattered clothes, and the most offensive kinds of trash. The populace was much diverted >vith so singular an exposure of poverty, under an affectation of splendour; and Wolsey himself is believed to have been highly delighted with the success of his contrivance. CARDINAL WOLSEY. 17 Sir Charles, It appears that Wolsey was now at he summit of his glory : it might be supposed that his ambition was fully satiated, and that thei^ was no higher stations that he could look forward to than those which he now held. He was caressed and flattered by most of the powers of Europe. And by presents from foreign courts, and the unlimited munificence of his own sovereign, his revenues are supposed to have fallen little short of the revenues of tlie crown. Frederic, Yet he was not contented, for he enter- tained hopes, through the influence he possessed, of succeeding to the popedom, on the first vacancy that occurred. Mr. Allen. But he found himself disappointed. On the contrary, like an idol set up by fortune, he was hurled almost in an instant from all his greatness, and reduced to a condition infinitely more vnretched than that from which he had originally sprung. Edmund can probably relate the account of his downfall. Edmund, I will endeavour to do so, sir. The king having conceived an affection for a young lady of the court, the daughter of Sh' Thomas Boleyn, determmed to obtain a divorce from his queen, for the purpose of marrying this lady. Wolsey endeavoured to dissuade him from it, and by so doing lost the favour of his master. His numerous enemies now exerted all their influence to prejudice the king against him ; and they succeeded so far as to induce Henry to send two nobi^jnen to demand that he should deliver up to them the Great Seal. M7\ Allen. This, in other words, was to deprive him of the chancellorship. What was Wolsey's reply ? Edmund. He told them, with manly fortitude, that ** as he had received the seal from his majesty's hands, into those alone it should be delivered." But Henry, on the following day sent in a manner so peremptory that he was compelled to surrender it. Mr. Allen. The king, however, after a little while, began to think this treatment of his former favoui'ite 18 STATESMEN. somewhat too harsh; and sent to him a ring, in token that he had not quite forgot him. Edmund, He did so, and the consequence on the part of Wolsey was an instance of meanness in adver- sity, as great as his insolence had often been in pros- perity. He sprang from his horse, and fell on his knees in the muddy road that he might receive the inestimable gift with due respect. His enemies, however, proved too powerful; and the fallen cardinal at length finding it vain to hope for any favourable change in his circumstances, summoned all his officers before him. With the utmost coolness he ordered an account to be taken of his whole pro- perty ; and the several moveables ha\dng been arranged in an extensive gallery of his house, and the chamber adjoining, he directed them all to be left there for the use of the king. Sir Charles, And how, Edmund, was he circum- stanced after this ? Edmund, He now severely felt the weight of poverty. He w as banished from the court to his house at Esher, in Surry. Here he, who a little while before had possessed apparently exhaustless treasures, was suf- fered to continue for three weeks without a bed, a table-cloth, or even a dish to eat his meat from. He had no money, and might even have perished with hunger, had it not been for supplies that were sent him by the country people, who commiserated his misfortunes. Sir Charles, But he was still permitted to retain some of his former dignities. Edmund, Yes; he had not been deprived of the Archbishopric of York, but it does not appear that he was able at this juncture to obtain any pecuniary ad- vantages from it; for when ordered, as was shortly afterwards the case, to retire to the archiepiscopal seat at Cawood, near York, his journey was for some time delaved, from want of money to defray the expenses of it. CARDINAL WOLSEY. 19 Sir Charles. And was he suffered to pass the remain- der of his days in peace? Edmund. No. He had not long been there before he was arrested on a charge of high treason. To answer this charge it was requisite he should return to London ; and he died on the journey. Sir Charles, You are able, no doubt, to relate the particulars respecting his death. They were not only in themselves extraordinary, but they afford a very impressive lesson of the miseries to which ambitious men are subject. Edmund, The cardinal had travelled as far south as Leicester; and, in an enfeebled state of body, amving at the gate of the monastery near that town, the abbot and monks came out in a body to meet him. They received him with every external mark of respect. The cardinal could merely say, '' Father Abbot, I am come to lay my bones among you." He continued on the mule that he had ridden till he came to the stairs leading to a chamber appointed for his reception ; and he was then with much difficulty conducted up stairs to bed. This was on Saturday, the twenty-fifth of Novem- ber, 1530 ; and on the Monday following his disorder had so far increased, that in the general opinion of his attendants he could not long sundve. On Tuesday he conversed for a little while with Sir William Kingston, concerning the events of his life, and terminated the conversation, by exclaiming in agony, "Had I but served my God as faithfully as I have served the king, he would not have given me over in my grey hairs; but this is the just reward that I must receive for my indulgent pains and study, not regarding my service to God, but only to my prince." His speech soon after- wards failed him, and he died the same night, about eight o'clock. His body was laid in an open coffin with the face micovered, .that every one who choose it might be 20 STATESMEN. permitted to view him; and, early in the morning of St. Andrew's day, it was huried in one of the chapels of the ahbey. Mr, Allen, Thus fell one of the most ambitious men, and at the same time one of the ablest ministers of state that ever lived. In our short discussion it has been impossible to enter into his merits as a statesman, but it is well known, that during his administration England became a country formidable to all the powers of Europe. With respect to his private character, he was proud and haughty in prosperity; and for some time at least, abject and cowardly in adversity. His ^ices were of the most disgraceful kind; but it is acknowledged that he was an encourager of learning, that he patronized and cultivated the polite and useful arts ; and was undoubtedly a liberal friend to the poor. Here Sir Charles terminated the discussion, and proposed that it should be resumed on the ensuing eveninff. THIRD EVENING. Edmund next proposed the life of Sir Thomas More; stating, that he had been chancellor in the reign of Henry the Eighth, and had succeeded Car- dinal Wolsey in that office. Frederic recollected that he was the son of Sir John More, a person of great reputation in the law ; and afterwards one of the judges of the court of Common Pleas : that he had been born in London in the year 1480 ; and that after the usual education in the University of Oxford, he had studied in one of the inns of court. To a remark from Mr. Allen, that he had not been very partial to the profes- sion of the law, Frederic replied that he had not, and that his propensity was strongly towards a monastic SIR THOMAS MORE. 21 life. He said, that notwithstanding his father's anxious desire that he should become eminent at the bar, and the success which for some time had attended his practice in the law. More subsequently declined that profession ; and, till the death of Henry the Seventh, lived in retirement. Sir Charles, How was his time chiefly occupied in this retirement? Frederic, He applied himself with great assiduity to acquire a knowledge of the French language, history, mathematics, and general literature. Edmund, But early in the reign of Henry the Eighth he was induced to leave his retreat. His talents re- commended him to the notice of that monarch, by whom he was knighted, successively promoted to seve- ral high offices in the state; and at length, on the dis- grace of Cardinal Wolsey, to that of chancellor. Mr, Allen, Henry, fickle as he was in his general conduct, seems to have entertained a very sincere regard for Sir Thomas More. Edmund, He did ; for of all his servants none appear to have been treated by him with so much kindness and good humour as he. Frederic, The cheerfulness of his temper, and his general fund of wit, as well as of good sense, rendered his company in general highly acceptable to the king. At times, Henry would take him to the leads of his palace, to be instructed in the variety, the courses, and the motions of the heavenly bodies. He would also order him to be sent for in an evening to make himself and the queen merry at supper. But this after awhile occurred so often, that Sir Thomas, it is said, could not even once a month obtain perniission to pass an even- ing with his wife and children, whom he tenderly loved ; nor be absent from the court for two days suc- cessively. He consequently became uncomfortable at the restraint, and, by gradually dissembling his cheer- fulness, at last recovered the command of his leisure. Edmund. I have read that on one occasion, the 22 STATESMEN. king came unexpectedly to his house at Chelsea and dined ; and, that after dinner, he walked with him in his garden for nearly an hour, having, during the whole time, his arm thrown carelessly round Sir Thomas's neck. Mr. Allen, An anecdote has been related concerning this familiarity, which shows the opinion that Sir Tho- mas More, even thus early, entertained of the character of Henry. As soon as the king was gone, Mr. Roper, son-in-law of Sir Thomas, remarked how happy he ought to esteem himself in being thus favoured by the king. '' It hank our Lord," he replied, '' I find his grace my very good lord indeed, and I believe he doth as singularly favour me as any subject within this realm. However, son Roper, I may tell you I have no cause to be proud thereof; for if my head would win him a castle in France, it would not fail to go." Lady Irivin, How severe a reflection on the fickle and unprincipled character of Henry was this ! Sir Charles. Mr. Allen has related an anecdote proving the correct judgment of Sir Thomas More : I will give you an extraordinary one of his presence of mind. He was one day standing on the leads of his bouse, when an insane person, without having been observed by any one, went up to him. The man, who was stout and of athletic form, was about to seize and throw him over the parapet, crying, '' leap, Tom, leap." Sir Thomas, unable to struggle with one so much stronger than himself, and having accidentally a little dog with him, had recourse to stratagem. ''Let us throw the dog down first,'^ said he, *' and see what sport that will make." The man assented, and the dog was thrown down. " Is not that fine sport ?" observed the chancellor; '' Let us now fetch him up and try it again." The man went down with that intention ; on which Sir Thomas fastened the door, and called for assistance. Edmund and Frederic. It was indeed an admirable contrivance. Sir Charles. Do you recollect, Edmund, how he is SIR THOMAS MORE. 23 said to have conducted himself in his capacity of chancellor ? Edmund, I do, sir, perfectly. It was remarked, that Wolsey's pride had rendered him almost inacces- sible to any except persons in the higher ranks of life ; but of More it was said, that the meaner the persons were who came before him, the more attentively he heard their business, and the more readily he dis- patched it. His integi-ity as chancellor was universally acknowledged. Sir Charles, He was undoubtedly a man of great worth and integrity; and although he lived much at court, and was of cheerful and animated disposition, he nevertheless retained a deep sense of religion. Be- sides his private prayers, it was his constant custom to read the Psalms and the Litany with his wife and chil- dren every morning ; and at night, with his whole family, to read in his chapel the Psalms and Collects. It was his undeviating practice to spend some part of every day both in study and devotion. Mr. Allen. Notwithstanding all this, it must be ac- knowledged, even by greatest admirers, that he dis- played on many occasions an highly culpable hostility towards those who differed from him in religious opinions. He was a rigid Papist; and partook, to such an extent, in the prosecution of the reformers of the churcli, that he can only be excused on the principles of conscience, aiid his general good character. Wolsey had formerly given offence to Henry the Eighth on the subject of his divorce, for the purpose of marrying Anne Boleyn ; and now it was the misfortune of More to do the same. Frederic, He certainly must have been a very con- scientious man : for rather than assent to the wishes of the king in this particular, he voluntarily chose to sur- render all his dignities ; and, though he had a family wholly dependent upon him, had realized no fortune, and by this procedure was left almost without the 24 STATESMEN. means of support, he retired, with unparalleled dig- nity, to domestic life in his house at Chelsea. Lady Irwin, I think he might have contrived to retain at least some of his offices, for the maintenance of his family. Sir Charles, Yes, my dear, and so did his wife, who was a worldly minded woman, and does not seem to have been a very polished one. *' Tilly, vally," said she to him on hearing his determination, **what will you do, Mr. More ? Will you sit and make goslings in the coals ? I would that I were a man, you should quickly see what I would do ! I would not be so foolish as to be ruled where I might rule." Lady Irwin, Indeed her language was not very ele- gant ; but what did Sir Thomas reply to so strange a rebuke ? Sir Charles, *' By my faith, wife," he said, '' I believe you speak truly, for I have never yet found you willing to be ruled f and immediately changed the subject of conversation. I ought to remark, that this was not Sir Thomas More's first wife, for with her he had at all times lived in the most cordial affection. Mr, Allen, It does not appear that his misfortunes terminated with the loss of his offices. Frederic, No, sir, that was but a prelude to his com- plete overthrow; and, at last, to his execution on a public scaffold. His enemies, for every man in so ele- vated a station must have enemies, now used all their influence to ruin him. Numerous accusations were brought against him; but the purity and integrity of his conduct were only rendered the more conspicuous the more minutely they were examined. At last he was accused of high treason, on the gi^ound that he had refused to take an oath respecting the succession to the crown, purposely worded in such a manner as to render it impossible for him conscientiously to take it. Mr, Allen, All this might easily have been avoided by the persons in power, and without the least injury SIR THOMAS MORE. 2.3 to tke crown, but their express object in it was edec- tually to ruin oaie whom they feared tlie king's still existing partiality might be induced to reinstate. Lady Irwin. That was very wicked indeed. Frederic, He was now committed to the tower of London, and after havmg been imprisoned there many months, was tried, and condemned to suffer death as a traitor. Lady Irivin, But could the king, fickle as he w as in many particulars, suffer his former favourite, the gene- ral integrity of whose character was unimpeachable, so unfeelingly to be destroyed ? Frederic, Henry certainly was anxious to save his life, and from time to time sent to liim confidential persons, to induce him if possible to change his mind, under a promise, if he w^ould do so, of a free pardon. . Wearied out by their importunities, he at last told one of them that " he had changed it." The courtier hastened to the king with the news. Henry doubted the fact, and without delay sent to the tower to inquire in w^hat particulars Sir Thomas had changed his mind. He smiled and replied, that " he had in- tended to be shaved before he was executed, but that he w as now resolved his beard should share the same fate as his head." Sir Charles, Thus it appears that, even under the pressure of the most afflicting circumstances, the natu- ral cheerfulness of his disposition did not forsake him. Many proofs of this have been mentioned. Edmund, When he w as first committed to the tow er, the Ueutenant apologized that he was unable to accom- modate him in the mamier he w ished without incurring the displeasure of the king. " Master lieutenant,'' said Sir Thomas, " when I find fault with the entertain- ment you provide for me, do you turn me out ot* doors." Sir Charles. His wife visited him in prison; you recollect the tenor of one of their conversations. She now said she '' w as astonished that he, who had al\v civs 2G STATESMEN. been reputed a wise man, should so play the fool as to be content to be shut up in a close and filthy prison with rats and mice, when he might enjoy hi» liberty and the king's favour, if he would but do as** all the bishops and other learned men had done :'' sTie told him that '* he had a good house to live in, and that if he pleased he might enjoy every comfort his heart could desire." He heard her patiently, and then asked, " whether the house he was now in were not as nigh to heaven as his own/" He told her that ** if he were under ground but seven years, and came to his house again, he should find those in it who would bid him begone, and tell him it was none of his. Be- sides,'^ he said, " his stay in it was so uncertain, that as any man would be but a bad merchant who should put himself in danger to lose eternity even for a thou- sand years, so how much more if he were not sure to enjoy it even to the end of one day T Frederic, And he maintained the same cheerfulness of conduct at the scaffold which he had exhibited throughout his life. On ascending the stairs, he found them so weak and crazy that he was fearful of falling. He therefore addressed himself to the lieutenant for assistance. '' Pray, master lieutenant," said he, '' see me safe up, and as for my coming down I can then shift for myself." Sir Charles, But this was not all. Frederic, No, sir. A little while after he had finished his prayers he turned to the executioner, and observing him sad and dejected, told him to pluck up his spirits. *' Be not afraid, man," he said, '' to do your office ; but as my neck is short, take great care you do not strike awry for your own credit's sake." Then laying his head on the block, he desired the executioner to stay a moment until he had put aside his beard; for '' that," he observed, " had never com- mitted treason:" and his head was severed from his body at one blow. This event took place on the fifth of July, J 535, and in the fifty-fifth year of his age. SIR FRANCIS BACON. !>7 Mr, Allen. As Sir Thomas More died under a settled Lope of immortality, he no doubt thought any unusual degree of sorrow and concern improper on such an occasiont as had nothing in it that could deject or terrify him. Sir Charles, Certainly ; and Mr. Addison has well re- marked on this subject, that what was only philosophy in him, would have been insanity in any one who did not resemble him in the natural cheerfulness of his dis- position, and in the sanctity of his life and manners. Mr. Allen, We cannot but revere the character of this amiable and excellent man, whose erudition, lite- rary acquirements and accomplishments, rendered him an ornament to his countiy ; and whose fortitude, piety, incorruptible integrity, and generous contempt of riches and external honours, have elevated him to a rank equal to that of the most celebrated characters of ancient Greece or Rome. There was only wanting to him a better cause, and more freedom from weakness and super- stition. As it was, he acted according to his principles and his own sense of duty : and though these may not accord with our notions of what is right, his con- stancy and integrity must at least be objects of our admiration. It was remarked, in conclus^ion, by Mr. Allen, that Sir Thomas More was the author of several works written in Latin; particularly a '' History of King: Richard the Third,'* and a kind of political romance entitled '' Utopia," both of which since his time have been translated into the English language. FOURTH EVENING. Edmund. The character of Sir Thomas More affords, in many particulars, an extraordinary contrast to that of Sir Francis Bacon; in those points especially in which he exhibited so marked a dis- c 2 28 STATESMEN. interestedness of conduct, and so dignified a contempt of wealth. Sir Charles. We must ever lament that a man, who for his splendid talents and extensive learnmg has been styled the glory and the ornament of his age and nation, should so unworthily have degraded himself as he did. Edmund, Before we proceed with his character it may perhaps be desirable 1 should relate that he was the youngest son of Sir Nicholas Bacon, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal in the reign of Queen Eliza- beth; that he was born in London in the month of January, 1560, and was educated in Trinity College, Cambridge. Sir Charles, Was there any thing remarkable re- specting his early years ? Edmund. When very young he displayed such un- usual indications of talent, and at the same time was so assiduous in his studies, that he became the admiration of all who knew him. Queen Elizabeth was so much delighted with the solidity of liis sense, and the gravity of his behaviour, that, in allusion to the office of his father, she often called him '' her young lord keeper." Sir Charles. In time he became a lawyer ; and, by his talents and application, attained great eminence at the bar. Edmund, True, sir; but this did not prevent him from studying politics and history, and attaining a knowledge of philosophy and general literature more extensive than that of any person of his own time. Mr, Allen. From all these ciixumstances, and from the great influence of his father, we might have been led to imagine that even early in life Bacon would have attained some elevated rank in the state. Edmund, This was not the case during the reign of Elizabeth. From her successor, James the First, how- ever, he received the honour of knighthood; and was successively appointed solicitor general, a judge of the SIR FRANCIS BACON. 20 marshars court, attorney general, admitted a mem])er of the privy council, and in the year 1616 was pro- moted to the office of lord chancellor. Mr, Allen, As he was subsequently degraded from this high office, it may not be improper to consider a little what his conduct was before he attained it. Frederic, Edmund has formed a very unfavourable opinion of this great man ; but to me it appears that, previously to his having been made chancellor nothing more injurious has been laid to his charge than that, as most other persons would be, he was eager to obtain preferment. In many difficult circumstances he certainly acquitted himself to the general satis- faction. Edmund, Indeed, Frederic, I wish you would point out to me a few of the instances. . Frederic, Most willingly. When he was practising as a barrister in the reign of Elizabeth, and anxiously courting the royal favour, a person whose name was Haywarde, in the hope probably of exciting distur- bances in the country, wrote a book which purported to contain an account of the events of the first year of the reign of Henry the Fourth. The queen was of opinion that the contents were of a treasonable nature. She sent for Bacon to inquire of him whether passages in it could not be found, on which a charge of treason might be grounded. He frankly told her majesty he could discover nothing treasonable in the book ; though it contained much that was felonious. She eagerly asked him in what particulars. Bacon replied, that the '* author had committed very apparent theft: for he had stolen most of his sentences from Tacitus, the Roman historian." The queen was not satisfied with this; and afterwards imagining that Haywarde was not the writer of the book, but that it was the production of some person more powerful and more mischievous than he, proposed that by the torture of the rack he should be compelled to discover who the writer was. ^' Nay, madam," Bacon promptly replied, *' do not 30 STATESMEN. rack his person, but rack his style. Let him have pens, ink, and paper, and the help of books, and let him be enjoined to continue his story from the place where it leaves off, and I will undertake, by collating ilie styles, to judge whether he be the author or not." Edmund, I could wish to have other proofs than this. Frederic. In the very difficult and perplexed affairs of state during the reign of James the First, wheli he held the important office of attorney general, Sir Francis Bacon behaved with so much prudence and moderation, and with such impartiality and integrity both in that office and in parliament, that his con- duct does not appear to have been called in ques- tion even by his enemies; nor has malice itself ever uttered any thing to his reproach. At this time he was not only a favourite servant of the king, but was held in great esteem by the people. Edmund, I am not easy to be convinced of the integrity, during any part of his life, of a man, greatly as he has been esteemed on account of his talents, whose dishonesty has in some instances been proved, and whose arrogance towards his inferiors, and obse- quiousness toAvards his superiors, have in more than one instance been rendered evident. I will relate to you an anecdote on this subject. During the absence of James the First in Scotland, Sir Francis Bacon, then Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, as the head of the privy council, had the manage- ment of the public affairs. And how did he conduct himself? Assuming all the ^* pomp and circumstance of royalty " he took possession of his majesty's lodgings, gave audience in the great banquetting-house, and behaved with the utmost arrogance towards his brother counsellors ; he would not even open or read in public the letters of the Duke of Buckingham, the king's favourite, though these letters were stated to have re- quired dispatch ; and in some instances at least he did not ('ondescend to answer them. But when informed that SIR FRANCIS BACON. 31 James was on his return, how i SIR FRANCIS DACON. 33 time his bodily infirmities increased. He now plainly perceived he had not much longer to live. By the severe winter of 1625 his health was greatly injured; but the spring reviving his spirits, he made a little excursion into tlie country, to try some experiments in natural philosophy. Here being suddenly taken ill, he ex- pired after a week's indisposition, on the ninth of April, 1626, in the sixty-seventh year of his age. Frederic, Mr. Addison has remarked, that Sir Francis Bacon possessed at once all those extraordi- nary talents which were divided amongst the greatest authors of antiquity ; and that we are at a loss which most to admire in his writings, strength of reason, force of style, or brilliancy of imagination. Sir Charles, Of what clid these writings consist? Frederic, Of dissertations, treatises, and essays on various subjects, philosophical, moral, political, and historical. They have all lately been collected and published, in ten volumes, in octavo. Mr, Allen, With respect to the character of Bacon, Ave must ever lament the moral defects that were inter- woven with his intellectual excellencies. But in fact the nobler his conceptions were, the more culpable was his obliquity of conduct ; and from this mortifying instance of human frailty, we ought to draw the in- structive inference, how greatly superior the pursuits of intellect are above those of ambition. Had Bacon been contented to be a philosopher, without aspiring to the honours of a statesman and a courtier, and had that sense of religion, which appears to have been prevalent in his mind, had its due weight over his conduct, he would beyond all comparison have been a greater, a better, and a happier man than he was. c 3 34 STATESMEN. FIFTH EVENING. The next life proposed for discussion was that of Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, well known as the author of a *' History of the Great Rebellion," in the reign of Charles the First. Edmund, The different accounts that I have read concur in representing Lord Clarendon to have de- scended from an ancient family, and to have been born in Wiltshire in the year 1608. He was edu- cated first in the country, afterwards at Magdalen Hall, Oxford; and lastly, he studied the law under his uncle. Sir Nicholas Hyde, in Lincoln's Inn. Mr. Allen, Did he not suffer much from illness in the early part of his life ? Frederic, He did; but this eventually proved of benefit to him. Mr. Allen, In what respect? Frederic, His illness had, in some degree, been occasioned by dissipated habits that he had acquired whilst in college ; and during its continuance he was induced to reflect on the misery that would follow from indulgence in such habits, and at length to cease from them. Mr, Allen. That was wisely done. Frederic, And as vicious society had nearly proved his ruin, he was resolved for the future to associate only with the upright and the good ; and instead of always desiring, like men of low habits, to be at the head of their company, he was never so proud as when he was the lowest of his party. His wisdom was conspi- cuous in many particula):*s. Edmund. I think it was so when, on his business as a lawyer increasing to a great extent, he determined not to sacrifice to the desire of wealth those relaxations without which life would have lost its sweetest charms. Even when his mornings were occupied in courts of law, and most of his afternoons were engaged in pre- EARL OF CLARENDON. n/> paring for them, he still contrived to find time, in the evenings and night, for relaxation and the study of general literature. Sir Charles, He Avas fond of the enjoyments of social life. Edmund, Few persons appear to have been more so. Mr. Allen, Consequently he had the greater merit for resisting the temptations that might have led him to enter into them so deeply as to have broken in upon his studies. Many young men would have been induced, by similar inclinations with his, to have become dissipated, and thus to have ruined not merely their prospects in the world, but even their health and their happiness. Sir Charles. Another circumstance has been men- tioned to the credit of Mr. Hyde at this period of his life. Edmund, I know to what you allude, sir : that he never courted the company of the great, either by improper compliances or by degrading flatteries; that he scorned to dissemble his opinions, even where he knew they would prove unacceptable; but that he chose rather to acquire reluctant respect by liis honesty, than less creditable favour by servility. Mr, Allen, This was admirable conduct. But what on the other hand has been said? That he was proud, passionate, and disputatious Edmund, True; but allow me to conclude your sentence, by stating that, at length, he so completely subdued the infirmities of his temper, that he became distinguished both for courtesy and affability. Sir Charles, As Mr. Hyde had shortly to act a conspicuous part in the affairs of state, it is an impor- tant point that we should be informed what was his general character. Frederic, Of that T can inform you, sir. Himself a Christian from conviction, he was conscientiously zealous to promote the cause of Christianity. As to his peculiar tenets, he was firmly attached to the doc- 36 STATESMEN. trines and worship of the established church. His integrity was unblemished, his friendship strong, and his personal attachment to Charles the First, aided by a conviction in his own mind of the justice of his cause, induced him to adhere to that monarch through all the reverses of his life. Sir Charles, After the death of the king what befel him? Frederic, Resident in Paris, he w^as reduced to great distress. He has assured us that one winter he had " neither clothes nor fire to preserve him from the severity of the season; that he wanted both clothes and shirts ; and that the Marquis of Ormond was in no better condition than himself" He further states, that they owed for all the meat they had eaten (at an obscure chop-house) for three months, to a poor woman who was no longer able to trust them ; and he adds, ** my poor family at Antwerp, which it breaks my heart to think of, is in as sad a state as I am ; and the king (meaning Charles the Second) as bad as either of us." Mr, Allen, Notwithstanding this he continued to maintain the same upright conduct; and, while some of the king's followers were with their religion re- nouncing their country, and others in greater number were making their peace with the existing government, Mr. Hyde regarded each of these measures as de- grading and dishonest. His wife, with a magna- nimity worthy of such a husband, was, in the mean time, supporting herself and her family at Antwerp with the most rigid economy. Sir Charles, But why had he been separated from his family? Frederic, Because he had been in attendance on the young king ; but his presence becoming no longer requisite, he joined his family at Antwerp, and they afterwards removed to a house which they were al- lowed to occupy rent-free at Breda. His fidelity caused the king (though England was still in the power EARL OF CLARENDON. 37 of an usurper) to appoint him Lord Chancellor, an office which he at first rejected, from a notion that, in the present state of affairs, it was unnecessary. Edmund, The death of Cromwell, with the various consequent revolutions, at length brought about the restoration of Charles the Second. The chancellor was now created a peer of the realm, by the title of Baron Hyde; and in the following year he received the further dignity of earl, and was styled Earl of Clarendon. Frederic, T am inclined to consider Lord Claren- don as, on the whole, a man of integrity ; but his temporizing conduct in the reign of Charles the Se- cond, relative to the dissipation of the court, was certainly very unbecoming. Sir Charles, Relate the particular circumstance, Frederic, on which you have founded this opinion. Frederic, Charles, it is well known, was a thought- less and dissipated character himself, and his principles soon infected so many of his nobility, that at length the excessive dissipation into which the court fell became the subject of public animadversion. Charles could not endure that his vices should be the current topic of discourse, and applied to the chancellor to devise some remedy for this growing evil. Clarendon agreed that it ought to be repressed ; and instead of assuring his master that the reformation of his own conduct was the most effectual mode of silencing the clamour of the people, complaisantly proposed two expedients. One of these was to suppress the coffee- houses where the subject was chiefly discussed, the other was to employ spies, who should accuse and bring to trial such persons as spoke the most licen- tiously. The privy council, however, wisely rejected them both. Edmund, I allow that his conduct on this occasion was very blameable, and am son'y for it; but before we entirely condemn him, we should know how far 38 STATESMEN. the king compelled him to recommend these violent measures. All must acknowledge that at least the system pursued by the chancellor in the judicial ad- ministration of the country deserves the highest praise. He exhibited a love of liberty, and filled every depart- ment with men of known talents and character. Some learned and incorruptible judges, who had sat on the bench in the time of Cromwell, were again elevated to the same situation. Frederic, But what I have related is not all. Lord Clarendon at least gave his assent to a very rigorous and tyrannical measure against the clergy, by imposing upon them an oath that '* in their judgment no oppres- sion nor cruelty on the part of the sovereign could justify his subjects in taking arms against his autho- rity." Sir Charles. And what, Frederic, was the conse- quence of this? Frederic. That more than two thousand conscien- tious ministers, refusing to take the oath, were expelled from their benefices. Edmund. But the whole blame of this measure ought not to be imputed to Clarendon ; and if it w ere, we cannot easily forget that those who preceded him in power, had themselves set the example by expelling a great number of conscientious clergymen, who did not choose to submit to the presbyterian discipline. Permit me further to observe, that in Clarendon's conduct we can in no instance discover the slightest principle of selfishness ; and we must acknowledge that his actions at least were intended for the public good. Though his own fortune was originally inconsiderable, and though it had greatly suffered in the late commotions, he could not without the utmost difficulty be prevailed with to accept of any grants for its reparation. Mr. Allen. It has been asserted that the king at one period entertained so high an opinion of the services of Clarendon, that he used to direct the privy comicil EARL OF CLARENDON. 30 to be summoned in this minister's bed-room, when alflicted with the gout, rather than lose the benefit of his advice in the management of pubUc affairs. Edmund, Such appears to have been the case; but Clarendon had soon to experience how precarious the favours of so unprincipled a monarch were. The mar- riage (without his knowledge) of his daughter to the Duke of York, afterwards James the Second, first gave offence to the king. A breach was thus opened for his enemies to prejudice Charles against him on other grounds; and his fall was now nearly as rapid as that of any of his predecessors in office had been. He was compelled to resign his situation of chancellor ; and, to avoid an impeachment by the house of com- mons, was advised to escape to the continent. This he did, and an act of parliament was passed banishing him for ever from the British dominions. Sir Charles, Do you recollect the very absurd man- ner in which the enemies of Clarendon contrived to prejudice the king against him? Frederic, I do. The personal behaviour of the chancellor was accompanied by a gravity, and in some degree by a haughtiness of manner which operated, in many respects, as a constraint upon the licentious- ness of the court. He sometimes presumed to advise the king respecting the impropriety of his conduct. The courtiers in consequence are known to have said to him, in several instances, whilst Clarendon was passing, '^ There goes your majesty's schoolmaster.'^ The Duke of Buckingham often mimicked the chan- cellor in the presence of the king, walking in a stately manner witli a pair of bellows before him, to represent the purse in which the great seal was kept ; and Colonel Titus at the same time carrying a fire-shovel on his shoulder for the mace. This absurd merriment delighted the silly monarch ; and, disgraceful as it was to his judgment, he appears to have been first led by it to desert perhaps the most faithful and upright counsellor he ever possessed. 40 STATESMEN. Mr. Allen. We are now come to tlie close of his life. Frederic. Clarendon retired into France, and after having lived in various parts of that country, at last fixed his residence at Montpelier, where he completed his '' History of the Rebellion,'' and drew up those memoirs of his private views and transactions which have thrown so much important light upon the inci- dents and individuals of those times. After awhile he quitted Montpelier, and went to Rouen, where he died, in the month of December, 1674, and the sixty- third year of his age. Edmund. What, on the whole, can we say respect- ing the character of Lord Clarendon? Sir Charles. That he was unquestionably a lover of truth, and a sincere friend to the free constitution of his country : that he defended that constitution in parlia- ment with zeal and energy ; and on the other hand, that he opposed with equal determination those con- tinually increasing demands of the parhament, which appeared to him to threaten the existence of the monarchy itself; desirous if possible to conciKate the mainte- nance of public liberty, with the preservation of public peace. His chief failing seems to have been too entire devotion to a prince who did not deserve his attachment. His History of the Rebellion, which comprises one of the most candid accounts that ever was v>ritten of events that have occurred during the life-time of the writer, is an honourable proof of his talent. It does not contain a dry detail of facts, or a minute and cir- cumstantial account of persons, times, or places, but by the incidental lights which it throws upon them, it makes us acquainted, as it were, with the persons themselves of whom it speaks. Lord Clarendon was decidedly a party writer, but his representations are, for the most part, fair and moderate ; and a pecuUar air of probity runs through his whole work. KARL OF CHATHAM. 41 SIXTH EVENING. Edmund this evening stated, that much as he had admired^ the character of Lord Clarendon, there had lived since his time another statesman of equal inte- grity, and of still greater talent. He alluded to the late William Pitt, Earl of Chatham. In reply to a question from his sister, Edmund said he was the second son of Robert Pitt, Esq. of Boconnoc, in Cornwall, and that he had been born on the fifteenth of November, 1708. He further observed that he had been educated, on the foundation at Eton, and after- wards as a gentleman commoner at Trinity College, Oxford. Frederic. Lord Chatham does not appear to have distinguished himself in early life as a scholar : he was certainly not a good Grecian. Mr, Allen, True : but this must not be attributed to any disinclination for study, but rather to his having, ' even when a youth, been so severely afflicted with the gout that at last he was compelled to quit the univer- sity without taking a degree. In the hope of alle- viating in some measure this distressing complaint, he was ordered to make a tour of the continent. Accom- panied by a private tutor he consequently went through various parts of France and Italy ; but he almost in- variably employed his leisure hours in the cultivation and improvement of his mind. Edmund, On his return he entered into the army, and became an officer in a regiment of horse ; but he early discovered that ** the senate and not the camp, the cabinet and not the field," were the scenes for which his abilities were best calculated. He soon obtained a seat in parliament. Sir Charles, And what, Edmund, was his conduct in parliament? Edmund, He usually voted in opposition to the measures of j2fovernment. 42 STATESMEN. Sir Charles, In whose reign was this ? Ed^^.vMd, The reign of George the Second, and about cvverity years before the present king came to the throne. Sir Robert Walpole was then prime minister ; and he with asingular littleness of mind sought to punish the aspiring youth by depriving him of his commission in tae army. But so far was this conduct from having had the effect which he expected, that it only tended to raise Mr. Pitt in the estimation of the public; and he soon afterwards became a leader or principal speaker in the house of commons on the side of the opposition. Mr, Allen. The minister often felt the severity of his reproofs. One day in particular Horace Walpole, the brother of Sir Robert, having illiberally attacked Mr. Pitt, for what he termed the presumptuous man- ner in which so young a man had ventured to address that assembly, he replied, '* Sir, the crime of being a young man, with Avhich the honourable gentleman has charged me, I shall neither attempt to palliate nor deny ; but content myself with hoping I may be one of those whose follies cease with their youth, and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of expe- rience. Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach I will not presume to determine; but 1 will say that age becomes justly contemptible if the opportunities which it brings have been passed without improvement, and if vice prevails when the passions have subsided." He proceeded to considerable length, and in a strain of eloquent invective that has seldom been equalled. Sir Charles. On a change of ministry, in the year 1746, Mr. Pitt came into office, and was appointed a member of the privy council, and treasurer and pay- master general of the army. Mr. Allen. In this situation he is said to have dis- played great disinterestedness. Many of his prede- cessors in office obtained considerable emoluments in addition to their regular salary, by the large balances KARL OF CHATHAM. 43 of public money in their hands ; but Mr. Pitt is be- lieved, on no occctsion, to have derived emolument from them. He did not long continue in office. Edmund, He opposed some of the measures of the crown, and was dismissed; but his talents and his integrity were such tliat, in 1756, on the forming of a new administration, he was appointed one of the secre- taries of state. Sir Charles. What was the consequence of this arrangement ? Edmund, A degree of vigour and activity through every department of the state which astonished the people, and excited consternation in the enemies of the country. England, under the administration of Mr. Pitt, was raised from a state of depression and disgrace to the highest pitch of glory. Not a ship nor a man were suffered to remain unemployed ; and Europe, Asia, and Africa, all soon felt the influence of liis talents. Frederic, A singular instance of the promptness and activity of Mr. Pitt has been mentioned, in the fitting out of a fleet for an expedition on foreign ser- vice. He directed that the ships which were requi- site sliould all be equipped and in readiness in three weeks. Lord Anson, who was then First Lord of the Admiralty, stated that it was impossible to comply with this order ; that the ships could by no means be ready in so short a time ; and that he wished to know where they were going, that he might victual them accordmgly. Mr. Pitt replied, that '' if tli« ships were not at their destination by the time he had men- tioned, he would lay the matter before the king, and impeach his lordship in the house of commons.'* This spirited menace caused an activity to which the country had hitherto been unaccustomed, and the ships were all prepared and in perfect order by the time appointed. Edmund, In the duties of his office Mr. Pitt was I 44 STATESMEN. exact and diligent beyond example. He gave up his whole time to business, and none' to parade. Well informed of the practicability of his orders before they were issued, he was always peremptory in insisting upon the execution of them. M7\ Allen, It does not appear that any minister possessed more of the public confidence than Mr. Pitt. For a considerable time opposition was scarcely even heard of. Nearly all his projects proved successful; so that almost the whole navy of France was annihi- lated, and scarcely a colony or a settlement was left to her in any part of the world. Edmund. After the accession of his present majesty a misunderstanding took place which induced Mr. Pitt to retire from office; but his services were ac- knowledged and rewarded by his lady being created Baroness of Chatham, and himself receiving an annuity of ^3000 ; which was to be continued during his own life, that of his lady, and that of his eldest son. Sir Charles, This excellent statesman was at all times a determined opposer of arbitrary measures; and when, in the year 1764, the question of general warrants, as it was called, was agitated in the house of commons, Mr. Pitt maintained their illegality with unusual energy. He asserted that " by such warrants the most innocent person might be dragged from his bed, and committed to prison; that all his secrets might be exposed, and his papers converted into evi- dences against himself. And how," he continued, '^ shall this be reconciled with the British constitu- tion ? It is a maxim of our law that ' every English- man's house is his castle.' Not that it is surromided by walls and battlements : it may be a straw-built shed; every wind of heaven may whistle round it; all the elements of nature may enter in ; but the king - cannot, the king dare not enter/' Mr, Allen. There was a freedoin and an honesty in his speeches which must have excited the admiration EARL OF CH/VTHAM. 45 of every independent hearer; and which would never have heen tolerated in an arbiti^arj government. Edmund, We find him again in office during the administration of the Marquis of Rockingham. He was now removed to the house of peers, having been created Earl of Chatham, and appointed to the situa- tion of Lord Privy Seal: this, which was the last public office that he filled, he relinquished in the month of November, 1768. He was now so much tormented by the gout, as often to be rendered incapable of public business. But in the intervals of his disorder, and sometimes even under its visitation, he exerted himself in parliament with astonishing vigour. He strongly reprobated the measures that produced the American war. Sir Charles, It was on the 8tli of April, 1778, and on a motion for the dismissal of ministers, after the American colonies had succeeded in establishing their independence, that he attended in parliament for the l^st time. Perhaps, Frederic, you can relate the ac- count of his death. Frederic, I will endeavour to do so. He entered the house in an extremely feeble and emaciated state, leaning on two friends, and wrapped in flannel. His visage was so pale and shrunk that he looked like a dying man, though there never was seen a figure of greater dignity. He rose from his seat with slowness and difficulty, leaning on his crutches, and supported under the arms by his friends. The purport of his speech is well known. The reverence, the attention, the stillness of the house while he spoke, was most affecting. At first he seemed to labour under a diffi- culty of utterance, occasioned by his severe indispo- sition ; but as he grew warm in the debate, his voice rose, and was as harmonious as ever. He recited the whole history of the American war; of all the mea- sures to which he had objected, and all the evils he ^A predicted; and declared ^'that he would rather be in his grave than see the lustre of the British throne 46 STATESMEN. tarnished, the dignity of the empire disgraced, the glory of the nation sunk to such a degree as it must be under the acknowledgment by Great Britain of Ame- rican independence." The Duke of Richmond ad- dressed the house in reply; and Lord Chatham rose to answer him. His whole soul seemed agitated ; but his feelings proved too strong for his debilitated con- stitution to sustain: his strength failed, and he fell backwards in a convulsive fit. He was instantly sup- ported by those that were near him, and every one was anxious to yield him assistance. The windows were tlrrown open to give him air; the house ad- journed, and he was carried to the residence of a Mr. Sergent in Downing-street. From thence he was re- moved to his seat at Hayes in Kent, and was placed in his bed, from which he never afterwards rose. He died on the eleventh of May, 1778, in the seventieth year of his age, and about a month after his attack in the house of lords. Mr, Allen, The remains of Lord Chatham, in testi- mony of the eminent services he had rendered to his country, were interred at the public expense in Westminster Abbey, where a monument was after- wards erected to his memory. An annuity of <£4000 was also granted to his heirs. Sir Charles. I will read you the character that Lord Chesterfield has drawn of this venerable states- man : it appears to have been the result of close and candid observation. '* His private life was stained by no vice, nor sullied by any meanness. All his senti- ments were liberal and elevated. His ruling passion was an unbounded ambition, which when supported by great abilities, and crowned with great success, makes what the world calls * a great man.' He was haughty, imperious, impatient of contradiction, and overbearing; qualities which too often accom- pany, but always clog great ones. He had man- ners and address; but one might discern through them too great a consciousness of his own superior EARL OF CHATHAM. 47 talents. He was a most agreeable and lively com- panion in social life, and had such a versatility of wit that he would adapt it to all sorts of conversation. He had also a most happy turn for poetry, but he seldom indulged, and more seldom avowed it. His eloquence was of every kind, and he excelled in the argumentative, as well as the declamatory way. But his invectives were teirible, and uttered with such energy of diction, and with such dignity of action and counte- nance, that he intimidated those who were the most willing, and the best able to encounter him." Mr. Allen. Lord Chatham appears to have enter- tained correct sentiments on the subject of religion. In one of his letters to his nephew (afterwards Lord Camelford), whilst a student in the University of Cam- bridge, he says, '* If you are not right toward God, you can never be so toward man. ^ Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth,' is big with the deepest w^isdom. ' The fear of the Lord is the be- ginning of wisdom ; and an upright heart, that is understanding.' This is eternally true, whether the wits and rakes of Cambridge allow it or not : nay, I must add of this religious wisdom, * her w ays are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.' Hold fast, therefore, by this sheet-anchor of happi- ness, religion : you will often want it in the times of most danger, the storms and tempests of life. Re- member, that the essence of religion is a heart void of offence toward God and man; not subtile speculative opinions, but an active vital principle of faith !" 48 STI^TESMEN. SEVENTH EVENING. Sir Charles, Who have we next for discussion, Fre- deric ? Frederic, Three of the most eminent statemen of modern times, Mr. Burke, Mr. Pitt (the son of Lord Chatham), and Mr. Fox. 3Ir, Allen, Then I suppose we shall have a some- what animated debate. Edmund, I know not how that may be, sir; but it is certain that Frederic and I differ very much respect- ing the merits and character of all three ; but particu- larly respecting those of Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox. Sir Charles, I have no objection to that. We shall soon hear w hat you each have to say. And first we must speak of Mr. Burke; he having lived somewhat earlier in point of time to the other two. As usual, Frederic, we must inquire respecting his birth and education. Frederic, Edmund Burke was an Irishman, and born on the first of January, 1730, in the city of Dublin, where his father was an attorney of extensive practice, and great respectability. He was sent when young to an academy at Ballytore, near Carlow. Here, under the tuition of an excellent master, he devoted himself to study with great ardour and in- dustry; and was soon known as the best capper of verses in the whole school. Lady Irwin, Capper of verses, Frederic, what is that? Mr, Allen, The capping of verses is repeating any one line out of the classics, and following it by another beginning with the same letter Avith which the former line ended. This is sometimes carried on, in the way of literary contest between two boys, and causes an emu- lation for reading which is above the ordinary line of duty, and at tlie same time calls out and strengthens the powers of the memory. It seems that Burke not only took the lead in this, but in all general exer- EDMUND BURKK. 49 cises; and was considered the l)est Greek and Latin scholar in the school. Frederic. I was amused with an anecdote which shows the gi*eat versatility of his genius even when very young. The boys were one day permitted to have a holiday to go to the assizes at Carlow, and see the procession; but the condition of this holiday was, that the senior boys should each write in Latin verse an account of what they had seen. Burke not only wrote his own, but the exercises of several of the other boys. One of them however applied too late to allow of his bestowing any serious attention on his exercise, particularly as nearly all his ideas had been exhausted, by the multiplicity of the exercises he had written. He tidied to obtain some hints from the youth in question, but found he conld recollect few other objects than a fat piper, in a brown coat. Burke accordingly began in doggrel Latin, " Piper erat fattus qui hrownum tegmen liabehat :'' and went on with great fluency through many verses in the same style. Edmund, In his sixteenth year he was admitted a scholar of Trinity College, Dublin. Here, amongst other studies, he paid particular attention to those of moral philosophy , logic, and metaphysics; but while employed in obtaining knowledge to render himself useful, he did not neglect the means of making himself agreeable, in the intercourse of life. Mr, Allen, To the learning of a scholar he added the manners of a gentleman ; and he became as much admired for his pleasing conversation and habits of life, as for the force and brilliancy of his genius and the depth of his knowledge. Sir Charles. How long did Mr. Burke continue to reside in Ireland? Edmund, Only until he was twenty-three years of age. He then came to London, and was admitted a student of the Middle Temple ; where, as in every other situation, he studied with unremitting diligence. D 50 STATESMEN. Mr. Allen, It is much to his credit that, during the whole of his youth, he was eminent for temperance. He indulged in no vicious propensities, and was an example to others of the advantages that may be derived from united steadiness and application. Frederic, For some time after he was settled in London, he occupied his leisure hours in writing for different periodical works ; and his literary fame is said to have been completely established by his publication, in 1757, of a work entitled *' An Essay on the Sub- lime and Beautiful." In the following year he pro- jected the plan of an *' Annual Register" of the civil, political, and literary transactions of the times. This work was established and carried on for several years, either by Burke himself, or under his immediate in- spection. Edmund, How delightful must have been the society of a person so well informed as Mr. Burke. Mr, Allen, He was indeed the admiration and de- light of every company. Dr. Johnson used to say of him, that he was the only man whose common con- versation corresponded with the genei^al fame he had obtained by his writings. " Take up whatever topic you please," he observed, " Burke is always ready to meet you. If a man were by chance to go at the same time with Burke under a shed, he would say, ^ this is an extraordinary man ;' if he should go into a stable and see his horse drest, the ostler would say, 'we have had an extraordinary man here to-day.'" Dr. Johnson also asserted, ''that he never was in com- pany with Burke without coming away wiser than when he went." Frederic, The time was now approaching when the talents of Mr. Burke were to be displayed on the great political theatre. The Marquis of Rockingham, who was at the head of the administi-ation, appointed him his private secretary; and, not long after this, he was elected a member of parhament. Here he exhibited not only great powers of eloquence, but an astonisliing EDiMUND BURKE. 51 fuiid of information on every topic tliat he undertook to illustrate. He was soon considered at the head of tlie Rockingham party in the house of commons; and his great assiduity in preparing business for discussion, joined to his talents for speaking and writing, ftdly qualified him for whatever he had to perform. Edmund, Notwithstanding this, so extremely ver- satile was his mind, that, in the intervals of business, he could amuse himself with playing at tee-to tum or push-pin with children; or with entering intp their llioughts and feelings, in the histories of Tom Thumb and Jack the Giant-killer. Sir Charles, It has been remarked, that, in these pastimes, he would often speak for a considerable while in such a way that no one would imagine him more than an ordinary man, good humouredly amusing his young auditors; when perhaps some observation or suggestion might call his attention, on which a re- mark of the most profound wisdom would escape him, and then he would return to his tee-totum. Edmund, Part of the summer he frequently devoted to visiting his native country, or occupied in travelling through different parts of England. He sometimes went in stage-coaches, and was always found a most agreeable companion. He knew the history, physical and moral, of every place through which he passed, and never failed to entertain his fellow-ti^avellers with pleasing or useful anecdotes or remarks, according to their several capacities or inclinations. Frederic, A lady that once came in a coach with him from Yorkshire, without knowing, at the time, who he was, said that he astonished the passengers by his great fund of local knowledge, and by the anecdotes with which his conversation was mterspersed; and that they all concurred in thinking him the most en- tertaining man they had ever travelled with. Sir Charles, The ardent thirst which Mr. Burke had for the attainment of knowledge showed itself on almost every occasion. D 2 52 . STATESMEN. Frederic. Pray, Mr. Allen, repeat the story tliat you once told me of his visiting the collieries. Mr, Allen. An Irish trader happening to be in a company where Dr. Johnson and some other friends of Burke were present, he was so much delighted to hear them speak in praise of his countryman, whom he had heard to be the wisest man in England, that he said to the doctor, ^' Give me leave, sir, to tell you some- thing of Mr. Burke." He thus began : '' Mr. Burke went to see the collieries in a distant province ; and he would go down, sir, into the bowels of the earth (in a bag), and he w ould examine every thing : he went in a bag, sir, and ventured his life for knowledge ; but he took care of his clothes, that they should not be spoiled^ for he went doAvn in a bag." Lady Irwin. As Mr. Burke was so admirable a companion abroad, I am somewhat curious to know his conduct, and usual style of living in his own house. Mr. Allen. He resided much at his seat near Bea-^ consfield, in Buckinghamshire, about twenty-three miles from London; and was remarkable both in town and country for his hospitality — an hospitality of real benevolence. There was no parade of style, no osten- tatious display of side-boards, no sumptuous enter- tainments : but every thing was plain, substantial, and agreeable; with kind looks, kind manners, and a hearty welcome. When in London he would often insist on eight or ten persons of his acquaintance going home with him to eat mutton-chops or beef-steaks; and, on such occasions, he literally gave such dinners, to which indeed, with the zest of his company, few could be found equal. He loved a cheerful glass of wine, but never drank to excess. His conversation was always so animated and so flowing, and his spirits so exhi- larated, that the wine could make no addition. Sir Charles Irwin here remarked, that, although it was probable he might somewhat disappoint the ex- pectations of the young gentlemen, yet, as the con- EDMUND BURKE. 53 versation would be lengthened beyond its due bounds, if the political character of Mr. Burke were to be discussed, he should merely relate, and without com- ment, the course of his political career. On the dissolution of the ministry of which the Marquis of Rockingham was at the head, Mr. Burke (he observed) was disengaged from business, but, for some time, was a formidable opponent to the subse- quent administrations. The measures of the' adminis- tration in which Lord North was prime minister, were uniformly opposed by him, particularly those which were adopted with regard to America. The most brilliant of his speeches were made in the course of the American war ; during which, however, it is almost impossible to reconcile his principles with those that he adopted on a snbsequent occasion. The ministry was dissolved in 1782, the Marquis of Rockingham was again placed at the head of the government, and Mr. Burke was made a member of the privy council, and appointed paymaster-general of the forces. In this office he did not continue long; for the marquis died in the same year, and Mr. Burke once more fell into the ranks of opposition. The act for which he has been principally blamed, was his coming into office for a little while in the following year, under Lord North, all of whose measures he had formerly l^rofessed to hold even in abhorrence. This ministry soon failed ; and on the late Mr. Pitt, the son of Lord Chatham, being made prime minister, Burke was again in opposition. Whilst in opposition he was appointed to conduct the impeachment of Warren Hastings, Esq. governor general of Bengal, who had been accused of various crimes, said to have been committed in that country; and in the management of this trial, Mr. Burke occasionally exhibited traits of harsh and illiberal behaviour, which are entirely at variance with his general character in private life. The most important era in his political history was that of the French Revolution. As early as the year .54 - STATESMEN. 1772, Mr. Burke had foreseen the probable overthrow of religion and government in France ; and so strongly impressed was ke of the danger that might thereby occur to surrounding nations, that he could not avoid inti'oducing his sentiments on the subject in the house of commons. When the Revolution actually broke out, he predicted that torrent of anarchy and infidelity wliich for many years threatened to overwhelm the whole of civilized Europe. In consequence of this he published his celebrated '' Reflections on the French Revolution f a work which roused the attention of the people, and excited a controversy which continued for some years afterwards. Mr. Burke now associated with Mr. Pitt ; and, though neither soliciting, nor invi- ted into, any public station, he continued to write, from time to time, memorials and remarks on the state of France, and on the alliance of the great powers of Europe that was formed against the new order of things in that distracted country. After this the king assigned to him a handsome pension for life. Here Sir Charles ended. Edmund and Frederic thanked him for his recital, and he requested the former to proceed with the private history of Mr. Burke. After the acquittal of the governor general of Bengal, said Edmund, Mr. Burke retired from the bustle of pub- lic life. He vacated his seat in parliament, and resided almost wholly at his house near Beaconsfield. He now experienced a heavy domestic affliction in the death of his son. From the beginning of June, 1797, his own health rapidly declined; and, on the eighth of July, whilst one of his friends, assisted by a servant, was carrying kim into another room, he faintly uttered, '* God bless you,'^ fell back, and instantly expired, in the sixty-eiglith year of his age. Mr, Allen. You have been too concise, Edmund, in terminating the career of one of the most extraor- dinary men that have lived in modern times. Though the health of Mr. Burke dechned so rapidly, that he EDMUND BURKE. o5 plainly foresaw the near approach of his death, his mind was uncniharrassed, and his understanding ope- rated with undiminished force and uncontracted range. He contiimed regularly to perform the duties of reli- gion and benevolence. His body was in a state of constant and perceptible decay, but this was unat- tended by pain. The lamp of life was consuming fast, but was not violently extinguished. During his illness he frequently declared, what all his intimates well knew before, his thorough belief of the Christian religion, and his veneration for true Christians of all persuasions ; but his own preference of the articles of the Church of England, In that mode of faith he had been educated, and in that he persevered through life. His end was suited to the simple greatness of mind which he had displayed through life ; it was every way unaflfected; without levit}, without ostentation, full of natural grace and dignity. He appeared neither to wish for, nor to dread, the approaching hour of his dissolution. The last subjects of conversation with his friends were the inculcations of practical wisdom (juiding to temporal and eternal happiness. EIGHTH EVENING. SIR CHARLES IRWIN. — EDMUND. — FREDERIC. Sir Charles, We have to lament that Mr. Allen's engagements will prevent him from attending our con- versations either to-night or to-morrow. The benefit of his remarks will thus be lost respecting the cha- racters we shall next discuss. We must, however, pro- ceed as w^ell as we can without him. You last night said you were prepared with the life of Mr. Pitt. I may disappoint you, as I have already done with respect to Mr. Burke, by debarring political discussion, and hy taking the statement of Mr. Pitt's political life % t/d STATESMEN, upon myself. I gave you the reason for tliis procedures last night; that I may prevent the conversation from becoming too much extended. We derive, as I coii- ceive, much more real instruction from the private than the public lives of most persons. Frederic, We shall willingly assent to any arrange- ment you may propose, sir. Sir Charles. Well then ; Who was Mr. Pitt? Edmund, I will tell you, sir. William Pitt, the man who rescued his country from anarchy during the mad career of • Frederic, Stay, stay, Edmund. Sir Charles has forbidden our entering upon politics, and you set out with a direct political panegyric. I must request that you be called to order. Sir Charles. Frederic is perfectly right; you must ansv»^rtothe question I asked, without comment. Edmund, I beg your pardon, sir. Mr. Pitt was the second son of the Earl of Chatlipm, whose life was the subject of our conversation two nights ago. He was born on the twenty- eighth of May, 1759. Sir Charles. And his education, be so good as to inform me respecting that. Edmund. He was at first instructed by a private tutor ; but, as may easily be supposed, his illustrious father superintended his progress with a vigilant eye. He marked, Avith anxious solicitude, the progressive at- tainments of a mind, which, at a very early period of life, displayed strong indications of future excellence. Frederic. T have h^en informed that, to accustom bis son to that faculty of speaking which had been a principal means of his own eminence, Lord Chatham frequently made him declaim on a given topic, from the elevation of a chair or table. Sir Charles. This T believe was the case. His progress in learning was so great that he was early sent to the university. Edmund. Yes, sir, at an age when, with the gene- rality of young men, much remains to be learned at WILLIAM PITT. 57 school. As soon as he had completed his fourteenth year, Mr. Pitt was entered at Pembroke Hall, Cam- bridge ; where he was fortunate enough to engage for his tutor, Dr. Prettyman, the present Bishop of Lincoln. Sir Charles, His conduct in college, was it not such as to afford an useful example to other young men? Frederic, During his residence there he was dis- tinguished alike for the closeness of his application, and the success of his efforts to render himself master of all those subjects to which his studies were particu- larly directed. Nor was he less remarkable for the regularity of his conduct, and for his strict attention to that discipline which is fitted for an academic life. Edmund, As he was intended both for the bar and the parliament, his education was of course so regu- lated as to embrace each of these objects. Sir Charles. A legal and a political education ought to be nearly the same ; as it is impossible a man should become an able politician, without having at the same time a correct knowledge of the legal history of his country; nor indeed can any one become a good lawyer, without being perfectly conversant witli its political history. It is also of importance, tov/ards the formation of each of these characters, to obtain a full and acciu'ate knowledge of the origin, progress, ^nd decline of ancient states, and of the laws and constitutions of modern kingdoms, with their interests, their government, and their polity. * Edmund, The proficiency of Mr. Pitt in all these branches of study was very considerable. The quickness of his comprehension rendered the acquisition of them easy ; while the interest he took in them made the im- pression permanent. Frederic, It was a great happiness to him to have had such a father as Lord Chatham. Edmund. So it was; and the death of Lord Chatham, when Mr. Pitt was only in his nineteenth year, was an inexpressible loss to him. He was thus Da 58 STATESMEN, deprived, at this early period, of an invaluable guide and instructor. Frederic, After Mr. Pitt left the university, he went for a little while to the continent. On hi^ return he became a student in Lincoln's Inn ; and, as soon as he was of age, was called to the bar. Sir Charles. And did he ever practise as a bar- rister? Edmund, He once went the western circuit; and his success, during this short experiment, was amply sufficient to encourage him in the pursuit of his legal career. But he had to pursue a different and a more noble path. Before he had completed the twenty- second year of his age he became a member of par- liament, and, shortly afterwards, made his first speech m the house of commons, on Mr. Burke's motion for an economical reform in some of the expenses of the government. Sir Charles. You must now allow me to take up the subject. I will speak of it as concisely as possi- ble. On this, as on various other leading questions, Mr. Pitt espoused the cause of opposition. Young as he was, his first speech rivetted the attention of the house. He was wholly unembarrassed by the novelty of his situation, and the splendour of talents with which he was surrounded ; and he delivered his senti- ments with an ease, a grace, a soundness of judgment, and a classical accuracy of language, which not merely answered, but exceeded all the expectations that had been formed of him. On a change taking place in the administration, Mr. Pitt was appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer, and, not long afterwards, namely, in December, 1783, he united in himself the offices of First Lord of the Treasury, and Chancellor of the Exchequer. Thus, when only in his twenty- fourth year, he was honoured with die high rank of prime minister. This station he continued to hold more than seventeen vears. He had conducted the WILLIAM PITT. r>9 publk affairs of the country in times of almost unex- ampled difficult}', and when principles subversive of religion, of order, and good government, commencing in the French Revolution, were eagerly propagated in every countiy of Europe. At length, however, on a difficulty occurring respecting the claims of the Roman Catholics to be placed on the same footing as members of the Church of England, he resigned his office, and was succeeded, in the month of March, 1801, by the Right Honourable Henry Addington, now Viscount Sidmouth. After somewhat more than three years had elapsed, he was recalled to his former situation; and this he held till his death. Edmund, The health of Mr. Pitt experienced a rapid decline in the autumn of 1805, and in the month of January following, it was discovered that his illness was attended by peculiarly unfavourable symptoms. His physicians, so long as they could entertain a hope of his recovery, forbade any one to speak to him on subjects which might tend to agitate his mind. But at last, the Bishop of Lincoln, who, for some time, had been in almost constant attendance upon Mr. Pitt, ob- tained permission to intimate to him his dangerous state, and call his attention to religious duties. Sir Charles, The bishop went to his bed-side, and communicated to him the melancholy tidings. On liearing them, Mr. Pitt turned to Sir Walter Farquhar, his physician, and with the most perfect composure asked, '' How long do you think I have to live T In answer to the bishop's request that he might be per- mitted to pray with him and administer the sacrament, he said, *^ I fear I have, like too many other men, neglected prayer too much to have any ground for hope, that it can be efficacious on a death-bed — but," — (rising as he spoke, and clasping his hands with the utmost fervour and devotion,) — '' I throw myself entirely (the last word being pronounced with a sti'ong emphasis) upon the mercy of God, through the merits ()() STATESMEN. of Christ !" The bishop then read prayers, and Mr. Pitt joined in them, with cahn and humble piety* He repeatedly expressed, in the strongest manner, his sense of his own unworthiness to appear in the pre- sence of God, disclaiming all ideas of merit; but, with a conscience evidently clear and undisturbed, he declared that he was perfectly resigned to the will of God ; that he felt no enmity towards any one ; but that he died in peace with all mankind : and ex- pressed his hope, at once humble and confident, of eternal happiness through the intercession of his Re- deemer. Frederic, T rocoUect, sir, that Mr. Pitt is said to have remained sensible almost to the latest moment of his life. Early in the morning of the twenty-third of January, 1806, the anniversary of that day on which, five and twenty years before, he had first become a member of the British parliament, he expired with- out a struggle, and without pain. He was then in the forty-seventh year of his age. Sir Charles, I believe it is allowed by all, that the moral conduct of Mr. Pitt was highly estimable, though he did not escape the charge of convivial in- temperance. His eloquence, the quality which first brought him into notice, is said to have been more perfect than that of any other speaker in his time. It was singularly correct, copious, and varied ; clear, well arranged, argumentative or impassioned as the subject required. He died possessed of the esteem and attachment of a large portion of his countrymen; and his political consequence was proved by the entire dissolution, at his death, of the ministry of which he was the head. As a statesman, the resources as well as the firmness of his mind, have been amply demon- strated by the measures he adopted to meet the various and unforeseen difficulties with which this nation was surrounded during the period of his admi- nistration. Abroad he had to straggle witli the most CHARLES JAMES FOX. Gl gigantic power that lias existed in modern times ; while at home he had to support, at the same time, commer- cial and national credit, to allay the spirit of mutiny, to extinguish the flames of rebellion, and to provide, in more seasons than one, even for the importu- nate calls of famine. The energies of his mind were eminently exerted upon those important occasions; and, in spite of internal distractions, he carried the power of the nation to a greater height than it had attained in any former period. Frederic. A love of power seems to have been the ruling passion of his heart ; yet I am free to confess, not onl}'^ that his mind was elevated above the mean- ness of avarice, but that his personal integrity was unimpeached. Sir Charles, Indeed, Frederic, Mr. Pitt was so far from making use of the opportunities which he possessed, to acquire wealth for himself, that he died involved in debts, which negligence, and the demands of his public station, rather than extravagance, had, perhaps, in some measure, obliged him to contract. Edmund. It is creditable to his country that his remains were honoured by a public funeral in West- minster Abbey, and that a sum of money was voted by tlie parliament to be appropriated for the payment of his debts. NINTH EVENING. The life next introduced for discussion was that of Charles James Fox, second son of the late Lord Holland; and the great political opponent of Mr. Pitt. Frederic observed, that he had been born on the thirteenth of January, 1749 ; and that, even whilst a child, he had displayed an astonishing supe- 02 STATESMEN. riority of talent. He further remarked, that his father, who spared no pains in his education, made it a rule to follow and regulate, but not to restrain nature. At table, whilst a boy, Charles was permitted to enter into the conversation of men, and he invariably ac- quitted himself to the astonishment of the company. Edmund. It appears to me that such conduct could only have tended to render him what is called a for- ward boy; a kind of child which, I think, few people like. Sir Charles. I will tell you what once happened when his father was Secretary of State, and Charles not quite ten years of age. His father had often suffered him to read the dispatches that were written on public business, and the boy one day told him that a paper he had just read was too feeble. The little fellow tore and threw it into the fire ; and the secre- tary made out another copy, without even the slightest reprimand. Edmund, Surely, sir, most parents would consider indulgence of this description not only excessive, but, in its tendency, highly injurious. Sir Charles, I should certainly imagine so myself; and I should also imagine it must have impeded the progress of his education, in Avhich regularity of ap- plication is so essentially necessary. Frederic, Yet, whilst at school at Eton, his lite- rary acquirements are represented to have been far beyond those of most of his contemporaries. Edmund, I allow it; but these were not the effect of habitual application. He was indebted for them to the occasional exercise of his astonishing powers. The indulgence of his father very early led him into a strong bias for dissipation; and this was increased hy his being lavishly supplied with such sums of money as even invited to extravagance. Sir Charles, It has of late become a serious evil in public schools to allow boys so much pocket money, a.s often to induce habits that are injurious botli to CHARLES JAMES FOX. 03 their health and morals. The profusion of Mr. Fox was unbounded; and long before he was of age he had expended enormous sums. Edmund. I have somewhere read that, when he was only fourteen years old, his father took him on an excursion to Spa; and, during his stay there, allowed him five guineas a night to game w ith. Sir Charles, After such an anecdote it is impos- sible we can feel any surprise when told that, in after life, Mr. Fox had a strong propensity to gaming. Frederic, In short, sir, we are to infer that he was brought up in lax morals, and luxurious habits. This, I trust, will at least be some apology for his subsequent character, on which my friend Edmund has no mercy. If, notwithstanding all these obstacles, he be found to have possessed good principles, the greater must have been his own merit. Sir Charles, Certainly ; and there is no saying how much better they might have been, had he been early taught the benefit of restraint. Edmund, From Eton, Mr. Fox was sent to Hert- ford College, Oxford. Frederic, And here his talents and his learning excited the admiration of all w^ho knew him. He was a profound classical scholar, and, in literary ac- quirements, excelled all the yoimg men of his own standing Edmund, Although his time seems to have been chiefly devoted to gaming and dissipation. Frederic, Indeed, Edmund, you must excuse me if I do not give full credence to your assertions. I indeed, unwillingly, allow the possibility of their being in part correct, but I cannot understand how any per- son, be his talents what they may, can have attained the knowledge that Mr. Fox undoubtedly possessed, without great personal application. Now this applica- tion alone, must have required so much time, as to have, in a very important degree, interrupted his dis- sipated habits. B4 STAtjeSMEN* Edmund, I cannot reason wiili you, Frederic, on tlie subject ; I only state what I have read. Sir Charles. To terminate your contest I will take lip the narrative. As a scholastic life was not the object of his father, Mr. Fox left the university with- out having taken a degree ; and, according to the custom of that day, went abroad. He made the tour of Europe; and thougn we are informed that he plunged into almost every kind of excess, he acquired an extensive and profound knowledge of the consti- tution, laws, government, arts, and manners, of the several countries that he visited. Edmund, Yes, sir, Mr. Fox has been compared with Alcibiades, who surpassed all of his age in the versatility of his genius, and the intemperance of his conduct. Sir Charles, We have now to mark his rise in the political world. Devoted early to a political life, he was elected a member of parliament in 1768, when little more than twenty years of age ; and, young as he was, he distinguished himself among the many eminent men then in the house of commons. His father, Lord Holland, was at that time in office, as Secretary of State, and Mr. Fox was originally what is called a Tory. At first he took the side of the ad- ministration, and was thought one of its ablest sup- porters. The facility with which he made himself master of a new question, and comprehended the strength, or weakness, and the tendency of a propo- sition or measure, his forcible mode of reasoning, his readiness of the most appropriate, significant and energetic language, soon rendered him conspicuous. At this period, holding the situation of one of the Lords of the Admiralty, and afterwards of a Lord of the Treasury, he uniformly supported the ministers, and what is termed the royal prerogative; and no one could have bfeen more remote than he from entei- laining those popular principles, as they are called, vviiich he subsequently adopted. After the death of his CHARLES JAMES FOX. G-Ji father in 1774, lie became a slave to most of those passions which prove injurious to youth, especially that of gaming. These injured both his character and peace of mind ; and in a little while wholly subverted his fortune. Some circumstances now occurred which led him to act in opposition to the measures of govern- ment, and he was dismissed from his office. During the whole war with America, Mr. Fox continued to speak and vote, in the house of commons, against the proceedings of the ministers. It was now that his talents appeared in their fullest lustre, and tliat he assumed the foremost rank amongst the speakers of that house. This conduct he continued after the breaking out of the French Revolution, strenuously opposing all the measures that were adopted in conse- quence of the war with France. In the house of commons, he and Mr. Pitt were constantly opposed to each other; and, on the retirement of Mr. JPitt from office, and the conclusion of the war with France in 1801, Mr. Fox and his friends gave their support to the administration. When hostilities were again me- ditated, Mr. Fox at frrst expressed his doubts of their necessity ; but when, on the death of Mr. Pitt, in 1806, he came into power as one of the Secretaries of State, he found it necessary to give all his aid to sup- port the war by the same means, and with the same spirit, as his predecessor had done. He did not how- ever long continue in office. His health now began to decay. Symptoms of dropsy appeared, and, in a few months, he was laid in the grave. Edmund, He died on the thirteenth of September, 1806, in the fifty-eighth year of his age; and was buried in Westminster Abbey, close by the tomb of his illustrious rival, Mr. Pitt. Frederic. Will you oblige us, sir, by your opinion of the character of Mr. Fox 'I Sir Charles, Most willingly. One of the princi- pal features of his character was openness. His dis- position was candid, liberal, and benevolent in an ex- 66 STATESMEN. treme. In every part of his public, and even of his private conduct, boldness and decision were promi- nent. Whether the ends he pursued were useful or injurious, there was no artifice, no petty intrigue, no duplicity in the means. Frederic. What do you think, sir, of his talents as a speaker ? Sir Charles, I think that, without the brilliancy and the varied imagery of Burke, or the elegant and florid correctness of Pitt, his eloquence possessed those qualities which can never fail to excite a powerful in- fluence upon a popular auditory, even of the most cultivated kind. It had a fervour and animation denoting real earnestness, and occasionally bursting into passion, not acted but felt, united with the close reasoning of an acute logician, and those masterly views of a subject, which superiority of understand- ing alone can conceive and impart. I must not omit to inform you, that Mr. Fox was tlie author of a work which was published after his death, entitled "A History of the early Part of the Reiffn of Kino; James the Second." PHILOSOPHERS. TENTH EVENING. Mr. Allen, liaving been liberated from his engage- ment, was now enabled to rejoin the conversations. Frederic this evening stated, that he had lately em- ployed himself in perusing the hves of eminent British Philosophers ; and observed how much information he had derived from the life of Roger Bacon. Mr, Allen. In the course of my reading, T really have not met with any character on the whole more extraordinary than that of Friar Bacon. Though he lived in an age of comparative ignorance, and, conse- quently, was deprived of all those advantages which we possess, he became not merely the greatest philo- sopher of his own time, but was perhaps the brightest genius that Europe ever produced. Edmund, You call him Friar Bacon, sir. Mr, Allen, I do so, because he is generally known by that appellation. He obtained it from having been a member of a rehgious community denominated Friars- Minors, or Grey Friars. Frederic, He was born at Ilchester, in Somerset- shire, in the year 1214, and was first educated at Oxford. Mr, Allen, Where he pursued his studies with an eagerness and assiduity which, at the same time that they insured success to his ultimate pursuits, obtained for him the strongest marks of favour from his in- structors. Frederic, After he had continued some years in Oxford, the scene of his education was transferred 68 PHILOSOPHERS. from England to France; and at Paris, lie availed himself of all the ad\ antages that could he derived from the distinguished professors in that university. Sir Charles. Then wc must consider the extraor- dinary attainments for which he afterwards became so celebrated, as owing in a considerable degree, to these advantages. Frederic. Certainly, sir; but infinitely more to his own genius, and his intense and indefatigable application. Mr. Allen. The knowledge he acquired of Oriental and Grecian learning, in an age when a minute atten- tion to words constituted nearly the whole of what was called erudition, is alone a proof that he far excelled all his contemporaries. We shall have to state other and more satisfactory proofs than this. But we must proceed with his history. Frederic. Whilst he was in Paris he was advanced to the degree of doctor in divinity; and, when only twenty-six years of age, was admitted into the commu- nity of Friars-Minors. Not long after this he returned to Oxford, where he devoted himself chiefly to the study of mechanics, optics, and chemistry. Edmund. I have somewhere read that his attempts to advance this kind of knowledge by experiment was assisted by generous contributions from various quarters; which enabled him, in the course of twenty years, to expend upwards of two thousand pounds, (at that time a large sum) in constructing instruments, collecting books, and making experiments of different kinds. Sir Charles. The sum you mention was equal in value to more than fifty thousand pounds of the present money. Fdmu7id. Astonishing! His apparatus must have been very extensive indeed, though no doubt rudely con- structed, in comparison with the philosophical instru- ments of the present day. How lamentable it is that his knowledge and intentions should have been so much misunderstood as they were. Frederic. The bigotted friai-s, to whose society he ROGER BACON. CO belonged, envious of his matclilesf; honours, or fearful of his future ascendancy over them, conspired to injure his reputation, and to defeat the liberal ambition of a man whose aims, uncontaminated by secular or interested views, were exclusively directed to the advancement of the highest and most useful branches of human knowledge. They slanderously and infa- mously reported that he was addicted to necromancy, and to an unholy communion with demons or evil spirits. Sir Charles, And what was the consequence of this? Frederic, So powerful were the secret intrigues of his adversaries, that, though the heads of the university were friendly to his interest, he was condemned to a rigorous confinement, aggravated by the hardest depri- vations, and uncheered by the offers of friendship. It is said that this hostility had been inflamed by the just animadversions which Bacon had been heard to pass on the gross ignorance and errors of the religious orders of that day ; and by the indignant severity w ith which he had censured their vices. Edmund. But the pope who had authorized his con- finement died, and his successor had liberality enough to order the release of this extraordinary man. He thus obtained a temporary respite from persecution; and this interval of unmolested quiet l:e dedicated with fresh ardour to those occupations which, even in the midst of all his hardships, had never ceased to engage his mind. Frederic, The pope from whom the philosopher had received this indulgence, enjoyed his dignity only three years; and after his death Bacon was seized and im- prisoned in France. The perusal of his writings was at the same time forbidden. He lingered in this cap- tivity for more than ten years ; but at length regained his freedom, and once more found his way to Oxford, where, at the age of seventy eight, his labours and his vexations were terminated by death. Mr, Allen. The astonishing acquirements of Roger 70 PHILOSOPHERS. Bacon obtained for liim tlie distinguishing appellation of doctor mirabilis, or the wonderful doctor. With what propriety this title was given, will be evident from the number and variety of his works, many of which are still extant. Nearly a hundred have been enumerated, on grammar, mathematics, physics, optics, geography, astronomy, chronology, chemistry, magic, medicine, logic, metaphysics, moral philosophy, theology, and other subjects. Besides an acquaintance with the subjects of theology and metaphysics, and a skill in languages far above the usual standard. Bacon was master of almost every branch of mathematical and physical science. His progress in chemistry was so great that he anticipated some of the proudest disco- veries of subsequent times. The invention of gun- powder is now universally assigned to him, though it was claimed by a monk of the following century. ^' From saltpetre and other ingredients," he says, '' we are able to form an artificial fire, which will burn at any distance we please." And speaking of the effect of this fire, he observes that, "by means of it, sounds like thunder, and the appearance of lightning, may be produced in the air, and even with more terrible effect than those which happen naturally ; for a small portion of matter, about the size of the thumb, properly disposed, will make a dreadful sound, and exhibit a vast corruscation, by which a city or an army may be destroyed." Edmund. This appears to me very surprising. Mr. Allen. But this was only a small part of his innumerable inventions. He mentions a kind of unex- tinguishable Jire, the mode of preparing which he had discovered, and which was probably a kind of phos- phorus. In rnechanics he speaks of several wonderful inventions ; of vessels and carriages moved by machi- nery, of machines for raising vast weights, and of other for diving beneath the surface of the water, all of which he had himself formed and tried. Frederic. I think I have read that he was the oii- o;inal inventor of air-balloons. ROGER BACON. 71 Mr, Allen. He certainly speaks of machines which would rise into the air. Sir Charles, His proficiency in optics, when m e consider the disadvantages under Avhich he laboured, appears to me more surprising than any other part ol' his knowledge. He was no stranger to the use ot* convex and concave lenses or glasses, the laws of refraction, the formation of mirrors, and the grand invention of the telescope. He speaks expressly of the application of spherical glasses to the purposes of reading, and of viewing distant objects, both terrestrial and celestial. In his writings are also found descrip- tions of the camera obscura, and the burning glass. Mr, Allen. Such was his astronomical knowledge, that Bacon suggested an alteration in the calendar, which, three centuries after his death, was adopted by- Pope Gregory the Thirteenth. Dr. Jebb, who edited his principal work, justly styles this '^ one of the noblest efforts of human industry.^' His geographical know- ledge may be inferred from various passages of his works, but particularly from one very curious passage, concerning the countries that lie betwixt the Danube and the eastern borders of Tartary, and which has subsequently proved correct. Edmund, I cannot sufficiently express my astonish- ment at the extent of knowledge which this wonderful man possessed, and which could not possibly have been attained without the most assiduous attention, and indefatigable application to study. Mr. Allen, He affords us a satisfactory proof how much may be effected by application, even mider circumstances which, in themselves, are extremely disadvantageous. But, enlightened as he was, he was not without a considerable portion of that super- stitious and visionary spirit, which marked tlie studies of the middle ages. One of his principal objects in the pursuit of chemistry, for instance, was to dis- cover the philosophers' stone, as it was called, or a composition by which he could convert the inferior 72 PHILOSOPHERS. metals into gold. It was, no doubt, in the pursuit of this that he was gradually led to attain an accurate knowledge of the properties and actions of divers kinds of natural bodies. He also partook so far of the superstition of the age, as to place some confidence injudicial astrology, or the mode of foretelling future events by the motions and positions of the planets; but he was a decided enemy to the imaginary arts of necromancy and magic. He wrote several treatises purposely to expose their futility, and to convince the world that they were either idle delusions, or fraudu- lent impositions. Edmund, But, sir, Bacon was himself accused of having been a magician. There is a well known story of his having formed a brazen head, which, after seven years preparation, was to speak, and tell whether the British island might not be enclosed within a wall of brass. It is stated, that not having been regarded when it first spoke, and said, ''Time is," on its speaking again, and saying, " Time was," it fell to pieces. Mr. Allen, No calumny was ever more unjust, no story ever more absurd than this. Similar tales have been related of other philosophers of this period, but they were certainly never believed, except by the lowest and most ignorant of the people. On the whole it cannot be questioned that Friar Bacon was one of the brightest and most astonishing geniuses that the world ever produced; and, as such, Avill ever be entitled to very extraordinary regard. Though knowledge be now so far advanced that little information can at the present day be derived from his writings, yet respect* ought ever to be paid to the memory of a man who knew more than any of his contemporaries, and who, in an age of superstition and ignorance, added new brightness to the lamp of science. KOBEKT BOYLE. ELEVENTH EVENING. Frederic. One of the most illustrious philosophers of modern times was the honourable Robert Boyle, a younger son of Richard Boyle, Earl of Cork. He was born in Ireland, in the year 1627; and was com- mitted, by his father, to the care of a plain, country- nurse, with instructions that he should be brought up in the same habits of exercise, and with the same plain diet, as if he had been her own child. Edmund. What can have been the cause of so sin- gular a direction ? Mr. Allen. His father had witnessed many evils arising from the indulgence of parents in rearing their children too effeminately, and was determined to have his own son brought up in such manner as to invigo- rate his constitution, and render him hardy. Frederic. True, sir; but the advantages that were derived from this procedure were afterwards coun- teracted, by his being treated with too much tender- ness. Sir Charles. Had his father also been aware what bad habits, might be contracted by a child, under such superintendance, it is probable he would have hesitated as to the propriety of his plan ; for the boy, by mimick- ing some children of his own age, learned to stammer ; and though no endeavours were afterwards spared to correct this propensity, and though with great attention he at last could avoid it, yet he never could speak with- lut hesitation. Mr. Allen. Nothing can be a stronger proof than this of the injury that may follow from imitating the infirmities or bad habits of others, whether it be stam- mering, squinting, or any wicked propensities ; for an imitation of these has, in many instances besides that of Mr. Boyle, led the imitator himself into similar habits. 74 PHILOSOPHERS. Frederic, When only three years old he had the misfortune to lose his mother, a calamity which he deeply regretted during his whole life ; esteeming it a peculiar unhappiness not to have known a parent so amiable and so accomplished as she is represented to have been. Sir Charles. There is one trait in Mr. Boyle's early character that deserves the notice of all young persons. He had so strict a regard for truth, that his father never knew him to have uttered a falsehood. Mr, Allen, If young persons were aware of the bad consequences that almost always follow the telling of untruths, I am sure no one would be guilty of so detestable a vice. Frederic. Mr. Boyle w^as educated in his father's house until he was eight years of age, when, with his brother Francis, he was sent to the school at Eton. During his continuance there, several extraordinary and nearly fatal accidents happened to him. One of these was the sudden falling in of the chamber where he slept, and that when he was in bed. In this acci- dent, besides the hazard he ran of being crushed by the timbers and rubbish, he would certainly have been choked with the dust whilst under the ruins, had he not recollected to wrap his head in the sheet, by which he was enabled to breathe without injury. When Mr. Boyle was about eleven years old, he and his brother left Eton; and, under the care of a private tutor, em- barked for the continent, where they continued about six years. Sir Charles, Are we to suppose, from his having left school at so early an age, that his education was in any degree neglected ? Frederic, Certainly not, sir; it had for a while been suspended, and necessarily so, from a violent attack of ague, but, by close application afterwards, he became a proficient in all the learned, and in many of the living languages. He also obtained a complete know- ledge of the mathematics. KOBERT COYLE. 15 Mi\ Allen, What lias been said of his religious principles at this period ? Frederic. Wiieu only about fourteen years old, he began, as he acknowledged himself, to entertain some distracting thoughts, some mixture of doubts and diffi- culties, respecting the evidences of the Christian reve- lation. 3Ir, Allen, And what was the consequence of this? Frederic, That he continued in a state of perplexity and melancholy for many months ; and that, at length, impelled by the great importance of the subject, he determined earnestly to inquire into the grounds and foundation of it. Mr, Allen, If this inquiry w^ere made with a sincere desire of ascertaining the truth, I have no need to ask you what was the result. Frederic. Mr. Boyle has himself told us : he says that, *' although he then believed more than he could comprehend, he conceived that he did not believe more than he could prove ;" and w as consequently confirmed in the truth of Christianity. Edmund, I think I have read that, on his return to England after his travels, Mr. Boyle applied himself to study with great assiduity ; and that his progress in many branches of literature, which have usually been accounted difficult and abstruse, was very surprising. He omitted no opportunity of becoming acquainted with persons distinguished for their genius and learn- ing ; and, though he was at this time very young, his merit gained him admission to men of great eminence. His diligence was the more commendable, because his health was at intervals much disordered by a complaint called the stone, to which he w as subject, and to which his sedentary life might probably have contributed. Frederic, He resided for some time in the city of Oxford, not only on account of easy access to several ingenious friends in the diffigrent colleges, but also on account of the numerous conveniences which the uni- \ersity aJOPorded for the prosecution of his favourite E 2 76 PHILOSOPHERS. studies, and particularly tliat of experimental pliilo- sopliy. Si?- Charles. Our present Royal Society had its origin in the meetings of Mr. Boyle and his friends, for the discussion of philosophical subjects. Mr. Allen. Mr. Boyle was treated with great respect by King Charles the Second ; and Lord Southampton, and the Lord Chancellor Clarendon, each solicited him to enter into holy orders, with intention, no doubt, of his being made a bishop. But this, after much deli- beration, he thought it proper to decline, and upon the most disinterested motives. Frederic. On a vacancy in the situation of provost of Eton, the king appointed Mr. Boyle to that office. But he, apprehending that its duties might interfere with his studies, and desirous of continuing a course of life which, by experience, he had found agreeable to his temper and constitution, respectfully, but resolutely, declined the appointment. Mr. Allefi. Though Mr. Boyle had an insuperable objection to enter into orders, he was at all times anxious for the promulgation of the Christian religion. One proof of this was his causing a translation to be made of the Gospels and Acts of the Apostles into the Malayan language. Of this translation he had five hundred copies printed at Oxford, and sent to the East Indies, at his own expense. He also caused Grotius's admirable work on the Truth of the Christian Religion, to be translated into Arabic, and printed and circulated in all the countries where that language was understood. He projected a translation of the New Testament into the Turkish language, and would have been at the whole expense of its publication, had it not been taken out of his hands and completed by others. He expended upwards of seven hundred pounds in an edition of the Scriptures in the native Irish language ; contributed liberally to the publication of a Welsh Bible, and expended considerable sums in promoting missions for propagating the Christian religion in ROBERT BOYLE. 77 various remote parts of the world. All these prove, ill the most coii\ inciiig mamier, the sincerity of his own faith in the Christian religion. Si7' Charles, No evidence can well be more strong. Other pleasing traits in his character were his perfectly independent mind ; and his entire disregard of worldly honours and distinctions. On a vacancy occurring in the situation of President of the Royal Society, that body, to evince their just sense of his worth, and of his constant and eminent services, elected him their President; but he declined this honour. It would, ' however, afford a very satisfactory proof of his fitness for such a situation, were I to enumerate to you his philosophical publications. These are very numerous, and exhibit evidences of intense application, and of a mind wholly given up to study, and to science. Frederic. AVe now approach the close of a life valuable in an eminent degree to the world. The healtl^ of Mr. Boyle began to decline ; and, though he Ibresaw that he could not much longer survive, he still pursued with ardour his favourite studies. Sir Charles, He even went so far as to announce by public advertisement, that he could not now receive visits as usual; stating, among other reasons, that '^he wanted leisure to arrange his papers, to supply the blanks which he had left in many of his treatises, and to repair the deficiencies of others, occasioned by the carelessness of a sen ant, who had spilt upon them a bottle of sulphuric acid.'' Edmund. Soon after this he directed a board to be placed over his door, on particular occasions, intimating that Mr. Boyle could not then be spoken with. Frederic. With respect to his death, he entertained no other fear, than lest the painful disease, with which he had long been afflicted, should increase to such a degi-ee as to distract his attention from the important cojicerns of futurity to his own sufferings. Mr. Allen, But, when death came upon him, it was 7a PHlLOSOPHSPvS. with so little pain that the flame of life appeared to go out merely from want of oil to maintain it. Do jou recollect the date of his death. Frederic, Mr, Boyle expired oli the thirtieth of December, 1691, in the sixty-ninth year of his age ; and his renjains were interred in the chancel of the church of St. Martin's in the Fields, Westminster. BTr, Allen, It was a principal object of the philoso- phical pursuits of this excellent man, to promote the cause of religion. This design was so deeply im- -pressed upon his mind, that he concludes an article in liis will, relating to tlie Royal Society, in these words : " I wish them a happy success in their attempts to discover the true nature of the works of God, and I pray that they, and all other searchers into physical truths, may cordially refer their attainments to the glory of the great Author of nature, and to the comfort of mankind," The study of the Scriptures he pursued to a great extent, and in the Hebrew^ and other oriental tongues. He had read so many of the writings of the Fathers, that he had formed a clear judgment of all those that are most eminent. He had also perused with attention (he various controversies in religion, and was master of the whole body of divinity. Bishop Burnet, who preached his funeral sermon, says : '* I might challenge (he whole tribe of libertines to come here and view the usefulness as well as the excellence of the Christian religion, in a life that was entirely devoted to it." Sir Charles. His writings were extremely numerous, ^nd. fully evince his learning and great acquirements. They are on various subjects connected with natural and experimental philosophy: on optics, mechanics, chemistry, and the Christian religion. JOHN LOCKE. 70 TWELFTH EVENING. Few philosophical writings, observed Mr. Allen, have attained greater celebrity than the Essay on the Human Understanding, by John Locke. Nor is perhaps any book of the kind better adapted than this, to teach men to think with precision, and to inspire them with that love of candour and of truth which is the genuine spirit of philosophy. Sir Charles Irwin assented to this opinion, and remarked how satisfactory it was to every religious mind to know that a man of Mr. Locke's sound judgment should also have been a sin- cere Christian. Lady Irwin inquired if he had not v/ritten some work in defence of Christianity. On being informed that he had published a treatise on the Reasonableness of Christianity, as delivered in the Scriptures, she expressed an anxious desire to see it ; remarking, that its author, having been a layman, could not be considered to have had any interested motives in writing it, and consequently could only have done so from a conviction that he was defending the truth. She said that she was in a great measure ignorant of his history, and was desirous to be informed who he was. Frederic, He was born near Bristol, in the year 1632, and was the son of a person who had been clerk to a justice of the peace, afterwards a captain in the army of the parliament, and lastly an attorney. Edmund. By the interest and the pecuniary assist- ance of friends, he was educated at Westminster School, and thence, at the age of nineteen, was removed to Christ Church, Oxford. Frederic. But he did not obtain any celebrity on account of his talents, either at school, or in the uni- versity. Lady Irwin. As he was a young man without for- tune, I presume he was educated for some profession. Frederic, His peculiar attention was applied to the 80 PHILOSOPHERS. study of physic; but his favourite study, at this period^ seems to have been that of natural philosophy. Lady Irivin. Did he ever practise as a physician? Frederic, He was prevented from doing so publicly - by an accidental introduction to Lord Ashley, after- wards Earl of Shaftesbury, who prevailed with him to reside in his family in a medical capacity. ' Edmund. The partiality of this nobleman for Mr. Locke was so great, that, on all occasions, he showed him extraordinary respect ; and, from the opportunity that he had, as a statesman, of introducing him into the world, urged him, in a particular manner, to direct his attention to the study of politics. Sir Charles, He shortly afterwards introduced him to several statesmen of his acquaintance. Frederic. I will tell you what happened at his first interview with three or four illustrious characters, who appear to have met at Lord Ashley's, rather indeed for amusement than for business. After a short inter- val, and before scarcely any conversation had passed, cards were introduced, and they sat down to play. Mr. Locke looked on for a little while, and then retiring to one of the windows, took out his note-book, and began to write with great attention. One of the noblemen inquiringl as to his being thus occupied, he replied; ''My lord, lam endeavouring to profit, as far as I am able, in your company; for, having waited with impatience for the honour of being in an assembly of the most eminent geniuses of this age, and having, at length, attained this honour, I thought I could not more profitably occupy my time than by writing down the conversation ; and I have here noted the substance of what has been said during the last hour or two.'^ Lady Irivin. And what was the consequence of this rebuke ? Frederic. They appear to have taken it in good part; for, quitting their play, they passed the remainder of the time in a more rational manner. Edmund, Lord Ashley's high opinion of Mr. Locke JOHN LOCKE. 81 is fully shown by his having requested him to superin- tend the education of his eldest son, a youth at that time about sixteen years of age. He was subsequently private tutor to the son of this pupil, the Lord Shaftes- bury, who was the author of a well known work enti- tled ** Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions, and Times." Lady Irwin. There are, I am informed, many ob- jectionable doctrines in this work. How happened it that Mr. Locke did not instil into his mind better principles ? Edmund, It is to be presumed that he attempted to do this ; and Avhy he failed of success does not appear to have been recorded, further than that we are in- formed his philosophy did not give entire satisfaction to Lord Shaftesbury. Lady Invin, I should much like to know^ what w ere the usual habits and conduct of Mr. Locke in private life. Mr, Allen, With a constitution naturally delicate, he had great gentleness of manners. These, in con- junction with his wisdom, obtained for him the respect of his inferiors, the esteem of his equals, and the friendship and confidence of persons in the highest ranks of life. In conversation he was most inclined to useful and serious subjects ; but, when occasion offered, he w^ould indulge in a free and facetious style ; and was master of many entertaining stories, which he introduced to illustrate his remarks : nor was he averse to innocent and delicate raillery. Frederic, I have read that he loved to talk with artisans and mechanics in their owoi style. By putting questions to persons of this description, he would sometimes discover a secret in their art, which was not well understood even by themselves ; and he would thus give them views entirely new, which they aftcr- wards put into practice to their own profit. He is described to have had a great dislike to any airs of affected gravity, and to have sometimes diverted him- self by imitating such,- in order to ridicule them with e3 I B2 PHILOSOPHERS, better effect. He frequently quoted the maxim tliat, '' gravity is a mysterious carriage of the body, in order to conceal tlie defects of the mind." Sir Charles, It was during his residence in the family of Lord Ashley, that he formed the plan of his " Essay on the Human Understanding;'' and I have been told, that the work, which was afterwards ex- panded into two closely printed octavo volumes, he at first imagined he should have been able to compress into little more than a single sheet of paper. Mr. Allen, His patron was created Earl of Shaftes- bury, and made Lord Chancellor ; and 'Mr. Locke was, in consequence, appointed to a lucrative situation. But this he did not long retain. In 1673, he went to the south of France for the re-instatement of his health, which had been considerably injured by his sedentary employments. Lord Shaftesbury, having rendered himself obnoxious to the government, found it neces- sary to reth'e into Holland, whither Mr. Locke shortly afterwards followed him. Here he remained until the Revolution, when he retm^ned to England, in the fleet which brought the Princess of Orange ; and, in the following year, he published two treatises on Govern- ment, for the purpose of defending the principles upon which the Revolution was founded. Frederic, His residence after this, was in the house of Sir Francis Masham, at Oates, in Essex. Here he found the air peculiarly beneficial to his con- stitution, and the society so agreeable, that he became one of the family, and continued in it during the remainder of his life. Sir Charles. He was now appointed one of the Commissioners of Trade and Plantations. The duties of this office he discharged with great diligence and ability for about five years ; when he was obliged to resign it on account of ill health. The king requested that he might be continued in the office, although the labour of it should be performed by deputj^ But Mr. Locke said, that he could not conscientiously hold any j JOHN LOCKE. 83 place to which so great a salary (about a thousand pounds a year) was annexed, without discharging the duties of it himself; and, in consequence, his resig- nation was accepted. Mj\ Allen. The disease with which Mr. Locke was afflicted, increased to such a degi^ee, that he soon became sensible he could not long survive. He often spoke of his approaching dissolution, and always with compo- sure. After his retirement from public business, he applied himself, almost exclusively, to the study of tlie Sacred Writings; and in this pursuit, always expressed that he felt the greatest satisfaction. Do you recollect the answer he, on one occasion, wrote to a young gen- tleman, who had asked what was the shortest and surest way for a person to attain a true knowledge of the Christian religion ? Edmund, He replied, '^Let him study the Holy Scripture, especially the New Testament. It has God for its author ; salvation for its end ; and truth, without any mixture of error, for its matter." Lady Irivin, How admirable a remark ; and how convincing when expressed by such a man ! Bat Mr. Allen seems to express himself as if this profound philosopher had chiefly attended to the study of reli- gion during the latter part of his life. 3ir. Allen, This is certainly not what I mean ; for, during fourteen or fifteen years after he left the univer- sity, he applied himself, in a very particular manner, to the study of the Scriptures. The comfort v/hich he derived from Divine Revelation, he forcibly ex- pressed in these words: ^^ I gratefully receive, and rejoice in the light of Revelation, which has set me at rest in many things, the manner whereof my poor reason can by no means make out to me." For some months before his death, he passed his time almost wholly in acts of devotion. On the day before he died, he said to Lady Masham, who was sitting by his bed-side, that this world was only a state of prepara- tion for a better; adding, that **he had lived long 84 PKTLOSOPHERS. enough; and, thanked God that he had enjoyed a happy life ; and that after all he looked upon this life to be nothing but Tanity." On the same day he particularly advised all those who were about him to read the Scriptures, and desired to be remembered by them in their prayers. An occasion having offered to speak of the goodness of God, he especially exalted the care which God had shown to man in justifying him by faith in Jesus Christ ; and, in particular, returned thanks to God for having blessed him with the knowledge of that divine Saviour. All the faculties of his mind were perfect to the last. During the night before he died he had no rest, and, in the morning, requested that he might be carried into his study. There, placed in an arm- chair, he had a refreshing sleep for some time. He then requested Lady Masham to read aloud to him some of the Psalms; to which he appeared extremely attentive. At length, probably feeling the approach of death, he desired her to desist, and in a few minutes expired, on the twenty-eighth of October, 1704, in the seventy- third year of his age. Si?' Charles. The works of Mr. Locke, which are numerous, and on various subjects, were originally published separate, but since his death, have all been collected and printed together in ten volumes. TBIRTEENTH EVENING. This evening Frederic Montagu proposed to discuss the life of a philosopher infinitely superior to Locke. He spoke of him with rapture; and was proceeding to expatiate on the splendour of his genius, and the universality of his talent, when Lady Irwin, good- naturedly interrupting him, remarked, that there cvhichhe calmly exclaimed, " I tliank God most heartily that he hath prolonged my life to this end." Mr, Allen. Will you, Frederic, relate the particulars of his execution? Frederic, He and Ridley, who was ordered for execution at the same time, were taken from their prison to a place on the north side of Oxford, near Baliol College; Ridley in his episcopal habit, and Latimer in his prison dress. After some previous devotion and ceremonies, they prepared themselves for the stake. Latimer, having thrown off the old gown that was wrapped about him, appeared in a shrowd. They were perfectly resigned, and supported each other's constancy by mutual exhortations. They were then fastened by a chain to a large stake driven into the groimd, and a great number of faggots were piled round them. When the faggots were lighted, Latimer said to his fellow sufferer, ''Be of good cheer, brother; we shall this day kindle such a torch in England, as I trust in God shall never be extinguished." He com- mended his soul to his Maker, and the executioners having tied bags of gunpowder round their bodies, he was killed, by the explosion of these, almost immedi- ately afterwards. Mr, Allen, There are extant, by Bishop Latuner, several sermons, first published in a collection in the year 1549> and afterwards several times reprinted. Some of his letters are printed in Fox's work, entitled *' The Acts and Monuments of the British Martyrs." SIXTEENTH EVENING. A SHORT discussion this evening took place respecting the persons who, in future, should become the subjects of attention. Frederic mentioned the names of several eminent divines, but observed, that the incidents which. liO DlViJSES. have been recorded of their lives, did not appear to him either so interesting, or, on the whole, so instruc- tive, as those of many whose celebrity had not been so great. He inquired whether it might not therefore be advisable, as a general rule, for the future, to select such lives only, as were in themselves instructive, in preference to those of persons merely celebrated for the eminence of their public character. Sir Charles Irwin, and Mr. Allen, Avere each of opinion that such Y/ould be the best mode, particularly as it would be impossible to discuss, in the whole, a great number of lives. In compliance with this plan, Edmund pro- posed for the present evening, the life of John Jewel, Bishop of Salisbury, who lived in the sixteenth cen- tury. Frederic, Bishop Jewel was descended from an ancient family in Devonshire, and born on the twenty- fourth of May, 1552. He was taught the rudiments of grammar chiefly in a school at Barnstaple in Devon- shire; and, in his fourteenth year, was admitted a student at Merton College, and afterwards a scholar of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, Edmund, Few young men could be more exemplary in their conduct, or more indefatigable in their studies, than Mr. Jewel. Frederic, The dean of his college, who was a rigid Papist, was accustomed to say of him, *' In thy faith I hold thee to be an heretic ; but surely, in thy life thou art an angel ; thou art good and honest, but thou art a Lutheran.'^ Edmund. With respect to his studies, he is said to have risen generally as early as four in the morning, and to have continued at his books till ten at night, with an earnestness of attention which, in many instances, made it necessary even to remind him of the hours of refreshment. Sir Charles, This was more than could with reason have been expected. Mr. Allen, It v/as so; for although, by such appli- JOHN JEWEL. Ill cation lie acquired an astonishing fund of knowledge, it was at the expense of his health; for, in consequence of a neglected cold, he contracted a lameness in one of his legs which hecaine incurable, and continued until his death. Edmund. It must have been exti'emely gratifying to him that he should have become eminently qualified for two situations which he obtained, of Tutor, and Pro- fessor of Rhetoric, in his college. These he continued to fill, with distinguished honour, for several years. Sir Charles, Frederic has given us to understand that Jewel, in his religious faith, accorded with the Reformers. How, in such case, came he to have these offices committed to him ? Edmund, It does not appear that he had liitherto professed the tenets of the Reformers, though he seems privately to have favoured them ; and his known learn- ing, and unexceptionable moral character, caused him to be esteemed by all. During the reign of Edward the Sixth, however, he became active in the cause of the Reformation. Sir Charles, What befel him in the reign of Mary? Edmund, He was expelled from his college, and a plot was laid to deUver him into the hands of the Papists, by Avhom probably he would have suffered death; but he contrived to escape. Sir Charles, By what means ? Edmund. The very night in which it was concerted to send him to prison, he privately set out from Oxford; and, pursuing his journey on foot, went by unfrequented roads towards London. He walked on till he was compelled to lie down on the ground, breathless and exhausted. In this situation he was providentially fo md by a Swiss gentleman, who had formerly been in the service of Bishop Latimer; and who procured for him a horse, and accompanied him to the house of a lady of the neighbourhood. By this lady he was for some time hospitably entertained, and afterwards privat^^ly conveyed to London. 112 DIVINES. Sir Charles. It might be imagined that London was a place peculiarly dangerous for him, since the emissa- ries of his enemies would there be doubly active in search of him. Edmund, They were so; and it was only by the most studied precaution that he eluded their activity. He could not long remain in one place ; and was, several different times, compelled to change his lodging in the night. But his escape to the continent was at last happily eflected by the care of his friend Sir Nicholas Tiirogmorton, who caused a vessel to be provided for him, and furnished him with money for his support. Frederic. The death of Mary, and the accession of Queen Elizabeth to the throne, induced all the Pro- testant exiles, and Mr. Jewel among them, to return to their country ; and, in the year 1560, he was created Bishop of Salisbury. Mr. Allen. Do you recollect, Frederic, how he con- ducted himself as a prelate 1 Frederic. He was unwearied in the performance of his duty ; and his exertions were of the most extraor- dinary kind. He rose about four in the morning. At five he summoned his household to prayers. At six he attended public worship in his cathedral. The remain- der of the morning he passed in the most intense study. He dined at twelve, and after dinner devoted his time to the public. About nine in the evening he called his servants to an account how they had spent the day ; and then went to prayers with them, and the other branches of his family. After this he again withdrew^ into his study, where he continued till midnight. He then retired to bed, and generally one of his chaplains read to him until he fell asleep. Edmund. It was impossible tliat any man leading so laborious a life, w^ithout recreation, and with little rest, could long continue in health. This incessant fatigue gradually undermined his constitution, and \^as ihe cause of a decay, which, at length terminated in his JOHN JEWEL. li:i death, in the month of September, 1571, and the fiftieth year of his age. Sir Charles, Bishop Jewel was celebrated for having possessed a peculiarly retentive memory. Frederic, Few men could recollect things so well as he ; and tliis excellent memory must have been pecu- liarly advantageous in his incessant pursuit of know- ledge. We are informed that he could readily repeat any tiling that he had written, after once reading it. His OAvn sermons are said to have been almost always delivered extempore, from heads which he had previously written dovm, and on which he was accus- tomed to meditate while the bell was ringing for church. On a particular occasion he communicated the mode in which he was able to do this, to his college tutor, Dr. Parkhurst; and this gentleman, in the course of twenty-eight days, with only one hour's application each day, learned the whole of St. Matthew's Gospel by heart, so perfectly, that he could repeat it verbatim from beginning to end ; or, he could repeat any parti- cular verse, immediately pointing out what went before, and what followed. Edmund. Bishop Jewel has been known to say that, if it had been necessary for him to have delivered a premeditated speech before ten thousand auditors, shouting or fighting during the whole time, they would not have confused nor put him out. Frederic, When he was a young man, Bishop Hooper, to ascertain the strength of his memory, wrote down about forty Welsh and Irish words. Mr. Jewel, after having attentively read them twice or thrice over, said them by heart both backward and forward. At another time he did the same by ten English lines, which were read to him for that purpose, by the Lord Keeper Bacon. He repeated these not only in order, but even confusedly and without order; and this without either error or hesitation. Sir Charles, All this is certainly very remarkable ; but if I may be allowed for a few minutes to interrupt 114 BlVINES. the account of Bishop Jewel, I think I can mention an instance of memory much more remarkable than his. Edmund and Frederic, Pray let us hear it, sir. Sir Charles, In the Gentleman's Magazine for the year 1752, it is stated that William Lyon, a player who performed at the theatre in Edinburgh, wagered a bowl of punch that, on the following morning, he would repeat tiie whole of a newspaper, called the Daily Advertiser, from beginning to end. Tn the morning, his opponent, reminded of the wager, and imagining him to have been intoxicated the night before, rallied him on his absurd boasting. The man, however, pulled the newspaper out of his pocket, and desired his companion to look at it, and judge whether he should or should not win his wager. Not- withstanding the unconnected matter of the several paragraphs, the variety of advertisements, and the mis- cellaneous mass of materials contained in it, he is said to have repeated the whole, -from beginning to end, without mistake. Edmund and Frederic. This must have been indeed astonishing! Sir Charles, 1 will not further interrupt the discus- sion. Mr. Allen may probably be desirous of speaking of the character and writings of Bishop Jewel. Mr, Allen, Respecting these I have but few words to say. Both his moral and religious conduct, we are informed, were highly exemplary ; the command of his passions was wonderful; and his temper and disposition invariably meek, modest, and obliging. To the poor he was humane and charitable ; and he was liberal to all in distress, whether natives or foreigners. He was the author, among various other theological publi- cations, of a celebrated work against the Papists, entitled *' An Apology for the English Church/' which was published in Latin, and v/as afterwards translated into English, by the mother of Sir Francis Bacon. ISAAC BARROW. 115 SEVENTEENTH EVENING. Before the discussion for this evening commenced, Frederic Montaga stated, that, he and Edmund had found considerable difficulty as to the class in which they ought to introduce an eminent British divine, whose philosophical acquirements had been superior to those of most modern philosophers; and yet, whose .sermons and other works on divinity had also attained a veiy high degree of eminence. He alluded to Dr. Isaac Barrow. Edmund was of opinion that this A\ riter ought to have been introduced among the philo- sophers, into conversation some evenings ago. Sir Charles Irwin observed that this might have been done, but that, as he had equal celebrity as a divine, he might without impropriety be introduced among the divines ; and proposed that he should be spoken of now. This arrangement having been agreed upon, Frede- ric said, he supposed it would be requisite to state at the outset who he was : that his father had been a citizen of London, linen draper to King Charles the First, and that he had himself been born in London, in the year 1630. On Mr. Allen remarking that the early part of his education had not been very promising, Edmund stated that, during two or tlnree years in which he was at the Charter-house school, his conduct and character had been such as to afford but little prospect of success in the profession of a scholar, for which his father had intended him. Frederic, His disposition was quarrelsome and riotous; and his chief delight seems to have been in inducing the boys to fight with each other. He was extixmely negligent of his clothes, and, what was worse, of his books. Sir Charks, How mortifying must such an outset iu 116 DIVINES. life have been to a parent who was anxiously desirous for the welfare of his child ! Mr. Allen. His father had often been heard rashly to express a wish that, if it should please God to take away any of his children, it might be his son Isaac ; so vain is man's judgment, and so short-sighted is he as to what may eventually turn out to his own benefit. On young Barrow being removed from the Charter- house to another school, his disposition took a more happy turn, and he made a rapid progress in learning. Frederic. He perfectly overcame all his inclination to quarrelling; but he retained great personal bravery through his whole life. Edmund. I will presently mention a remarkable instance of t is. Sir Charles. At the age of about fifteen he was sent to Trinity College, Cambridge Frederic. Where he diligently applied himself to the study of all the branches of useful literature, espe- cially to that of natural philosophy. Sir Charles. Was it originally intended that he should be a clergyman ? Frederic. JVo, sir : his father meant him to be a physi- cian ; and, with this design, Barrow made considerable progress in the knowledge of anatomy, botany, and chemistry ; but, having been afterwards led to change his plans, he applied himself to the study of mathema- tics and divinity. Mr. Allen. He was a candidate for the Greek pro- fessorship in Cambridge, »but was disappointed. Frederic. And it was this disappointment, as it is thought, which induced him, for some time, to leave the university, and travel upon the continent; but he was so poor that he was obliged to sell his books to enable him to do this. He Avent to France, and pro- ceeded from thence into Italy; where his money again becoming deficient, he would have been obliged to return home, had not a young merchant of liondon generously supplied him with the means of proceeding. ISAAC BARROW. 117 From Italy he embarked for Smyrna. He resided more than a year in Turkey, and returned home through Germany and Holland. Edmund. It was during his voyage to Smyrna that he exhibited that instance of bravery of vviiich I have spoken. The ship he sailed in was attacked by an Algerine pirate ; and Mr. Barrow having, at liis own request, been placed at one of the guns, worked it to the last, with all the steadiness and courage of a sailor. From the brave defence that was made, the Algerine was compelled to sheer off. Sometime afterwards he was asked by a friend, "T\hy he had not gone down into a place of security, and left the defence of the ship to those to whom it belonged T He replied, that '' ^No man was more concerned in its defence than himself: and that it would have been infinitely preferable to him to have lost his life, than to have fallen into the hands of those merciless infidels." Sir Charles, This certainly was ti'ue bravery, though in self defence. Mr. Allen. Barrow had formerly been disappomted respecting the Greek professorship. There was a vacancy in the same situation the year after his return froin the continent, on which he w as again a candidate, and was now successful. He was afterwards elected Professor of Geometry in Gresham College, London; Mathematical Professor in the University of Cambridge ; and, lastly, appointed Master of Trinity College; having, about two years before, taken the degree of doctor of divinity. Sir Charles. Can you inform me what was his per- sonal appearance ? Edmund. He was low of stature, thin, and of pale complexion; his hair was light brown, very fine, and curling; yet few men of his size exceeded him in strength. He was peculiarly fond of tobacco, which he used to call his pan pharmacon, or universal medi- cine. In his dress he was negligent, and slovenly to an excess. 118 DIVINES. Frederic, This exposed him, in some mstances, lo great inconvenience. We are told that the minister of St. Lawrence Jewry asked him one Sunday to preach for him. When he entered the pulpit, his pale and meagre aspect, and slovenly and careless dress, had such an effect upon the congregation, that the whole church was in an uproar, and nearly all went out. Apparently heedless of the circumstance, he delivered his admirable sermon to the two or three that were left. When, afterwards, Dr. Barrow was asked what he thought of the congregation thus running away from him, " I thought," said he, " that either they did not like me or ray sermon, and I had no reason to be angry with them for that.'' Mr, Allen, His sermons were truly excellent, in many particulars both of style and sentiment; yet we cannot but admire more the prodigious fertility of his invention, and the strength and force of his concep- tions, than the correctness of his execution, or his talent iw composition. His style is unequal, incorrect, and redundant, though peculiarly distinguished for force and expression. Edmund, But, like most of the sermons of that day, excellent as they are, every one must consider them to have been greatly too long. Frederic. Dr. Pope related that Barrow was once requested by the Bishop of Rochester to preach for him in Westminster Abbey, and was particularly requested not to have a long sermon, as that auditory were accustomed to short ones. Before he went into the pulpit, he showed the bishop his sermon, the text of which was, ^^ He that uttereth a slander is a liar.'' He had divided it into two parts ; one of which was on the subject of slander, and the other on that of lies. The bishop suggested to him the propriety of preaching only the first part, which, with some reluc- tance, he assented to ; and that part alone occupied an hour and a half. Edimind, But the sermon of greatest length whicli GiLBEUT BLKNLI. 119 Dr. Barrow was known to have preached, was one on the subject of charity, before tlie Lord Mayor and Aldermen of London. In t;ie delivery of this he was occupied three hours and a half. Frederic. And when he came down from the pulpit, being asked by a friend whether he was not tired, *' Yes, indeed,'' he replied, *' I began to be weary with standing." Mr. AHe7i. Dr. Barrow was perhaps the ablest scholar of his own time. Besides a great number of sermons, he published several highly important works on mathematics and natural philosophy. In nearly all the subjects which exercised his pen, he exhibited a clear perception, sound judgment, pro- found thought, and close and nervous reasoning. A late writer has observed, that the name of Barrow will ever '' be illustrious for strength of mind and compass of knowledge. He was unrivalled in mathe- matical learning, and especially in geometry, in which he has been excelled only by Sir Isaac Newton.^' This excellent and learned man died on the fourth of May, 1677, in the forty-seventh yeai* of his age, and was bmied in Westminster Abbey, w here a monu- ment was erected to his memory, by the contribution of his friends. When the account of Dr. Barrow was finished, Sir Charles Irwin looked at his watch, and, finding it yet early, proposed a continuance of the discussion, if the young gentlemen were prepared for it. Frederic stated, that he was ready with the life of Dr. Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, in the reign of Wil- liam the Third. Edmund said that, though he was not quite prepared, he hoped he should not be found very defective. He stated his recollection of having reail that Dr. Burnet was the son of a Scotch lawyer, and bom at Edinburgh in the year 1643. Sir Charles. What have you learned respectbg his education ? 1^0 BlViN£5. Edmund, That he received the first rudhiieuts <>i this under his father, by whose care he made so great a progress that, when only ten years of age, he per- fectly understood the Latin language : that he was then sent to the College of Aberdeen, where he ac- quired a knowledge of Greek, and went through the usual course of instruction with great applause; so that he was little more than fourteen years of age when admitted to the degree of master of arts, Frederic, His father continued to be his chief instructor even during the time he was in college ; and, by rousing him to his studies as early as four o'clock every morning, gave him an habit of early rising, in which he continued during nearly the whole remainder of his life. Mr, Allen, By this early rising he of course had much leisure for lighter studies ; and, in his hours of amusement, he perused many volumes of history. Thus, as he had also a strong constitution and an admirable memory, he by degrees acquired a great fund of know- ledge. Frederic, He had been educated for the church; and, when about twenty-three years of age, was pre- sented with the living of Saltoun, in the shire of Haddington, in Scotland. Mr, Allen, And how did he conduct himself in his clerical character? Frederic, In a manner most exemplary. During five years that he spent at Saltoun, he regularly preached twice every Sunday, and once on each of the week days. He catechised his parishioners three times a week, so as to examine every individual, old and young, in the principles of religion, thrice a year. He also went round the parish from house to house, giving instruction, reproof, or comfort, as occasion required. He visited the sick twice a day ; and administered tlie sacrament four times a year, personally instructing all those who gave notice of their intention to receive it. GILBERT JBURNET. 121 The surplus of his income, after a very frugal expen- diture, he bestowed in charity. Mr. Allen. His liberality was extremely great. Among other instances of this, we are told that one of his parishioners, a tradesman, who had been ar- rested for debt, applied to him for relief. He in- quired how much money would be sufficient to pay the debt, and again set liim up in his trade. The man named the sum, and Mr. Burnet desired his servant to pay it him. '' Sir," said the latter, '' we have but just that sum in the house." — " Well," replied Mr. Burnet, *' pay the whole of it to this poor tradesman: you do not know what pleasure there is in making a man happy." Edmund, About four years after he had obtained the living of Saltoun, he was appointed Professor of Divinity at Glasgow; and was also offered the choice of four Scots bishoprics, but he refused them alL He now went to reside in London, was appointed preacher at the Rolls Chapel, and lecturer of St. Clement^s Danes, in the Strand; and became one of the most popular preachers in the metropolis. Frederic, I have read that his constant practice was to preach extempore ; and that he attained a peculiar facility in doing this, chiefly by appropriating many hours of every day to meditate on various subjects ; and by accustoming himself at such times, to speak his thoughts aloud, always studying to render his expres- sions correct. He was once appointed to preach a thanksgiving sermon, before the royal family at St. PauVs ; and, as this was the only discourse he had ever written before hand, so it was the only time he ever made a pause in preaching, and this lasted above a minute. Mr, Allen, It is a remarkable trait in the character of this excellent man, that though, at the time he was resident in London, he had no parochial duty, he did not refuse his attendance to any sick person who desired it. Among others, he was called upon lo G 122 DIVINES. attend the Earl of Rochester, one of the most vicious and dissipated men of the day ; and for a whole whiter, in a conversation of at least one evening every week, Mr. Burnet Avent over all those topics with him upon which men of light faith, and loose morals, are accustomed to attack the Christian religion. The effect of these con- ferences, in convincing the earl's judgment, and leading him to a sincere repentance, was made the subject of a well-known and interesting narrative, by Mr. Burnet, entitled, '' An Account of the Life and Death of the Earl of Rochester :" this narrative. Dr. Johnson has declared, '' the critic ought to read for its elegance, the philosopher for its argument, and the saint for its piety." Frederic, Mr. Burnet w^as suspected of not being favourable to James the Second, on account of the religious principles of that monarch having been those of Popery. The consequence was, that the persons in power caused him to be dismissed from his clerical situations, and in some degree compelled him to quit the kingdom. Edmund, He now travelled through France, Italy, Switzerland, and Germany, and, at length, settled in Holland, where he was admitted into the secret coun- cils of the Prince and Princess of Orange, afterwards our King William and Queen Mary. This prince was too good a politician not to see that the talents, con- nexions, and reputation of Burnet, all conspired to make him a valuable auxiliary to his cause. The conse- quence to the latter was, that when William had estab- lished himself on the throne of England, he was, almost immediately afterwards, created Bishop of Salisbury. Frederic, True; but so little anxious was he for preferment that, when this bishopric became vacant, he solicited it in favour of one of his friends. Dr. Lloyd, then Bishop of St. Asaph. The king, how- ever, coldly answered him, that *' he had another person in view f and the next day he nominated to it Mr. Burnet himself. GILBERT BLRNET. 123 Sir Charles. His conduct as a private cierg^'man had been so exemplary, that we are induced to look to him as a bishop who would conscientiously dis- charge all the duties of that elevated station. Mr, Allen. This he appears to have done. He regu- larly held annual visitations at all the principal towns in his diocess. At these visitations, he strictly investi- gated the conduct of the clergy; and took great pains to induce them to instruct all the young persons under their care in Christian principles. He was also a decided enemy to clergymen holding more than one living, except where the churches lay near each other, and the livings were of little value. And, in respect to clergymen residing upon their livings, he was so strict that he would not permit even his own chaplains to reside with him, after they had once obtained livings. He was also particularly careful in conferring orders, and in giving such preferment as he had to bestow to persons whom he believed to be deserving of it. As the pastor of his whole diocess, he considered it a part of his duty never to be absent from bis see, except during his attendance in parliament ; from which, as soon as the principal business of the nation was dis- patched, he immediately returned to the duties of his episcopal office. Edmund. His general character, and his admirable and exemplary conduct, raised him high in the esteem both of King William and his cjueen, though he is said to have occasionally offended the king by the frankness with which he spoke of existing evils in tfie government. Frederic. It is. a circumstance very remarkable in the conduct of Dr. Burnet, that he never condescended to make the ordinary use of court influence ; for, though he obtained many employments and gratuities for others, he is said never to have solicited a favour for himself or his own family ; but that, on the contrary, he several times declined offers of high preferment, which were made to him. 124 1)1 VINES, Mr. Allen. What account, Frederic, have you to give of the death of this excellent prelate ? Frederic, Not long after he had attained his seventy- second year he was taken ill with a violent cold, which was soon attended with fatal symptoms. When the bishop perceived his end approaching, he employed nearly his whole remaining time in acts of devotion, and in giving advice to his family ; of whom he took leave in such manner as to show the utmost tenderness, accompanied by the greatest resolution and firmness of mind. He was so little alarmed by the terrors of death as to meet its approach with joy, and to express no other concern than for the grief which he saw in those around him. He died on the seventeenth of March, 1715, in the seventy-second year of his age, and Avas buried in the parish church of St. James, Clerkenwell, London. Mr. Allen. The domestic habits of Bishop Burnet were very different from those of mankind in gene- ral. Frederic. Indeed, sir, they were. I have already said, that, when a boy, his father accustomed him to rise very early in the morning. This habit continued with him till within a short time of his death. The two first hours in a morning, and the last half hour at night, he occupied in private meditation. He always read the morning and evening prayers to his family, though his chaplains were present. He took the oppor- tunity of the tea-table to instruct his children in reli- gion, and in giving them his own comment upon some portion of Scripture. He seldom spent less than six, and often eight hours a day in study. At his table, which was accessible to all, there was plenty without luxury. He was a most affectionate husband; and expressed his love for his children, not in hoarding up wealth for them, so much as by giving them an excellent educa- tion. In his friendships he was warm, open-hearted, and constant; and, though his station and principles raised him many enemies, he always endeavoured, by GILBERT BURNET. 125 the kindest ofRces, to repay their injilries; and, by returning good for evil, to overcome them. Sir Charles, The bishop, if T recollect, was remark- able for an absence of mind, which on some occasions were the cause of considerable embarrassment to him. Do any instances of this occur to you ? Edmund, I have read of one. Whilst he was in Paris, several ladies of quality, and, among others, the Countess of Soissons, mother of Prince Eugene, had been imprisoned on a suspicion of having administered poison to some person. Several years afterwards, whem the prince visited England, the bishop entreated the Duke of Marlborough to introduce him to his illus- trious colleague. The duke consented, but begged he would be upon his guard against saying any thing that might create offence. Mindful of this caution, the bishop resolved to sit silent during the whole enter- tainment. But the prince, on learning his name, among other questions of civility, asked him when he was last in Paris. Agitated by this unexpected attention, he replied, that ^* he could not recollect the year, but it was that in which the Countess of Sois- sons had been imprisoned." His eyes at this instant meeting those of the duke, he recollected his blunder, and, deprived of all his remaining discretion, doubled his error by begging pardon of the prince. He stared wildly around him, and, seeing the whole company in a state of embarrassment, rushed out of the room in the utmost confusion. Mr. Allen. The person who related this story has also said that the bishop was extravagantly fond both of tobacco and writing. Frederic, Yes ; and that, to enjoy them both at the same time, he bored a hole in the broad brim of his hat ; through this he put his pipe, and was thus enabled at once both to puflf and write. Edmund, His appearance in this act must have been very ludicrous. Mr, Allen. Bishop Burnet was the author of several 12G DIVINES. literary productions, particularly a ^* History of the Reformation in England;" an ** Exposition of the Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England;'' and " The History of his Own Times/' with an account of his Life. Of these the first is a production of labour and authority, to which the state of the times when it was written, added so much incidental value, that a vote of thanks to the author passed both houses of parliament. *^The History of his Own Times'^ is a work, which, with all its defects and redundances, both of style and matter, is valuable as a collection of authen- tic memoirs of persons, whose names are connected with some of the most important events in English history. EIGHTEENTH EVENING. Frederic, I have lately received much instruction from reading Dr. Samuel Clarke's " Evidences of Natural and Revealed Religion;'^ a work which is the more remarkable, as it appears to have been pub- lished before he was twenty-nine years of age. Mr, Allen, This, like all the other publications of Dr. Clarke, has certainly great intrinsic excellence, though, in some particulars, his doctrines and opinions have been considered objectionable. The great extent of his learning, his depth of knowledge, and his gene- ral talents as a writer, will, notwithstanding, cause his works to be always read and admired by persons who coincide in his opinions. — Who was Dr. Clarke ? Frederic, He was the son of Edward Clarke, Esq. alderman of Norwich, and born in that city on the eleventh of October, 1675. The first part of his edu- cation he received in the free-school of Norwich, and, when he was about sixteen years old, his father sent him to Caius College, Cambridge, where his talents soon excited attention. Edmund. So much so, that he was generally charac- SAMUEL CLARKE. 127 terize must have been in the habit, during his whole hfe, of associating with the higher ranks of society, and was easy, fluent, and familiar in the company of his friends, yet, before strangers, he was reserved and silent; and so timorous, that Lord Chesterfield has declared, he was the most awkward man he ever saw. Frederic. And yet. Lord Chesterfield, in one of his letters, has written that, he *' used to think, he was in company as much above himself, when with Mr. Addi- son, or Mr. Pope, as if he had been with all the princes in Europe." Sir Charles, That may have been the case. His lordship may have revered him for his talents, and, at the same time, have been fully sensible of his singula- rity of manners. To us, his works would alone have rendered him highly estimable. Mr^ Allen, These, chiefly, were his tragedy of Cato ; his papers in the Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian ; and his ** Evidences of the Christian Religion," On the breaking out of the Rebellion, in 1715, he published the " Freeholder," a kind of political Spectator. He was the author also of several pieces, both of Latin and English poetry. TWENTY-SECOND EVENING. Mr, Allen, I am particularly desirous of, this evening, proposing for discussion the life of Sir Richard Steele, because he was a man of considerable celebrity, a contempory and friend of Addison, and of a character so extremely different, that the contrast betwixt the two appears to me capable of yielding much instruction. Frederic, if you please, shall begin. Fredei'ic, It will give me great pleasure to do so. Sir Richard Steele was an Irishman. He was born in Dublin, as some writers say, in 1671 ; and, according to others, about the year 1676. His father 160 GENERAL WRITERS. was a barrister; and, through the interest of the Duke of Ormond, was enabled to have his son placed on the foundation of the Charter -house school in London. Steele was sent thitaer when very young ; and, after his fadier's death, was removed to Merton College, Oxford. During his residence in the university, he is said to have been extremely careless and dissipated, though not altogether either immoral or irreligious. He was gay, gallant, and generous; di:tingxiished by the brilliancy of his wdt, the courtesy of his man- ners Eamund, And his imprudence. The entire depen- dance of Steele, at this period, was upon an uncle, who, could not endure a hero for his heir; and he, in the glow of military ardour, left the university without taking a degree, and enhsted as a private soldier in the horse-guards. Frederic. He was afterwards, however, promoted to an ensigncy. Mr, Allen, The moral character of this singular man is very instructive. He was one of those who are con- stantly the dupes of their own imagination. He always preferred his caprices to his interests. Though a man of admirable abilities, he was perpetually acting like a fool; and, with a warm attachment to virtue, was the most frail of human beings. Edmund, In his military career, he was exposed to much irregularity ; and yet, in the midst of his dissi- pation, he wrote, for his private use, a little book called "'The Christian Hero.'^ This was done with a design, principally, to fix upon his own mind, a strong impres- sion of virtue and religion, in opposition to a stronger propensity towards unwarrantable pleasures. But this secret admonition proved too weak ; and he resolved to print the book with his name, from this express and honourable motive, that it might serve as a *' standing testimony against himself, and make him ashamed of understanding, and seeming to feel what M'as virtuous, and yet living so contrary a life." SIR RICHARD STEELE. 161 Lady Invin, This was an excellent project; and I hope was attended with good effect. M7\ Allen, He has himself told us, it had no other eft'ect than that, from having been thought a good com- panion, he was soon reckoned a disagreeable fellow. Lady Irwin, Among his dissipated acquaintance, such might be expected ; but if he had had the resolu- tion to write and publish a book of this description, surely he had courage enough to maintain its princi- ples. Mr, Allen, He had not. Indeed, want of resolution seems to have been his chief bane through life. For his declarations as to religion, he found himself slighted, instead of encouraged; so that he has told us, he thought it incumbent upon him to enliven his character. Lady Invin, And in what manner did he do this ? Mr, Allen. In a way that, I am sure, your ladyship would never have imagined. He had a notion that nothing would tend to render a man so much esteemed by the world, as a successful play ; so he now sat down to write a comedy. This he entitled ** The Funeral ; or Grief a-la-mode." It was acted with success ; and obtained for him the particular notice of the king, William the Third, who made him some promises of preferment. Eut all his hopes vanished on the death of his royal patron. Edmund, In the ensuing reign, however, he obtained, tlu-ough the recommendation of Mr. Addison, the office of writership of the Gazette ; which, with common pru- dence, might have supported him. Whilst he held this office, he wrote two other comedies, the '* Tender Husband,'' and the *' Lying Lovers;" the former of which was acted with success, and the latter was con- demned. Disappointed, upon the whole, in his expecta- tions from the stage, he now turned his thoughts to the project of his well-known periodical publication, the '^ tatler." Lady Irwin, This he printed under the fictitious 162 GENERAL WRITERS. name of BickerstafF. What was the reason of his so doing ? Edmund: Dean Swift had, not long before, pub- lished some humoron^ pieces, under the name of Isaac BickerstafF, with such success, that Steele, to recom- mend his own work, assumed the same signature; having, however, secured the assistance of its original owner. The Tatler was received with universal appro- bation, and might have proved to him an important foundation of future prosperity, had he not been one of the most improvident men that ever existed. Lady Irtvin, But it is said, that the prudence of his w ife operated as an useful check upon his extravagance. Mr, Allen, I presume you speak of his second wife, who was a woman of fortune and great beauty. She was not merely prudent, she was parsimonious ; for she hoarded up the greatest part of her own income, of which she had cautiously reserved the management almost entirely to herself. Edmund, Hence it was that Steele gave her the name of Prne^ or Prudence. They appear to have been almost always jarring, or quarrelling. Mr, Allen, Steele's imprudence of generosity, or vanity of prbfusion, kept him incurably necessitous ; and so inconsistent was his conduct, that it has been observed, he wrote essays on the follies of the day, in an enormous black wig, which cost him fifty guineas ! He built an elegant villa at Hampton Court, to which he gave the name of *'The Hovel!" He detected the fallacy of the South Sea scheme, while he himself in- vented projects, not inferior, either in magnificence or in misery! He even turned alchemist, and wanted to gain gold ; — merely for the purpose of distributing it to others ! Lady Irwin, How extraordinary and how unac- countable a character ! But I was not aware he had been a projector. Mr, Allen, That was one of the leacfing features iu SIR RICHARD STEELE. 163 his character ; and was, in a great measure, the cause of those embarrassments, in which he latterly became involved. Among his other schemes, he had one for conveying fish alive to market. He obtained a patent for the protection of it; but, instead of tending to retrieve his affairs, it only involved him more deeply in distress. Edmund, The fame that Steele derived from the pub- lication of the Tatler, obtained for him the situation of a Commissioner of the Stamp Duties ; and at length induced him to procure a seat in the house of com- mons. Lady Irwin. And what occurred to him as a mem- ber of parliament? Edmund, He wrote certain pamphlets, which were deemed ** scandalous and seditious," and he was ex- pelled the house. Frederic, Tliis was in the reign of Queeji Anne; but on the accession of George the First to the throne, in behalf of whom these pamphlets had been wTitten, he was admitted into favour at court, received the honour of knighthood, and appointed to the office of surveyor of the royal stables at Hampton Court. He shortly afterwards obtained a share in the patent of one of the playhouses ; which was a source of consi- derable emolument to him. Mr. Allen, But as he still wanted economy, so he was still involved in difficulties. I will relate to you a circumstance that occured on his inviting several persons of rank to dine with him. They were asto- nished by an unusual number of livery servants which surrounded his table. After dinner, one of them inquired, *' How so expensive a train of domestics could be consistent with his fortune?" — ''Oh!" he replied, '' they are fellows of whom I would very wHlingly be rid." Being asked '' why he did not dis- charge them?" he acknowledged that they were bailiffs, who had taken possession of his house, in consequence of a debt which he was unable to discharge; and 164 GENERAL WRITERS. whom, as he could not send them away, he had thought it convenient to put into livery, that they might at least do him credit as long as they stayed. Lady Irwin, It was impossible that such a man should ever be long free from embarrassment. But how did this procedure terminate ? Mr, Allen, His friends, diverted by the expedient, paid the debt, and thus discharged the attendants; at the same time obliging Steele solemnly to promise, that they *' should never find him graced with such a retinue again." Frederic, But his heedless prodigality was incorri- gible ; and, at length, involved in lawsuits, and other apparently inextricable difficulties, he retired into W ales, where he was seized with a paralytic disorder, which terminated his life, on the first of September, 1729. Mr, Allen. The writings of Sir Richard Steele, not- withstanding the unaccountable singularity of his own conduct, are all favourable to the cause of religion and virtue. No one ever attempted, with greater success than he, to form the mind to virtue, or to polish the manners of common life ; and no one ever better incul- cated the most useful and instructive lessons. He wrote a principal part of the Tatler, and a considerable proportion of the papers in the Specta- tor, and the Guardian. These are for the most part known by the signature T. He was likewise the author of the comedies of the *' Funeral," the ** Tender Husband," and '* Ikying Lovers." His epistolary cor- respondence has lately been published ; and several of his miscellaneous pieces have been reprinted in one volume, entitled, '* The Town Talk ; the Fish-pool ; the Plebeian; the Old Whig; the Spinsters; &c. By the Aothors of the Tatler, Spectator and Guardian/' JONATHAN bWIFT. IG-J TWENTY-THIRD EVENING. Fredenc. We have lately spoken of the lives of two einiiient general writers, Addison, and Steele ; whose characters were widely different. I will this evening introduce a third, that of the Dean of St Patrick's, Dr. Jonathan Swift; whose character is very unlike that of either of the other two. Mr. Allen, Little that is amiable is to be found either in the character or conduct of Swift. A stern, inflexible temper and pride in a supreme degree, were the basis upon which were built firmness, and perhaps sincerity ; but these alloyed with arrogance, implaca- bility, carelessness of giving pain, and a total want of candour. Addison was a man of mild and amiable mamiers, and Steele had great natural amenity of dis- position ; but Swift was obdurate, unfeeling, and often morose and sullen. Frederic stated, respecting him, that he was the posthumous son of Jonathan Swift, an attorney in Dublin ; in which city he had been born, in the year 1667 : that his mother, though left in distressed cir- cumstances, had been compelled by grief, and a bad state of health, to put him out to nurse, when about a year old ; and that the nurse, having occasion to visit a sick relative at Whitehaven, conveyed the child to England without the knowledge of his mother, and kept him with her during three years, which she spent in this country. Lady Irwin, You. speak of Swift having been an Irislunan. I thought it had not been decided whether this really had been the case or not. Sir Charles, From his early residence in England, and his mother having, during his childhood, lived with her friends at Leicester, many persons have imagined him to have been an Englishman; and he V. as often heard to exclaim, when out of humour with 166 GENERAL WRITERS. the Irish, that he was so; yet, in his cooler hours, iie^ never denied the real country of his birth. Lady Irwin, Then, as he was brought to England when a child, and as his mother afterwards resided in England, I presume he was educated in this country. Frederic, No, he was educated first in a school at Kilkenny, and afterwards at Trinity College, Dublin ; where he was supported by the bounty of his uncle, Mr. Goodwin Swift, an eminent barrister. Lady Irwin, What was his behaviour in college ? Edmund, He was perfectly regular, and, in every respect, obedient to the academical discipline ; yet he was little regarded, and less beloved, by his compa- nions. The academical exercises also were not suited to his taste. His favourite studies were history and poetry, in which he made gi*eat progress ; but he had so little applied his mind to other branches of science, that, when he presented himself, at the usual period, as a candidate for the degree of bachelor of arts, he was set aside on account of insufficiency; and he at last obtained his degree by an act, as it was termed, of '' especial favour," (speciali gratia) which in Dublin implies the greatest reproach. Sir Charles, It has always appeared to me perfectly unaccountable, that a man of his unquestionable talent, should thus have suffered himself to be degraded, from the want of only very moderate application to those studies which were required by the college. Frederic, Swift imagined himself to have been un- fairly treated ; left Dublin, and went to Oxford. Here, to recover his lost time, he applied with extraordinary assiduity; and is said to have studied, on an average, at least eight hours a day for seven years, Mr. Allen, This part of his history, as Dr. John- son has justly remarked, well deserves to be remem- bered. It affords an useful admonition, and a powerful encouragement to persons whose abilities may havd been rendered, for a time, useless by their passions, or their pleasures; and who, having lost one part of life JONATHAN SWIFT. 1G7 ill idleuess, are tempted to throw away the remainder in despair. Frederic. It ought to have been observ^ed that, before Swift had left the university, his uncle, from a disor- dered mind, and the consequent disarrangement of his affairs, had become unable to support him any longer ; that tlie subsequent part of his expenses were defrayed by Sir William Temple, whose lady was distantly related to Swift's mother ; and that, upon quitiing the university, he went to reside in the house of Sir Wil- liam. Here he passed two years; and, though in the mean time, he was afflicted with a long and dangerous illness, conti^'^cted by eating an immoderate quantity of fruit, he continued indefatigable in his studies. Lady Irwin, For what particular profession had Swift been educated ? Frederic, There can be little doubt but he looked forward to the church as his most probable profession ; though, at one time, he entertained hopes of some situa- tion in the state. It is, however, certain that he was admitted into holy orders in the year 1694. Edmund. King AVilliam the Third promised him the first vacancy which should happen among the pre- pendaries of Westminster, or Canterbury. He was disappointed in this expectation ; but the Earl of Berkeley procured for him the rectory of Agher, with the vica- rages of Laracor, and Rathbeggan, in the diocess of Meath ; worth, together, about two hundred and sixty pounds a year. Frederic, Yet these were a source of disappointment to him. He had hoped to obtain something much better. Mr, Allen, Swift, through his whole life, was a dis- appointed man ; but how far, justly, I w ill not attempt to say. He used to relate that, when a little boy, he once went a fishing; that he felt a great fish at the end of Ids line, which he drew up almost to the land, but it dropt in: and that the disappointment which he 168 GENERAL WRlTEilS. experienced, and which long continued to vex him, he considered a type of all his future disappointments. Lady Irwin, I cannot imagine Swift to have had much fervour of piety, or to have been peculiarly zealous in the discharge of his clerical duties. Frederic, There are two stories told of him, which, if true, would prove your ladyship's conjecture to be correct. After he had taken possession of his livings, he gave public notice to his parishioners at Laracor, that he would read public prayers every Wednesday and Friday. On the subsequent Wednesday, the bell was rung, and he ascended the desk. But, after remaining there some time, and finding that the congre- gation consisted only of himself and the clerk, he began the service with great composure, '* Dearly beloved Roger, the Scripture moveth you and me in sundry places;" and so proceeded to the end of the service. The other story would prove him still more blame- able. He was on a visit to his friend, the Rev. Dr. Raymond, vicar of Trim. After dinner, one Sunday, as the bells were ringing for evening prayers, he laid a trifling wager with the doctor, that he would begin the prayers before him. They ran, as fast as they could, to the church. Dr. Raymond, the nimbler of the two, arrived first at the door, entered the church, and proceeded with decency to put on the surplice. Swift, not slackening his pace, ran up the aisle, and stepping into the desk, began the service without cere- mony, and thus won his wager. Lady Irwin, These must surely have been fabrica- tions. Unfavourably as I think of his character in general, I will not believe Swift to have been guilty of such indecent levity as this. Mr, Allen, In many respects, however, he appears to have conducted himself with little decorum a^ a clergyman. In his annual journies to Leicester, to see his mother, he travelled as no other person in his situa- tion of life would have done. He always went on foot. JOMATHAN SWIFT. IGO* except when the weather was bad, and then he took a place in one of the road waggons. He generally dined at obscure ale-houses, with waggoners, pedlars, ostlers, and similar company; and lodged where\er he saw written or painted over the door, ** Lodgings for a penny;" though he usually bribed the maid with six- pence, for a separate bed, and clean sheets. Lady Irwin, Could this have originated in an affec- tation of singularity, or in narrow and parsimonious habits. Mr, Allen. I am inclined to think from singularity only, for many acts of his generosity have been re- corded. For instance, the first five hundred pounds that he could call his own, he lent in small sums, to diligent and necessitous tradesmen, to be repaid by weekly instalments, and without interest. This does not appear like parsimony. Edmund, During his residence at Laracor, Swift invited to Ireland, a young lady, whose name was John- son ; and whom he has celebrated by the appellation of Stella. She was the daughter of Sir William Tem- ple's steward; had a small independent fortune, and was at that time about eighteen years of age. When resident in the house of Sir William, Swift had as- sisted in cultivating and improving her mind; and she was now extremely beautiful and accomplished. Miss Johnson accepted the invitation, and went to Ireland, accompanied by her friend, Mrs. Dingley. Sir Charles, This w^as certainly one of the most sin- gular connexions that ever was formed ; nor is it pos- sible now to ascertain, whether Swift was originally desirous of the society of Stella as a wife, or a friend. They never lived in the same house. When Swift was absent, the ladies resided at his parsonage ; but when he returned, they always removed, either to the Iiouse of his friend. Dr. Raymond, or to a lodging. Nor were Miss Johnson and Swift ever known to have met, except in the presence of a third person. I 170 GENERAL WRITERS. Ft^ederic, Not long after Miss Johnson first went to Ireland, Queen Anne succeeded to the English throne, and Swift came to this country, where he took his degree of doctor of divinity. He continued to reside here for some time ; and now commenced his career as a political writer on the side of the party called the Whigs; which, during a considerable interval of this reign, had the ascendancy in public affairs. Edmund, The queen had been so much pleased with the political conduct of Swift, that it is suppiosed she would have given him a bishopric, had not Arch- bishop Sharpe, according to Swift's own account, repre- sented him to her majesty as not being a Christian. This was the consequence of his havmg been the author of a satirical work, entitled ^^ A Tale of a Tub." ^ir Charles He had, however, obtained what most persons would have been inclined to call good prefer- ment; for, in 1713, he had been made Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin. Frederic, His writings had, at this time, rendered him so obnoxious in Ireland, that his reception in Dublin was not very flattering. The rabble had been taught, by his enemies, to consider him connected with the Pretender, the son of James the Second; and they carried their detestation so far, as to pelt him with stones and mud, on his way through the streets. The clergy, and others belonging to St. Pati-ick's, also received him with great reluctance. He was thwarted in all his measures, avoided as a pestilence, opposed as an intruder, and marked out as a public enemy. Lady Irwin, And how did this terminate ? Sir Charles, Fewer talents, and less firmness, than those which Swift possessed, must have yielded to such opposition. But so strange are, often, the revolutions which take place in the opinions of mankind, that he lived, as we soon shall see, to govern, with absolute sway, the very rabble that had thus insulted him. Lady Irwin, You have spoken of Stella : it did not JONATHAN SWIFT. 171 occur to me, to ask you the particulars relative to another female favourite of Swift, Avhom he styled Vanessa. Frederic, Her name was Vanhomrigh. Her father Avas a Dutch merchant, who had settled and died in Dublin. She had a passion for reading, and some taste for poetry ; and entertained so strong an attach- ment for Swift, that she even made him an offer of marriage. He affected to believe her in jest; then rallied her on so whimsical a choice ; and, at last, put her off*, without an absolute refusal. This was after his marriage with Stella. Miss Vanhomrigh suspected that Swift's conduct was not altogether correct; and wrote to Stella, to inquire whether she \^ as, or was not, married. The answer was in the affirmative. Mr. Allen. And proved a death-warrant to poor Vanessa, who survived the sad intelligence only a few weeks. Sir Charles. I can scarcely imagine the conduct of any man to have been more unprincipled than that of Swift towards this unfortunate lady. Of her death, a late writer has remarked, that Swift w as as directly, and as guiltily, the cause, as if he had plunged a dagger into her heart. Mr, Allen. But we have yet to speak of the marriage and death of Stella. Sir Charles. There again, favourite as she desen edly was in his esteem, he conducted himself as no man of principle could have done. After she had been in Ire- land about sixteen years, he was hiduced to marry her; but, from an extraordmary caprice, he did this on an express condition, that their marriage should never be divulged, and that they should continue to live separately as before. Lady Irwin. These were terms which no man had a right to prescribe. Sir Charles. Stella, however, having no alternative, betwixt her affection for Swift, and the fear of losing liim for ever, assented to them. But her state was I 2 172 GENERAL WRITERS. afterwards most deplorable. She became the prey oi' melancholy; and, at length, finding her dissolution approach, entreated of him to grant a dying request : '' As the ceremony of marriage had passed between them, in order to put it out of the power of slander to be busy with her fame after her death ; she adjured Lim, by their friendship, to let her have the satisfaction of dying at least, though she had not lived, his acknow- ledged wife !" With an inhumanity scarcely ever ex- ceeded, he made no reply ; but, turning from her, walked out of the room : nor ever saw her afterwards during the few days she lived. Lady Irwin, Every one must detest a mind that could dictate such conduct to an amiable, affectionate, and unoffending female. Bat you spoke of Swift having attained great popularity ; pra}^ afford me some relief from the lamentable history of Stella, by stating the particulars. Sir Charles. A patent, as it is said, had been surrep- titiously obtained by a person whose name was Wood, to coin, for the Irish people, half-pence, to the value of one hundred and eighty thousand pounds. By this privilege he would have derived an enormous profit; and, proportionally, have impoverished the nation. Swift, under the appellation of Drapier, addressed a series of letters to the people, urging them not to receive this money; and Wood, though powerfully supported, was compelled to withdraw his patent. This was considered so great a service to the public, that, even before Swift was known to have been the author of the letters, the name of Drapier was hailed with universal acclamation. Frederic, At first he did not dare to acknowledge himself the author, for the fourth letter contained several libellous passages. Indeed, that letter had been selected as a ground for prosecution ; and a pro- clamation was issued, offering a reward of three hun- dred pounds for the discovery of the author. Sir Charles, It was on this occasion that an incident JONATHAN SWIFT. 173 occurred, which displays the peculiar character of Swift in a favourable light. Frederic, I dare say, will recollect it. Frederic, He had employed his butler to transcribe the letters, previously to their being sent to the press. This man, soon after the appearance of the proclama- tion, had absented himself one night from the deanery, and there was reason to believe he had betrayed his master. On his return, in the morning, the dean ordered him to strip off his livery, and quit the house. '* I know," said he, *' that I am in your power; but, for that very reason, I will not bear either your insolence, or neglect!" The man, who had merely yielded to the temptation of drinking, confessed his fault, and entreated to be forgiven ; but the dean was inexorable. The man was dismissed, and not again received till the term of the offered reward had expired. Soon after this, his master sent for him. He ordered all the servants to attend, and told them to observe, that Robert was no longer their fellow-servant, but Mr. Blakeney, verger of St. Patrick's ; w^hich place he had procured for him in reward for his fidelity. The grate- ful man, however, continued to officiate as his butler for several years afterwards. Mr, Allen. I am inclined to allow the dean consi- derable merit for this prompt dismissal of bis servant; though it w as at least possible he might know that the man w ould not dare to betray him. Frederic. How so, sir ? Mr. Allen. From a dread of the resentment of that populace, which, on another occasion. Swift said to Dr. Boulter, Archbishop of Armagh, '' If I had lifted my finger they would have torn you to pieces." Sir Charles. We now^ approach a most dark and melancholy period. After the death of Stella, Swift became extremely retired ; the natural austerity of his temper increased, and he shunned the society even of his most intimate friends. Fits of giddiness and deafness, to which he had occasionally been subject, 174 GENERAL WRITERS.^ became more frequent and more severe ; and his memory gradually decayed. At length liis passions became so ungovernable, his memory so imperfect, and his reason so depraved, that, from the year 1739, the utmost precautions were taken to prevent strangers from approaching him. Early in 1742, the small remains of his understanding became wholly confused, and the violence of his rage increased to a degree of madness. His meat was brought to him cut into mor- sels, which he generally ate walking. Several large boils broke out on his body. These, by the pain they caused, kept him awake nearly a whole month; during one week of which, it was with difficulty that five persons restrained him, by mere force, from tearing out his own eyes. He afterwards sunk into a state of total insensibility, slept much, and could not, without much persuasion, be induced to walk across the room. He had continued silent, in a state of per- . feet idiotcy for a whole year, when his housekeeper entered his room on his birth-day, and told him that, '^bonfires and illuminations were preparing to cele- brate itf^ he immediately replied, ** It is all folly; they had better let it alone." Lady Irwin, How awful an history ! And how extraordinary a sentence to have been uttered after so long a silence ! Sir Charles, Subsequently to this he had a few lucid intervals. In 1744, he occasionally called his servant by name ; and once, in an attempt to speak to him, not being able to express his meaning, he showed great uneasiness, and at last exclaimed, ** I am a fool." He continued a miserable spectacle of human weak- ness, till the end of October, 1745 ; when, every power of nature being exhausted, he expired, without a struggle, in the seventy-eighth year of his age. Mr, Allen. It is scarcely possible to imagine a more awful lesson than that which the life of Swift exhibits. Whatever had been the feelings of anguish which he had inllicted upon others, these were, at last, severely JONATHAN SWIFT. 175 visited upon himself; and if we could dare to pro- nounce concerning the decrees of Providence, we might almost suppose him to have heen a living monu- ment of the recompense of cruelty. Sir Charles, But it is time we should speak of his writings, which are extremely numerous. Mr. Allen. They are so numerous as to admit of only a very general account of them, the last edition having been published in nineteen volumes in octavo. Those which have obtained the greatest celebrity are, the " Tale of a Tub," '^ Gulliver's Travels," ^^ Dra- pier's Letters," and his voluminous *' Correspondence." As a writer. Swift was original, and probably will, in some respects, always be unparalleled. In a grave style of wit he was inferior to none. His irony is maintained with such an air of simplicity, that it would deceive any reader not aware of his drift. His writings abound in ludicrous ideas of every kind : these are abundantly interspersed in his poems, but they too often deviate into grossness. That he was capable of high polish and elegance, some of his pieces sufficiently prove ; but his habitual taste led him to the humorous, the famihar, and sarcastic. His prose writings have been considered a model of purity, clearness, and simplicity ; and have been spoken of with exaggerated praise. He certainly expresses his meaning with perfect precision ; but this is done without grace, and he is chiefly remarkable for a great choice and profusion of common words and expressions. Were it possible for Swift to revive, he would, probably, attain little distinction as a didactic, or argumentative writer ; though in that severe species of wit and humour, for which he was remarkable, he would not find a rival. 170 GENERAL WRITERS. TWENTY-FOURTH EVENING. On the subject of style in prose writing, Frederic^ this evening, remarked, there was none with which he had been more pleased, than that of Dr. Gold- smith; particularly in his interesting little novel. '' The Vicar of Wakefield." He did not profess to consider himself a judge of literary merit, but he could not refrain from stating, after the conversation of last night, relative to the style of Swift's writings, the interest that he had experienced in reading the works of this author. Edmund said, that he very much admired Goldsmith's '* History of the Earth and Animated Nature ;" but Frederic, who, under the 4;uition of Mr. Allen, had become somewhat of a natui-alist, observed that, the elegance of its style he would readily admit ; but that he could not certainly say he admired the work : as, with even his inexperience in natural his- tory, he had been able to detect in it a great number of errors. Mr, Allen, Dr. Johnson, who well knew the au- thor's ignorance of this subject, one day said to a friend, during the time that Goldsmith was writing it, that, '' he would make his natural history as entertain- ing as a Persian tale." Lady Irwin, Was not Dr. Goldsmith a native of Yorkshire ? Frederic, He was an Irishman, born in the parish of Forney, and county of Longford, on the twenty- ninth of November, 1728. Lady Irwin, What were the particulars of his education ? Frederic. His father was a clergyman of the Establisjied Church. He had seven children, five sons and two daughters ; and an income so small, as not to admit of his giving to all of them a literary education. Oliver, the son of whom we are speaking, was, consequently, intended for a mercantile employ- OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 177 ment. His instruction in reading, writing, and arith- metic, was obtained at a common school, the master of which was an old soldier. This man had been a quarter-master in Queen Anne's wars, and, having travelled much, and having a romantic imagination, amused his pupil with marvellous stories of his own adventures; and is supposed to have imparted to his mind the first tincture of that wandering and unsettled disposition, by which it was afterwards so strongly marked. Lady Irwin, But was he not distinguished in his youth by strong traits of genius ? Frederic, Yes; and these induced the friends of his father to contribute towards the expense of placing him in a reputable school, for the purpose of his being afterwards sent to the University of Dublin. He was admitted a member of Trinity College, in his fifteenth year ; but under a tutor of such harsh and overbearing disposition, that he sank into despair. At length, hav- ing sold his books and clothes, he left college, and commenced a wanderer without any views even of sub- sistence; without friends, and almost without money. jSTot long after this he suffered such extremity of hunger that, in one instance, we are informed, a handful of peas, which a girl gave him at a wake, was considered a luxurious meal. Lady Irwin, And what, Frederic, became of him after this ? Frederic. His elder brother, Henry, clothed him afresh, took him back to college, and effected a recon- ciliation betwixt him and his tutor. Mr, Allen, He had next the misfortune to lose his father; and his friends were desirous that he should prepare himself for holy orders; but Goldsmith objected to a clerical life, as not suited to the general turn of his disposition. Frederic, So he chose, when he left college, to be- come a tutor in a private family. Edmund, And this kind of life soon became so^ irk- ] 3 17B GiiNERAL %VRITERS, some to him that, with thirty pounds in his pocket, he set out as a wanderer about the country; and, after an absence of six weeks, having, in the mean time, gone through a series of whimsical adventures, he returned to his mother's house without a penny. Sir Charles, His whole life was a series of impru- dences, and aflfords an useful lesson of tlie miseries to which even a successful man must be subject, if he be inattentive to the common concerns of life. What, I would ask, happened immediately after he was recon- ciled to his mother and his friends? He was. supplied with money at his own request, was sent to the Temple to study the law ; and, in his way, met with a sharper, who tempted him to play at cards, cheated him of fifty pounds, and once again ruined him. Mr. Allen, This conduct was extremely blameable, for Goldsmith well knew his friends could ill indeed afford to supply him with money. Sir Charles, They were, however, abundantly kind to him. They again received him; and, as he had now resolved to think no more of the law, but to study physic, they sent him to Edinburgh; where, though with little regularity or perseverance, he applied him- self to attain a knowledge of the several branches of medicine under the professors in that university. Lady Irwin, And what were his progress and suc- cess there ? Frederic, Goldsmith had always something that pleased him better than stated application. In Edin- burgh he was chiefly desirous of recommending him- self to the notice of his fellow-students, as a social companion, and a man of humour; consequently his progress in study was not very rapid ; and, after he had been there somewhat more than twelve months, he was obliged to leave the place with precipitation, in conse- quence of having become security for the payment of a debt contracted by one of his associates. He embarked on board a ship for Bourdeaux, with some Scotchmen, who had been enlisting soldiers for the French army; OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 179 but the vessel being driven, by stress of weather, to take shelter in the river Tyne, he was arrested, and cast into prison. Mr, Allen, This proved to him a singularly pro- \ddential event; for the ship sailed during the time he was in prison, was wrecked at the mouth of the Ga- ronne, and every person on board perished. His uncle, who had hitherto chiefly supported him, relieved him after a fortnight's confinement, equipped him afi'esh, and procured him a passage, on board a Dutch ship, to Rotterdam, from whence he was to proceed to Leyden, to complete his medical studies. Edmund, Never, certainly, had this man his equal in carelessness and imprudence. After having con- tinued in Leyden about a year, he again ruined him- self by gaming, and borrowed a sum of money to enable him to return to England. Frederic, Yes; and before he left the country, he spent the whole of it at a Dutch florisf s, in purchasing costly flowers as a present for his uncle ; and set out on his travels possessed of only one clean shui, and with- out any money in his pocket. Sir Charles. In such circumstances any other man than Goldsmith would have laid his account with staning ; but he has himself told us, that, in the midst of his wretchedness, he had always *' a knack at hoping." Mr, Allen, And what, in this miserable plight, would have been thought insanity in any other per- son, he resolved Ijidy Incin, To return of course immediately to England, to be re-equipped by the kindness of his friends, and, I presume, was now disappointed. Mr, Allen, No; to make the tour of Europe. Lady Irwin, Admirable ! without a shilling in his pocket. Pray how was that to be accomplished ? Frederic, He had some knowledge of the French language, and played tolerably well on the German flute. It is said, that his learning produced liim a 180 GENERAL WRITERS. hospitable reception at most of the monasteries, and that his music insured him a welcome from the pea- sants. He was enabled to pursue his rambles, which he performed on foot, partly by demanding, at the miiversities, to enter the lists as a disputant ; by which, according to the custom of many of them, he was entitled, on a sufficient display of talent, to a reward in money, a dinner, and a bed for the night. When he arrived at Geneva, he was recommended as a tra- velling tutor to a young man, who had been clerk to an attorney, but who, by the death of an uncle, had become possessed of a considerable sum of money, and was determined, on the receipt of his fortune, to see the world. Lady Irwin, Why, this is nearly the history of George Primrose, the pliilosopliical vagabond, in the Vicar of Wakefield. Mr. Allen, Whose character, perhaps your ladyship may not be aware, was intended, by Goldsmith, as an outline of his own. Lady Lncin, I did not know this before. Frederic, It was part of the agreement between Goldsmith and his pupil, that, although he was to be the tutor, the pupil was, in every particular, to govern himself; and Goldsmith soon found that the young gentleman had a perfect knowledge of the value of money, and that avarice was his predominant passion. It may easily be imagined that, with dispositions so dilferent, these two persons would not long continue together; and so it turned out. They proceeded from Geneva to the south of France, where they quarrelled; and the pupil, having paid the small portion of salary which was due to Goldsmith, embarked at Marseilles and left him there. After having wandered through the most interesting parts of Italy, for about six months. Goldsmith bent his course toward England, and landed at Dover, in the year 1756. Sir Charles, He was, at this time, about twenty- tight years of age. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 181 Mr, Allen, And the state of his finances was such that, on his arrival in London, his whole stock of money amounted only to a few half-pence. He had now to seek for a ncAV means of subsistence. Edmund, And, for taat purpose, applied, under a feigned name, to several apothecaries, with the hope of being received in the capacity of a journeyman. Frederic, Humiliating as this procedure must have been to a man of education. Goldsmith was unsuccess- ful. His broad Irish accent, and the general sloven- liness and uncouthness of his appearance, exposed him, in many instances, even to insult. A chemist in the city, however, commiserating his forlorn appear- a ice, and the simplicity of his manner, hired him as an assistant in his laboratory. By the aid of a re- spectable physician, whom he had formerly known. Goldsmith, after a little while, was liberated from this degrading employment. Sir Charles, It would be an endless task for Fre- deric to go through all the particulars of the various fortmie of Goldsmith. I will, therefore, endeavour to shorten the story, by stating that he appears next to have settled as a physician; but that finding, as he himself said, *' Plenty of patients, but no fees;" or, in other words, being wholly devoid of perseve- rance, he gave up this project, and engaged himself as an assistant in a school for young gentlemen at Peck- ham. It was in this situation that Goldsmith first appears to have earned any money by the exertions of his pen ; and, after a little while, he was induced to leave it, by an offer from the editor of the iVlontlily Review of lodging, board, and a handsome salary, on condition that he should write some of the leading articles in that work. He at the same time conducted the Lady's Magazine for another bookseller, and pub- lished other works which proved eminently success fuL Lady Irwin. I am glad to hear that he at last be- came settled. T shall now hope to be informed of his re- formation. He who could so well instruct others, must, 182 GENERAL WRITERS. surely, have himself felt the benefits of a serious turn of mind. Edmund. He was still bent upon wandering; and actually applied to Lord Bute, then the prime minister, for a salary to enable him to go into Asia, for the purpose of acquiring a knowledge, as far as might be, of any arts peculiar to the East, and introducing them into this country. But his application was treated with neglect. Frederic, When this project was mentioned to Dr. Johnson, he replied, " Of all men that I know. Gold- smith is the most unfit to go out upon such an inquiry; for he is utterly ignorant of such arts as we already possess, and consequently could not know what would be accessions to our present stock of mechanical know- ledge. Sir, he would bring home a grinding-barrow, which you see in ever}^ street of London, and think he had furnished a wonderful improvement.'' Mr, Allen, This observation appears to have been perfectly in character ; for no one knew the real merits and mind of Goldsmith better than Dr. Johnson. There can be no doubt but he had almost as little knowledge of the world as a child. The proofs of this, and of his excessive vanity, are almost innu- merable. Edmund, I well recollect one anecdote illustrative of his simplicity. Frederic, And I several of his vanity. Edmund, After he had attained some celebrity as an author, he was requested to wait upon the late Duke of Northumberland, in consequence of the satis- faction which that nobleman had received from the perusal of one of his publications. Goldsmith related to a friend this account of his visit : *' I dressed myself in the best manner I could, and, after studying some compliments, which I thought were necessary on such an occasion, proceeded to Northumberland House, and acquainted the servants, that ' I had par- ticular business with his grace.' They showed me into OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1V>{^ ail ail ti-cli amber, where, after waiting some time, a gentleman very elegantly dressed made his appear- ance. Taking him for the duke, T delivered all the fine things I had composed, in order to compliment him on the honour he had done me; when, to my great astonishment, he told me, * I had mistaken him for his master, who would see me immediately.' At that instant the duke came into the apartment ; and I was so confounded, that I wanted words barely suffi- cient to express the sense I entertained of his polite- ness, and went away excessively chagrined at the blunder I had committed." Frederic. But this was not the only disagreeable consequence of the visit. Notwithstanding the em- barrassment he had experienced. Goldsmith was vain of the honour, and vvas continually mentioning it. A bailift, who had a writ against him, had heard of this vanity, and determined to turn it to his own advan- tage. He wrote a letter to Goldsmith, informing him that '^ he was steward to a nobleman, who had been charmed with reading his last production, and begged to have the pleasure of seeing him.'^ The poor author became the dupe of his o^n folly, assented to accom- pany the pretended steward, was arrested on the way, and thrown into prison. Lady L^n, I certainly never before heard of so weak a man, and yet so able a writer as this. T really am not much surprised at Lord Or ford having, on one occasion, denominated him '' an inspired idiot." Frederic. Goldsmith, though his person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, and his general deportment extremely awkward, was peculiarly anxious to be admired for his dress. He one day Avent to a club, of which he, Dr. Johnson, and other literary men, were members, in a glaring bloom-coloured coat, and strutted about, looking at his clothes, seemingly desirous of attracting the attention of the company. Some of them ridiculed his finery. To prove how wrong they 184 GENEP.AL WRITERS. were, he pettishly said, '' Let me tell you, gentlemen, when my tailor brought home this coat, he begged of me to tell ail my friends who made it." Sir Charles, On which Johnson replied, '' that was because he knew the strange colour would attract crowds to gaze at it, and thus they might hear of him, and see how well he could make a coat even of so absurd a colour 1" Frederic, But the envy of Goldsmith was even more absurd than his vanity. He once accompanied two beautiful young ladies to Paris, and was seriously offended because greater attention was paid to them than to himself. Indeed any peculiar distinctions shown to other persons excited his envy, and that, sometimes, to an excess which seems scarcely credible. He was one day at an exhibition of puppets called the Fantocini, when some persons, who sat next him, ob- served with what dexterity one of them was made to toss a pike. Ridiculous as it may seem, even this praise he could not bear; and he exclaimed with warmth, '' Pshaw ! I can do it better myself." He w^ent home with Mr. Burke to supper, and actually broke his shin b}^ attempting to exhibit to the company, how much better he could jump over a stick than one of the puppets had done. Lady Irwin. 1 am inclined to conclude, from what you have said, that it must have been the vanity of Goldsmith which led him to a silly mode of attempt- ing to exhibit talents in conversation to which he was unequal ; and thus, on many occasions, rendering him- self unpleasantly conspicuous in literary society. Mr, Allen, It was so. Dr. Johnson was accustomed to say, it was Goldsmith's misfortune to go on in con- versation, without knowing how he was to get off: that his genius was great, but his knowledge small; and that, as he had no settled notions on any subject, so be always talked at random. ** It seemed to be his iiitention to blurt out whatever was in his mind, and OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 185 see what would become of it/' Yet Johnson has said of him that '* whatever he wrote, he did better than any other man could have done." Sir Charles, Boswell has remarked, apparently from an observation of Dr. Jolinson, that " his mind resem- bled a ferlile but thin soil. There was a quick but nat a strong vegetation of whatever chanced to be sown. No deep root could be struck. The oak of the forest did not grow there; but tli^ elegant shrubbery and the fragrant parterre." Lady Irwin. This observation appears to me per- fectly correct, and may be applied to all his works ; which certainly have much elegance, but seem to be wanting in that depth of knowledge, and that strength of intellect, which are so visible in the writings of his great contemporary. Dr. Johnson, and those of some other eminent men of his own time. Mr, Allen, Perhaps it may not be unamusing to run over the dates of Goldsmith's principal works, of which I believe I have a tolerably good recollection. His admirable little story, the '' Vicar of Wakefield," was published in 1760; the poem called the ** Tra- veller," in 1765 ; his comedy, the '' Good-natured Man/^ was successfully performed at Covent Garden Theatre in 1768; his '' Deserted Village," was pub- lished in 1769; in 1772, his comedy of '' She Stoops to Conquer;'' and early in 1774, his " History of the Earth and Animated Nature." Sir Charles. An anecdote has been related of the publication of the Deserted Village, which places the character of Goldsmith, as a man of integrity and sim- plicity of mind, in a very favourable point of view. A bookseller had given him a hundred pounds for the copy-right. Goldsmith mentioned this to one of his friends a few hours afterwards; and his friend re- marked, that it was ** a very large sum for so short a performance, being nearly five shillings a line." — '' In truth," replied Goldsmith, " I think so too. It certainly is much more than the honest man can afford tio give, or 186 GENERAL WRITERS. than the piece is worth. I have not been easy since I received it. I will, therefore, go back and return him his note." This he actually did, and left it to the bookseller to pay him in proportion to the profits produced by the sale of the poem, which proved very considerable. Mr, Allen, It is a remarkable circumstance relative to the writings and conduct of Goldsmith, that, un- settled and unsteady as he was, he had application enough to produce several extensive compilations, among which are to be enumerated, his "• History of England,'' and ** History of the Earth and Ani- mated Nature." His writings were so successful that he received from the booksellers at least eight thousand pounds in the course of fourteen years, and yet he was almost always in debt. Sir Charles. His poverty is easily to be accounted for. Goldsmith certainly derived great profits from his works ; but, being extremely deficient in economy, and continuing addicted to gaming, though little ac- quainted with the frauds of gamesters, he became the prey of those who were unprincipled enough to take advantage of his prodigality or ignorance. We are also told that he was constantly beset by his own countrymen in distress, whose wants, as far as he was able, he always relieved ; and, it is said, that he often left himself without a guinea, in order to alleviate the necessities of others. Mr. Allen. The death of Goldsmith seems to have been as extraordinary, and as probably induced by his own obstinacy, as the misfortunes of his life had been occasioned by his excessive imprudence. He was seized by a nervous fever; and, contrary to the advice of all his medical friends, persisted in an improper use of James's fever powder, as a specific on which he solely depended for the restoration of his health. This expected remedy is said to have been the more immediate cause of his death, which took place on the fourth of April, 1774, in the forty- SAMUEL JOHNSON. 187 fifth year of his age. He was interred in the burying ground of the Temple ; and a monument was erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey. Lady Irwin, You have as yet said nothing of the poetry of Goldsmith. Mr. Allen, He is usually considered rather as a poet of reason, than of fancy or pathos. The Traveller, however, is a noble production. Its sentiments are always interesting, generally just, and often new. Its imagery is elegant, picturesque, and occasionally sub- lime ; and its language nervous, highly finished, and full of harmony. It is far superior to the Deserted Village, wliich, with many beautiful passages, is defec- tive in closeness of compression and novelty of imagery, and, as it has been remarked, is sicklied over with a tone of affected or morbid melancholy. TWENTY-FIFTH EVENING. Sir Charles. We, yesterday, had occasion to speak of the style of Goldsmith's prose- writings. It is un- doubtedly fluent and animated ; but it is by no means comparable with that of his great contemporary. Dr. Samuel Johnson. *'The Rambler," for instance, contains some of the finest sentiments that can be imagined, recommended and embellished by the great- est harmony and splendour of language. Mr. Allen. The style of Johnson has formed a kind of era in English composition. It is distinguished by a preference for words of Latin extraction, by the frequent use of abstract terms, and by an arrangement of clauses peculiarly calculated to produce a sonorous rotundity of period. He delivers moral maxims, and dictatorial sentences with wonderful force. Hence he has been aptly styled, the Jupiter tonans of reli- gion and morality. It is deserving of remark, that 188 GENERAL WRITERS. Johnson appears first to have assumed his pomp of diction in the Ramhler, at the time that he was pro- ceeding with his Dictionary ; and that, in the course of his work, as he grew famiUar with technical and scholastic words, he seems to have thought the bulk of his readers were equally learned with himself, or, at least, that they would admire his style in propor- tion to its splendour and dignity. Frederic. And yet he could unbend, and accommo- date himself to other notions of excellence ; for, in his periodical publication of the '' Idler," it was requisite, in order to be consistent with the plan of the work, that he should assume a style of ease and unlaboured elegance, and it is generally been considered that he has, in this respect, been successful. Sir Charles. Are you prepared with the life of John- son? Edmund. We are both prepared, sir. Sir Charles. I wish then you would proceed with it to-night. Edmund. I will commence by stating, that Dr. Johnson was born at Litchfield, in Staffordshire, in the year 1709. His father was a bookseller, a man of athletic form, and violent passions ; wrong headed, and, at times, afflicted with a degree of melancholy little short of madness. His mother was a woman of good understanding, though unimproved by education. She assiduously instilled sentiments of piety into the infant mind of her son ; as he often acknowledged with gratitude. When about eight years old, he was sent to the free-school of his native city. Here he was never known to have been corrected for any fault except talking, and diverting other boys from their business. He seems to have learnt by intuition ; for though indolence and procrastination were inherent in his constitution, whenever he exerted himself he far excelled every other boy in the school. Mr. Allen. Much of his superiority over the otlier boys, was obtained by his memory being peculiarly SAMUEL JOHNSON. 109 retentive. He was, however, conscious, in after life, of the great disadvantages which he experienced from his early indolence, and from his want of regularity in study, whilst at school. Do you recollect the account that has been given of his amusements when a boy? Frederic, Perfectly. His school-fellows, often re- ceiving assistance from him in their lessons, submitted to his will in almost every thing. Three of the boys generally carried him in a morning to school. One, in the middle, stooped, while he sat upon his back ; and one on each side supported him. He never joined with the other boys in their diversions ; and his own chief amusement was in the winter, when he took pleasure in being drawn upon the ice, by a boy bare- footed, who pulled him along by a garter fastened round his waist. Sir Charles, One circumstance was remarkable in Johnson, even when a boy at school. I allude to his inviolable regard for truth. Mr, Allen, On this subject he one day said to a friend, " Accustom your children to a strict attention to truth, even in the most trivial particulars. If, for instance, a thing happen at one window, and they, when relating it, say that it happened at another, do not let it pass, bat instantly check them : you do not know where deviation from truth will end." Lady Irwin, Nothing can be more important, in the education of youth, than to teach them the excellence of veracity. All the vices of which mankind are guilty have had their origin in early life, in a depar- ture from truth. Edmund, When about nineteen years of age, John- son was. sent to Pembroke College, Oxford; and, when examined previously to admission, the master told him he was the best qualified young man for the university that he had ever known to come there. The death of his father, in distressed circumstances, whilst Johnson was in college, reduced him to diffi- culties so great that he was compelled to leave the 100 GENERAL WRITERS. university without a degree, and to accept of the em- ployment of under-master in a grammar-school, at Market Bosworth, in Leicestershire. Frederic. This became a very irksome and dis- agreeable employment to him, in every particular; and in the course of a few months, he was determined to relinquish it. Edmund, I think that what we next hear of John- son is his marrying a Mrs. Porter, the widow of a mercer, in Birmingham, with a fortune of about eight hundred pounds. He now set up a private academy near I^itchfield, where young gentlemen were to be boarded, and educated in the Greek and Latin lan- guages. Frederic. He did so; but the project was unsuc- cessful, for he had only three pupils ; the celebrated David Garrick, the actor; his brother, George Garrick, and another person. Mrs. Johnson's fortune was nearly consumed by tliis speculation, and Johnson himself became greatly embarrassed in his circumstances. His sense of religion, and his strong reliance on Provi- dence, were now, however, a source of the greatest comfort and satisfaction to him. Mr, Allen, That his mind, at this period, was deeply affected by a sense of religion, is evident from a pas- sage written by him on the seventh of September, 1736. '' I have this day entered my twenty-eighth year. Mayest thou, O God, enable me, for Jesus Christ's sake, to spend this in such manner, that I may receive comfort from it at the hour of death, and in the day of judgment. Amen." Lady Irwin, It is very satisfactory to know that a man whose mind was so powerful as Johnson's, should have had so full a conviction as he had of the truth of Revelation. Frederic, Although his circumstances appear, at this time, to have been extremely desperate, he deter- mined to go to London. This he did, in company with Garrick. SAMUEL JOHNSON. 191 Sir diaries. And, probably, two such candidates for fame and fortune never, before that day, entered the metropolis together. They brought with them genius, and powers of mind pecuUarly formed by nature, for the vocations to which each of them felt himself inclined. They acted from the impulse of young minds, even then meditating future greatness, and, with courage, anticipating success. Mr. Allen. It is true, that they each proved emi- nently successful; but the risk, particularly on the part of Johnson, who was a married man, though with no family, was truly alarming. He proposed to earn his subsistence by the hard labour of his pen ; chiefly in translating works into English, from the Latin and French languages,^ and writing for the Gentleman^s, and other magazines. Frederic. Johnson's reception in London, as an author, was not very flattering. Among other persons, he applied to Mr. Wilcox, a bookseller of some emi- nence, in the Strand ; who, after deliberately surveying liis robust fi^ame, told him, with a significant look, '' Yomig man, you had better buy a porter's knot !" Lady Irwin. What, the colossus of literature be- come a porter, and demean himself by carrying boxes, and hampers, and parcels ! Frederic. Even so ; but, after much exertion, for indolent as he naturally was, Johnson was compelled to exert himself, or he must have starved, he attained great celebrity as a writer. Mr. Allen. But how mortifying a reflection is it, that a man with talents so extraordinary, and learning so great as his, should not have been able, at the age of thirty, to force his way to the favour of the public. Slow rises worth by poverty depressed. '' He was still,'' as lie says himself, *' to provide for the day that was passing over him." One of his chief employ- ments was to write the parliamentary speeches in the Gentleman's Magazine. This he first began to do in 192 GENEF.AL V/RITERS. the year 1740 ; and tlie eloquence of these speeches is. in many instances truly admirable. Sir Charles, A somewhat singular anecdote has been cited respecting one of them. Johnson was not known to have had any concern in them; and one day, at a dinner, when Mr. Wedderburne (afterwards Lord Loughborough), Dr. Johnson, and Dr. Francis, the translator of Horace, were present, the latter observed, that a particular speech, made by Mr. Pitt (the late Lord Chatham), was the best he had ever read. He added, that *' he had himself been employed nearly eight years in the study of Demosthenes, and had finished a translation of that celebrated orator, with all the decorations of style and language within the reach of his capacity; but that he had met with nothing equal to that speech. After having sat for some time silent, Johnson said, *^ that speech I wrote in a garret in Exeter-street.'' The company stared at each other in amazement, and Dr. Francis, asked, '^How could it have been written by you?" — '' Sir," said Johnson, '^ I wrote it in Exeter-street. I never had been in the gallery of the house of commons in my life except once. Cave (the proprietor of the Gentleman's Maga- zine), and the persons employed under him, gained admittance. They brought away the subject of dis- cussion, the names of the speakers, the side they took, and the order in which they rose, with notes of the arguments advanced in the course of the debate. The whole was afterwards communicated to me, and T composed the speeches in the form they now have in the parliamentary debates.^' To this discovery Dr. Francis replied, '* Then, sir, you have excelled Demos- thenes himself." Frederic. This is a very singular anecdote : it shows the wonderful facility of Johnson's mind. Mr, Allen, After struggling with adversity for many years, we at length, in 1747, see announced the de- sign of his great work, the ** Dictionary of the English SAMUEL JOHNSON. 193 Language/' For the preparation of this work the booksellers entered into an agreement to pay him the sum of fifteen hundred guineas. Edmund, It must have been a most laborious under- taking. Mr. Allen, It was so; and, though he had the assis- tance of several persons to copy for him, it occupied, in the whole, nearly six years. He says, that it was written *' not in the soft obscurities of retirement, nor under the shelter of academic bowers, but amidst inconvenience and distraction, in sickness and sorrow, and without the patronage of the great/' Sir Charles, It is indeed to be lamented that no better patronage was afforded to Dr. Johnson, than that of the booksellers. By his own exertions, how- ever, he found that he was now able to provide toler- ably well for the support of himself and his wife. Frederic, Some time after he had been engaged in the Dictionary, he commenced his admirable publication of the ^' Rambler."' This was a periodical work, issued at the rate of two numbers a week ; and for each num- ber he received two guineas, besides retaining a right to share in the profits of the work on a republication of it collectedly. Mr, Allen, Among numerous instances of the piety of Dr. Johnson, there was one connected with the publication of the Rambler. After he had formed a resolution to undertake a work that might be of use to mankind, and an honour to his country, he thought, Avith Milton, that this was not to be obtained *^ but by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit, who can enrich with all utterance, and all knowledge, and send out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar, to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases." And it was not until he had invoked the especial protection of Heaven, and, by that act of piety, fortified his mind, that he began the work. It did not at first prove very successful, but Dr. Johnson lived to see the publication of a tenth edition of it. K 194 GENERAL WRITERS. Edmund. The rapidity with which he wrote several papers of the Rambler was peculiarly remarkable. These were composed in haste, as the moment pressed, and, in some instances, he did not even read them over before they were printed. Mr. Allen. This may have been, and I dare say was true ; but it must not be forgotten, that Dr. John- son never took his pen in hand till he had well weighed the subject respecting which he was about to write; and had grasped, in his comprehensive mind, the senti- ments, the train of argument, and general arrangement of the whole. Sir Charles. It is also deserving of note, that, after tlie publication of the first edition, Johnson almost re-wrote the whole work; and that he corrected not only the second, but the third edition, to an extent perhaps never before known in the annals of litera- ture; by the introduction of more than six thousand alterations ! Edmund. I should much like to compare the ori- ginal with the subsequent editions, for the purpose of seeing the nature of these alterations. Mr. Allen. From the irritability of his constitution. Dr. Johnson had, at all times, an impatience and hurry when he either read or wrote. A certain apprehen- sion, arising from novelty, made him write his first exercise at college twice over ; but he never took that trouble with any other composition, and even most of his excellent works were written with peculiarly rapid exertion. Frederic. His biographer, Mr. Boswell, has stated, that he was known to have written six sheets of a translation from the French in one day, and to have composed forty-eight of the printed octavo pages of the Ufe of Savage at one sitting. Sir Charles. He did so; but, in the latter instance, it must be remarked that he sat up all night. Edmund. How laborious, and, on the whole, how little lucrative, appears to be the life of a man who SAMUEL JOHNSON. Wo ii compelled to earn his subsistence by the efforts of liis pen. 3Ir, Allen. It is indeed. Even this great writer found it s6 ; for, a little while after he had completed his Dictionary, he was again in distress. He was arrested for a debt of five pounds eighteen shillings, and was obliged to write to Mr. Richardson, the author of Sir Charles Grandison, to borrow sufficient money to discharge it with. His poverty also com- pelled him to give up house-keeping, and retire to chambers, in Inner Temple-lane; where, we are told by his biographer, Mr. Murphy, he lived in poverty, total idleness, and the pride of literature. Lady Irwin, Broken down and dispirited, no doubt, by the miseries of his situation. Mr. Allen, It has been related, that Johnson's elegant and philosophical, but somewhat gloomy, fiction of ''Ras- selas," was wiitten for the purpose of obtaining sufficient money to defray tlie expenses of his mother's funeral, and discharge a few debts which she had unavoidably contracted. Sir Charles, It gladdens one's heart, however, to know that, not long after this, he was entirely freed from pecuniary embarrassment, by a pension from the crown of three hundred pounds a year. This induced him to leave his chambers, and once more become the master of a house, which he now took in Johnson's- court. Fleet-street. Frederic, But, sir, before you establish him in his new residence, allow me to state what I recollect con- cerning Mr. Boswell's account of Dr. Johnson's library, which was in two garrets, over his chambers in the Temple. He says, he there saw a great number of books*, but all very dusty and in great confusion. The floor was strewed with manuscript leaves, in Johnson's hand-writing. There was also an apparatus for chemical experiments, to which the doctor had, all his life, been \ ery partial. The place seemed favourable for retire- K 2 196 GENERAL WRITERS. ment; and, wlieii he wanted to study without interrup- tion, he went up thither, and did not even mention it to his servant. Lady Irwin, I should much like to have seen this extraordinary man. Sir Charles, His personal appearance was very rude and uncouth. When young he is described to have been lean and lank, so that his immense structure of bones was hideously striking to the eye; and the scars of the scrofula, a disease with which he was much afflicted, were deeply visible. At this period he wore his own hair, which was straight and stiff, and separated behind; and he often had seemingly con- vulsive starts and odd gesticulations : but his conver- sation was so interesting that all these defects were forgotten. His disorder was thought, by some per- sons, to have been of the nature of that denominated St. Vitus's dance, others imagined it to have originated in habit. It, however, gave him so unpleasant an appear- ance, that he was often mistaken by strangers for an idiot. Frederic, A little girl, surprised by his extraordinary motions, one day said to him, " Pray, Dr. Johnson, why do you make such strange gestures T He good- naturedly replied, '' From bad habit; and do you, my dear, take care to guard against bad habits." Sir Charles. We are told that, in after life, while talking or musing, as he sat in his chair, he commonly held his head to one side, towards his right shoulder, and shook it in a tremulous manner; moving, at the same time, his body backward and forward, and rub- bing his left knee, in the same direction, with the palm of his hand. In the intervals of articulating he made various sounds with his mouth, sometimes as if rumi- nating, or what is called chewing the cud, sometimes giving a half-whistle, sometimes making his tongue to play backward from the roof of his mouth, as if cluck- ing like a hen, and sometimes protruding it against his upper gums in front ; generally, when he had concluded SAMUEL JOHNSON. 197 a period in the course of a dispute, by which time he was a good deal exhausted through violence and vociferation, he used to blow with his breath like a whale. This is supposed to have been a relief to his lungs, though it seemed a contemptuous mode of expression, as if he had wholly defeated the arguments of his oponents. Lady Irwin, I recollect to have read, that once, to show his politeness to a French lady, Madame de Boufflers, who went to see him at his chambers in the Temple, he attended her to her carriage, though dressed in a rusty brown coat, a pair of old shoes by way of slippers, a little shrivelled wig, sticking on the top of his head, and the sleeves of his shirt, and the knees of his breeches, hanging loose. Edmund, The account goes on to state, that a con- siderable crowd of people had gathered round her carriage, which had been stationed in Fleet-street, and were not a little surprised by his singular appearance. Lady Trtvin. Dr. Johnson was not always a very polite man in company. Even his biographerj Mr. Boswell, states many instances of what appear to have been direct rudenesses. Mr, Allen. It is very true, that with the exteriors of politeness he was not much acquainted. The melan- choly which had long been habitual in his constitution, had an effect on his temper, and rendered him ex- tremely impetuous and irritable. He had also great pride of science, and a fierce independent spirit, which inflamed him on some occasions beyond all bounds of moderation. Sir Charles. And yet he must have been a most interesting companion ; for he had a mind stored with a vast and various collection of learning and know- ledge. This he communicated with peculiar perspi- cuity and force, in rich and choice expression. He united a logical head with a fertile imagination, which gave him an extraordinary advantage in arguing. No man thought more profoundly, or with more acute discernment. A fallacy could not stand before him; 198 GENERAL WRITERS, it was sure to be refuted by strength of reasoning, and by a precision, both in idea and expression, that were almost unequalled. Frederic. But it is said that he often chose the weaker side, and argued, not in favour^of what he knew to be the truth, but merely for victory. Sir Charles, This was certainly one of his failings. We are even told that a gentleman once thanked Dr. Rose of Chiswick, for having introduced him to Dr. Johnson, as he had been convinced by him, in the course of a long dispute, that an opinion which he had formerly embraced as a settled truth, was only a vulgar eiTor. " Nay," said Johnson, on this being mentioned to him, *' do not let your friend be thankful, for he was right, and I was wrong." But we are wandering somewhat too far from his history. It is time we should revert to it. Frederic, If you please. Shortly after the circum- stances of Johnson had been rendered independent by his pension, he endeavoured to enlarge his circle of literary acquaintance. This he did by founding a club, which was afterwards named the " Literary club f and which originally met at the Turk's Head ta^ ern, in Gerrard-street, every Tuesday evening. Sir Charles, In the year 1766, the constitution of Johnson seemed to be in a rapid decline ; and a mor- bid melancholy, which often clouded his understand- ing, came upon him with a deeper gloom than ever. Mr. Allen, In this situation, Mr. and Mrs. Thrale paid him a visit, and found him on his knees, with the Rev. Dr. Delap, beseeching God to continue to him the use of his understanding. Mr. Thrale kindly took him to his house at Streatham; and Johnson thence- forward became a constant resident in that family. An apartment was fitted up expressly for him, and the library was greatly enlarged. Whatever could be devised to promote his happiness, and establish his health, was studiously performed from that time, till the death of Mr. Thrale. SAMUEL JOHNSON. iOO Edmund, We are told that the fame of Johnson had excited the curiosity of the king. His majesty expressed a desire to see him; and, accordingly, the librarian at Buckingham House, invited Johnson to inspect that elegant collection of books ; at the same time, giving him a hint of what was intended. The king entered the room; and, among other things, asked Dr. Johnson, " if he meant to give the world any more of his compositions?" Johnson answered, ^'That he thought he had written enough." — *SAnd I should think so too," (replied his majesty) '^if you had not written so well." Mr. Allen, The remaining occurrences of his life may be related in few words. In the month of June, 1783, he had a paralytic stroke. This was after the death of his friend, Mr. Thrale ; and when he resided at a house in Bolt-court, Fleet-street. In the win- ter of the same year, he was swelled, from head to foot with a dropsy ; and it was evident that the period of his dissolution could not be far distant. Lady Irwin. Had he not a great fear of death ? Mr. Allen. It is related that he had. Through his whole life he exhibited a fervent and unremitting piety, and at the same time great purity of heart; but, clouded as he was by melancholy, his religion also assumed a melancholy cast. This caused him, in several instances, towards the close of his life, to de- clare that the prospect of death was terrible. But at length the strength of religion entirely prevailed against the infirmity of nature ; and his foreboding dread of the Divine Justice, subsided into a pious trust, and hum- ble hope of mercy at the Throne of Grace. Frederic. Mr. Nichols, the highly respectable editor of the Gentleman's Magazine, has related some interesting circumstances relative to Dr. Johnson, which occurred in his presence. Whilst confined by his last illness, (he says) it was the regular practice of Dr. Johnson, to have the church service read to him, 200 GENERAL WRITERS. by some attentive and friendly divine. The Rev. John Hoole performed this kind office, in the presence of Mr. Nichols, for the last time. By Dr. Johnson's de- sire, no more than the Litany was read ; and, in this, his responses were made in a deep and sonorous voice, and with the most profound devotion that can be imagined. His hearing not being quite perfect, he more than once interrupted Mr. Hoole with, '' Louder, my dear sir, louder, I entreat you, or you pray in vain !" When the service was ended, he, with great earnest- ness, turned to the mother of Mr. Hoole, who also v/as present, and said, *'I thank you, madam, very heartily, for your kindness in joining me in this solemn exercise. Live well, I conjure you; and you will not feel the compunction at last, which I now feel.'' Mr, Allen, So truly humble were the thoughts which this great and good man entertained of his own approaches to perfection. Every hour, that could be abstracted from his bodily pains and infirmities, was spent in prayer, and in the warmest ejaculations; and, in that pious, praise- worthy, and exemplary manner, he ^ closed a life, begun, continued, and ended^ in , virtue. Frederic, Not long after this, on the thirteenth of December, 1785, and in the seventy-fifth year of his age, Dr. Johnson closed his mortal career; and his remains were interred in Westminster Abbey. He left a few legacies; but the chief of his property, amounting fo about fifteen hundred pounds, he be- queathed to Francis Barber, a faithful black servant, who had long lived in his service. Sir Charles, The character of Dr. Johnson need not occupy our further attention ; and we have already spoken of his works, the Rambler, Idler, Dictionary, and Rasselas. Besides these, he wrote several political pamphlets in favour of the government, a " Journey to the Hebrides, or W^estern Islands of Scotland." — Frederic, Which h s been considered a model for SAMUEL JOHNSON. 201 such persons as shall hereafter relate their travels, as far as regards the important subjects of men, manners, modes of life, and the progress of civilization. Si7' Charles. He likewise wrote several sermons, which he gave to his friend, the Rev. Dr. John Taylor; and which were left at his death for publication : and some poetry, both Latin and English. But the most popular of all Dr. Johnson's writings, were his *' Lives of the Poets. '^ It is true that much fault has been found with his criticisms : in particular, it is said, that justice has not been done to Swift ; that Gay, and Prior, are undervalued; and Gray, harshly treated. This charge cannot perhaps be disputed ; yet, with all the defects they have been alleged to exhibit, they are indisputably the most masterly productions of the kind which our language can boast. His works have been published together, in twelve volumes in octavo, edited by Mr. Murphy. As a means of somewhat varying the discussions, and at the same time to employ the young gentlemen in composition, it was proposed by Mr. Allen, that, for the two ensuing evenings, the subjects for discussion should be turned into exercises; and that, in these, Frederic should have the precedence. On being asked what lives they would fix upon, Frederic chose that of Sir William Jones ; and Edmund, the life of Mr. Cumberland, the late dramatic writer. TWENTY-SIXTH EVENING. Frederic Montagu's Exercise. The party assembled at the usual hour. Frederic produced his exercise, and Sir Charles Irwin requested Jiim to read it. He rose, and thus began : '* I have selected as the subject of my exercise, tlie memoirs of Sir William Jones, one of the most k3 t>02 GENERAL WRITERS. amiable men, and accomplished scholars, of his time, I am fully aware of my inability to do justice to his^ character, even with the advantages which I possess of having before me, several excellent memoirs of him ; particularly that by his biographer and friend, Lord Teignmouth. I hope, therefore, for the partiality of friends, to excuse such defects as may appear in the efforts I have made. " Sir William Jones was the only son of William Jones, Esq. an eminent mathematician, who resided in the island of Anglesea, North Wales ; but he was born in London, in the year 1746. His father did not long survive his birth ; and the care of his early years devolved upon his mother, whose talents and virtues eminently qualified her for so important a task. In the education of her son, she appears to have pre- ferred a method at once affectionate and judicious. Discovering in him a curiosity, and a thirst for knovr- ledge, beyond what children generally display, she made the gratification of these to depend upon his own industry. To his incessant importunities for informa- tion, on casual topics, which she watchfully stimulated, she always replied, *^ Read, and you will know;" a maxim to the observance of Avhich he invariably ac- knowledged himself indebted for his subsequent attain- ments. Her success was adequate to her efforts. In his fourth year, her pupil was able to read distinctly and rapidly any English book. She particularly attended to the cultivation of his memory, by making him repeat some of the popular passages of Shakspeare, and some of the best of Gay's Fables. ** As soon as he had completed his seventh year, he was sent to the school at Harrow, then under the care of Dr. Thackeray. Here he applied with diligence to his prescribed tasks, but without indicating that supe- riority of talent which might have been expected from a person who afterwards rendered himself so eminent. During the vacations, his mother assiduously resumed her part of the task; and, among other acquirements, SIR WILLIAM JONES. 203 he attained under her superintendence, tlie art ol drawing, in which she excelled. '* When at school he broke one of his thighs, and was obliged to be taken home for twelve months. The consequence was, that the course of his education was considerably interrupted; and, on his return to school, the greatest and most painful efforts were necessary to recover what he had lost. During a few months, however, he applied so closely, even in his leisure hours, that he again reached the head of his class, and gained every prize that was offered for the best exer- cise. He often amused himself with translating the writings of the Greek and Latin poets into English verse. So surprising were the powers of his memory, that he had no difficulty in recollecting almost every thing he had read. It has been stated that, on one occasion, his schoolfellows had proposed to act the play of the '* Tempest;" but that, having no copy at hand, he wrote it for them so correctly from memory, that they acted with as much reputation as they pro- bably could have derived from the best edition. Whilst he was at school, he wrote a dramatic piece, on the story of Meleager, which was acted by his school- fellows as a tragedy : some lines of this drama have been printed ; Avhich, as of juvenile composition, have great merit. ** In the usual recreations of the boys at Harrow, Jones was not often a partaker; for the hours which were allotted for play, he generally devoted to im- provement *' An anecdote has been recorded at this period which strongly indicates the turn of his mind, and the impression which had been made upon it by his studies. He invented a political game, in which Dr. Bennet, subsequently Bishop of Cloyne, and the afterwards celebrated Grecian, Dr. Parr, were his principal asso- ciates. They divided the fields near Harrow according to the map of Greece, into states and kingdoms. Each 204 GENERAL WKITERS. fixed upon one of tliese as his dominion, and assumed an ancient name. Some of the boys consented to be styled barbarians. They were to invade the territories of the others, and attack their hillocks, which were denominated fortresses. The chiefs vigorously defended their respective domains against the incursions of the enemy ; and, in these imitative wars, the young states- men held councils, made vehement harangues, and composed memorials; all perhaps very boyish, but calculated to fill their minds with ideas of legislation and government. In these amusements, Jones was invariably the leader. ** It was customary with Dr. Thackeray, the master of Harrow school, who retired from the superin- tendence of it, when Jones was in his fifteenth year, never to applaud even the best compositions of his scholars ; from a notion that praise only tended to make tiiem vain or idle. But the opinion which he gave, in private, to the friends of Jones was, that '' he was a boy of so active a mind, that if he were left naked and friendless on Salisbury plain, he would, never- theless, find the road to fame and riches." ^'His name was long afterwards remembered at Harrow, with the respect that was due to his superior talents and erudition. He was frequently quoted by the master who followed Dr. Thackeray, as the orna- ment of the school, and an example for imitation to all the remaining boys. During the time he was there, he not only distinguished himself by the extent of his classical attainments, and his poetical compositions, but by the eloquence of his declamations, and the masterly manner in which they were delivered. '' From Harrow he was sent, in his sixteenth year, to University College, Oxford. It was here that he began to indulge that passion for Oriental literature, in which he afterwards attained so much eminence. He acquired a perfect knowledge of the Hebrew, Arabic, and Persic languages; and, in his ardent thirst foj,^ SIR WILLIAM JONES. 205 learning, studied with so little intermission, from either sleep or exercise, as considerably to injure both his sight and his health. *' The income of his mother was very small. As soon, therefore, as his education was completed, he was induced to accept the situation of tutor to Viscount Althorpe, (now Earl Spencer) that he might relieve her from the expense of his support. His own income was afterwards increased, by being elected a fellow of his college. '* Whilst he was resident with the Spencer family, Mr. Jones was induced, by desire of the King of Den- mark, to translate the life of Nadir Shah from an Eastern manuscript into the French language. He also wrote a Persian grammar, and began to prepare a dictionary of the Persian language, in which the prin-^ cipal words were illustrated from the most celebrated Eastern authors. But the latter work was not com- pleted, on account of the expense with which its compi- lation was attended. '' It appears that Mr. Jones had entertained some doubts relative to the evidences of the Christian reli- gion. The consequence was, a serious and attentive inquiry into the grounds of faith ; and the result, as the result always must be with an impartial mind, was a firm belief in the authenticity and inspiration of the Holy Scriptures. '' As a profession, which he was in future to pur- sue, Mr. Jones, about this time, began to study the law. Yet, as a relaxation for his leisure hours, he wrote several poems, which he printed in a small volume. He translated the life of Nadir Shah into English, and published some '^ Commentaries on Asiatic Poetry;" which he finished when only in his twenty-third year. In 1774, he was called to the bar; and, having remarked that the law was a science, which would admit of no participation with the Eastern muses, he, for some years, renounced them, with the most virtuous and determined inflexibility. Those 206 GENERAL WRITERS. persons who consider the study of the law incompatible with a mind devoted to the acquisition of polite litera- ture, would imagine that Mr. Jones had to encounter almost insuperable difficulties. This, however, was not the case. He found in it nothing so dry or so laborious as not to be overcome by the same industry which had enabled him to vanquish, even in childhood, the difficulties that frequently deter men of mature years. He was stimulated by what appears to have predominated with him through life, an honest am- bition to rise to eminence in his profession. *' In the month of Marcb, 1783, he was appointed a judge of the supreme court of judicature at Fort William, in Bengal; a situation to which he had long anxiously looked forward. On this occasion he received the honour of knighthood : shortlv afterwards he was married to the eldest daughter of Dr. Shipley, Bishop of St. Asaph; and, in the same month, left his native country, to which he never returned. *' He arrived at Calcutta in September, and was eagerly welcomed by all those who were interested in the acquisition of a magistrate of probity and inde- pendence; of a scholar, who was professedly at the head of Oriental literature, and one, in the prime and vigour of life, who bade fair to be long the ornament of the British dominions in India. Sir William Jones had not been long in his new situation before he began to divide his time into such stated portions, that no objects, connected with duty or science, could interfere with each other. One of his first endeavours was, to institute at Calcutta, a society, afterwards denominated the Asiatic Literary Institution, the members of which might aid him in those scientific pursuits, which he foresaw would become infinitely too numerous, and too extended, for his individual labour. Of this society he was, unanimously, elected the president. ** His Avhole time was now divided between the laborious duties of his public situation, and the ex- tension of Oriental knowledge ; and to these he attended SIR WILLIAM JONES. 207 Mitli SO ardent an application, as to prove seriously injurious to his health. He now arranged the scheme of a great national work, a *' Digest of Hindu and Mahommedan Law," to be compiled by the most learned native lawyers of India, and to be accompanied by a literal version into English; and under the appro- bation of the Marquis of Cornwallis, then the gover- nor-general, he undertook the amazing labour of super- intendence and translation. *' This work (he has himself said) he considered a preliminary to the security which he hoped to see established among our Asiatic subjects." ** After some time. Lady Jones, finding herself unable to endure the climate of India, was obliged to return to England. This she did in December, 1793. Sir William himself, proposed to set out in the course of a year and half, or two years, afterwards ; being anxiously desirous of previously completing the system of Indian laws, the arrangement of which he had begun. Lady Jones had not been four months on her voyage, when Sir William was seized with an inflam- mation in the liver, a complaint common in Bengal; wliich terminated fatally, a week afterwards, on the twenty-seventh of April, 1794. On the morning of that day, his attendants, alarmed at the evident symp- toms of approaching dissolution, sent for his friend, Lord Teignmouth. His lordship found him lying on the bed, in a posture of meditation, the only symptom of remaining life being a small degree of motion in the heart ; which, after a few seconds, ceased ; and he expired without a pang or groan. His bodily suffering, from the complacency of his features, and the ease of his attitude, could not have been severe ; and his mind must have derived consolation from those sources, whence he had been in the habit of seeking it, and whence alone, in our last moments, it can ever be found." Lady Irwin, I thank you, Erederic, for your account of one of the most amiable, upright, and learned of men. 208 GEJNERAL WRITERS. Sir Charles. As a son, a husband, a friend, and a citizen, Sir William Jones fulfilled every duty in an exemplary manner. His erudition has been displayed in his various literary labours ; and scarcely any subject of human research escaped his notice. As a linguist, he has seldom been equalled: his list of lan- guages comprehends eight studied critically; eight studied less perfectly, but all intelligible with a dic- tionary; and tvi^elve studied less perfectly, but all attainable. As a poet he would, probably, have risen to the first class, had his ardour for transplanting foreign beauties allowed him leisure for the exercise of his own invention. Mr, Allen, But there is another trait in the cha- racter of Sir William Jones, and of more importance than all the rest. He was a sincere Christian. Of his religious opinions, the following note written in his Bible, is a pleasing testimony: '^I have carefully and regularly perused these Holy Scriptures ; and am of opinion that the volume, independently of its divine origin, contains more sublimity, purer morality, more important history, and finer strains of eloquence, than can be collected from all other books, in whatever lan- guage they may have been written,'' Sir Charles, When we recollect how large a portion of the time and study of Sir William Jones, was ap- plied to the acquirement of a knowledge of ancient history, and the habits and customs of eastern nations, we cannot but feel great satisfaction when we read his observations that, all his historical researches tended to confirm the Mosaic accounts of the primitive world ; and he says, '' Our testimony," (he writes in the name of the Asiatic Society) *' on that subject ought to have the greater weight; because, if the result of our obser- vations had been totally different, we should, never- theless, have published them : not indeed with equal pleasure, but with equal confidence ; for truth is mighty, and, whatsoever be its consequences, must alwayt' prevail,'' RK HARD CUMBERLAND. '200 tWENTY-SEVENTH EVENING. Edmund Irwin's Exercise, '*The Author of the **West Indian," the *' Wheel of Fortune," the '* Jew," and several other comedies, was Richard Cumberland, the son of a clergyman, who had a living in Northamptonshire. His mother was a daughter of Dr. Bentley, the learned master of Trinity College, Cambridge ; and he was himself born in the master's lodge of that college, in the year 1732. '' When a child, he appeared to tnost persons to be dull of intellect. His mother, and his grandfather, were very strict with him, because they thought him capable of greater exei'tions than he chose to make. As soon as he had completed his sixth year, he was sent to school at Bury St. Edmund's. Here he was so careless, that he soon got to the very bottom of his class. But his idleness did not continue long. His master one day called him to his chair at the head of the school, and lectured him publicly, and very sharply ; the attention of all the boys being fixed upon him. Among other observations, the master asked him what report he could expect to be made of him to his grandfather Bentley; whom Bichard both loved and revered. He made no defence, but returned with shame to his seat, which was the lowest in the class, and that class the lowest but one in the school. He hid his face between his hands, resting his head on the desk before him, and cried bitterly. When he raised his eyes and looked round him, he thought he saw contempt in the countenances of all the boys. He resolved to be more studious for the future, and now took all the pains that his age would admit of, to regain his lost ground. His diligence was followed by success; and success encouraged him to fresh exer- tions. From this time, his task, instead of appearing a labour, was his delight. His natural faculties, which 210 GENERAL WRITERS. were good, began to unfold themselves. He ro.^ rapidly to the head of his class; and the whole time he was in the upper school, he never once lost his place. Before he was thirteen years old, he was at the head of the school, was a good Greek and Latin scholar, and had even written several short English poems. His father now sent him to Westminster school, the master of which gave him great commendation for the excellent manner in which he passed his examination; and placed him in one of the higher classes. Here he advanced rapidly in classical knowledge, and parti- cularly in composition. But he was guilty of several blameable actions. Amongst others, he, on one occa- sion, left the Abbey, in the time of divine service, and joined several boys, for the purpose of insulting a congregation of Quakers at their devotions ; and he once imposed upon the master an exercise in Latin verse, whicn he had entirely stolen from a printed book. The master, after commending him for his composition, read the verses aloud to the senior boys, and was proceeding to renew his praise, when, stung with remorse for the disgraceful action, Cumberland honestly confessed he had stolen every syllable of it, and humbly entreated for pardon. The master paused a few moments, and replied, ** Child, I forgive you. Go to your seat, and say nothing of the matter. You have gained more credit with me by your honest con- fession, than you could have got by the verses, had they been your own." Next morning, to make all the amends he was able, Cumberland took great pains in the composition of another exercise, and gave it in imasked for. He also took care to tell the boys, who had heard him so unjustly commended, that he very sincerely repented of the deception lie had practised. '' When only in his fourteenth year, he was admitted at Trinity College, Cambridge. Here, though left almost wholly to his own direction, he led a regular and studious life. He read the works of poets, histo- RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 211 nans, pliilosophers, in short, nearly every thing that rame in his way, with iiidiscriminating avidity ; but he almost wholly neglected those subjects which would be most important to him at the examination on taking his degree. This was the case during his two first years. In his third year, Dr. Smith, then the master of the college, recommended that he should lose no time in preparing for this examination; and he set about the work with so much diligence, as, in a great degree, to endanger his health. He allowed himself . only six hours sleep, and lived chiefly on milk. He now gave his almost exclusive attention to the study of Euclid, mathematics, hydrostatics, optics, and astro- nomy, and those other branches of physical science, a knowledge of which were requisite for the purpose he had in view. In consequence of this close applica- tion, late as he began, he attained a distinguished rank among the honours of the university. "As soon as he had taken his degree, his views were directed towards the clerical profession, to which he was led by his own natural disposition, as well as by the example of several of his ancestors. These ^ however, were frustrated, by an offer from Lord Halifax, then President of the Board of Trade, to make him his private secretary. The situation wa^ too flattering to be refused; though, long before the end of his career, he looked back with regret on the choice he had made. His friends now anticipated for him nothing but prosperity and eminence. He soon, however, began to feel that his situation was fax- from an independent one ; and, though it was such as to afford him ample leisure for literary pursuits, it was by no means suited to the natural turn of his disposi- tion. Under such feelings, it was only by the persua- sion of friends that he could be induced to continue in it. During his leisure hours he read and wrote inces- santly ; and, as he has stated, lived in all the tempe- rance, and nearly all the retirenlent of a hermit. " Lord Halifax resiained his situation at the Board '212 GENERAL WRITERS. of Trade, and Mr. Cumberland, through the interest of that nobleman, obtained a small establishment, as crown agent for the province of Nova Scotia. Shortly after this, he married a Miss Ridge, of Kilmiston, in , Hampshire, a young lady of great worth and beauty^ with whom he lived affectionately and happily. '* On the accession of his present majesty to the throne. Lord Halifax was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and Mr. Cumberland accompanied him to that country, as one of his secretaries. His residence was in Dublin castle : but he soon found that this situ- ation was neither a pleasant nor a profitable one. Whilst in Dublin, he had the offer of a baronetcy. This he had the fortitude to refuse, and had reason to think that this refusal contributed to weaken his interest with Lord Halifax. Some time afterwards, when his lordship was appointed one of the Secre- taries of State, the only situation which Mr. Cum- berland could obtain, was that of Clerk of Reports of the Board of Excise ; and even this was given to him through the interest of Lord Hillsborough. He was, however, subsequently promoted to the office of Secretary to the Board of Trade. *' Mr. Cumberland, about this time, wrote an opera called the "Summer's Tale," and two comedies, the ^'Brothers,'' and the "West Indian." His comedies, particularly the latter, were acted with great success. He afterwards wrote several other comedies, and some tragedies. " An event occurred about this time, which proved his disinterested generosity, and high sense of honour. An old clergyman, whose name was Reynolds ^ a first cousin of his father, and not personally known to Mr. Cumberland, had made his will, and by it, had be- queathed to him nearly his whole property. He came to London, and, intmducing himself, begged Mr. Cum- beiiand would accompany him to a conveyancer, that a deed of gift might be made to him of this property. After the clergyman had explained his reasons for RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 213 SO doing, Mr. Cumberland assented; but positively required, tbat a clause should be inserted in the deed, enabling Mr. Reynolds to revoke it whenever he might think proper to do so. Tliis clause was inserted, and about ten years afterwards, the revocation actually took place : a nephew of Mr. Reynolds brought his order for delivering up the conveyance, and this was done without the slightest hesitation. ^* In the year 1780, Mr. Cumberland was employed on a confidential mission to negociate a peace with the court of Madrid. This engagement, though in itself highly honourable, laid the foundation of all his future distresses, and seems to have embittered almost every remaining hour of his life. The project failed ; and he, by no means, received that treatment from his employers, to which he appears to have been entitled. The pro- mises made to him before he set out, he has stated, were not fulfilled. His bills upon his bankers Avere refused payment by the treasury. In consequence of this he was arrested at Bayonne on his way home, whilst labouring under the violence of a fever. He had contracted a debt of nearly five thousand pounds, in the service of his country, and w^as under the ne- cessity of selling every acre of his hereditary estate to pay it. All the applications that he made for remune^ ration and redress, were received with coldness, and treated with neglect. '* Mr. Cumberland, not long afterwards, retired from the public service, on a diminished income. Re- duced, by these afflicting events, into straitened cir- cumstances, he put his family on a corresponding establishment, and went to reside at Tunbridge Wells. Here he devoted his time, as formerly, to his books and his pen. He pubhshed a work in two volumes, entitled, '' Anecdotes of Eminent Painters in Spain;'- and, sometime afterwards, the '' Observer," a collection of original essays on various topics, favourable to relir gion, morals, and literature. It would occupy too much of the present time to speak of all his literal y 214 GENERAL WRITERS. productions, which were of very various description. As many as thirty-five dramatic pieces have been enu- merated; two epic poems; three novels; a tract on divinity, entitled, '* A few plain Reasons for Believing in the Evidences of the Christian Religion;" and '' Me- moirs of his own Life." " Towards the latter part of his life, Mr. Cumber- land sustained a great variety of afflictions. The loss of his wife, the bad health of his favourite daughter, the failure of his literary pursuits, and the consequent pecuniary difficulties with which he had to struggle — all these bore heavily on his mind, and occasioned many a pang. Yet he sustained his afflictions with patience, and was often cheerful amidst them all. For many years previously to his decease, he was in the habit of composing an appropriate prayer of thanks- giving for the last day in the year, and of supplication for the first day of the succeeding year. He survived to an old age, and died, after a sudden and short illness, on the seventh of May, 1811, and iij his eightieth year. ^* It was Mr. Cumberland's misfortune to have been bred a courtier, whilst he possessed abilities which ill adapted him for political pursuits. When in a sub- ordinate station, and his duties were definite and for- mal, he duly performed them; but, when he had to assume the character of a minister, he seems to have failed ; and the consequence was, neglect on the part of his employers, and embarrassment to himself." POETS. TWENTY-EIGHTH EVENING. Miss Irwin had returned from a visit in the neigh- bourhood of London; and, this evening, for the first time, had an opportunity, which, in consequence of her brother's numerous letters on the subject, she liad long desired, of being admitted to join in the bio- graphical discussions. On the life of Shakspeare being proposed, Mr. Allen considered the opportunity a good one for him to introduce a short account of the origin and the nature of poetry. He adopted the definition of Blair, that poetry was " the language of passion, or of en- livened imagination, formed, most commonly, into regular number," though, he stated, that such numbers were not absolutely necessary to it. He spoke of its antiquity; remarked that music and poetry are gene- rally believed to have had the same origin, and to have been prompted by the same occasions; and that the first poets sang their own verses, whence he de- duced the origin of versification. He briefly detailed the history of poetry among the ancients ; particularly dwelt upon that of the Holy Scriptures, and directed the notice of the young persons to numerous poetical beauties in the Old Testament, particularly in the Psalms, and the books of Job and Isaiah. After this he spoke of the poetry of the Greeks and Romans, and, apologizing for his digression, passed to that of our own country. He described its origin and progress, from the earliest periods of English lite- rature to the present, and cited numerous examples in illustration of the different kinds. 216 POETS. Pastoral poetry, or such as was employed in the celebration of rural scenes and objects, he described as the most simple and natural of any ; but he com- bated the notion of some writers that it was, on this account, to be considered the earliest form of poetical composition. The first poetry, he said, was doubtless inspired by events and objects of unusual occurrence, such as roused the passions of men, or at least awakened their wonder and admiration. Of this description he considered the actions and the achieve- ments of their heroes, their own exploits in war, the successes or misfortunes of their countrymen and friends. These he conceived had furnished the first themes to the bards of every country. He next mentioned Lyric poetry, or such as, by the various measure of versification, was adapted to accom- panyment with a lyre or other musical instrument ; and remarked, that this was probably the form under which at least, many of the ancient bards poured forth their enthusiastic strains. Of Descriptive poetry, he ob- served, that as its great merit consists in the excellence of picturesque description, and as a delineation of natural objects comes within the reach of every one's abilities, so this species of poetry is frequently at- tempted by second-rate geniuses. He spoke of Thom- son's Seasons, as a descriptive poem, but one of gi^eat merit, and pointed out several passages in it of pecu- liar excellence. Didactic poetry he defined to be such as is intended to convey knowledge and instruction ; and remarked, that it differed only in form, and not in scope and substance, from a philosophical, moral, or critical treatise in prose. Of this kind he instanced the poem of Lucretius on the Nature of Things, the Georgics of Virgil, and Pope's Essay on Criticism. He next adverted to Epic poetry, or a recital of illus- trious enterprises, in a poetical form ; stated, that of all the species of poetry, it was the most dignified, and, at the same time, the most difficult of execution. The instances of this which he described and illustrated were, the Iliad of Homer, the ^neid of Virgil, and Telemachu.^. WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 217 The last kind that remained to be mentioned was Dramatic poetry, which, he reminded them, was so called from a Greek word, signifying to act; be- cause, in this, the action is not recited, as in epic poetry, but is itself shown in those by whom it is represented. Mr. Allen then reverted to Shak- SPEARE, as indisputably at the head of the English dramatic poets. He said, that when we consider the period in which Shakspeare flourished, his having been born as early as the year 1564, and the disadvantages under which he laboured, he must certainly have been one of the most extraordinary men which this country ever produced. Miss Irwin was desirous of knowing something respecting the parentage of Shakspeare. Frederic replied, that his father had been a dealer in wool, at Stratford-upon-Avon, in Warwickshire, where this son William, our dramatic poet, and nine other chil- dren were bom. Louisa, Where was he educated, Edmund ? Frederic, He was sent to the free-school at Strat- ford. Here he acquired a smattering of Latin; but he was soon taken away, to be employed in his father's business. This of course deprived him of all further advantage from scholastic instruction; and, as he in- tended to settle in that business, he married when little more than eighteen years of age. His wife was Anne Hathaway, the daughter of a substantial yeoman, who lived near Stratford. Mr. Allen, In almost every instance, particularly among the middle and lower classes of mankind, such early marriages are very injurious. At a time when the individuals married are scarcely able to conduct themselves without guidance, they have, in such case, to superintend and conduct the affairs of a family. This also often becomes a burden, that weighs them down, and overcomes their best exertions. Frederic, Of the domestic economy of Shakspeare, or even the mode of his subsistence, we have no infor- L 218 POETS. mation ; but it would seem that botli were in a coii- siderable degree neglected, by his falling into bad company. Edmund, He associated with a gang of deer- stealers. Sir Charles. And, as nearly all depredators sooner or later are, was detected and disgraced. He was caught in the act of robbing the park of Sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecot, near Stratford, but contrived to make his escape, leave his family and his business, and seek for shelter in London. Louisa. How old was he then, sir ? Sir Charles, About twenty-two. Edmund, By means, no doubt, of his countryman, Thomas Green, who, at this time, was a celebrated comedian, Shakspeare was introduced to the play- house, where, it is said, his necessities compelled him to accept of the office of call-boy, or prompter's atten- dant. Louisa, Was this at Drury-lane, or Covent-garden ? Edmund, At neither, sister, but at a house called the Globe, by the Bank-side, in Southwark. Neither the Drury-lane nor the Covent-garden theatres were then in existence. Sir Charles, It must be remarked, that plays were, at this time, performed in the afternoon, not in the evening, as at present: that coaches were then very little in use; and that those persons who were too proud, too tender, or too idle to walk, rode on horse- back to any distant business or diversion. Many, con- sequently, went on horseback to the play. Frederic, And there were persons always in waiting to hold their horses. It is said that, when Shakspeare went to London, one of his first expedients for sup- port, was to hold horses at the play-house. In this office he became so conspicuous, for his care and readi- ness, that, in a short time, almost every man, as he alighted, called for Will Shakspeare ; and scarcely any other waiter was trusted with a horse, while he oould WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 219 be had. Sliakspeare, finding more horses put into his hands than he could hold, hired boys to wait under his inspection, who, when he was summoned, were imme- diately to present themselves, and say, ** I am Shak- speare's boy, sir." And, as long as the practice of riding to the playhouse continued, the waiters, who held the horses, retained the appellation of *' Shak- speare's boys." Mr, Allen, This story was first related by Pope; and was communicated to him by Mr. Rowe, who did not tliink it deserving of a place in the life of Shak- speare that he wrote. And the inquiries of subsequent writers have caused it, I think, to be generally rejected. Whether, however, Shakspeare was thus employed on the outside of the theatre or not, it is certain, that, after a little while, he obtained employment as an actor within. Frederic, He did sir; but this is said to have been at first in a very inferior line. The character in which he appeared to greatest advantage was that of the Ghost, in his own tragedy of '' Hamlet." Edmund. It was not as an actor that he distin- guished himself; but no one will deny his merit as a dramatic writer. We are even told that Queen Eliza- beth was so much delighted with his plays, that she had several of them acted before her ; that the Earl of Southampton presented him with a purse containing a thousand guineas ; and that King James the First wrote him a complimentary letter in his own hand. Mr, Allen, All these circumstances prove how highly our admirable dramatist was esteemed even during his life. Edmund, In the course of a few years, he acquired considerable property, and obtained a share in the theatre. His whole annual income is supposed to have been now equal to a thousand or twelve hundred pounds of present money. He at length retired from the stage ; and having purchased a house at Stratford, chiefly resided there during the remainder of his days. l2 220 POETS. Frederic, The habits of life of Shakspeaie were now very different from those of his youth. He was peculiarly esteemed for his gentle and amiable dis- position, his great flow of wit, and as a most agreeable companion. Mr. Allen, It is to be lamented that so few anec- dotes should have been recorded of him. The va- rious incidents in the life of a man who commenced the world so ill; who laboured under so many disad- vantages; by his talents raised himself to such emi- nence, and at last rendered himself so estimable, both in public and in private life, as Shakspeare did ; must, if properly recorded, have been both amusing and instructive. Edmund, He died on his birth-day, the twenty- third of April, 1616, when he had completed his fifty- second year; and was buried on the north side of the chancel of the great church at Stratford. About a hundred and twenty years after his death, a noble monument was erected to his memory in West- minster Abbey. Sir Charles, Dr. Johnson has given to the world an admirable essay on the merits of his writings. Edmund, I think I can recollect some of the prin- cipal points of it. He says, that Shakspeare was, above all writers, the poet of nature; the poet, that holds out to his readers a faithful mirror of manners and of life. He had no example before him of suffi- cient fame, to force him on imitation. He therefore in- dulged his natural disposition ; and this disposition led him to comedy. In tragedy he often writes with great appearance of toil and study ; but, in his comic scenes, he seems, to produce without labour, what no labour can improve. In tragedy he is always struggling after some occasion to be comic; but in comedy he seems to repose, or to luxuriate, as in a mode of thinking congenial to his nature. In his tragic scenes there is always something wanting; but his comedy often sur- passes expectation or desire. Ilis comedy pleases by WILLIAM SHAKSPEARK. 221 the tbouglits and the language ; and his tragedy chiefly by incident and action. His tragedy seems to be skill ; his comedy to be instinct. There is one great defect in the writings of Shakspeare : he is always ready to sacrifice virtue to convenience; and is so much more careful to please than to instruct, that he seems to write without any moral purpose. He makes no jUst distribution of good or evil, nor is always careful to show in the virtuous a disapprobation of the wicked. He carries his persons indifferently through right and wrong; and at the end dismisses them without further care, and leaves their examples to operate by chance. There is also, in many parts, a coarseness of sentiment and language, which are utterly repugnant to any notions of delicacy. The plots of his plays are often carelessly formed. He has little regard to the dis- tinction of time or place; but gives to one age or nation, without scruple, the customs, institutions, and opinions of another, at the expense not only of likeli- hood, but of possibility. A quibble is to Shakspeare, what a luminous vapour is to a traveller. He follows it at all adventures ; it is sure to lead him out of his way, and sure to engulf him in the mire. Whatever be the dignity or the profundity of his disquisition, whether he be enlarging knowledge, or exalting affec- tion ; whether he be amusing attention with incidents, or enchaining it in suspense ; let but a quibble spring up before him, and he leaves his work unfinished. This always gave him such delight that he was content to purchase it by the sacrifice of reason, propriety, and truth. The plots of his plays, whether historical or fabulous, are always crowded with incidents; and such is the power of the marvellous, even over the minds of those who despise it, that every man finds his mind more strongly seized by the tragedies of Shakspeare, than those of any other writer. Others please us by particular speeches ; but he always makes us anxious for the event, and has, perhaps, excelled all but Homer, 222 POETS. in securing the first purpose of a writer, by exciting restless and unquenchable curiosity, Louisa. How many plays did Shakspeare write ? Edmund, Thirty-six have usually been ascribed to him. These comprise several comedies, tragedies, and historical plays. The plots of the latter are taken chiefly from incidents in the English history. Louisa, I have heard much about the mulberry-tree of Shakspeare. You have omitted all account of it. Edmund, It was not a very material event in his history, but I will relate to you the circumstances relative to it. In the garden of his house at Stratford, Shakspeare planted a mulberry-tree. This house, about the year 1752, was sold to a clergyman of the name of Gastrell, a man of large fortune; who resided in it a few years, and, on account of a quarrel that he had with the magistrates of Stratford, concerning the poor's rates, peevishly declared that it should never be assessed again; and soon afterwards pulled it to the ground, sold the materials, and left the town. Louisa, Such conduct was ilhberal enough — but concerning the tree ? Edmund, Mr. Gastrell had some time before, cut that down, to save himself the trouble of showing it to those persons, whose admiration of Shakspeare had led them to visit the ground on which it stood. Louisa. That was still more illiberal. What became of it afterwards ? Edmund. The wood of which it was composed be- came valuable. It was made into snuff-boxes, trinkets, and various kinds of ornamental articles, which bore a high price in consequence of the general respect in which Shakspeare was held. Frederic. How very different were both the cha- racter and conduct of Shakspeare, from those of his dramatic contemporary, Ben Jon son. Though they both were men of great talent, Jonson was infinitely the BEN JONSON. 223 inferior. He was born in 1754 ; and was, conse- quently, ten years younger than Shakspeare. Louisa, In what station of life was his father ? Frederic, He was a clergyman, who, in the reign of Queen Mary, had lost his estate, probably on account of his religion. Jonson was born, about a month after the death of his father, in a small street near Charing- cross, Westminster. Louisa, Was his education as much confined as that of Shakspeare had been. Frederic. Not quite. His mother first placed him in a private seminary, and afterwards sent him to Westminster school. Sir Charles, But he does not seem to have continued there long. Frederic, On accoimt of her straitened circum- stances, his mother thought fit to marry, for her se- cond husband, a bricklayer. After this, it was con- sidered requisite that Benjamin should be taken from school, though he had made considerable progress in classical learning, and should be taught his step- father's busmess. Louisa, What, and become a bricklayer? Frederic, Just so; and, for some time, he worked at that business. Part of the garden wall of Lincoln's Inn was actually built by him ; w orking, as it has been stated, with a trowel in his hand, and a Horace in his pocket One of the barristers, happening to walk near the place where Jonson was at work, heard him repeat some Greek verses. He consequently spoke to him, and, finding his proficiency in learning to have been very great, prevailed with some other gentlemen to join him in sending him as a student to Trinity College, Cambridge. Louisa, I am rejoiced to hear that a man of his talents and acquirements, should, thus early, have been enabled to free himself from the trammels of a me- chanical employment. Frederic, He did not long continue in Cambridge; 224 POETS* for, his finances proving insufficient, he was compelled by poverty to withdraw himself from the university. He now enlisted as a private soldier, and served with the English army, against the Spaniards, in the Nether- lands. Louisa, That was worse than before. Frederic, In this situation he acquired a character for bravery. It is related, that he encountered one of the enemy's soldiers, slew him, and carried off the spoils, in view of both the armies. When he returned to England, he was once again enabled, though by what means we are not informed, to resume his studies, and to become a member of St. John's College, Cam- bridge. Mr, Allen. This persevering love of literature, amidst so many difficulties, is deserving of the highest com- mendation. Frederic, It is so, sir : and one cannot but sin- cerely pity the misfortunes of his youth ; for he was again compelled by poverty to quit the university. Louisa, What next befel him ? Frederic, Having thus failed in his literary pursuits, and, disliking to return to his former employment of a bricklayer, he obtained admission, as an actor, at an obscure theatre, near Shoreditch, called the Green Curtain. And he had not long been there before he was induced to write some pieces for the stage. At this period, however, he was unsuccessful both as an author, and an actor. Sir Charles, One of his contemporaries has censured his acting as mean and awkward ; and has asserted that his temper was rough and untractable. Frederic, His disposition certainly was not at any time good; but his disappointments, and the various difficulties he had been compelled to encounter in hfe, must have greatly tended to sour it. Edmund, He quarrelled with every body. He killed one of the players in a duel. For this he was seized, thrown into prison, and, as he has himself said, was BEN JONSON. 225 ** brought near to the gallows." He however was, afterwards, pardoned. Mr. Allen, Jonson was constantly changing his views. While in prison, he was prevailed with to become a Roman Catholic; and in this faith he con- tinued about twelve years, when he again became a Protestant. Frederic. As soon as he was released from prison, he married; and his wife, to use his own expression, *' was a shrew." Lady Irwin. It could not have been very prudent in him to marry, and thus have a family to support, when he liad scarcely the means of supporting himself. After what 3 ou have said, he could not expect any success as an actor. Frederic. In defiance, how^ever, of all discourage- ments, he endeavoured to provide for his family by the exertions of his pen. And having w ritten a play, which was accidentally shown to Shakspeare, that good-natured poet was induced to have it acted at the Globe theatre, of which he was then the manager, and even to perform a part in it himself. Mr. Allen. Is it known what play this was? Frederic. No; but its success was such as to en- courage Jonson to write his excellent comedy of '' Every Man in his Humour,'^ which w^as acted on the same stage in 1598. Louisa. How old was Jonson at this time ? Frederic. Not much more than twenty-four; not- Avithstanding which, we are informed that he, thence- forward, furnished a new play every year, until the reign of James the First. He then appears to have had a permanent engagement, in the preparation of mask^, and other similar entertainments, which were fashionable at court. His associate in these was the famous architect, Inigo Jones, who contrived the scenery and devices. In this employment Jonson was more or less occupied during the remainder of his life, nearly thirty years. L 3 226 POETS. Louisa. How grateful ought he to have been for the kindness and liberality of Shakspeare, who had been thus instrumental in raising him from poverty, and promoting his successful establishment in the world ! Frederic. I am not aware that grafitude was a virtue in any estimation with Jonson. It is true that, after the death of Shakspeare, he writes, " To the Memory of his beloved Mr. William Shakspeare ;" but this was at a period when Shakspeare was beyond the reach of envy ; and there are many proofs of the jealousy and ill-nature of Jonson towards him during his life. Sir Charles. Was he not once involved in consider- able difficulty by an act of ingratitude towards his patron, James the First ? Frederic. I know not, sir, whether to call it ingrati- tude, or imprudence. But, in conjunction with two persons, whose names were Marston and Chapman, Jonson wrote a comedy called, '' Eastward Hoe," in which he chose to ridicule the Scots people. James, being himself a Scotsman, considered the insult as personal, and caused all three to be committed to prison. Edmund. And they would all have had their ears cut off, and been placed in the pillory, had not great in- terest been made with the king for their pardon. Jon- son, however, afterwards conciliated his sovereign, by taxing his genius for a double portion of that adulation in which James so much delighted. Louisa. How was Jonson chiefly supported at this time ? Frederic. Besides the profits accruing from his dramatic pieces, he had a salary from the crown; a pension from the city of London; and pensions from several noblemen and other persons, who had either been flattered by his verses, or were fearful of suffering by his satire. Edmund. But he was a man of such irregular and dissipated habits, that he was continually plunged in ex- BEN JONSON. 2*27 peiises greater than he could afford; and thus always kept poor. He sometmies drank to excess. We are told that Sir Walter Raleigh had engaged him as a private tutor to his son ; but that the young gentleman did not much like the rigorous treatment which he experienced, and determined, if possible, to rid himself of him. He soon discovered Jonson's propensity to drinking, a propensity which he knew Sir Walter detested. One night Jonson came home intoxicated, and fell asleep. The youth took advantage of this. He ordered a large basket to \)e brought, and having, by the assistance of two men, laid Ben in it, they, with a pole, carried him, between them, to Sir Walter, with a message, that their young master, '^ had sent home his tutor." The consequence, no doubt, was his dismissal from the family. Lady Irwin, As he very justly deserved. When you spoke of the difficulties that Jonson encountered at the beginning of his life, and the anxiety which he showed for the advantages of a good education, 1 was inclined to pity him; but his subsequent conduct de- prives me of all commiseration for a man, whose inconveniences and sufferings were so entirely brought upon himself. Frederic, Towards the latter part of his life, the poverty of Jonson induced him to write begging poems to several persons of distinction. In a letter to the Earl of Newcastle, he says, '' I am not so imprudent as to borrow any sum of your lordship, for I have no faculty to pay ; but my needs are such and so urging, as I do beg what your bounty can give me, in the name of good letters, and the bond of an ever-grateful and acknowledging servant to your honour." This letter appears to have been written about four years before his death. Edmund, Previously to that time he had suffered by a paralytic attack : and of this complaint he died, on the sixteenth of August, 1637, in the sixty-third year of his age. 228 POETS. Mr, Allen, In his last illness Jonson was often visited by the Rev. Dr. Duppa, afterwards Bishop of Winchester, who says, that he became penitent, and expressed great sorrow for having profaned the Scriptures in his plays. Jonson certainly had a sense of religion; and his offences against morals and piety are by no means so numerous as in the writings of many of his contemporaries. Lady Irwin, Where was he buried? Frederic, In Westminster Abbey, at the north-west end, near the belfry; and over his grave a common pavement-stone was laid, with no more than this in- scription, ^' O rare Ben Jonson!" A monument, how- ever, was afterwards erected to his memory, by Dr. Duppa. Mr, Allen, The works of Jonson were not, in general, produced without great labour and study; and even all his verses are said to have been first written in prose. His comedy, however, of '' Volpone; or, the Fox," which is considered one of his best pieces, is said to have been finished in the short space of three weeks. He wrote some tragedies, but these are extremely laboured. That of '' Cataline," is de- scribed, by Dr. Hurd, to be a specimen of all the errors of tragedy. His best pieces are his comedies of '' Every Man in his Humour," '' Volpone," the " Alchemist," and the '' Silent Woman." He wrote, in the whole, about fifty dramas of different kinds, though few of them would at present bear exhibition on the stage ; and was the author of several poems. His works w ere published together, in 1756, in seven volumes, in octavo. JOHN MILTON. 229 TWENTY-NINTH EVENING. Louisa, You have spoken of Sbakspeare and Jon- son; but, of all the early English poets, few are greater favourites with me than the author of '' Para- dise Lost/' I have read that poem more than once, and with so much delight, that I have been induced to search into the particulars relative to the life of its author. May I be permitted the privilege of inti-o- ducing it into conversation this evening? Sii' Charles, I am sure, my dear Louisa, that neither your brother, nor Frederic, will be disinclined to allow you tliis privilege, as you term it. They each immediately declared their assent; and requested of her the favour to begin. Louisa. If I commit any errors, I confidently look for your kindness to correct me. John Milton Avas descended from a respectable family, which had long been settled at Milton, near Thame, in Oxford- shire. His grandfather was so zealous a Papist, that his father was disinherited for having adopted the Protestant faith, and was obliged to seek for support from the practice of the law. Milton was born in Bread-street, London, in the year 1608. He was educated first by a private tutor in his father's house, and afterwards at St. PauFs school. Such were his talents, and so great was his industry, that his progress in learning far exceeded that of the generality of boys. Frederic, T have read, that, from the time when Milton was tw elve years of age, he often passed the greater part of the night in study ; and that this intense application brought on violent pains in his head, and a peculiar w eakness of sight. Louisa, From St. Paul's he was sent to Christ's College, Cambridge, where he soon distinguished himself by the superiority of his attainments. He became master not only of the Latin, Greek, He])rew, 231) POETS. Chaldee, and Syriac languages ; but also of nearly all the modern languages of Europe ; particularly Italian, which he wrote with peculiar elegance. Sir Charles, It is impossible to have greater proofs than these, of united talents and application. Louisa, Whilst he was in Cambridge, he also distin- guished himself by his poetical compositions, both in Latin and English. Mr, Allen. Much has been said respecting the con- duct of Milton while in the university, and it is possi- ble he may have given offence to the heads of the college, by his acknowledged dislike to the discipline of the Established Church, or to the plan of educa- tion then adopted ; for what are called puritanical principles had been instilled into his mind by his private tutor, even when a boy. He appears to have suffered the punishment of rustication, or a temporary dismissal into the country; yet he afterwards resided in college for some years, and probably until he took the degree of master of arts. Louisa, His father had now retired from business, and gone to reside at Horton in Buckinghamshire, whither Milton also went after he left college. Frederic, Here he wrote his charming masque, or dramatic poem, of '^ Comus," in the year 1634, when he was only twenty-six years of age. Louisa. Comus was set to music and acted at Ludlow castle, before the Earl of Bridgewater, who, at that time, was President of Wales. The story of this piece is said to have been suggested by the circumstance of the daughter of this nobleman, Lady Alice Eger- ton, having once been separated from her company in the night, and having, for some time, wandered alone in the forest of Haywood, as she was returning from a distant visit. Not having embarked in any settled profession, Milton obtained permission from his father to travel on the continent. He visited all the most important parts of France, Italy, Sicily, and Greece; and re- JOHN MILTON. 231 turned to England after an absence of about fifteen months. Edmund, He returned at a time when this country was involved in a civil war, which cost its monarch his life, and drained it of thousands of its best subjects. I trust that Milton was not aiding in the commotion. Louisa. It does not appear that he was ; for, finding his allowance from his father not sufficient for his support, he seems to have honestly applied himself to a laborious, but useful employment, that of a school- master. He took, for this purpose, a large house in Aldersgate-street, London; and soon obtained a con- siderable number of pupils. Frederic, He did so ; but, as Dr. Johnson has ob- served, he at the same time lent '' his breath to blov7 the flames of contention." He published several pam- phlets against the existing state of things, but more particularly against the government and discipline of the Church of England. A very singular circumstance occurred to him about this time. Louisa, You allude, I am sure, to his marriage with an Oxfordshire lady, whose name was Powell. She resided with him about a month, and then, on a pre- tence of visiting her relations, wholly absented herself, and resisted all his entreaties to return. Mr, Allen. It is very extraordinary that he at last determined to be divorced from her ; though no court, either of law or equity, would authorize such a pro- cedure. He published his own opinions on the sub- ject of divorce, and, in direct opposition to the law, proposed to marry another person. The friends of his wife were now alarmed, and became anxious for a reconciliation ; which they thus effected. Whilst Milton was on a visit at the house of a relative, it was contrived that his wife should be concealed in an adjacent room ; and, unsuspicious of such a stratagem, he was sur- prised by seeing her on her knees befere him, and, with tears, imploring his forgiveness. He resisted her 232 POETS. entreaties for some time, but his firmness at last gave way; and, by the intercession of friends, a recon- ciliation was effected. Si?' Charles. This is certainly as singular an occur- rence as I ever read of, and, upon the whole, a very unaccountable one. Mr, Allen. It is the more singular, because they are said to have afterwards lived very happily together. Frederic. Subsequently to the death of Charles the First, Milton became conspicuous as a violent political writer; and, particularly, published a tract in justifica- tion of the murder of the king. He states, even in the title, '^ that it is lawful, and hath been held so through all ages, for any who have the power, to call to account a tyrant or wicked king; and, after due con- viction, to depose and put him to death, if the ordinary magistrate have neglected or denied to do it." Sir Charles. This must certainly be a most dangerous doctrine. If the right to punish kings belongs to any who have the power, and if the power only renders the act lawful, no king can be safe, and the stability of no government can be fixed. Mr. Allen. The point is certainly not tenable, and even Milton's warmest advocates cannot defend it. He wrote some other political tracts; and even com- menced a "• History of England," but brought it down to no later period than the battle of Hastings. Frederic. For his services to Cromwell, and the commonwealth, Milton was offered the situation of adjutant-general, in one of the divisions of the army; but the new-modelling of the forces, which soon after- wards took place, proved an obstruction to the accom- plishment of this measure. Sir Charles. But he obtained another situation. Frederic. He was appointed Latin secretary to the council of state; which had resolved neither to send nor to receive any letters but in the Latin language, as common to all nations. Louisa. I cannot say, that I much admire, nor, per- JOHN MILTON. 233 haps, do I understand much of the political principles of Milton. What I have chiefly been delighted with is his poetry, particularly his *' Paradise Lost," a great part of which is said to have been written after he had been totally deprived of sight. Frederic. His sight had for a long time been gra- dually failing; and he was quite blind, when only forty-four years of age. Edmund, After the death of his wife, though then blind, he married again. This wife did not live twelve months, and he was a third time married, Frederic. Respecting his blindness, we are told, tliat the Duke of York, afterwards King James the Se- cond, one day called upon Milton out of curiosity, and, in the course of conversation, asked him, " Whe- ther he did not think that his blindness was a judg- ment upon him for what he had written against the late king?" Milton readily replied, *' If your high- ness think that the calamities which befal us here are indications of the wrath of heaven, in what manner, sir, are we to account for your father's fate ? The dis- pleasure of heaven must, upon this supposition, have been much greater against him than against me; for I have only lost my eyes, whereas he lost his head." At this answer the duke was exceedingly offended, and went away very angry. Ladij Irwin. I think he deserved such an answer ; for the question was not only foolish, but impertinent, whatever the political principles of Milton may have been. Louisa. At the restoration of Charles the Second, I presume, Milton must have been much alarmed for his personal safety, on account of his inveteracy against the late king. Frederic. He was so; and, by the advice of his friends, was induced to conceal himself, until a general pardon of state delinquents was made known. So far, however, was the new government from any inclina- tion to persecute him, that he was offered his former 234 POETS. ; place of Latin secretary ; but his principles would not allow him to accept it, Edmund, It appears that his Paradise Lost, which had been long in preparation, was published in the year 1667. M7\ Allen, This unequalled poem is said to have been dictated by him to one of his daughters ; and Milton has declared a remarkable circumstance concerning it, that ** his poetical vein never flowed happily but from the autumnal to the vernal equinox, and that what he attempted at other times was not to his satisfaction," Notwithstanding the great labour with which it was written, he sold it for so small a sum as five pounds, on condition of receiving five pounds more after the sale of thirteen hundred copies of the first impression; and five pounds after the sale of an equal number of the second and third editions respectively. Sir Charles, It has been stated that the whole sum received for it by Milton himself, was ten pounds; and that his widow, after his death, accepted from the printer the further sum of eight pounds, in fuU of all demands. But how, my dear Louisa, do you like his " Para- dise Regained V Louisa, By no means so well as Paradise Lost; though Milton is himself said to have esteemed it the better poem. Mr, Allen, The Messiah, in Paradise Regained, with all his meekness, his dignity, and his reasoning, makes a less splendid figure than when, in the other poem, he is introduced, clothed with the terrors of Almighty vengeance, wielding the thunder of hea- ven, and riding along the sky, in the chariot of his power. The origin of this poem is somewhat curious. Milton had lent the manuscript of Paradise Lost to a Quaker, whose name was Ellwood; and, when it was returned, asked what he thought of it. Ellwood spoke of it in terms of great commendation, but observed, ^'Thou hast said much of Paradise Lost; JOHN MILTON. 235 what hast thou to say of Paradise Found?" Milton made no reply : he sat for some time silent ; then broke oft* the discourse, and spoke of another subject. Several months afterwards, Ellwood called upon him m Lon- don ; Milton showed him his *' Paradise Regained;" and said to him, *'This is owing to you; for you put it into my head, by a question you formerly put to me, and which before I had not thought of," Louisa, I recollect that Dr. Johnson, in his long critique on the poetical works of Milton, says of Paradise Lost, that ** It is a poem which, considered with respect to design, may claim the first place, and with respect to performance, the second among the productions of the human mind. Every line breathes sanctity of thought, and purity of manners, except when the train of the narration requires the introduc- tion of the rebellious spirits ; and even they are com- pelled to acknowledge their subjection to God, in such a manner as to excite reverence, and confirm piety." In another place this eminent writer says, **The thoughts which are occasionally called forth in the progress of this poem are such as could only be pro- duced by an imagination in the highest degree fervid and active ; to which materials were supplied by inces- sant study, and unlimited curiosity." Sir Charles, Dr. Jolmson has also described the personal appearance and domestic habits of Milton. Do you recollect these, Louisa ? Louisa, I do, sir, perfectly. He says that Milton had the reputation of having been in his youth eminently beautiful, so as to have been called the Lady of his college. His hair, which was of a light brown colour, was parted at the top, and hung down upon his shoulders, according to the picture he has given of Adam. He was somewhat below the middle stature, vigorous, and active ; and delighted in the exercise of the sword, in which he is related to have been emi- nently skilful. His domestic habits, so far as they are known, were those of a severe student. He drank 23G POETS. little strong drink of any kind. In his youth Le studied late at night; but afterwards changed hi8 hours, and rested in bed from nine to four in summer,, and from nine to five in the winter. But the course of his day was best known after he was blind. When he first rose, he heard a chapter read in the Hebrew Bible, and then studied till twelve ; then took some exercise for an hour; then dined; then played on the organ, and sang, or heard another sing; then studied till six; then entertained his visitors till eight; then supped : and, after a pipe of tobacco and a glass of water, went to bed. Mr. Allen. His was a life of indefatigable study, which he continued nearly till the time of his death. This was occasioned by the gout in his stomach, on the eighth of November, 1G74, in the sixty-seventh year of his age. His remains were interred near those of his father, in the chancel of the church, of St. Giles, Cripplegate; where a monument has been erected to his memory by the late Samuel Whitbread, Esq. Edmund. I have no recollection what family Milton left. Louisa. The children which survived him were three daughters by his first wife. One of these married a builder, another died single, and the third was married to a weaver in Spital-fields. These used to read to their father in no fewer than eight languages ; which, by practice, they were capable of doing with great readiness and accuracy, though they understood no language but English. Edmund. For Milton, my dear Louisa, was of opinion that, '' one tongue was enough for a woman."' Sir Charles. One of his grand-daughters kept a little chandler's shop, at the lower end of Hollaway, and afterwards in Cock-lane, Shoreditch. Mr, Allen. The circumstances of Milton himself were never very affluent : he indeed lived above want, ^liA was contented with competency. During his JOHJS DRYDKN. '237 travels, he had been supported by his father ; and even when employed as Latin secretary, his salary was no more than two hundred pounds a year. He also ex- perienced several considerable losses, and yet died possessed of property that was valued at about three tliousand pounds. It was remarked by Sir Charles Irwin, in conclu- sion, that the prose works of Milton were published together, in 1806, in seven volumes in octavo. THIRTIETH EVENING. Louisa, on the preceding evening, had spoken of the poetical works of Milton. Her brother now took the opportunity of declaring his partiality to the works of a poet very different from Milton; a poet who, instead of writing epic poems in blank verse, had written even tragedies in rhyme, and who had a facility in versification, greater perhaps than any other English poet. Louisa was at a loss to conjecture who this could be ; and at first imagined it must have been Pope; but she said she was not aware of his having written any dramatic pieces whatever. Sir Charles. Can you, Frederic, conjecture who the poet is to whom Edmund alludes. Frederic. I think it must be Dryden, sir: but I hope it is not on account of his rhyming tragedies that Edmund prefers him to other poets; for I recollect Dr. Johnson says of one of them, the '* Conquest of Grenada," (which indeed was acted with unbounded applause) that, '* it had been written with a seeming determination to glut the public with dramatic wonders ; to exhibit, in its highest elevation, a theatrical meteor of incredible love, and impossible valour ; and to leave no room for a wilder flight to the extravagance of posterity. 238 POETS. Edmund. The tragedies of this admirable poet, John Dry DEN, are certainly not the favourite parts of his works with me. They contain great spirit and anima- tion, but mingled with much bombast. As a general poet, however, he stands unrivalled for the fulness and variety of his harmony, and the free flow of his numbers. Mr. Allen. And yet, Edmund, there is sometimes much carelessness in his versification. It is neither so smooth nor so correct as that of Pope. Edmund. I admit this ; but it is, on the whole, both more varied and more easy. Besides, we ought to make some allowance for the much earlier period in Avhich he lived. He was born in 1631, nearly sixty years before the time of Pope. Louisa. Where was he born, and where educated, Edmund ? Edmund. He was the grandson of Sir Erasmus Dry- den, baronet; and born at Aldwinkle, in Northamp- tonshire. At an early age he was sent to Westminster school; and he was afterwards educated in Trinity College, Cambridge, where he appears to have resided near seven years. Louisa. Did he, in his youth, display any extraor- dinary indications of genius ? Edmund. None. He wrote some verses, but they are said to have been inharmonious ; and he translated into rhyme one of the satires of the Latin poet, Per- sius. Sir Charles. Proceed, Edmund, in relating the prin- cipal events of his life. Edmund. By the death of his father he inherited a small estate in Northamptonshire ; liable, however, to some deductions for the support of his mother, and her other children. He afterwards became a Roman Catholic ; but, at this period, candour requires me to state that, he had no fixed principles whatever, either in religion or in politics. With respect particularly to JOHN DRYDEN. 239 the latter, he wrote heroic stanzas in praise of Crom- well; and, in less than two years afterwards, a poem on the happy restoration of Charles the Second, and many other loyal verses. Frederic. In consequence of these he was appointed poet laureat, and made historiographer to the king, with an annual stipend, for the two offices, of two hundred pounds a year. I do not like this changeable conduct, when we so plainly discern an interested motive for it. Edmund, I perfectly agree with you, Frederic ; but it is more the poetry, than the character, of Dryden, which I profess to admire. A few years after his appointment to the situation of laureat, he became, professionally, a writer for the stage. Mr, Allen, But, for some time, he was unsuccessful; notwithstanding which, the patentees of the theatre had so much confidence in his talent, as to contract with him to furnish them annually with three plays ; stipu- lating that he should receive, as a remuneration for his labour, a certain share of profits. This is said to have produced him, on an average, about four hundred pounds per annum. Frederic. In the midst of his theatrical career, Dryden had a keen rebuff from a burlesque drama, called the '' Rehearsal," written by Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, in conjunction with other wits of the day. In this comedy, which was several times acted, Dryden was burlesqued under the character of Mr. Bayes ; and, it is said that, to adapt the ridicule the more completely, the actual dress that he wore had been borrowed by some finesse ; and that his very phrase- ology, and manner of recitation, were exactly mimicked. Several subsequent alterations, however, were made in the Rehearsal, for the purpose of ridiculing the dra- matic performances of other writers. Edmund, Though this singular production excited a laugh against the poet, it by no means seems to have injured his reputation; and, in his satirical poem of 210 POETS. Absalom and Achitophel, he fully avenged himself upon the noble author of the Rehearsal, under the name of Zimri. In this poem, it is said that, Absalom, Achitophel, and David, represented respectively, the Duke of Monmouth, Lord Shaftesbury, and King Charles the Second. Mr. Allen, We approach another important era in the history of Dryden; his conversion, of which Ed- mund has spoken, to the Roman Catholic religion. ~ Frederic, Like his political conversion, this vt^as a very sudden one, and apparently from an interested motive. It took place on the accession to the throne of James the Second, who was himself certainly a Papist at heart ; and who had it in contemplation to restore Popery in this country. Previously to this, Dryden had written many bitter sarcasms against the Popish clergy. Mr, Allen, His conversion certainly appears to have heen so nicely timed, that it is hardly possible, even for liberality itself, to ascribe the measure to any other than interested motives. It is also to be remarked that, either from age, indolence, or exhaustion, he was about this time in such distressed circumstances, that he even applied, and in vain, for employment as an excise officer, or for a situation in the customs; stating, that he had three sons, all of whom he was educating beyond his means. Edmund, In defence of his new creed, Dryden published a poetical dialogue, entitled the " Hind and the Panther." In this production, the Catholic estab- lishment is represented by the hind, and that of the Church of England, by the panther; which two animals very learnedly discuss the various disputed topics of transubstantiation, church-authority, infalli- bility, &c. Louisa, Could such a poem as this ever be sufficiently interesting to excite attention ? Edmund, It certainly did excite attention ; for, not- withstanding the absm'dity of its plan, it was read with JOHN DRYDE.N. 241 gieat avidity. In the following year be published a poem in celebration of the birth of the son of James the Second ; and in this he predicted a commencing era of prosperity to the church and nation. Mr, Allen, By church, he of course meant the Romish church; and yet, within a few months after his prediction, the Revolution took place, William the Third ascended the throne, and the Protestant religion became more firmly established than ever. Frederic, One of the first measures of the new government w as to dispossess Dryden of his places of poet laureat, and historiographer; for these his religion now disqualified him from holding. Louisa, This must have been a very serious loss to him. Edmund It certainly was so ; but the Earl of Dorset (who though, as Lord Chamberlain, had been obliged to withdraw his public pension,) had the generosity to allow Dryden an annuity of equal value out of his own estate. Louisa, That was a noble act. Edmund, A few years afterwards was published, a '' Translation of Juvenal and Persius," m which five satires of Juvenal, and the whole of Persius, were th^ work of Dryden. But the most popular of his works, w as his translation of Virgil into English verse. This he commenced in 1694, when he w^as somewhat more than sixty-three years of age; and finished in about three years. In the dedication of tlie pastorals to Lord Clifford, he speaks of it as the production of *' the wretched remainder of a sickly age, worn out with study, and oppressed with fortune, without other support than the constancy and faith of a Christian." Frederic, It has, however, been estimated tliat Di^ - den gained by this undertaking, betwixt twelve and thirteen hundred pounds; for his friends liberally entered into a subscription for its encouragement. Sir Charles. And yet, even after having prepared a M 242 POETS. second edition for the press, he was so poor as to be compelled to write for his daily subsistence. Scarcely relieved from one heavy task, he was obliged to hasten another. When on the verge of his seventieth year, he was compelled, by his necessities, to enter into con- tract witli a bookseller, to supply him with ten thou- sand verses, at the rate of sixpence a line. Ft-ederic. This bargain produced, in 1700, his '^ Fables, ancient, and modern, translated into Verse from Homer, Ovid, Boccace, and Chaucer." The volume in which these were published, comprised also his beautiful ode on St. Cecilia's Day, which he declared occupied him a fortnight to compose and correct Mr, Allen, The time was now at hand that was to terminate all the schemes and labours of this great poet. He had, for some years, been harrassed by two painful complaints, the gravel and the gout, and at last was a cripple in his limbs ; but the immediate cause of his death was a mortification in one of his feet. This event took place on the first of May, 1701, in the seventy-first year of his age; and his remains were interred in Westminster Abbey. Edmund, The account that has been given of Dry- den's funeral is a very extraordinary one. Mr, Allen, That, Edmund, to which you allude, of Lord Halifax having undertaken to defray the ex- penses, and bestow five hundred pounds on the erection of a monument to him ; and the whole proceedings being stopped by the strange conduct of Lord JefFe- ries, who agreed to double this sum ; and the body being at last interred at the expense of Dryden's family, has been proved a fabrication. Frederic. And yet the authenticated account is not a little remarkable. A magnificent interment had been prepared by several persons of distinction. The body, at the suggestion of Dr. Garth, was removed from Gerrard-street, to the college of physicians ; whence, after he had pronounced a Latin oration in praise of the deceased, it was conveyed to Westminster JOHN DRYDEN. 24^ Abbey, attended by more than a hundred mourning coaches. >Sir Charles, Ward, the author of a book called the '' London Spy," relates, that there was, on the occasion, a performance of solemn music at the college, and that the procession, as he saw it pass along the streets, was accompanied by a concert of hautboys and trum- pets. Mr, Allen. Do you recollect, Edmund, who it was that Dryden married? Edmund. He married Lady Elizabeth Howard, sister to the Earl of Berkshire ; but the alliance does not appear to have been attended by any great pecu- niary advantages to him. He had three sons, all of whom were educated in Rome. His wife survived him about thirteen years, during several of which she was a lunatic ; having been deprived of her senses by a nervous fever. Mr. Allen. It has been observed of Dryden, that he was a man of various and extensive, rather than of deep and accurate acquirements. It is not a little extraordinary, that he should have been a believer in what is called judicial astrology, or the pretended art of foretelling events by the position of the planets ; and that he himself professed an ability to do this. Con- greve, who was personally and familiarly acquainted with him, has represented the moral character of Dryden to have been, in every respect, not only blame- less, but amiable. He says that he was humane, com- passionate, forgiving, and friendly : that he was easy of access himself, but, in his advances to others, back- ward and diffident, and of all men the most easy to be repelled. His works, which are very numerous, and of various description, have lately been collected, and published in eighteen volumes, in octavo. M 2 244 POETS. THIRTY-FIRST EVENING. Examples illustrative of the Misery consequent upon Imprudence, Dissipation, and Vice. When the literary party were assembled this even- ing, Mr. Allen proposed somewhat to interrupt the mode that had usually been pursued. The intention of this was, that, under the class of poets, he might state some particulars respecting a few persons, the in- cidents of whose liv€s afforded very useful lessons* illustrative of the miseries that are consequent upon imprudence, dissipation, and vice. The persons to whom he alluded were Otway, Pattison, Bovce, Col- lins, Chatterton, and Dermody. Some of them, he observed, were little known to the world as poets ; but he hoped that the facts he had to relate concerning them, would not, on that account, be found the less instructive. Permission having instantly been obtained, Mr. Allen commenced with Thomas Otway, one of our most celebrated tragic poets; who, he said, was the son of a clergyman, and born at Trottin, in Sussex, in the year 1651. He was first sent to Westminster school, and afterwards to Christchurch, Oxford; but left the university without a degree. Whether he did this from want of money, from impatience of aca- demical restraint, or from eagerness to mingle with the world, is not known ; but it is well known that, early in life, he contracted many low and dissipated habits. '* A principal object of his ambition seems to have been to attain reputation as an actor. Accordingly he went to London, apparently with this iatention ; but the scheme failed ; he was compelled to leave the stage, and he commenced dramatic writer. Tn his twenty- fifth year he produced a tragedy called *Alcibiades;' and, about twelve months afterwards, another, in heroic verse, called ' Don Carlos.' The latter of these is said to have been so successful as to have been acted thirty THOMAS OTWAY. 243 uighls following. Otway was also the author of some comedies, and of two other well-known tragedies, * Venice Preserved,' and the * Orphan.' "Whatever may have been the success of these pro- ductions, they were certainly not of any permanent benefit to their author; who is described to have been a favourite companion of the dissolute wits of his time. Bad company, and extravagant habits, soon involved Otway in great distress. His dramatic talents, however, excited pity; and, in commiseration of his forlorn circumstances, a cornet's commission, in a regiment of horse, then serving in Flanders, was ob- tained for him. He joined the regiment; but, being soon tired of a military life, returned to London in great indigence ; and again endeavoured to subsist by writing for the stage. "The accounts of his death have been variously related. Dr. Johnson says that, having been compelled, by his necessities, to contract debts, and having been hunted (as he expresses it) by the terriers of the law, he retired to a public house on Tower-hill, where he died of absolute want. One of his biographers relates that, almost naked, he went out in the rage of hunger, and, finding a gentleman in a neighbouring coffee-house, asked him for a shilling ; that, the gentleman gave him a guinea, and Otway, going away, bought a roll, and was choked with the first mouthful. Pope has stated that, having had an intimate friend, who was murdered in the street, the murderer fled towards France, and that Otway pursued him, on foot, as far as Dover ; where he was seized with a fever, occasioned by exces- sive fatigue ; and that, afterwards, he was conveyed to London, where he died. "But whatever may have been the cause of his death, it has never been denied that indigence, and its concomitants, sorrow and despondency, pressed hard upon him through life. He died on the fourteenth of April, 1685, in the thirty- fourth year of his age ; and 240 POETS. his remains were deposited in a vault under the church of St. Clement Danes, London. *' The second person whom I shall mention," (conti- nued Mr. Allen) " is perhaps rather to be pitied for the consequences of excessive imprudence, than cen- sured for those of absolute vice. His name was William Pattison. He was the son of a respect- able farmer^, who resided in the county of Sussex; was born at Peasmarth in that county, in the year 1706; and educated at Appleby, in Westmoreland. Having early discovered a propensity to learning, and, particularly, a taste for poetry, the Earl of Thanet, the landlord of his father, was at the expense of his education, and sent him to Sidney College, Cambridge. Here, though not disinclined to application, he con- tracted a habit of desultory reading, and had no relish for academical studies. He was beloved by his fellow students, though his temper could not bear resti-aint. On a quarrel with the tutor, he rashly struck his name off the college boards, and, in utter thoughtlessness, quitted it for ever. His gown he left behind; and made an apology for his conduct only by an insulting satirical farewell, which he penned upon it. " Headstrong, thoughtless youth ! little did he con- template the miseries which, by his folly, he was soon to encounter. He fled to London, to take up the trade of a poet ! Even now would his friends have forgiven, and replaced him. But every importunity to return to college, he resisted. The pleasures of the town, the desire of being known, a romantic expectation that he should find some generous patron to reward his merit, and a determination no longer to endure restraint, ren- dered him deaf to advice. In reply to a friend who had written to express his fears respecting the innume- rable temptations to which a youth of his volatile dis- position was liable, in such a place, he pictured every thing as promising success and liappiness : he had re- WILLIAM PATTISON. 247 solved on running the perilous career of literary glory ; all he hoped for seemed, for a while, to be realized : he mixed with wits, and passed bis time with men of pleasantry and genius. Unhappy youth ! vithout for- tune, without even any reasonable means of subsist- ence ; a few montlis elapsed, and all these vivid phan- toms of happiness were vanished. Involved in the most deplorable wretchedness, he describes himself as destitute of friends, of money; a prey to hunger, and without a roof to shelter him ; passing his days in misery, and his nights on a bench in St. James's-park. His first prudent thought appears to have been a reso- lution to solicit subscriptions for a volume of poems, which he proposed to publish. A letter that he wrote to a gentlemen on this subject, affords a dreadful picture of the state both of his body and mind. 'Sir, ' If you was ever touched with a sense of humanity, consider my condition. What I am, my proposals will inform you; what I have been, Sidney College, in Cambridge, can witness ; but what I shall be some few hours hence, I tremble to think. — Spare my blushes. — I have not enjoyed the common neces- saries of life for these two days ; and can hardly hold to subscribe myself, — Yours, &:c.' **He died soon afterwards, in the year 1727, and the twenty-first year of his age ! '^ Samuel Boyse, of whom I shall next give you an account, affords an example of the most atrocious depravity. He was an Irishman, the son of a dissent- ing clergyman, and born in Dublin, in the year 1708. After having received the first rudiments of education at a private school in Dublin, he was sent, at the age of eighteen, to the university of Glasgow. Scarcely had he been there twelve months, when his studies were interrupted, and his views in life wholly changed, by a rash and most imprudent attachmeiiN; for the daughter of a tradesman, whom he married before he 248 POETS. had attained his twentieth year. This marriage inter- rupted his studies, involved him in increased expenses, and, instead of reclaiming him from dissipation, to liabits of virtue, seems only to have opened new temp- tations to extravagance and vice. He became involved in pecuniary difficulties, which compelled him to quit the university abruptly, and return to Dublin, whither he took his wife and her sister. '^ His father, more amiable than prudent, not only relieved his present necessities, but continued t) sup- port him and his family, without ever appearing to have urged him to procure an independent livelihood. The son, as mean as his father was indulgent, instead of employing himself in the pursuit of any profession, was lost in dissipation. At length, by his thoughtless extravagance, his parent was reduced to beggary, and during his last illness, was supported by presents from his congregation; after his death he was buried at their expense. "Now it was that the unprincipled youth of whom I am speaking, began to feel the evils of his own mis- conduct. Deprived of his usual support, he repaired to Edinburgh; and, having a turn for poetry, ob- tained sufficient encouragement to publish a volume of poems. These procured for him the notice, and excited the compassion, of several persons of rank. His pros- pects began to brighten; his reputation as a poet was in some degree established. The Duchess of Gordon obtained for him the promise of a situation which would have placed him beyond the reach of indigence ; but, being at a little distance from Edinburgh, and, the day on which he was directed to deliver Jier grace's recommendatory letter having been rainy, Boyse de- clined exposing himself to the weather, and did not afterwards deliver it until the place was given away. *'The consequence of carelessness and imprudence like this may easily be imagined. He became involved in distress ; and was compelled to leave Edinburgh to escape the pursuit of his creditors. The duchess. SAMUEL BOYSE. 249 1jowe\ er, did not still forsake him. His project being next to visit London, she gave him a letter of introduc- tion to Pope. He also obtained letters to the Lord Chancellor, and to several other persons of rank. Pope happened to be from home when he called, and Boyse did not repeat his visit; and it has been doubted whether he delivered any of the other letters. But, if he did, his indiscretion prevented him from deriving any benefit from them ; and his miseries soon became so great, as to be almost unparalleled in the records of literary history. These miseries could rouse him to no other exertion than the writing of letters to implore relief; and never perhaps was there an object more unworthy of commiseration. *'His indolence and indiscretion w^ere even exceeded by his low selfishness, and gross sensuality. With money that he has extorted from benevolence, by his supplicatory letters, he has been known to go to a tavern, order an extravagant dinner, and drink of the most costly wines, without a single companion to parti- cipate the luxury ! — and, during this selfish revelling, his wife and child were left starving at home. You will not be surprised when I inform you that his friends, wearied by perpetual applications for relief, at length witliheld contributions which they found to be so ill bestowed. " After this, almost wholly deprived of support, his M retchedness became so extreme, that he had no clothes in which he could decently appear abroad. Even the .sheets on which he had lain, were sold to procure liim food; and he was compelled to lie in bed with no other covering than a blanket His mode of writing in this situation was singular. He sat up in bed wrapped in his blanket, through which he had cut two holes, larg€ enough to receive his arms ; and placing the paper on his knee, scribbled as well as he could, the verses which he had to sell for his subsistence. He has even been known to supply the want of a shirt, by >I3 250 POETS. tying slips of white paper round his neck and wrists ; and, in this plight, appearing abroad ; while his other apparel was scarcely sufficient for the purposes of decency. *' In the midst of all this wretchedness, he published 'The Deity,' a poem which was highly praised by some of the best critics of the age. Even Pope as- serted that there were lines in it which he should not have been ashamed to have written; and Harvey intro- duced a favourable notice of it into his Meditations. '' Boyse was preserved from absolute starvation, only by writing for magazines and other periodical publica- tions, and by occasional benefactions, which he often procured through the vilest arts of deceit. These arts were too various for me to enumerate. One of the most frequent and most extensive of them was to issue proposals for the publication of works, either written or to be written, to obtain the subscription money, and think no more of his engagement. Another, and still worse, was to employ his wife in circulating a report that he was dying, and to entreat the gift of money to sustain him in his last moments ; and many persons have been surprised to meet, in the streets, the very man to whom they had just sent relief, as on the verge of dissolution. " It is said that, being a good French scholar, he would have been able to earn a tolerable subsistence by translating works from that language into English. This was attempted; but his want of principle was such, that, by the time he had finished one sheet, he gene- rally pawned the book that had been put into his hands for translation : if his employer redeemed it, another sheet would be completed, and the book again be pawned ; and this perpetually. ''He was in this forlorn and Avretched condition several years ; but, at length, tempted by an allowance, though of only half a guinea a week, which he could look to with certainty, he was induced to retire into SAMUEL BOYSE. 231 the country, for the purpose of compiling an ' Histo- rical Review of the Transactions of Europe, from the Commencement of the war with Spain, in 1739, to the Insurrection in Scotland, in 1745.' ** During his residence in the countiy, though his allowance was extremely small, he contrived to be frequently intoxicated ; and he at last became so com- pletely sottish, that his abilities, if not his reason, were sensibly impaired. About this time his wife died ; and, assuming the appearance of great concern on the occasion, and being unable to purchase mourning for her, he tied a piece of black ribbon round the neck of a lap-dog, which he carried about in his arms. *^ On his return to London, his conduct became so decent, that hopes were entertained of his entire refor- mation. About nine months before his death he married the widow of a cutler, with whom he had no money, but who proved a careful nurse to him during a lingering illness. The remorse which, during this illness, he experienced from the recollection of his former profligacy, is finely described in his interesting poem, entitled the ' Recantation.' He died in obscure lodgings near Shoe-lane, London, in the month of March, 1749, and the forty-second year of his age ; and was buried at the charge of the parish. "The whole life of this wretched man seems to have been passed in a kind of t^onflict betwixt his depraved inclinations, and those religions principles which, by his good education, had been early im- pressed upon his mind, and so deeply as never to have been wholly effaced. If his life be candidly consi- dered, it will be found that he suffered no distress of which he could justly complain. He exhausted the patience of one set of friends after another, with such unfeeling contempt and ingratitude, that we are not to w onder at his having been compelled to live the pre- carious life of an outcast, whom no society is bound to maintain. 252 POETS. THIRTY-SECOND EVENING. Continuation of Examples illustrative of the Miseries co7isequent upon Imprudence, Dissipation, and Vice. Mr. Allen, having been requested by the young gentlemen to resume his narratives, proceeded as follows : — " The person to whom I shall next call your atten- tion will be William Collins; an amiable, but mis- guided, and unfortunate young man, some of whose poetry, particularly his *' Ode to the Passions," I know is familiar to you all. He was the son of a hatter, of Chichester; was born in the year 1720, and educated first on the foundation of Winchester College, and afterwards in Queen's, and Magdalen Colleges, Oxford. His father died in 'embarrassed circumstances, and Collins was supported at the uni- versity, on a stipend allowed him by an uncle. '^ His success in the college exercises seduced him into so early an application to poetry, that, while he was in the university, he published his ' Oriental Eclogues ;' but these, notwithstanding their merit, were, at the time, wholly unsuccessful. The acquirements of Collins were great. Not only was he acquainted with the learned languages, but with the Italian, French, and Spanish tongues ; and, full of hopes, full of projects, high in fancy, and strong in retention, he disdained all thought of settling in any profession. He seems to have imagined, like Pattison, that, by the exertions of his pen only, he could open for himself a road to fortune and to fame. " After the usual term of residence in college, to obtain his first degree, he suddenly quitted the uni- versity; and, without even consulting his friends, went to London with numerous projects in his head, and little money in his pocket. Literary adventures have generally been subject to a life of discomfort and WILLIAM COLLINS. 253 perplexity ; nor was Collins an exception to this com- mon lot. He designed many works; but, upon his first entrance into the world, was seduced into scenes of gaiety and dissipation, which prevented his seriously applying to any pursuit. These he had not long the means of continuing. It was represented to him that he had not a single guinea of his own; and that even the fashionable dress which he wore, he would never be able to pay for. Such representations, however, were of no avail : he was involved within the giddy vortex of pleasure, and unable to retreat. ** While thus living loosely about the town, he occa- sionally wrote many short poems ; but several of these were burnt as soon as they were written. He pro- jected a ' History of the Revival of Learning,' but he does not appear to have finished any part of it ; and planned several tragedies, but only planned them. He wrote his ' Odes ' for a present supply. They were purchased by a bookseller, but the profits derived from their sale, were not sufficient even to pay the expenses of printing; though they have since been estimated among the most popular productions in our language. This circumstance was so great a source of mortification to him, that, some time afterwards, when he received a legacy of two thousand pounds, on the death of his uncle, he made good to the pub- lisher the deficiency of the unsold odes, and, m his haughty resentment of the public taste, consigned all the remaining copies to the flames. ** Previously to his coming into possession of this money, Collins had, at times, been involved in the greatest distress. In one instance, when skulking from the pursuit of a bailiff* on watch to arrest him, Dr. Johnson, who at that time was himself in circum- stances not much more enviable, prevailed with a bookseller to retrieve him from his embarrassment, by advancing a sum of money, on his engagement to write a translation of Aristotle's Poetics, with a commentary. It was not long after this that Collins 254 POETS. received his uncle's legacy; on which, instead of jSnis^- ing the work that he had engaged to perform, he chose to repay to the bookseller the sum that had been lent. '' Irresolution seems to have been the great fault of Collins through life. Dr. Johnson, who knew him well, has asserted that, notwithstanding the errors of his conduct, his morals were pure, and his sentiments pious ; that, in the midst of his dissipation, he preserved the source of action unpolluted; that his principles were never shaken ; that his distinctions of right and wrong were never confounded ; and that his faults had in them nothing either of malignity or design. ^' The incidents of the latter part of his life cannot be remembered but with feelings of the most poignant regret. His literary disappointments preyed secretly upon his spirits, and gradually repressed his finest exertions. The money that had been bequeathed to him, accustomed as he had been to a life of want, unchequered even by hope, appeared an inexhaustible treasure ; and he eagerly snatched that temporary relief, with which the bottle flatters and seduces. But his health declined; and the clouds which h^ per- ceived gathering over his intellects, he endeavoured to disperse by travel. He passed into France, but, finding himself constrained to yield to his malady, returned. After his return. Dr. Johnson paid him a visit at Islington, where Collins was waiting for his sister, whom he had directed to meet him. There was then nothing of disorder perceptible in his mind by any except himself; but he had withdrawn from study, and travelled with no other book than an English Testament, such as children carry to school. When his friend took this into his hand, out of cu- riosity, to see what companion he had chosen, ' I have but one book,' said Collins, * but that is the best.' This circumstaance is recorded on his tomb : — ' He joiu'd pure failh to strong poetic powers, And, in reviving reason's hicid hours, ' Sought on one book his troubled mind to rest, And rightly deem'd the Book of God the best.' THOMAS CHATTERTON. 2.>j " Collins was, for some time, confined in a house of lunatics; but was afterwards given up to the care of his sister in Chichester, where he died in the year 1756, and in the thirty-sixth year of his age. " I will now present you with a short account of a young man whose life commenced in indigence, and terminated, as early as his eighteenth year, in the most abject wretchedness; and yet whose superior talents, under the care of proper instructors, and the control of a well-regulated mind, might have raised him to eminence and happiness. His name was Thomas Chatterton. The father of this unhappy youth was originally a singing man in the cathedral of Bristol, and afterwards master of a free-school in that city : he died in August, 1752, and this son was born on the twentieth of November following. " When about five years of age, he was placed at the same school which had formerly been conducted by his father; but either his faculties were not yet opened, or the waywardness of his genius was such, that he was returned to his mother as a child inca- pable of improvement. She was much distressed at the tardy understanding of her son, till he accidentally saw a French musical manuscript, with beautifully painted capital letters. Taking a momentary advan- tage of his curiosity respecting these, his mother was enabled to initiate him in the alphabet; after which she taught him to read from an old black-lettered Bible. *' Chatterton was now admitted into a charity-school, where he was boarded, clothed, and instructed in writ- ing and arithmetic. Instead of the thoughtless levity of childhood, he had the gravity, pensiveness, and me- lancholy of maturer life. He was frequently so lost in contemplation, that, for many days successively, he would say little, and even that apparently by con- straint. At the hours allotted for play, he generally 256 POETS. retired to read ; and now was particularly solicitous to borrow books. Before he was twelve years of age, he had read near seventy volumes, chiefly on subjects connected with history and divinity. He had also begun to write verses, and appeared to have a taste for drawing. *' When twelve years old he was confirmed; and, we are informed, that he made many sensible and serious remarks on the aw fulness of the ceremony, and on his own feelings preparatory to it. Happy indeed would it have been if sentiments like these, so congenial to the amiable dispositions of youth, had conti- nued to influence his conduct during his maturer years. ** On his leaving school, Chatterton was articled to an attorney in Bristol. Here he conducted him- self with great regularity, but his temper was sullen and gloomy. He was much confined to the office, though he had little actual employment ; and he occu- pied his leisure hours chiefly in studying heraldry, and English antiquities. '* During the time he was in this service, and when about seventeen years of age, he attempted a singular fraud on the public credulity. A new bridge was opened at Bristol, and Chatterton sent to one of the Bristol newspapers, ' A Description of the Friars first passing the old Bridge,' purporting to be taken from an ancient manuscript. To persons who examined him respecting this manuscript he declared that he had found it among som^ papers, taken from a chest in Redcliffe church, Bristol. This was the com- mencement of a series of literary forgeries, which he subsequently contrived to a great extent. The father of Chatterton had formerly taken away from the same church, baskets full of deeds, and other manuscripts on parchment, which had been deposited there for .several generations, and which he chiefly used for the covering of books and other similar purposes. It was among these parchments that Chatterton pretended to THOMAS CIIATTERTON. 2')1 have discovered several pieces of poetry, written, as he asserted, by Rowley, a priest of the fifteenth century; and a few of which he made public. The whole of them, some years afterwards, were printed under the name of Rowley, and many learned men were deceived by them; but the fact of their forgery has since been ascertained. " Hitherto the religious principles of this singular youth seem to have been good. How he was unfor- tunate enough to receive a tincture of infidelity, we have not been informed ; but a change, at this early period of life, took place in his religious belief. He became a deist; and, connecting infidelity with des- pair, avowed his determination of ending a miserable life by self-destruction. His master, on perusing this threat (which Chatterton had written in a paper, pur- porting to be his will, and left exposed in the office), dismissed him from his service, after a continuance in it of about two years and three quarters. " It had been with Chatterton an early maxim, that ' God had sent his creatures into the world with arms long enough to reach any thing, if they would but be at the trouble of making use of them.' Whether this maxim had any influence upon his conduct, on his entrance into life, cannot now be known; but, after his dismissal by the attorney, he went to London, on a literary speculation, and, in the full expectation that he should, without difficulty, be able to subsist by the exertions of his pen. This was in the month of April, 1774, when he was little more than seventeen years old ; an age at which youthful indiscretion stands peculiarly in need of government and restraint. *' He had written to several booksellers in London, who, finding his abilities likely to be of advantage to them, were by no means sparing of encomiums res- pecting him. He wrote some poems for periodical publications, and many pieces in prose. The activity of his mind, for a while, was almost imparalleled. The booksellers encourasfed him with the most san- 258 POETS. giiine hopes of success. In a letter to one of his friends, written in high flow of spirits, he states, that he already was paid four guineas a month by one magazine, and that he should engage to write a his- tory of England, and other pieces, which would pro- duce him more than double that sum. He speaks of an engagement to write a voluminous history of Lon- don, for which, besides a handsome salary, he was to be accommodated with board and lodging at the book- seller's house. ^' We cannot be surprised that a youth, thrown so early upon all the dangers of the metropolis, vain of the reception he had met with, and without a friend to restrain him, should soon become involved in difli- culties. Chatterton early acquired a taste for dissi- pation. This involved him in expenses that he was unable to sustain. The splendid visions of his first projects proved abortive. The labour of writing for periodical publications, together with the uncertainty of the emoluments derivable from it, were such that he was soon involved in poverty. All his other lite- rary projects failed ; for his vanity seems to have led him to hopes, which, in sound judgment, he could not have entertained. He sunk, almost at once, from the highest elevation of hope and illusion, to the depths of despair. He now removed from a house in which he had lodged, in Shoreditch, to another, kept by a Mrs. Angel, a sack maker, in Brook-street, Holborn. Here, abandoning his literary pursuits, he proposed to go out to Africa, as a surgeon's mate ; imagining that the little knowledge of surgery which he had acquired in the course of his miscellaneous reading, would be suffi- cient recommendation of him for such a service. But in this project he was also disappointed. No longer employed by the booksellers, he became involved in the most deplorable wretchedness. He settled into a gloomy despondence, and the short remainder of his days was passed in a conflict between pride and poverty. On the day preceding that of his death he refused an offer THOMAS DERMODY. 2o9 from Mrs. Angel to partake of her dinner : he assured her he was not hungry, though she had reason to be- lieve that he had eaten nothing for two or three days before. On the twenty-fifth of August, 1770, he was found dead in his room, in consequence of having swallowed poison. This was in his eighteenth year, and little more than four months after the commence- ment of what he, thoughtlessly and mistakenly, had imagined would prove an uninterrupted career of happiness and fame. He was interred at the expense of the parish, in tlie burying-ground belonging to the Shoe-lane workhouse. '' When we consider the fate of this unhappy youth, every allowance must be made for his unprotected and friendless situation. He was but a boy, even at the time of his death ; and had he fallen into settled and sober habits, his excellent understanding would, in all probability, have led him to discover the fallacy of those irreligious notions which he had hastily em- braced, and to the influence of which his premature death must principally be ascribed. We cannot defend his conduct, but we must commiserate the melancholy end of such a youth, led on by an ardent spirit, with- out guide, and without restraint. ^' These," continued Mr. Allen, '* are but a few of the numerous examples which I could relate to you, of misery arising from imprudence in the outset, and from dissipation and vice in later stages of life. They are, however, probably sufficient to convince you of the necessity there is of a due restraint upon the passions ; and how beneficial it is implicitly to submit, in youth, to the direction of others of sounder know- ledge, and more correct experience than yourselves. '* I will mention only one person more, an obscure Irish poet, but a young man of extraordinary abilities ; Thomas Dermody, the son of a schoolmaster, at Ennis, in Ireland. He was born in the month of January, 1775 ; and, when only in his ninth year, had 200 POETS. acquired, under the superintendence of his father, such a knowledge of the Greek and Latin languages, as, even thus early, to be employed in teaching the rudiments of them to tiie other boys. It will increase your astonishment to be informed that, when only ten years old, his biographer says he had written as much poetry as Cowley, Milton, or Pope had produced at nearly double that age. '' But it is most lamentable that his father only instructed him in classical learning, and was entirely negligent both of religious and moral attainments. He was also fond of drinking in low and dissipated company; and this pernicious example gave a most unhappy turn to the conduct of his son. Not very long after the time of which I have spoken, the boy ran away from his friends, and went to Dublin. At first he was so much delighted with the various objects which caught his attention, tliat he did not trouble himself to re- flect that he was in a large city, pennyless and unknown. But his pleasure soon gave place to misery; he was obliged to sell part of his clothes to satisfy his hunger. In a forlorn condition, he had now no other amusement than to stroll about the streets. Durin one of his walks, he stopped at the window of a bookseller, and, taking up one of the books, was cautiously observed by the owner, who hastened to watch his property. But what was the astonishment of this man on finding that the little stranger was earnestly poring over the work of a Greek author ! On questioning him, and finding that the boy understood what he read, he asked him into his house, and gave him some food. Der- mody explained his situation; and it immediately oc- curred to the bookseller, that, by relieving his neces- sities, he might be induced to teach his son the Latin language. He made the proposition, and Dermody readily assented to the terms ; but, having no steadiness of perseverance, he soon neglected to fulfil his part of the engagement. His employer, however, pitying his forlorn condition, would not throw him upon the world THOMAS DERMODY. 2()] Liiiirely friendless, and, therefore, recommended hiui to another bookseller, as a shop-boy. *' Soon after this he became known to Dr. Houlton, of Dublin, who, as you may imagine, was not a little surprised, to see a country-looking lad, meanly dressed, and so young, standing in a book-shop, and reading Longinus in the original Greek. He entered into conversation with him; and, finding Dermody skilled in that language, invited him to dinner. On examining him respecting his knowledge, the doctor was so much astonished to find him well acquainted with the writings of several Greek and Latin authors, that he offered his house as a residence, till some better situation could be found for him. Delighted with the thoughts of living with a gentleman, and a scholar, he accepted the invi- tation with many expressions of gratitude. " Dr. Houlton, one day, presented Dermody to a learned friend of his acquaintance, having previously spoken of his astonishing acquirements. On seeing a lad of small size, with an open collar, and of almost infantine appearance, the gentleman exclaimed, in a low voice, ' Pshaw ! it is impossible.' — ' Try him,' re- plied the doctor. The gentleman then took out a small edition of Horace, and asked him to construe any ode he liked best. Dermody returned the book, and requested that he would fix upon one. This having been done, and the gentleman remarking that he had selected a very short one, ' The more suitable,' answered Dermody, with a smile, * to a little scholar.' He then seated himself at a table, and, in nine minutes, produced a poetical translation of it. The gentleman was so much astonished, that he presented the little poet with the Horace to go into one of his breeches pockets, and a handful of silver to occupy the other. *' Had Dermody been a boy of docile and amiable character, he might have become an eminent and a happy man; but he would never attempt to correct any errors in his conduct, and would not endure even the least contradiction. Dr. Houlton, after a little !>G2 POETS. while, found him entirely ungovernable; and, at the end of about ten weeks, was under the necessity of setting him at liberty; but he, at the same time, fur- nished him with a considerable sum of money, and gave him proper advice relative to his future conduct. " After having wandered about, for some time, with- out any settled home, Dermody next found an asylum with the scene-painter of the Dublin theatre. This man introduced him to the players : and some attempts were made to place him in a situation where he might prosecute his studies; but he disgusted every one by his ingratitude and bad conduct. " Abandoned now by every person of character, he enlisted into the army as a private soldier; and, behaving with some decency under the check of mili- tary discipline, was progressively advanced to the ranks of corporal and sergeant. In the month of Septem- ber, 1794, and in the nineteenth year of his age, he embarked with the regiment for England. He sub- sequently accompanied it abroad, in an expedition under the Earl of Moira; and behaved so well, that his lordship promoted him to a lieutenancy in the waggon corps; but, on the reduction of the army, Dermody was put on the half-pay list. Lord Moira, however, in addition to his pay, presented him with a considerable sum of money out of his own pocket; and promised him support if he would conduct himself, for the future, with propriety. *^ Dermody now came to London, and soon dissi- pated all his money in the lowest and most degrading vi.ces. After a short time he was arrested for debt, and committed to the Fleet prison. From this situa- tion Lord Moira liberated him; but, with a threat that, unless he amended his conduct, he would entirely withdraw his protection. The reproof had a momen- tary effect ; but he soon relapsed into bad habits, and successively disgusted numerous friends whom, by his very extraordinary talents, he had acquired. He Avent on from one scene of low depravity to another. THOMAS DERMODY. 203 until his constitution was undermined, and he pre- sented a loathsome picture of genius degraded by vice. At length, wasted by disease, the consequence of ha- bitual intemperance, he died in an obscure hovel, near Sydenham, in Devonshire, on the fifteenth of July, 1802, in the twenty-eighth year of his age. " These little histories afford some important lessons. We learn from them, in the first place, how much unhappiness arises from a want of attention in parents to instil early impressions of religion upon the minds of their children, and to check the first growth of corrupt passions and vicious inclinations. When youth, unrestrained, becomes immersed in dissipation, the seductions of false pleasure are daily more enticing; and the habit of vice once begun, we know not where it will end. It destroys every inclination to industry, it sinks men into indolence, drains them of the means of their subsistence, and eventually ruins both their happiness and health. In Pattison we have sad example of the consequences of giving way to passion, and of the evils that follow from opposing those restraints which are absolutely necessary for the government of youth. The memoir of Boyse, shows us that he was scarcely ever in a situation of distress which was not the result of his own folly. Had the talents which he possessed, instead of being shrouded in indolence, or prostituted to vice, been employed according to the dictates of reason and of virtue, he might have risen to eminence and respectability, and escaped the unhappiness which marked every period of his literary career. His life, however, will be far from useless, if it in any degree contiibute to convince the dis- sipated and thoughtless of the misery which dissipation and thoughtlessness must inevitably produce. Collins is the only one of the whole whom we can sincerely pity. His were chiefly faults of indiscretion, until his indiscretion had involved him in irregularity; and even then he never lost sight of the main principles of 2G4 POETS. religion and morality. In Chatterton, particularly, we discern the wretched condition of one who is deprived of all the comforting hopes of another state, and who is reduced to seek for happiness in the vicious gratifications of life. With respect to Der- mody, his character affords no incident on which the mind can dwell with pleasure. His whole life forms a disgusting and almost uniform picture of depravity; deducible, apparently, from a neglect of his parent to infuse right principles into his mind; from the per- nicious example of low dissipation, which that parent set him ; and from the want of an early restraint of his own passions. ** These relations will be further useful if they serve to * remind those who, in confidence of superior capa- cities or attainments, disregard the common maxims of life; that nothing can supply the want of prudence; ^and that negligence and irregularity, long continued, will make even knowledge useless, art ridiculous, and genius contemptible.' '' THIRTY-THIRD EVENING. Mr, Allen. After the interruption that I have occasioned, during the last two evenings, it will be requisite for you to go back to a period earlier, per- haps, than the death of any of the persons I have mentioned, except Otway. This must be done, for the purpose of introducing some of the celebrated poets of the eighteenth century. We have not yet, for instance, spoken of Pope, the most eminent of them all. Louisa, Pray let him be the subject of conversation to-night. Mr, Allen, What say Frederic and Edmund to this? Frederic, That it will at all times afford us pleasure to accord with the wishes of Miss Irwin ; and, if you please, I will begin. Alexander Pope, the '' prince ALEXANDER POPE. 265 or rhyme," as he has been sometimes styled, was the son of a wealthy Roman Catholic linen-draper, and born in Lombard-street, London, in the year 1688. From his birth his constitution was feeble and deli- cate; and his disposition peculiarly mild and amiable. The first rudiments of his education were obtained from an aunt, who, at an early age, taught him to read. The art of writing he acquired in a very singular manner, also through her directions, by copying printed books ; and this he was able to do, all his life afterwards, with extraordinary skill and dexterity, though his usual hand, as may be imagined, from such a mode of teach- ing, was far from elegant. When about eight years of age, he was placed under the care of a Roman Catholic priest, who instructed him in the rudiments of the Greek and Latin languages at the same time; a method that has not often been practised. Louisa, Was lie a quick scholar? Frederic. Yes; the elements of classical literature he imbibed with the utmost facility ; and, on perusing the poets, he is said to have discovered at once the peculiar bent of his inclination and the excellence of his own genius. Edmund. After he had received considerable im- provement under his private tutor, he was sent to a seminary of Catholics, at Twyford, near Winchester ; but was taken aw ay on account of a lampoon which he wrote on the master. This svas one of his first efibrts in poetry. Frederic, And yet, from comparing the various, accounts of his childhood, he could not, at that time, have been more than ten years old. Lady Inviii, Poor little fellow ! What became of him afterwards? Frederic, He w^as sent to a school near Hyde-park- corner. The master of this school sometimes per- mitted his boys to go to the theatres; and Pope be- came so much delighted with theatrical representa- M 266 POETS. tions, that he determined to form the chief events of Homer's Iliad into a kind of play. This was made up of speeches from Ogilby's translation of that work, connected by verses of his own. He persuaded the upper boys to act it. The master's gardener represented the character of Ajax ; and the whole company attired themselves, as nearly as they were able, according to the prints in Ogilby's book. Louisa. It must have been an extraordinary pro- duction. If it has been printed I should very much like to read it. Mr. Allen. As a specimen of early talent it must have been a great curiosity ; but it was probably de- stroyed not long after it was thus performed. Edmund. We are told that Pope, instead of deriving advantage from either of the schools he had been at, was so unfortunate as to lose much of the knowledge he had previously acquired. In consequence of this, his father, who had now retired from business, and who lived at Binfield, in Windsor-forest, took him home, and placed him under the tuition of another Catholic priest ; but still with so little advantage, that when only twelve years of age, Pope was permitted to pursue his own plan of study. With this view he read nearly all such books as he could procure, but with a decided preference to poetical works, particu- larly those of Dryden, who soon became his favourite author, and whose writings he subsequently adopted as the model of his own. Lady Lwin. Is it known how young Pope was when he wrote the earliest of his pieces ? Mr. Allen. His '* Ode to Solitude," is believed to have been originally composed when he was twelve years of age ; but Dodsley, the bookseller, who lived in intimacy with him, says he had seen pieces of still earlier date than this. Frederic. At fourteen he employed himself in some of those translations and imitations, which are inserted ALEXANDER POPE. 2G7 Hi the lirst volume of his works. About this time he likewise wrote a comedy and tragedy; and he con- fesses that he thought " himself the greatest genius that had ever lived. '^ Lady Irwin. For what profession was he educated? Mr. Allen. It is said that his father had recom- mended to him the study of physic ; as he considered that the deformity of his person, and his feeble con- stitution, would render him unfit for any other. But this could not have proceeded beyond a recommen- dation; for he had such entire confidence in the abili- ties, and correct conduct of his son, as to allow him to choose any course, which he considered best suited to himself: Pope, consequently, was a poet from the com- mencement to the end of his life ; and his father had the satisfaction of living long enough to see him begin to make an honourable fortune by the profession of poetry alone. Frederic. His " Essay on Criticism," which was originally written before he was twenty years of age, elevated him to the first rank among the English poets. The public, it is said, were astonished to find, in one so young, such a knowledge of the world, combined with so much maturity of judgment, such extent of reading, and such facility of illustration, as are there displayed. Edmund. But even the Essay on Criticism was surpassed, in celebrity, by his '* Rape of the Lock," published about two years afterwards. Louisa. What was the origin of this poem ? Sir Charles. It was occasioned by a frolic of gal- lantry, in which Lord Petre, during a party of plea- sure, ventured to cut off* a favourite lock of the hair of Mrs. Arabella Fermor. This familiarity was so much resented as to occasion a serious rupture between the two families. Mr. Caryl, secretary to the queen of James the Second, a friend of both parties, requested Pope to write something which might show the absur- dity of the quarrel, and terminate the animosity that n2 2(58 POETS. had been excited. He readily assented, and, in the course of a fortnight, completed his design. The offended lady was delighted with the delicacy of the compliment thus paid to her. She first communicated copies of it to her friends, and subsequently prevailed with the author to allow it to appear in print. It was accordingly published; and, having been received with general applause, Pope, in the ensuing year, enlarged it by the addition of three cantos, comprising the machinery of the sylph. These he wrought with such exquisite skill and beauty, as to place the Rape of the liock in a rank far above all the mock heroic poems that had ever been published. Frederic. Induced by the success which had attended the translation of Virgil, by Dryden, and probably also by a desire to rival that work. Pope, in the twenty- fifth year of his age, commenced a verse translation of Homer's Iliad. This he completed, and published by subscription, at the price of six guineas. Its success far exceeded his expectation ; for it has been shown to have yielded him the clear sum of more than H^e thousand three hundred pounds! and, by the trans- lation of the Odyssey, subsequently published, he is said to have gained about four thousand three hundred pounds more. Lady Irwin, These were large sums to have been obtained by one work. Few^ other poets, I should imagine, have been so successful. Mr, Allen, The success of Pope, it is to be feared, may have induced many to imagine the writing of poetry a ready way both to wealth and fame ; but, of those who have tried it, there are few indeed who, in the end, have not found themselves deceived. Edmund, Is there not a notion, sir, that Pope was unequal to the task of translating Homer from the original Greek ; and that he derived considerable aid from the Latin, French, and English versions of that work which were then extant? ALEXANDER POPE. 2G0 3Ir, Allen, A great clamour on this subject was raised at the time. It is possible that Pope, in conse- quence of his irregular education, was not a good Greek scholar, yet there can be no doubt but he had a competent knowledge of the language, for the comple- tion of what he undertook. His work, however, as Dr. Warton has observed, is too highly ornamented. ** No two things can be so unlike as the Iliad of ^omer, and the Iliad of Pope. To colour the images, to point the sentences, to lavish Ovidian graces on tJie simple Grecian, is" (he says,) " to put a bag wig on the fine busts of the venerable old bard." — But we must proceed with his history. Frederic, Out of the money which Pope obtained from the Iliad, he purchased a house at Twickenham, on the bank of the Thames, about ten miles west of London. Thither he removed, with his father and mother, in the year 1715. Sir Charles, The taste that he afterwards displayed in improving this residence, became an object of general admiration, and continued so for near a century; but, in the year 1807, the house was pulled down, and the grounds, from the many alterations they have since undergone, can no longer be associated with the taste and skill of their once celebrated oAvner. Frederic, In relating the history of this great poet, I must not omit to mention an accident, by which he had nearly lost his life. He was returning home in a friend's chariot, when, on passing a bridge, the carriage was overturned, and, with the horses, thrown into the river. As the glasses were up, and he was unable to break them, he would no doubt have been drowned, had not the postilion come to his relief, and carried him to the bank. A fragment of the broken glass, however, wounded his hand so deeply, that he lost the use of two of his fingers ever afterwards. Sir Charles. The success which had attended the writings of Pope, excited the jealousy of many of the minor poets of the day, and of numerous others, who 270 POETS. assailed him from all quarters. But, after a patienrr of nearly ten years, he determined to crush his adver- saries in a mass by one strong and decisive blow. This he accomplished in a well-known satirical poem, enti- tled the '' Dunciad," which first appeared in 1727. Lady Irivin, I have heard the religious opinions of Pope censured; and some persons assert, that the tenets contained in his celebrated ** Essay on IMan,'^ are more favourable to natural than to revealed religion. Mr, Allen, The whole scheme of this poem was drawn up by Lord Bolingbroke, in a series of propo- sitions which Pope was to amplify, versify, and illus- trate. It has even been asserted that it was wholly composed by Bolingbroke, in elegant prose, and that Pope did no more than turn this into verse. We are assured that Bolingbroke highly approved of it; and his opinions were certainly not very favourable to revelation. Voltaire also applauded it. There can be no doubt that several of its passages are so expressed as to be favourable to the doctrines denominated fatalism and necessity, notwithstanding all the pains that can be taken, and the artful turns that have been given, to place them on the side of religion, and make them coincide with the fundamental doctrines of revelation. The opinion that man is in a fallen and degraded state, is strongly denied in almost every line of the Essay on Man. Frederic, Betwixt the time when this poem was published and his death. Pope wrote several short pieces. He even printed a collection of hi& familiar letters, to counteract a spurious edition which had previously been published. Not long after this his health declined, and he suffered much from a severe asthmatic complaint, constant headachs, ant incessant rheumatic pains. At last he sunk into an almost help- less state of decay, which terminated in his death, on the thirtieth of May, 1744, and the fifty-sixth year of his age. His body was deposited, according to his ALEXANDER POPE, 271 own request in a vault, in the church of Twickenham, which contained the remains of his parents. Louisa. Was not Mr. Pope very much deformed ? Sir Charles, In person he is described to have been protuberant both behind and before ; and to have been so low of stature that, to bring him on a level with common tables, it was necessary to raise his seat. But his countenance was animated, and his eye remarkably piercing. From the contraction of one side of his body, and the general feebleness of his frame, he could scarcely hold himself upright; he therefore, very pardonably, wore stays. Under a coarse linen shirt, with fine sleeves, he wore a fur doublet; and, to en- large the bulk of his legs, had three pair of stockings. These, as he was unable either to dress or undress himself, were drawn on and off by his maid-servant. Sickly, fretful, and impatient, he was always extremely troublesome to the servants of those families whom he visited; but he did not neglect to compensate their at- tention by pecuniary rewards. Louisa, What was the general character of Pope? was he not exceedingly parsimonious ? Sir Charles. His love of money is described rather to have been an eagerness to obtain, than a solicitude to keep it; for he was by no means illiberal, either in loans to his friends, or in contributions to relieve dis- tress. Prpe's chief faults seem to have been a suscep- tibility of offence, and a disposition strongly inclined to revenge ; but these had a powerful overbalance of virtues ; for one of his most intimate friends asserted that, '* he had never known a man who had a more tender heart for his friends, or a more extended friend- ship for mankind in general." One part of his cha- racter is peculiarly pleasing. I allude to his filial piety. In this, as Dr. Johnson has observed, he was in the highest degree amiable and exemplary. His parents had the happiness of living till he was at the summit of his poetical reputation, at ease in his fortune, and without a rival in fame ; and they found no dimi- 272 PORTS. nutioii either of bis respect or tenderness. Whatever was his pride, to them he was obedient ; and whatever his general irritability of disposition, to them he was gentle. And life has, among its soothing and quiet comforts, few things better to bestow than such a son. Lady Irwin. Pope, I know, was a Roman Catholic during a considerable part of his life ; and, if T recol- lect, continued such until his death. Mr, Allen, Immediately before his death, Jie was prevailed with to receive the sacrament from a Popish priest ; yet, when in the full possession of his intellect, he had too clear and solid an understanding not to dis- cern the gi'oss absurdities of the Romish superstition. And he once acknowledged to Dr. Warburton that, he was convinced the church of Rome had all the .marks and signs of that antichristian power and apostacy, which are so strongly described and pre- dicted in the New Testament. It now only remains to be observed, concerning his w^orks, that they were collected, and published, with notes, by Dr. Joseph Warton, in nine volumes, octavo, 1797. This collection comprises not only his poetry, but also his prose works, consisting chiefly of short essays, and his letters. THIRTYFOURTH EVENING. It was remarked by Frederic, that several of our poets had already been mentioned under the heads of general writers, and divines. He alluded, particularly, to Addison, Swift, Goldsmith, Watts, and Sir William Jones, To these he thought there would be no neces- sity to revert, as the discussions would, thereby, not only be unnecessarily lengthened, but would involve much repetition. He consequently proposed the omission of all further notice of them; and said he would, this evening, introduce the poet Thomson. JAMES THOMSON. 273 Louisa expressed great delight that her chief favourite of the English poets should now become the subject of attention ; and hoped she might be allowed to partake in the debate respecting him. This was immediately assented to by all, and Sir Charles requested her to begin ; which she did as follows : James Thomson was the son of a minister of the church of Scotland, and born at Ednam, in Roxburgh- shire, on the eleventh of September, 1700. To his mother, who possessed uncommon natural endow- ments, he was indebted for much valuable instruction during his childhood ; and for much of that religious sentiment, which subsequently contributed, in no small degree, to the excellence of his poetry. After the usual course of school education, Thomson was sent to the university of Edinburgh, to prepare himself for the church. Edmund. It would, no doubt, have been highly gratifying to his pious and excellent parent, if his studies had terminated by his entrance into the sacred profession. But this was prevented by an accidental occurrence respecting one of his early compositions. The professor of divinity had given him, for the sub- ject of an exercise, the illustration of a psalm cele- brating the power and the majesty of God. His paraphrase of this psalm was in itself truly excellent, but in a style so highly poetical, that all the auditors were astonished with it. The professor complimented him upon the performance, but added, with a smile, that, ''if he thought of being useful in the ministry, he must keep a stricter rein upon his imagination, and express himself in language more intelligible to an ordinary congregation.'' Frederic, Thomson, disheartened by this compli- mentary reproof, determined no longer to think of divinity as his profession ; but, having received some encouragement from a lady of quality, a friend of his mother, then in London, he resolved to go thither^ n3 274 POETS, though without any settled plans for his future sub- sistence. Mr. Allen, And he was one of the few literary ad- venturers who have not been unsuccessful. Louisa. When Thomson first arrived in London, he was about twenty-five years of age. He had recom- mendations to several persons of distinction. These he tied up carefully in his handkerchief; but, as he passed along the street, with the gaping curiosity of a new comer, his attention was upon every thing rather than his pocket. Edmund, The consequence of which was, that his magazine of credentials was stolen from him. Louisa. Poor man ! And with them it may be pre- sumed most of his other valuables ; for we find that, soon afterwards, he was in want both of shoes and clothing. He would, no doubt, have been in great distress, had he not found some kind friends who relieved his necessities. Frederic. In the beginning of the ensuing year, Thomson ventured to publish his *' Winter." The bookseller gave him a very small sum for the copyright ; and the slowness of the sale was such, that he was disposed to regret even that. Mr. Allen. But Mr. Whately, a man of taste and learning, by his strong recommendations, brought it into universal notice and admiration. Louisa. It was a happy circumstance for Thomson that, at this time, he was introduced to the Lord Chan- cellor Talbot, who gave him the situation of secretary of briefs. This, I understand, was a place of little duty or attendance, suited to Thomson's retired mode of life, and affording an income sufficient for his moderate demands. He afterwards accompanied the son of the chancellor, as his tutor, in a tour through Europe ; but, previously to setting out on this excur- sion, he published his other three Seasons; first '' Sum- mer," then '' Spring,*' and last of all " Autumn.'' JAMES THOMSOI>r. 275 Edmund. At the suggestion of several of his friends, he wrote a tragedy called ** Soplionisba," which was acted in the year 1729; and of which Dr. Johnson has said, it had raised such expectation, that every rehearsal was dignified with a splendid audience, col- lected to anticipate the delight that was preparing for the public : but it was observed that no one was much affected, and that the company always rose from it, as they would have done from a moral lecture. Sir Charles, Slight accidents will sometimes operate upon the taste of pleasure. There is, as Dr. Johnson has observed, a feeble line in the play. *' O Sophonisba, Sophonisba, O !" This gave occasion to a jocular parody : ** O Jamie Thomson, Jamie Thomson, O !" which for a considerable while echoed throughout London ; and which, absurd as it may seem, might have operated much to the injury of its author, had he not previously obtained great popularity by his other works. Louisa, During his excursion on the continent, with Mr. Talbot, Thomson experienced a heavy affliction in the death of this amiable youth; and shortly after- wards an irreparable loss, in that of his father. Lord Talbot. Frederic, These were serious events to the fortune of the poet, for he soon found himself reduced from a means of comfortable support, to a state of precarious dependance. Either through pride, modesty, or igno- rance, Thomson neglected to ask the succeeding chan- cellor, to continue him in his office of secretary of briefs ; and, after a little delay, it was given to another person. Edmund. Although his chief dependance now was upon his own exertions, the loss did not operate upon his spirits. After paying a tribute of grief to the memory of his departed benefactor, he resumed his natural vivacity ; and the profits arising from the sale of his works, together with the liberality of new 270 POETS. patrons, particularly of Frederic Prince of Wales, who generously allowed him a pension of a hundred pounds a year, he was enabled not only to live in a respectable manner himself, but also occasionally to assist the narrow circumstances of his sisters. Louisa, That was liberal ; and his being able to give this assistance, affords some proof, that he could not have been either dissipated or extravagant. Among his subsequent writings, were the tragedies of ^' Aga- memnon," and ^'Tancred and Sigismunda," both of which were acted with considerable success ; his masque of ^' Alfred," composed by command of the Prince of Wales, and ''Castle of Indolence," an alle- gorical poem. Frederic, The latter was dedicated to Lord Lyttle- ton ; who, soon afterwards, procured for Thomson the place of Surveyor-general of the Leeward Islands, worth about three hundred pounds a year. His death occurred not long subsequently to this, on the twenty- seventh of August, 1748. It was occasioned by a violent fever, the consequence of a neglected cold, caught by going in a boat, after he had overheated himself by walking. Thomson was buried in the church of Richmond; and, in 1762, a monument was erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey, the expense of which was defrayed by the profits arising from a splendid edition of his works. Louisa, You have mentioned Milton's favourite season for writing: that of Thomson was the autumn. And the deep silence of the night was the time which he commonly chose for his studies. He was frequently heard walking in his study till near morning, humming over what he had to correct and transcribe on the ensuing day. Sir Charles, Do you recollect what were the favourite amusements of Thomson? Louisa, He chiefly employed his leisure hours in reading civil and natural history, voyages, and travels ; and, had the place of his residence been favourable to EDWARD YOUNG. 277 them, be would no doubt have been partial to all inno- cent kinds of rural pursuits. Though he did not play upon any musical instrument, he was passionately fond of music; and he had an exquisite taste in the arts of painting, sculpture, and architecture. Frederic, Pray, Mr. Allen, what do you think of his works ? Mr, Allen, Of all descriptive poems which I have read, that of his '' Seasons," is the most excellent. Thomson's mode, both of thinking and expressing his thoughts, is perfectly original. He had a feeling heart, and a warm imagination ; and had studied and copied nature with care. Enamoured of her beauties, he not only described them correctly, but felt their impression with strong sensibility. The impression which he felt, he transmits to his readers ; and no person of taste can peruse any of his Seasons, without having the idea and feelings which belong to that season recalled, and rendered present to his mind. The gaity of spring, the splendour of summer, the tranquillity of autumn, and the horror of winter, take, in their turn, possession of his mind. But what I peculiarly admire is that, the devotion of the author to the Supreme Being, founded on the most elevated and just conceptions of his operations and providence, shines through almost every page of the work. THIRTY-FIFTH EVENING. Edmund, The next poet in succession to Thomson, of whom I have been able to discover any memoranda that are sufficiently interesting for our purpose, is Dr. Edward Young, the author of *' Night Thoughts,'' and the son of Dr. Young, afterwards Dean of Sarum. He was born at Upham, in Hampshire, in the year 1681; and educated first at Winchester, afterwards in New College, and subsequently to this, in Corpus 278 POETS. Christi College, Oxford. The president of the latter, out of regard to his father, and, in order to lessen his academical expenses, invited him to reside at the lodge. Lady Irwin, It has been said that, early in life, he was not that ornament to religion and morality which he afterwards became. Mr, Allen, If this ever were the case, which indeed seems very doubtful, it must have been when he was very young; for we are told that, whilst at All Souls' College, of which, after leaving Corpus Christi, he was elected fellow, he displayed so much animation and ability in the cause of religion, that Tindal, a noted deistical writer, who passed much of his time in that college, was accustomed to say; *^The other boys I can always answer, because 1 always know whence they have their arguments, which I have read a hun- dred times ; but that fellow, Young, is continually pes- tering me with something of his own," Sir Charles, Considerable prejudices were afterwards entertained against Young, in consequence of his having been patronized by the Duke of Wharton^ certainly one of the most dissolute men that ever lived ; but this was long after the period to which Lady Irwin alludes, and when his principles must have been firmly established. Frederic, Whilst we are speaking of the early life of this celebrated man, I must be permitted to relate an anecdote which exhibits a lively trait of his charac- ter at the time. He was accompanying some ladies in a boat to Vauxhall; and, having a flute with him, he played to them several tunes, and then put the instrument into his pocket. An officer, rowing near, declared that if he did not continue his music, he Avould throw him into the river. To calm the appre- hensions of his party, he complied. Having, however, marked his man, he privately addressed him in the garden, and insisted upon satisfaction. It was agreed that they should meet the next morning. They did so. EDWARD YOUNG. 270 The officer drew his sword; and Young produced an immense horse-pistol, with which he threatened to shoot his antagonist through the head, if he did not now, in return for the music, dance a minuet. The delinquent, after many fruitless remonstrances, did as he was ordered. Mr. Allen, And it is said, he had the good sense afterwards to acknowledge, that his impertinence had received an appropriate castigation. Louisa, Was not Dr. Young a clergyman? and yet he wrote some ti^agedies. It does not seem to me quite correct, that a clergyman should be a writer for the stage. Frederic, He was the author of ** Busiris," the ''Revenge," and another tragedy, called the ''Bro- thers ;" but these were all written before he was in holy orders. Indeed Mr. Young was not ordained until he was more than forty years of age ; and it is observ- able, concerning the tragedy of the Brothers, that, having been only under rehearsal at the time of his ordination, he had the good sense to withdraw it ; and this play remained in his desk five and twenty years. Sir Charles, He, however, at last suffered it to be performed. Frederic, True, but for a charitable purpose; and the profits derived from it, he made up, out of his OAvn purse, to the sum of one thousand pounds ; and gave this to the society for propagating Christian know- ledge. Edmund, Before Mr. Young was in orders, he was appointed tutor to Lord Burghley ; and had been a candidate to represent the borough of Cirencester, in parliament, but was unsuccessful. Frederic, He was presented by his college to the rectory of Welwyn, in Hertfordshire ; and, soon after- wards, married Lady Betty Lee, widow of Colonel Lee, and daughter of the Earl of Litchfield, a lady of excellent talents, and most amiable disposition. Lady Lwin, I have been informed that Dr. Young 280 POETS. ' was a very popular preacher ; and that he was much followed, both on account of the grace and animation of his dehvery. Frederic, Yet we are told that, one Sunday, as he vainly endeavoured to rouse the attention of his audi- ence at St. James's, where he was preaching as chap- lain to the king, he was so much affected, that his pity for their folly got the better of his sense of decorum ; and, that throwing himself back in the pulpit, he burst into tears. Lady Irwin, This must have been a very mortifying circumstance to him. Mr. Allen. You have, as yet, said little respecting his publications. Edmund, His satires, entitled the '* Lpve of Fame, or the Universal Passion," were printed some time after he was in orders, and in separate parts, in a folio size. They w ere so well received, that he is said to have cleared by them, in the whole, more than three thousand pounds, including two thousand pounds pre- sented to him by the Duke of Grafton. But by far the most celebrated work that Dr. Young wrote, was his '' Night Thoughts.'' Lady Irwin. Do you recollect the origin of that work ? Edmund. I am not aware of any thing particular concerning it. Frederic. It was commenced immediately after the death of his wife, to whom he had been sincerely attached. He has himself stated, in the preface, that the occasion of it was real, and not fictitious. Mr. Allen. With respect to the charactei^ mentioned in this poem, Narcissa is said to have been his daughter- in-law, and Philander to have been Mr. Temple, the gentleman whom she married. There is a notion that his own son w^as intended by Lorenzo ; but this could not have been the case, as he was only eight years old when the work was written. It is possible that Young might have had the Duke of Wharton in mind at the KDWARD YOUNG. 281 time : in other respects, Lorenzo is believed to have been a fictitious character. Sir Charles. Dr. Young, after this, published a work in prose, with the extraordinary title of the *' Centaur not fabulous." In explanation of this title he says that, **The men of pleasure, the licentious, and pro- fligate, are the subject of these letters : and in such, as in the fabled centaur, the brute runs away with the man ; therefore I call them centaurs. And further, I call them centaurs not fabulous, because by their scarcely half human conduct and character, that enig- matical and purely ideal figure of the ancients is not unriddled only, but realized." Frederic, It has been asserted that Dr. Young was never cheerful after the death of his wife; but this has been attributed to other causes than that, and particu- larly to a disappointment of higher preferment in the church than he obtained. Mr. Allen. One would imagine this impossible with a person whose mind was so well regulated as that of Dr. Yoimg appears to have been. When this circum- stance was mentioned to Dr. Johnson, he naturally replied, that, *'itwas not becoming in any man to have so little acquiescence in the ways of Providence, as to repine because he had not obtained so much preferment as he expected." Frederic. In the early part of his life Young seems to have had nothing gloomy in his disposition; and indeed was celebrated for his wit, and the general bril- liancy of his conversation. Dr. Warton describes him to have been one of the most amiable and benevolent of men. He also says, that, in the variety and novelty of his bon mots and repartees, Young was far superior even to Voltaire. Mr. Allen. But his turn of mind, late in life, was certainly much otherwise than cheerful. When at home in the country, he would pass many hours of the day, walking in his own church-yard, among the tombs. His conversation, and his writings, had all 282 POETS. now reference to a future life; and this turn of dispo- sition mixed itself even with his improvements in gar- dening. He had, far instance, an alcove with a bench near his house ; and so painted, that, at a distance, it looked like a real one. But, when the spectator ap- proached it, the deception was perceived, and this motto appeared, Invisibilia non decipiunt, *'The things unseen do not deceive." Sir Charles, A few years before the death of Dr. Yo.ung, his eye-sight in a great degree failed him. In a letter to a friend, written when more than eighty years of age, he says, *' My sight is so far gone, as to lay me under the necessity of borrowing a hand to write this. God give me grace, under this darkness, to see tlrose great things with which you and I must soon be acquainted. There is not a day of my long life that I desire to repeat ; and at fourscore it is all ' labour and sorrow.' What then have we to do? But one thing remains; and in that one, blessed be God! by his assistance, we are sure of success. Let nothing, therefore, lie heavy on your heart: let us rely on Him, who has done great things for us ; that lover of souls, that hearer of prayers, whenever they come from the heart, and sure re warder of all those who love Him, and put their trust in his mercy." On another occasion, in conversation with Dr. Cotton of St. Albans, respecting Bishop Newton s publication on the prophecies. Dr. Young expressed himself on the subject of religion thus : *' My friend, there are two considerations upon which my faith in Christ is built as upon a rock. The fall of man, the redemption of man, and the resurrection of man (the three cardinal articles of our religion) are such as human ingenuity could never have invented, therefore they must have been divine. The other argument is this : if the pro- phecies have been fulfilled (of which there is abundant demonstration) the Scripture must be the word of God ; and if the Scripture be the word of God, Christianity must be true.'' ROBERT BURNS. 283 This excellent man closed his pious life, about three years afterwards, on the fifth of April, 1765, in the eighty-fourth year of his age; and was buried in the church of Welwyn, under the communion table. Mr, Allen, Nothing I believe now remains but to speak of the writings of Dr. Young. With respect to his poems, which are by far the most popular of the whole, it is, as Dr. Johnson has observed, difficult to give any general character ; for they have no uniformity of matter, nor any great resemblance to each other. Young began to write early, and continued long ; and, at different times, had different modes of poetical ex- cellence in view. In his *' Night Thoughts," the most important of all his works, he has exhibited a wide display of original poetry, varied with deep reflections and striking allusions ; a wilderness of thought, in which the fertility of fancy scatters flowers of every hue, and of every colour. This is one of the few poems in which the blank verse could not be changed for rhyme, but with disadvantage. The wild diffusion of the sentiments, and the digressive sallies of imagina- tion, would have been compressed and restrained by confinement to rhyme. The excellence of this work is, not exactness, but copiousness: particular lines are not to be regarded, the power is in the whole ; and, in the whole, there is a magnificence like that ascribed to a Cliinese plantation, the magnificence of vast extent, and of endless diversitv." THIRTY-SIXTH EVENING. Frederic Montagu observed, that all the poets hitherto mentioned, had, in some degree, possessed the advantages of a good education ; but, that such advan- tages had been almost wholly denied to RobertBurns, the Ayrshire poet. At the time of his birth, in 1759, his father had filled the humble station of gardener. 284 POETS. to a gentleman who resided near the town of Ayr, in Scotland : and, liaving had a large family, it was not without great pecuniary inconvenience, he could afford to send them even to a village school, to be taught to read and write. It was remarked by Mr. Allen, that the history of Burns was a singular, an interesting, and instructive one. He said, that his father was not long a gar- dener, but that he subsequently had rented a small farm. Lady Irwin, May I ask whether Burns, when a child, had not an exti*aordinary escape from the falling of his father's cottage upon him in a storm ? Frederic, He had a very extraordinary one. His brother Gilbert thus describes it: — '* When my father built his clay biggin, he put in two stone-jambs, as they are called, and a lintel, carrying up a chimney in his clay gable. The consequence was, that as the gable subsided, the jambs remaining firm, threw it off* its centre; and, one very stormy morning, when Robert was nine or ten years old, a little before daylight, a part of the gable fell out, and the rest appeared so shattered, that my mother, with the young poet, had to be carried through the storm to a neighbour's house, where they remained a week, till their own dwelling could be adjusted." Louisa, The parents of Burns must have been very poor indeed, to have lived in such a cottage as this. Frederic, But, though poor, they do not seem to have been discontented. Burns was a strong and hard working lad; and was soon useful to his father in driving the plough, and attending the farm. At the age of thirteen he even assisted in threshing the corn ; and at fifteen was his father's principal labourer. Louisa, Poor boy ! How had he time to acquire any knowledge? Frederic, His father did his utmost to instruct his children himself, after the labour of the day was over. He taught them arithmetic, by their solitary evening ROBERT BURNS. 28-3 candle; and he borrowed for them some useful books, among which were Salmon's Gazetteer, Derham's Phy- sico and Astro Theology, and Ray's Wisdom of God in the Works of Creation. Mr, Allen, And he did not omit to impress upon their youthful minds, the principles of piety and vir- tue. Lady Irwin. This must have been an interesting sight. A parent struggling against poverty, and yet exerting every eftbrt to instruct his children, and ren- der them valuable members of the community, is deserving of admiration. Frederic, Burns has related of himself that the two first books he ever read in private, and that yielded him more pleasure than any he ever read afterwards, were the *' Life of Hannibal," and the " History of Sir William Wallace." That of Hanni- bal, he says, gave his young ideas such a turn, that he used to strut in raptures up and down, after the recruiting drum and bag-pipe, and wish himself tall enough to be a soldier; while the story of Wallace poured into his veins a Scottish prejudice, which, he said, *' would boil there till the flood-gates of life shut in eternal rest." Edmund, He was so desirous to obtain knowledge that, when somewhat more than thirteen years of age, his father was induced to board him for about three weeks with his former village schoolmaster, that he might perfect himself in English grammar, and attain such a knowledge of the French language, as that short time would allow. Sir Charles, And so great was his industry that, after a fortnight's instruction, he was able to translate almost any easy book from that language into English. Lady Irwin, Burns may be pardoned a little vanity and affectation, the consequence of this ready attain- ment of a foreign language. I have heard that he piqued himself so much upon it, as to affect French 286 POETS. phrases in conversation, when even his own broad Scotch dialect would have served him much better. Mr. Allen, A somewhat ludicrous anecdote has been related respecting one of his early attempts to speak French. When he was in Edinburgh, he hap- pened to call at the house of a lady, who had been educated in France, and found her conversing with a French woman. Burns was determined to try his powers. His first sentence was meant to compliment the foreigner on her apparent eloquence in conver- sation; but, mistaking the idiom of the language, he made her understand that she was too fond of hearing herself talk. The French woman, highly incensed, replied, that she believed '' there were more instances of vain poets than of talkative women.'' And Burns was obliged to use his own language in appeasing her. Lady Irwin, This reproof, I dare say, was not thrown away upon him. Mr, Allen. In relating my story I have taken you somewhat out of the order of time; for nothing has yet been said respecting the poetical talents of Burns. Fredeiic, These were not conspicuous very early; nor, indeed from his situation in life, and probably his total ignorance of the writings of other poets, could such be expected. He has himself said that it was, when about sixteen years of age, he " first committed the sin of rhyming ;" and it was not until long after this that he became known to the world as a poet. He continued at his agricultural labours ; contriving, by degrees, to attain a knowledge of mensm^ation and geometry. He also made an attempt to learn Latin; and had even a few lessons at a country dancing school. Edmund, At length, in his twenty-third year, he began to feel anxious to do something in life for him- self. Louisa, Now am I in doubt which he would be most inclined to do ; to turn farmer, or depend on his poetry for a subsistence. ROBERT BURNS. 287 Edmund, My dear Louisa, he did neither. He became a flax- dresser. But this was an unlucky affair. His business failed ; and, to finish his misfor- tune, as he and some jovial friends were giving a welcome carousal to the new year, his shop took fire, and was burnt to'ashes; and he, like a true poet, was not worth a sixpence. He consequently was obliged to give up this scheme. Frederic, He had soon afterwards to lament the loss of his father; who, having taken a larger farm, foimd it unproductive, became embarrassed in his circumstances, and died in great distress. When his father's affairs were somewhat arranged, the family took a farm amongst them, and Robert gaid to him- self, '* Come go to, I will be wise.^' He read farming books, calculated crops, and attended markets; and might have succeeded, but want of patience and per- severance overset him, and he gave up his share of the farm to his brother. Louisa. What next did he do ? FredeHc, His next resolution was a wild one, I am sure you will say. He determined to try his fortune on the other side of the Atlantic. He made what little preparation was in his power for a voyage to Jamaica; and, for want of money to pay for his pas- sage, had actually comtemplated the project of indent- ing himself as a servant. As he had wTitten several poems, however, he resolved to pubhsh these before he went. This he did ; clearing by them about twenty pounds. He then went on board a vessel destined to the West Indies. Louisa, I never before heard that Burns had, at any time, left his native country. Frederic, Nor did he. His poems were unex- pectedly successful. A second edition was called for ; and instead of sailing for Jamaica, he now hastened to Edinburgh with all imaginable expedition, to super- intend and publish this edition. 288 POETS. Louisa, Let me here ask you, Frederic, whether Burns was not a man of very dissipated character ? Frederic, Till after he was twenty-four years of age, his brother, Gilbert Burns, asserted, that he did not recollect him ever to have been intoxicated, nor was he at all addicted to drinking. His manners were, simple, manly, and independent; and strongly expressive of conscious genius and worth. Mr, Alleri. At this time Burns appears to have had a due sense of religion; an ingrained piety and virtue, as he himself termed it, which, for several years, kept him within the line of innocence. And he invariably expressed a deep regret at the levity with which he occasionally heard religion treated in some convivial meetings that he frequented. Sir Charles, Burns has himself said, that the great misfortune of his life was to want an aim. No regular and profitable occupation of his lime was pointed out to him. Hence, at length, he was led to enter into dissipation. At the plough, the scythe, the reaping- hook, he says, he feared no competitor; and thus set absolute want at defiance. This notion tended to render him more careless respecting the future than he might otherwise have been. Air, Allen . At Edinburgh, where he was univer- sally flattered and caressed, he was induced to enter into many parties devoted to social excesses ; and he gradually acquired baneful habits. It is true that he saw his danger, and at times formed resolutions to guard against it; but he had embarked on the tide of dissipation, and was borne along its stream, without being able to stem the torrent. Lady Lwin, How far did the publication of his poems prove eventually beneficial to him ? Frederic, It is stated that, on settling accounts with his bookseller, in February 1788, Burns found himself possessed of a clear sum amounting to nearly five hundred pounds. Two hundred pounds of this he ROBERT BURNS. 289 advanced to his brother Gilbert, who had taken upon himself the support of his aged motlier, and was struggling with many difficulties in the management of his farm. Louisa. And in what manner did he employ the remainder? Frederic. With that, and some subsequent profits from his poems, he determined to settle himself for life in the occupation of agriculture. With this design he took a farm, on the banks of the river Nith, six miles above Dumfries. He built a house upon it, widi his own hands; and having, some time before, married a young woman to whom he had long been attached, he settled there with his family. Edmund. But, Frederic, you have forgotten his appointment to the situation of an exciseman. Frederic. I have so. Previously to taking this farm, Burns had been recommended to the notice of the board of excise; and he had entertained an expecta- tion that he should be called into service in the district in which his farm was situated; and that he should thus have been able to unite the labours of two busi- nesses that were not, certainly, very compatible with each other. Louisa. I should like to have seen Burns and his family at their farm. Sir Charles. Many others besides yourself, my dear Louisa, have been desirous of this gratification. In the summer of 1791, we are told that two English gentlemen, who had previously been in company with Burns at Edinburgh, called at his farm. They inquired for him at the house, and were informed that he had walked towards the banks of the river. Mrs. Burns invited them to alight from their horses, which they did ; and they proceeded in search of him. At some distance from the house, and on a rock that projected into the stream, they saw a man employed in angling. His appearance was singular. On his head he had a cap made of a fox's skin : he wore a loose great coat, fas- 290 POETS. tended round his body by a belt, from which hung an enormous Highland broad sword. Louisa, What an extraordinary neighbour Burns must have had, in this man. Sir Charles. It was Burns himself. He received them with great cordiality, and invited them to share his humble dinner; an invitation which they gladly accepted. The table was furnished with boiled beef, vegetables, and barley-broth, of which they partook heartily. After dinner, the bard told them, ingenu- ously, that he had no wine to offer, and nothing better than a bottle of the Highland spirit called whisky. This Mrs. Burns placed on the table. Burns, at the same time, produced a punch-bowl made of Inverary marble ; and, mixing the spirit with sugar and water, filled the glasses, and invited his guests to drink. The travellers declared themselves in haste, and that they found the flavour of the whisky not very suitable to their palates ; but the generous poet offered them his best, and his ardent hospitality they found it impos- sible to resist. Burns w as in his happiest mood ; and the charms of his conversation were altogether fas- cinating. He ranged over a great variety of topics, illuminating whatever he spoke of. He related the tales of his infancy and youth : he recited some of the gayest, and some of the tenderest of liis poems.. In the wildest strains of mirth, he threw in occasional touches of melancholy, and spread around him the electric emotions of his powerful mind. The whisky improved in its flavour, the marble bowl was again and again emptied and replenished. The guests and the poet all forgot the flight of time, and the dictates of prudence : the travellers left him at midnight, lost their road in returning to Dumfi^ies, and, even when the morning dawned, could scarcely discern their way. Louisa, Entertaining as this meeting may have been both to Burns and his guests, I fear such late and dissipated hours, must have rendered him very unfit for business the next day. ROBERT BURNS. 291 Frederic, Burns is said to have been chief!}' injured by the distraction of his attention between his two businesses of exciseman and farmer. The conse- quence of this was, that, notwithstanding the uni- form prudence and good management of Mrs. Burns, and though his rent was very moderate, he found it necessary to resign his farm after having occupied it about tliree years and a half. It was now his deter- mination to subsist on the emoluments of his office, which amounted to about fifty pounds a year. He acquitted himself so much to the satisfaction of the board of excise, that he was appointed to a new dis- trict, the emoluments of which were about twenty pounds a year more than those of the last. In cg^- sequence of this appointment he removed, in 1791, to Dumfries. Mr, Allen, It ought to be remarked that, hitherto Burns, though addicted to excess in social parties, had abstained from the habitual use of strong liquors ; and that his constitution had not as yet suffered any permanent injury from the irregularities of his conduct. But, in Dumfries, the temptations to dissipation con- tinually presenting themselves, his irregularities grew at length into habits. Sir Charles, Many allowances are to be made for Burns. His engagements in the excise led him into temptations : his great celebrity rendered him an object of interest and curiosity to sti^angers ; and few persons, of cultivated minds, passed through Dumfries, without attempting to see him, and enjoy the pleasure of his conversation. As he was unable to receive these under his own roof, he was invited to the inns in the town, and such interviews often terminated in excess. Frederic, But there was another circumstance which tended to the injury of Burns. This was an indepen- dent spirit which, in a man like him, ought, I think, to have been admired. Edmund, 'ilie spirit, which Frederic so much ad- o 2 I 292 POETS. mires, would probably have led him to support the Pretender, , and to seek the exclusion of the present royal family from the throne. Frederic. I will say then, it might have been over- looked or excused. But information respecting some unguarded expressions that he had used in private conversation, was sent to the board of excise, and it was only by the interposition of a steady and powerful friend that he was prevented from being totally ruined by the loss of his place. At last, in the winter of 1795, his constitution having been broken by disappointments, cares, and irregu- larities, he fell into a premature decline; and in July of the following year, he was seized by a fever which, on the fourth day of its continuance, terminated in death. He was then only in the thirty-eighth year of his age. Mr, Allen, Burns furnishes an instance, in addition to those I have mentioned of the premature death of a poet and a man of talent, owing, in a great degree, to irregularity and dissipation ; though certainly, in his case, many allowances are to be made, which cannot be claimed for most of the others. He left a widow and four sons, for whom a subscription was opened, which produced a considerable sum. This was after- wards augmented by the profits of a splendid edition of his works, printed in four volumes, and edited by Dr. Currie, of Liverpool. Lady Irwin, I think Burns, with indeed some ex- ceptions of coarse and indelicate sentences, a very delightful poet. His productions abound in humour, tenderness, and sublimity. Without accomplishing any work of extensive or complicated design, he, has certainly, according to my judgment, exhibited all the variety of poetical powers which can enter into the greatest works, the conduct of a plan only excepted. But 1 must lament that his best performances are in a language that is now accounted barbarous, is never employed in serious writing, and is gradually falling into disuse. WILLIAM COVVPER. 293 Mr, Allen, To this it must be replied, that during many years of his life, that was the only language in which Burns was able to express himself fluently. His early thoughts w^ere conveyed in it, and it was en- deared to him by the pleasures of memory and asso- ciation. But many of his more serious poems are written in English. And, notwithstanding the inter- ruption of reading his Scottish poems, by the constant necessity of referring to a glossary, they have been read, studied, and admired in England, in Ireland, and in America, to a great extent. THIRTY-SEVENTH EVENING. After a desultory conversation, for some time, on various subjects connected with literary history, Ed- mund Irwin began the life of William Cowper, the poet. He said, that he had been the son of a clergyman of the Church of England, the rector of Berkhampstead, in Hertfordshire, and bom in that town, in the year 1731. He further remarked, that, from his infancy, Cowper had been of peculiarly delicate habit, both of mind and body; and that his mother had died when he was only six years of age. Lady Irwin. This loss, to such a child, must have been a very serious affliction indeed. Maternal atten- tion, during his infancy, might have tended, in a de- gree, at least, to counteract those nervous affections which, in after life, were the cause of the most melan- choly unhappiness to him. Edmund, Cowper felt the loss at this time the more severely, because, delicate as he was, he was taken immediately from the nursery, and sent to school. Louisa, Here I sincerely pity him. He has him- self related that, at this school, he had numerous hardships to contend with ; and that he felt these the more sensibly, in proportion to the tenderness with 294 POETS. which he had been treated at home. But he describes his chief affliction to have arisen from his having been singled out from all the other boys, by a lad about fif- teen years of age, as a proper object upon whom he might let loose the cruelty of his Ijemper. Cowper does not recite any of the acts of barbarity with which he says this boy made it his business continually to persecute him ; but, in general terms, observes that, by his savage treatment, he had impressed such a dread of his figure upon his mind, that he well remembered being afraid to lift his eyes upon him higher than the boy's knees; and that he knew him by his shoe- buckles, better than any other part of his dress. Frederic, This circumstance proved so distressing to Cowper, that it was a considerable relief to his mind to be taken from the school, at eight years of age, on account of having specks on both his eyes, which threatened to cover them, and render him blind for ever. He was now placed, for two years, in the house of an oculist, but to no purpose. Thence he was sent to Westminster school ; where, at the age of fourteen, he says, the small-pox seized him, and proved the better oculist of the two, for it completely delivered his eyes from the specks, though it left them very tender. Lady Irwin, Cowper was subject to weakness and inflammations in his eyes, in a greater or less degree, all his life. Frederic, At the age of eighteen he was articled to a solicitor for three years. Concerning this period, he says, in one of his letters, " I did actually live three years with Mr. Chapman, a solicitor, that is to say, I slept three years in his house; but I lived, that is to say, I spent my days, in Southampton-row (at a relation's). There was I, and the future Lord Chancellor (Thur- low,) constantly employed, from morning to night, in giggling, and making giggle, instead of studying the law.'^ Mr, Allen, Yet, with all this apparent cheerfulness^ WILLIAM COWPER. 295 and, with every advantage, natural and acquired, which might have tended to his advancement in public life, Cowper was afflicted with a shyness and timidity o£ disposition so excessive, that it restrained him from intercourse with any, except the society of a few friends, among whom he could act without restraint. Frederic. How distressing then must have been his sensations, to be compelled to prosecute his studies in a profession, so opposite to what his own desires miglit have led him to adopt. He became a student in the Temple ; and amused his leisure hours in writing poetry, and in writing occasional papers, for the Connoisseur, and other periodical publications. Sir Charles. Cowper continued in the Temple about t^velve years : by which time, his patrimony was much diminished, and he began to fear that he should never be able to repair the loss by a fortune of his own acquiring ; and to entertain some apprehension of ap- proaching want. Frederic. He might, however, have had a very eligiblie situation, if his extraordinary diffidence had not prevented iiim from filling it The place of reading clerk of the house of lords, became vacant, and Cowper was appointed to it. He was at first rejoiced in the ap- pointment; but, soon afterwards, the formidable danger of reading in public, which he considered next to that of speaking in public, occurred to his mind ; and he resigned it. Immediately after this his friends procured him the place of clerk of the journals of the house of lords ; and hopes were entertained that his personal appear- ance in parliament might be dispensed with. Some circumstances, however, occurred, which rendered it necessary for him to appear at the bar of the house of lords, there, publicly, to entitle himself to it. After a preparation of several months, the day at length ar- rived ; and no description appears equal to the agonies which Cowper experienced during the preceding night. He has detailed some particulars of attempts to destroy himself, which he considered to have been prevented hj an especial interposition of Providence. 296 POETS, Edmund, In a sketch that he drew up of his own life, he expresses himself in these remarkable words : '* They, whose spirits are formed like mine, to whom a public exhibition of themselves is mortal poison, may have some idea of the horrors of my situation : — others can have none." His terrors, on this occasion, utterly overwhelmed his reason. The very friends who called upon him for the purpose of attending him to the house of lords, acquiesced in the cruel necessity of his relinquishing a situation so severely formidable to a frame of such singular sensibility. It was found necessary to remove Mr. Cowper to St. Alban's, where he resided a considerable time under the care of an eminent physician. Frederic. You speak of his malady as though it had seized him immediately after he had been compelled to resign his situation in the house of lords. But this does not appear to have been the case ; for, though he was dreadfully depressed by melancholy, he continued some time afterwards in London. Edmund, He did so ; and he has given a very dis- tressing account of the state of his mind during that period. H*e says, that " he never went into the street, but he thought the people stood and laughed at him, and held him in contempt; and that he could hardly persuade himself, but the voice of his conscience was loud enough for every one to hear it. He thought that those who knew him seemed to avoid him ; and that, if they spoke to him, they seemed to do it in scorn. He once bought a ballad of a person who was singing it in the street, because he thought it was written on himself. He dined alone, either at a tavern, where he went in the dark, or at a chop-house, where he always took care to hide himself in the darkest corner of the room. He slept generally an hour in the evening, but it was only to be terrified in dreams. He reeled and staggered like a drunken man. The eyes of men he could not bear ; but when he thought that the eyes of God were upon him,'* (which he describes himself to have felt assured of) " it gave him the most intolerable anguish." WILLIAM COWPER. 207 Mr. Allen, The insanity of Cowper, though, per- haps, more immediately occasioned by the shock which his mind had now received, seems to have been at least partly induced by religious despondency. He had long imagined himself in a state of reprobation. At St. Alban's, however, he gradually recovered from this malady; and his mind began to receive comfort from religion. Louisa, May I interrupt you for a moment to ask how Mr. Cowper was now supported ; for Sir Charles has said that, while he was in the Temple his patrimony was nearly exhausted. Mr. Allen, He had yet part of his patrimony left, and he held the office of a commissioner of bankrupts ; but, conscious of his inability to perform the duties of this office, he resigned it, after he left St. Alban's, and thus reduced himself to an income scarcely suffici- ent for his maintenance. Edmund, From St. Alban's he went to Huntingdon. Here he became acquainted with the Rev. Mr. Unwin, and his family ; and, after a little while, was admitted into his house as a boarder, Mr. Allen. How far the routine of life at Mr. Un- win's may have been adapted to Cowper's pecuhar frame of mind, may perhaps be collected from his own account of it. '* We breakfast commonly between eight and nine," says he, in a letter to his kinswoman, Mrs. Cowper. '* Till eleven we read either the Scripture, or the sermons of some faithful preacher of those holy mysteries. At eleven we attend divine service, which is performed here twice every day; and from twelve to three we separate, and amuse ourselves as we please. During that interval, I either read in my own apart- ment, or walk, or ride, or work in the garden. We seldom sit an hour after dinner; but, if the weather permits, adjourn to the garden, where, with Mrs. Unwin and her son, I have generally the pleasure of religious conversation till tea-time. If it rains, or is too windy for walking, we either converse within doors, o3 I 298 POETS. or sing some hymns of Martin's collection ; and, by the help of Mrs. Unwin's harpsichord, make up a tolerable concert, in which our hearts are the best and most musical performers. After tea we sally forth in good earnest. Mrs. Unwin is a good walker, and we liave generally travelled above four miles before we see home again. When the days are short, we make this excursion in the former part of the day, betwixt church-time and dinner. At night we read, and con- verse as before, till supper ; and commonly finish the evening, either with hymns or a sermon ; and last of all the family are called to prayers." Cowper was an inmate in this family about a year and half, when Mr. Unwin was killed by a fall from his horse. In October, 1767, about three months after this calamity, Mrs. Unwin the widow, her daughter, and Cowper, removed to Olney, in Buckinghamshire; where they were induced to reside by the Rev. Mr. Newton, then the curate of that place, whose religious principles corresponded with their own. Si?* Charles. During his residence at Olney, the former malady of Cowper returned upon him. He sunk into such severe paroxyms of religious despon- dency, that he required an attendant of the most gentle, vigilant, and inflexible spirit. Such an attend- ant was Mrs Unwin, whom he professed to love as a mother, and who incessantly watched over him for nearly eight years. At length his mind broke through its long eclipse ; and, in the summer of 1778, he was sufficiently recovered to meditate the execution of those works which have since been so highly and deservedly esteemed by the public. Frederic, Cowper first became known as an author, in his fiftieth year; by the pubUcation of his first volume of poems. For the suggestion of hjs principal poem, the '' Task," printed in his second volume, he was indebted to Lady Austen, the widow of Sir Robert Austen, who, about this time, resided at Olney. WILLIAM COWPER. 299 ^he had requested of him to write another poem. Cowper complained of the difficulty of finding a sub- ject. Lady Austen replied, ** You can be in no want of a subject ; you can write upon any thing. You can wTite, for instance, on the subject of the sofa you are now lying upon." Cowper adopted the ideaj and though he probably at first meant his poem to be a mock heroic effusion, he soon left the insignificant object from which he started, to expatiate over the wide field of moral sentiment and picturesque description. Edmund, For the idea of the ballad of John Gilpin, he was indebted to the same lady. One afternoon, she observed Cowper more melancholy and dejected than usual ; and as, on such occasions, she used to try all the resources of her sprightly powers for his relief, she now told him the story of John Gilpin, which she had treasured in her memory from childhood. Its effect on the fancy of Cowper had the air of enchant- ment. He informed her the next morning, that con- vulsions of laughter, brought on by his recollection of her story, had kept him awake during the greatest part of the night, and that he had turned it into a bal- lad. Mrs. Unwin sent a copy of this ballad to one of the newspapers, where Henderson, the player, saw it, He, conceiving that it might display his comic powers, read it at Freemasons'-hall, in a course of entertain- ments given there. It afterwards became popular among all classes of readers, but was not generally known to be Cowper s, till it was added to his second volume, Mr, Allen, It is a somewhat singular ciixjumstance respecting Cowper, that dejection of spirits, which may have prevented many a man from becoming an author, made him one. He found employment neces- sary ; and, therefore, took care to be constantly em- ployed. Having tried many manual occupations, he did not find that these sufficiently engaged his mind ; but he found that composition, especially verse, ab- sorbed it wholly. It was, therefore, his general prac- 300 POETS. tice, when in health, to write three hours every morn- ing; and, in an evening, to transcribe what he had written. Frederic. But Cowper's greatest literary undertaking was yet to appear ; I mean his translation of Homer into blank verse. He had, for many years, been em- ployed upon this work; and, in the hope of adding something to an income which had always been small, resolved to publish it by subscription. Edmund, While thus engaged, he removed, in No- vember, 1786, from Olney to Weston, about two miles distant ; where the house provided for him was more sequestered and more commodious than that in which he had previously lived. His Homer appeared in July, 1791, in two volumes in quarto ; and was so well received, that it was nearly out of print in the course of six months. Sir Charles, Yet, after all the labour he had em- ployed, and all the anxiety he had experienced respecting it, this work fell so short of the expectation that had been formed by the public, and of the perfec- tion which he hoped it had attained, that, instead of a second edition, he began, at no great distance of time, what may be termed a new translation. Mr, Allen, One of the greatest advantages which Cowper derived from his translation of Homer was, the renewed conviction, that labour of this kind was necessary to his health and happiness. His revisal of it, appears solely to have occupied his leisure hours, during the year 1793. At this period his health, his comfort, and his little fortune, were all pe- rishing deplorably ; and his devoted friend, Mrs. Un- win, was fast hastening to the grave. The consequence of all which seems to have been that Cowper, in tbe ensuing year, relapsed into a state of mental derange- ment. Sir Charles, During this, the king, through the in- terference of Earl Spencer, was pleased to confer upon him a pension to such an amount, as insured him an honourable competence for life. A\ ILLIAM COWPER. 301 Frederic, Unfortunately, Cowper was not in a con- dition to appreciate the value of this favour. He was now, and he continued, during nearly the whole re- mainder of his life, in a state of the most deplorable melancholy. Edmund, In consequence of the illness both of Cow- per, and Mrs. Unwin, it was found desirable to remove them from Weston ; and they were taken to Dere- ham, where Mrs. Unwin died. Mr. Allen, At this time, he was in a state, in which grief is neither exasperated by melancholy, nor alleviated by consolation ; and he was mercifully re- lieved from feelings which neither religion nor reason could any longer regulate. Betwixt this period, and that of his own death, however, there were intervals in which he was able, with satisfaction, to apply himself to the revisal of his Homer. During these intervals, he also wrote a few original verses; and he occa- sionally amused himself with translations from Latin and Greek epigrams. The period of his own disso- lution at length approached. In the month of Febru- ary, 1800, he exhibited all the symptoms of a dropsy. This made a rapid progress; and, on the twenty- fifth of April, terminated his existence so silently, that, although there were no fewer than five persons in the room at the time, not one of them were conscious of the moment of his dissolution. His remains were interred in the church of Dere- ham, where a marble tablet, with an inscription wTitten by Mr. Hayley, was erected to his memory. MISCELLANEOUS. THIRTY-EIGHTH EVENING. ** Frederic and myself/' observed Edmund Irwin, ""' are now desirous of introducing, in succession, a few individuals, eminent for genius, qualifications, and pursuits so various, that we are at a loss under what general titles to arrange them." — "^ If they are but few in number," replied Sir Charles *^it is scarcely worth the trouble of perplexing yourselves on the subject: let them all be discussed under one miscellaneous head." Edmund thanked Sir Charles for the suggestion, and began with the first on his list, James Crichton, a celebrated Scotsman, of whom, he said, so many won- derful things have been related, that he has received the appellation of '^the admirable Crichton J^ Frederic, For my part, I would have recommended the omission of this gentleman altogether. He is noted for so many marvellous qualifications, that I am somewhat inclined to consider them all as fabulous. Mr, Allen, Many circumstances certainly concur in ilirowing a suspicion over the boasted exploits of Crichton; but the celebrity that he has attained is such, that I should have been sorry if he had been omitted. Frederic, And yet, sir, notwithstanding this cele- brity, neither the time of his birth, nor of his death, are exactly known. Edmund, He is believed to have been born in the year 1560. His father was Lord Advocate of Scot- land, in the reign of Queen Mary, and resided at EUiock, in the county of Perth. His mother was a r JAMES CRICHTON. 303 Stuart, a lineal descendant from the kings of Scot- land. Lady Irwin, Where was he educated ? Edmund. First at Perth, and afterwards in the University of St. Andrew's. There can be no doubt, from his very extraordinary acquirements, (unless with Frederic Montagu, we are to believe them fabu- lous) that he had excellent instructors in every branch of learning. By the time he was twenty years of age, he had attained a knowledge of all the sciences taught in those times; he was able to write and speak no fewer than ten different languages ; and had attained an astonishing proficiency in the accomplishments of fencing, riding, dancing, singing, and playing upon musical instruments. Louisa, To have effected all this, he must not only have been a man of gi^eat genius, but of indefatigable application. He must also have had a very surprising memory. Edmund. In addition to his various acquirements, the person and countenance of Crichton are described to have been eminently beautiful. As soon as his education was completed, he set out upon his travels, and first arrived in Paris. Frederic. Now for a commencement of the marvel- lous : pray what occurred there, Edmund? Edmund. Do not, Frederic, I pray, treat his history so lightly. Conscious of the superiority of his attain- ments, and eager to display them to the world, he afiixed, on the gate of the College of Navarre, a pub- lic challenge to all the celebrated men in Paris, to dispute with him, on that day six weeks, upon any subject connected with the arts and sciences; and in any of twelve languages, Hebrew, Arabic, Syriac, Greek, Latin, French, Italian, EngUsh, Spanish, Dutch, Flemish, and Sclavonian. Louisa. Believing that such a paper could have been placed there only by a madman, or an impostor, I cannot imagine that any notice would be taken of it. 304 MISCELLANEOUS. Edmund. Indeed, Louisa, you are mistaken; for no fewer than four doctors of the church, and fifty mas- ters in different sciences, prepared to enter the lists against him. Louisa, Crichton, doubtless then, must have very closely occupied the intervening time in preparation for this grand dispute. Edmund, No ; conscious of his superior talent, he passed the greater part of the time in pleasure, and public amusements; so as even to render himself con- temptible in the eyes of the students. But, on the day appointed for the contest, he soon redeemed his character. Three thousand auditors are said to have been present; and, after a disputation of nine hours, with his various opponents, he proved himself superior to them all. At length the president rose from his chair; and, after having highly extolled him for his many rare and excellent endowments, gave him a diamond ring, and a purse full of gold, in testimony of the favour and approbation of the college. So little had Crichton been fatigued with this dis- pute, that on the ensuing day, he attended a tilting match at the Louvre ; and, in the presence of some of the princes of the French court, carried away the ring fifteen times successively, and broke fifteen spears in striking a sort of mark called the Saracen. Frederic, Oh! he was a prodigy in all the species of manly as well as mental exercises 1 In fencing, he could use the sword with equal dexterity in either his right or left hand : nay, we are told he could spring, at one bound, the length of twenty feet, and in that act, instantly disarm his antagonist ! Edmund. Frederic, I know, is perfectly incredulous respecting the proficiencies of Crichton ; but I cannot accord with him. From Paris, this extraordinary man went to Rome ; where he fixed a placard on all the most public parts of that city (famous for its scholastic learning), that he would reply to any question proposed to him, without JAMES CRICHTON. 305 his being previously informed what the question should be. He appeared at the time and place ap- pointed ; and, in the presence of the pope, and many of the cardinals, bishops, doctors of divinity, and pro- fessors in various sciences, displayed such wonderful proofs of knowledge, that he excited here no less sur- prise than he had done in Paris. Frederic, So says your account, Edmund. But Boccalini, an Italian satirist, who was then at Rome, informs us, that Crichton was there ridiculed as an em- piric, and left the city in disgust. Edmund, The assertion of Boccalini, I believe, to have been occasioned solely by envy. Crichton's next exhibition was at Venice, where he wrote a poem in praise of that city. This poem he afterwards presented to the Venetian literati. He also made a brilliant speech to the doge, and con- ducted several disputations, on literary subjects, with his usual success. From Venice he went to Padua. In the university there, which was then in the highest reputation, Crichton engaged in another literary con- test. He began with an extemporaneous poem in praise of the place and of his auditors ; and, after having disputed six hours, with the most celebrated professors, whom he foiled on every subject, he con- cluded with — Frederic. An unpremeditated poem in commenda- tion of ignorance ! This must have been a very pretty terminating compliment to his opponents, as well as to the university that had educated them. Edmund. Whatever it may have been, we are led to TUiderstand that it was conducted with such ingenuity and elegance, as to have astonished all his hearers. The next account we have of Crichton, records an extraordinary instance of bodily skill and courage. There was at that time, in Mantua, a gladiator who, during his travels, had defeated nearly all the most celebrated fencers of Europe ; and had lately killed, in Mantua, three persons who had entered the lists with 306 MISCELLANEOUS. him. Tlie duke began to regret that he had grated protection to this murderer. Crichton, informed of this, was fired with the ambition of ridding the world of so sanguinary a monster, and challenged him to fight for a purse of fifteen hundred pistoles. The challenge was accepted ; and, every thing being pre- pared, the combat was exhibited before the assembled court, and an immense concourse of spectators. At the commencement, Crichton stood only on the defen- sive ; while his adversary made his attack with such eagerness and fury, that, having over exerted himself, he began to be weary. Crichton noAv seized the op- portunity of attacking him in return. This he did with so much vigour and dexterity, that he ran him through tlie body in three different places ; and of these wounds lie immediately died. Crichton then generously divided the money which he had won, among the widows of the three individuals whom the prize-fighter had slain. Louisa. I hope the Duke of Mantua was grateful for this service. Edmund. Astonished at the singular qualities, both of body and mind, which he had witnessed in this extra- ordinary man, he appointed him preceptor to his son. Frederic, In return for which appointment, and to contribute to the amusement of his patrons, Crichton is said to have written a comedy, satirizing the various professions in which men are engaged; and to have himself acted fifteen characters of his own play. Really, Edmund, you must not expect me to believe all this. Edmund, Such, however, has certainly been related of him, and by persons whose veracity has not gene- rally been doubted. The time was now approaching in which it was proved that, with all his endowments, Crichton was no more than mortal. One night, during the carnival, as he was walking along the streets of Mantua, playing upon a guitar, he was assailed by several persons in masks. Having repelled their at- JAMES CRICHTON. 307 tacks, and disarmed tlieir leader, the latter pulled off his mask, and begged his life, as being the prince his pupil. On this discovery, Crichton fell on his knees, apologized for his mistake, and assured the prince that, if he had any design upon his life, he might take it whenever he pleased. He then took his own sword by the point, and presented it to the prince. This cowardly youth, irritated by the imaginary affront he had received, seized it, and barbarously stabbed him to the heart. The precise period of this event is not known ; but it is generally believed to have taken place in the month of July, 1583, and in about the twenty- third year of his age. Frederic, And can you imagine, Edmund, that all the surprising occurrences that you have mentioned, took place in the course of so short a time ? Edmund, I certainly can see nothing very improba- ble in them. Mr. Allen, That such a person as Crichton actually existed, we cannot doubt ; and there is equal evidence that he was a youth of such accomplishments, as to have excited great present admiration, and high expec- tation with respect to his future attainments. He had, doubtless, a fine person, was very adroit in bodily exercises, possessed a peculiar facility in learning lan- guages, and enjoyed a quick and retentive memory : he may also have excelled in the power of declama- tion, and in readiness of reply. But we must recol- lect that it was no very difficult matter to astonish the learned pedants of the sixteenth century. He left behind him some literary productions, and these ex- hibit no marks either of genius or of taste. We may, therefore, consider the encomiums that have been bestowed upon him as certainly exaggerated; but, even with every due allowance for exaggerated praise, he must be considered one of the most accom- plished youths that our country has ever produced. 008 MISCELLANEOUS^ THIRTY-NINTH EVENING. In reference to the discussion which, on the preceding evening, had taken place respecting the singular attain- ments of James Crichton, Edmund Irwin said he was convinced that a retentive memory was as requisite to great proficiencj' , either in science or literature, as intense application. This induced a digression, re- specting persons who had been remarkable for the strength of their memories. Bishop Jewel was again spoken of. Frederic mentioned Mithridates, King of Pontus, who, he said, ruled over twenty-four nations, and was acquainted with all their languages ; and Quintus Hortensius, the Roman orator, whose powers of mind were such that, having attended a whole day at an auction, he was able, at night, to recapitulate every article that had been sold, together with the prices, and the names of the purchasers in their proper order, with- out a single error. Sir Charles Irwin spoke of Lipsius, a French critic of the sixteenth century, who could recite the whole history of Tacitus. ^' These examples," observed Mr. Allen, ^' are all, no donbt astonishing, but what has been related of Jedidiah Buxton, an illiterate English labourer, appears to me to exceed them all." Frederic, Edmund, and Miss Irwiri, all united in requesting that Mr. Allen would oblige them with some account of so extraordinary a person. He took from Sir Charles's library the fifty-first, fifty-third, and fifty-fourth volumes of the Gentleman's Magazine, to aid him in his narration, and proceeded as follows : '' The grandfather of Jedidiah Buxton was a clergyman, and liis father a schoolmaster in the village of Elmeton, near Chesterfield, in Derbyshire ; where Jedidiah himself was born, about the year 1704. It is singular that, notwithstanding the profession of his father, the education of Jedidiah should have been so totally neglected, that he was never able either to read or write. JEDIDIAH BUXTON. 80$^ '* How he came first to know the relative propor- tions of numbers, their denominations, and powers, he could never remember; but, through life, his con- stant attention was fixed upon these; and he scarcely ever took notice of external objects, except with regard to their numbers. If any space of time was mentioned in his presence, he would, soon afterwards, say that it contained so many minutes ; if any distance, he would assign the number of lengths of barley-corns, or hair- breadths in it, even when no question was asked him. His power of abstraction was so great, tha.t no noise whatever could disturb him; and, when asked any question, he would immediately reply, and return to his calculation without the least confusion, or the loss of more time than the answer required. '' By his constant application to figures, Jedidiahhad stored up, in his mind, several common products, to which he could have immediate recourse when neces- sary. These were the number of minutes in a year, of hair-breadths in a mile, and many others. When he once comprehended a question, he began to work with amazing facility: millions upon millions, tribes, cramps, and so on (for by these terms he enumerated his long series of numbers), were as plain and familiar to him, as pounds, shillings, and pence, are to other people. ** He would suffer two persons to propose different questions to him to be solved at the same time; and he would give to each his answer, without the least confusion. He would even recollect and repeat the answers a month or two afterwards. Indeed, his me- mory was so great that, he could leave off, and reas- sume the operation at the end of a week, a month, or at the end even of several months. He could call his figures all by their proper names, and was ready at naming them either backward or forward. " His method of working was peculiar to himself, and was by no means either the shortest, or simplest that could have been devised. An example of it may afford you some amusement. 310 MISCELLANEOLS. " Being requested to multiply 456, by 378, and to work it audibly, he proceeded thus. He first multiplied 456 by 5, which produced 2280; this he again multiplied by 20, and found the product to be 45,600 ; which was the 456 that had been proposed to him multiplied by 100. This product iie multiplied by 3, which produced 136,800, or 456 multiplied by 300. It remained to multiply the last product by 78. To effect this, he multiplied 2280, (the product of 456 by 5) by 15, because 5 times 15 are 75; this product being 34,200, he added to the 136,800 (the product of 456 by 300) which produced 171,000, or 375 times 456. To complete the operation, he multiplied 456 by 3, which produced 1368 ; and, having added this number to 171,000, he found that the whole product required was 172,368. '' It thus appears that Jedidiah's method of arith- metic was entirely his own ; and that he was so little acquainted with common rules, as to multiply 456 first by 5, and the product of that by 20, to find what sum it would produce multiplied by 100; whereas, had he added two cyphers to the figures, he would imme- diately have obtained the product. "A person who had heard of Jedidiah's astonishing performances, was accidentally in company with him ; and, desirous of trying his calculating powers, proposed to him the following question. In a body whose three sides measure 23,145,789 yards, 5,642 732 yards, and 54,965 yards, how many cubical eighths of an inch are there? After having distinctly named the several figures, to assure himself of the dimensions, this self- taught calculator commenced his operation. The pro- poser of the question left him for about five hours. He then returned, and found Jedidiah re^dy with his answer, which was perfectly correct, though it occupied a line of twenty-eight figures. '* Another person proposed to him the following: admit a field to be 423 yards long, and 383 yards wide, what is its area? After the figures had been I JEDIDIAH BUXTON. 311 read to him distinclly, he gave the answer, 162,009 yards. This was done in two minutes, the proposer having noted the length of the o|>eration hy his watch. The same person asked him how many acres the same field measured ? and, in eleven minutes, he replied 33 acres, 1 rood, 35 perches, 20 yards and a quarter. He was then asked, how manv barley-corns would reach eight miles? In a minute and half, he replied, 1,520,640 barley-corns. He was asked, supposing the distance between York and London to be 204 miles, how many times will a coach wheel turn round in that space, allowing the circumference of the wheel to be six yards '! In thirteen minutes he answered, 59,840 times. The next proposition was, if a tub or bin be 346 inches long 256 inches wide, and 94 inches deep, how many gallons of liquid measure, will it hold ; and what quantity of corn ? His answer was, 3,454,464 solid inches, or 1,768,685,568 half quarters of solid inches, making 12,249,872 gallons liquid measure, or 12,249, gallons, 3 quarts, and 34 J inches. He said that it would hold 191 quarters, 3 bushels, 3 quarterns, and a half quartern, with a small remainder. He was then asked, suppose a canal is to be dug 426 feet long, 263 feet wide, and two feet and half deep, how many cubical yards of earth must be removed ? After pausing a quarter of an hour, he answered 10,373 yards 24 feet. " He told the person who proposed these questions, that, from the seventeenth of May, 1725, to the six- teenth of June following, he was drunk with reckoning by his memory, after which he said he slept soundly for seven hours ; but he added that, he would never again attempt so much, for fear of falling into a similar disagreeable situation. What he meant by being drunk was, that his senses were so mu(^h stupified as to render him for some time afterwards, incapable of his usual labour, or, indeed, of any business whatever. That this should have been the case will not appear wonderful, when we consider the question that engaged *dV2 MISCELLANEOUS. his attention. It was this : in 202,680,000,460 miles, and each mile reckoned to be cubical, how many bar- ley-corns, vetches, peas, wheat, oats, rye, beans, lintels, and hairs, each an inch long, would, respectively, fill that space, reckoning 48 hairs in breadth to measure an inch, on the flat? " He was desired, by another person, to multiply thirty-six figures by the same thirty-six figures ; which he did correctly. He was then asked, how many square yards were contained in Europe, on a given dimension of miles : this he also performed with great exactness. Jedidiah calculated the number of square hair-breadths that were contained in the parish of Balfour, in Der- byshire. But the question which exercised all his facul- ties, and was, as he declared, the hardest he had ever met with, was this, "What dimensions must be given to a joiner, to make a cubical bin, that shall hold just a quarter of malt Winchester measure ?" Jedidiah sat down in intense thought : ** there were," he said, '' many nooks in it, but he would sift them about." He was surrounded by persons who did not cease from talking, but he sate regardless of every thing, except his pot of beer. He received no hints nor assistance of any kind ; and, after about an hour, he said, it ought to be made a little more than twenty-five inches and three- quarters on each side, and that twenty-six inches would be too much; which was perfectly correct. This difficulty shows that he had never applied his thoughts to cube root. " When any one asked Jedidiah to calculate a ques- tion, he would sit down, take off* his old brown hat, and, resting upon his stick, which was generally a very crooked one, would set to work. All his exer- tions were those of his mind, for he never used a pen, chalk, nor any kind of marks. Sometimes he ha« been known to omit the cyphers in his calculations. This consequently deranged the whole of the other figures. He would then seem much displeased with himself; but, putting the fore-finger of his right hand JEDIDIAH BUXTON. -Mo into the palni of the left, he never failed, after a little while, to set himself right. *' He believed himself able to recollect what quan- tity of ale and strong beer he had drank, at free cost, since he was twelve years of age; the places where, and the number of pints at each house. The whole amount, at a particular time that he mentioned, was five thousand one hundred and sixteen pints. ** This extraordinary man would stride over a piece of land, and tell the contents of it with as much exactness, as if it had been regularly measured. In this manner he measured the whole lordship of Elme- ton, comprising several thousand acres ; and he brought the contents, not only into acres, roods, and perches, but even into square inches. After this he reduced them, for his own amusement, into square hair-breadths, computing forty-eight to each side of an inch, which produced a most incomprehensible number. '• The only objects of Jedidiah's curiosity, except figures, were the king and royal family ; and his desire to see them was so strong, that, in the beginning of the spring, 1754, he walked to London for that pur- pose ; but was obliged to return disappointed, as his majesty had removed to Kensington, just as Jedidiah arrived. He was, however, introduced to the Royal Society, whom, in his country dialect, he called the '' Volk of the siety court." The gentlemen wlio were present asked him several questions in arithmetic, all of which he answered; and they dismissed him vsdth a handsome gi'atuity. '' During his residence in London, he was taken to see the tragedy of King Richard the Third, performed at Drury-lane Theatre; and, it was expected, that the novelty of every thing in this place, together with the splendour of the surrounding objects, would have fixed him in astonishment, or that his passions would have been, in some degree, roused by the action of the performers, even if he did not fully comprehend the dialogue. But in the playhouse Jedidiah's thoughts 314 MISCELLANEOUS. were still employed on figures. During the dance."^, his attention was engaged in reckoning the number of steps. After a fine piece of music, lie declared, that the innumerable sounds perplexed him beyond mea- sure. With respect to the acting of Mr. Garrick, Jedidiah was only occupied in counting the number of words that he uttered during the whole entertain- ment; and, in this, he afterwards affirmed that he had perfectly succeeded. ^' Jedidiah was a married man, and had several children; but whether any of these inherited their father's peculiar talent for figures is not known. He lived to the age of about seventy years, but the exact time of his death has not been mentioned." Edmund. The abilities of this man were certainly very extraordinary. What a pity it is that proper attention was not paid to cultivate his mind in his youth ; he might then, instead of having been a mere calculator of curious arithmetical problems, have been qualified to fill some highly distinguished and useful .situation in life. Mr, Allen. His whole time was passed in laborious poverty. Born to no fortune, and brought up to no particular profession, he supported himself entirely by labour. His manners and dress were extremely simple. He usually wore a linen or woollen cap on his head, and a handkerchief carelessly thrown round his neck. Lady Irwin. At what period of life was it that his astonishing powers of calculation were first ascer- tained ? Mr. Allen. When he was a young man, and worked as a labourer, in the gardens of the late Duke of King- ston, at Thoresby, in Nottinghamshire. The prin- cipal gardener, a man well versed in figures, was told, by the fellow labourers of Jedidiah, that, although he was unable either to read or \yrite, he could work many difiicult sums of arithmetic in his head. In JEDIDIAH BUXTON. 31-j consequence of this the gardener was induced to try him ; and from his report it was that the abilities of Jedidiah were originally made public. Lady Invin, I am surprised that the consciousness of his own abilities, added to the flattering notice that was taken of him by persons of rank and eminence, did not render him discontented with his station, par- ticularly after his visit to the metropolis. Mr. Allen. Though endowed with powers of mind which raised him far above his humble companions, yet anibi lions thoughts do not, at any time, appear to have interrupted his repose. Even on his return from London, he did not regret the loss of any thing he had left behind him. Fully satisfied with his rustic fare, and his own humble condition, he despised the luxuries of the great; and, while it was liis chief pleasure to exercise his mind by calculation, he was still of opi- nion that a slice of rusty bacon afforded a delicious repast, and that a flock bed w^as a most comfortable place of repose. FORTIETH EVENING. Frederic, addressing himself to Mr. Allen, said, *' Last night, sir, you amused us Tvdth some particulars relati\e to the life of a very remarkable self-taught arithmetician : Edmund Irwin and myself have been read ng the memoirs of an uneducated man, whose genius for mechanical contrivances was as surprising as thai of Jedidiah Buxton for arithmetical calcula- tions; and, what is of more importance, has proved of permanent utility to the public." Miss Irwin eagerly enquired who this was. After Mr. Allen's account of Jedidiah Buxton she had been desirous of speaking of a man noted for his singular mechanical acquirements, and was fearful that Frederic had antici- pated her design. Her fears, however, were imme- p 2 316 MISCELLANEOUS. diately removed, by his stating that the person to whom he alluded was James Brindlfy, a native of Tun- stead, in the parish of Wormhill, Derbyshire; and that he had been a contemporary of Jedidiah Buxton, but about twelve years younger than he. To an in- quiry made by Lady Irwin, relative to the parents of this person, Frederic replied, that his father had possessed a little freehold, but, that he gradually dis- sipated all his property by a fondness for shooting, and other field sports; and by keeping company with persons above his own rank in life. Mr, Allen, That is, by entering into expenses, and indulging in pursuits, to which, he ought to have known, his means were not equal. Instances of this are too common. But what was the consequence as to his son ? it must have been attended with some bad effects to him. Frederic, The boy was so totally neglected, that he did not receive even the ordinary rudiments of education. He was compelled to labour for his own subsistence, as well as to contribute towards sup- porting the necessities of his family, at a time when he ought to have been employed in acquiring the ele- ments of future improvement in letters or in science. Until he was nearly seventeen years of age, he was occupied in those kinds of labour which, in country places, are usually assigned to the children of the poor. He was then placed as apprentice to a mill- wright ; and he soon became expert in that business. Mr, Allen, When a young man, Brindley is said to have never been idle. Edmund. I believe he seldom was, sir ; for, although, in the early part of his apprenticeship, he was fre- quently left, during many successive weeks, to execute works that his master had gi\en him instructions to prepare, these works he always punctually finished. Indeed so strong was his attachment to the mechanic arts, and so great became his skill in them, that his master was often astonished by the improvement JAMES BRINDLEY. 317 Mliieli, from time to time, Brindley introduced into the mill-wrigiit business. Lady Irwin, Tliis must have gained him much credit in the neighbouriiood, and eventually, no doubt, must have been ot* great service to him. Edmund. Such was the case. All the millers were desirous of having their work done by him rather than by either his master, or any other workman. Frederic, A singular instance has been recorded of Brindley's active and earnest attention to the improve- ment of mill-work. His master, having been employed to constinict an engine paper-mill, the first of the kind that had been attempted in that part of the country, went to see one at work, as a model to copy after. Notwithstanding this, when he began to prepare the machinery, it was soon evident that he wanted talent to complete it. Brindley, sensible that he could not depend on his master for proper instructions, deter- mined to visit the mill himself. Having finished his business one Saturday evening, he set out, travelled fifty miles on foot, viewed the millj and returned in time for his work on Monday morning. He informed his master in what particulars he had been deficient, and himself completed the engine, to the entire satis- faction of his employers. Louisa, That was admirable ! though I think his master might have better spared him some other day for inspecting the mill than on Sunday. He should have taught him a due respect for the Sabbath. 3Ir, Allen. It does not appear that the master had been informed of his intention of visiting the mill; it is said that Brindley did not previously mention the design to any one. Louisa. I am very anxious to hear how Mr. Brind- ley succeeded after the term of his apprenticeship expired. Frederic, He then engaged in the business of a mill-wright on his own account ; and, by many useful inventions, advanced it to a higher degree of perfec- 318 MISCELLANEOUS. tion than it had ever before attained. The conse- quence of this was, that his talents gradually became known even in distant parts; and he was employed, at different times, to erect some very extraordinary engines. Edmund, His biographer states that, in particular, he erected a water engine at Clifton, in Lancashire, by which he obtained a very high degree of reputation. The intention of this engine was to drain the water from some coal mines, which had before been worked at an enormous expense. The water, for the use of the engine, was conveyed from the river Irwell, by a subterraneous channel, nearly six hundred yards in length. This was cut through a solid rock, and the water wheel was fixed thirty yards below the surface of the ground. After this Mr. Brindley erected, at Congleton, in Cheshire, a silk mill, more complete than any work of the kind that had ever before been attempted ; and the potteries of Staffordshire were indebted to him for several important improvements in the mills there used for the grinding of flint stones. In the year 1756, he undertook to erect a steam- engine, on a new plan, near Newcastle-under-Line. But it would be an endless task to speak of all the useful contrivances in machinery, that were effected by the inventive genius of Brindley. These would have been more extensive than they were, had not his attention, about this time, been called to another ob- ject, which, in its consequences, has proved of the highest national importance. Louisa, What was that, Edmund ? Edmund, The projecting and executing of canals for inland navigation, whence inestimable benefits have arisen to trade and commerce. iSir Charles, It was a happy circumstance, both for Brindley and his country, that he was contemporary with a nobleman, the Duke of Bridgewater, whose scientific attainments and liberality were as distin- guished as his rank. JAMES BRINDLEY. 319 Frederic, The duke had, at Worsley, about seven miles from Manchester, a large estate, rich with mines of coal. These had lain useless, solely from the expense of carriage. Mr. Brindley, who had become famous for his mechanical inventions, was consulted as to the possibility of cutting a canal, for the purpose of facilitating the conveyance of coals from these mines to Manchester. After an attentive survey, he pronounced the work, though difficult, to be practicable. The plan that was finally proposed, and for the execu- tion of which an act of parliament was obtained in 1759, was to carry the canal over the river Irwell, near a place called Barton Bridge, to Manchester. After many difficulties had been surmounted, of sufficient magnitude to have deterred an ordinary man from the undertaking, the great labour remained: this was to carry the canal over the river, and at the height of thirty-nine feet above it. Though Brindley was con- fident of the practicability of this design, he wished his grace to take the opinion of some able engineer before the attempt was made. Lady Irwin, And what, Frederic, was the opinion given ? Frederic, A gentleman was consulted. He replied that the scheme deserved no deliberation ; that ** he had often heard of castles in the air, but was never before shown where any of them were to be erected." Lady Irwin, This, I fear, must have operated as a discouragement of the undertaking. Frederic, It does not appear to have so operated; for neither Brindley's resolutions, nor the duke's con- fidence in him, were at all shaken by it. The aque- duct was begun in September, 1760, and in July following, the first boat floated along it. Louisa. I have been informed that the Duke of Bridgewater's canal passed under ground for a con- siderable distance: you have not said any thing of that. Edmund, Frederic has omitted it. The subter- ii2() MISCELLANEOUS. vaiieous tunnel to which you allude, is about three- quarters of a mile in length, and commences near Worsley-mill. It is sufficiently wide to admit the passage of long flat-bottomed boats ; which are towed by hand-rails on each side, to the coal-works. Mr, Allen. In some places the canal is continued, by arches, over public roads; and, where there is not sufficient height for a carriage, the road is lowered with a gentle descent, and ascends on the other side. Louisa, It must appear very strange to see a boat pass along a canal, while waggons and horses are crossing it by a road underneath. Frederic, Or, as at the river Irwell, to see a boat drawn along the aqueduct, at the height of thirty feet above another boat, which is floating in the river. In consequence of the success of this undertaking, the remainder of Mr. Brindley's life was chiefly employed in making surveys, and laying out canals. Edmund, The most remarkable of all his under- takings appears to me to have been that which he called the Grand Trunk Navigation. This canal was conducted through a space of ninety-three miles, from the Trent to the Mersey; and thereby united the ports of Liverpool and Hull, the Irish sea with the Ger- man Ocean. It was completed in eleven years, was furnished with seventy-six locks, and conducted, by tunnels under ground, through five hills, one of which is 2880 yards in lengtli, and upwards of seventy yards below the surface of the earth. Sir Charles, The counties of Durham, Westmore- land, Lancaster, York, Chester, Stafford, Worcester, Warwick, Somerset, Devon, Hants, and Oxford, have all derived improvement and advantages, either from Mr. Brindley's surveys, plans, or superintendence of inland navigations. He was, on this subject, the greatest enthusiast that ever existed. Do you recollect an answer that he once gave respecting the utility of rivers ? Edmund and Frederic, No, sir. JAMES BRlNDLfeY. 321 Sir Charles. He was summoned before a committee '1 the house of commons, to be examined concerning some particulars relative to riv ers ; being asked, by one of the members, for what purpose he imagined rivers iiad been created? He considered a little while before he answered, and at last replied, ** To feed navigable canals." Lady Irwin. From the account you have given, it appears that Mr. Brindley's peculiar talents were, if possible, more remarkable than those of Jedidiah Buxton. You have said, that he was an mieducated man. Edmund, Some persons have asserted that he could neither read nor write. Mr. Allen. This is not true. He could certainly do both; though his writing extended to little more than a few occasional letters, and his reading appears to have been nearly as circumscribed as his writing. Louisa. How then could he have formed his plans? Frederic. By the exertion of his mental powers alone. When any extraordinary difficulty occurred, he generally retired to bed ; and he has been known to lie there one, two, and even three days, till he has attained the object in view . He would then get up, and execute his design; and, unless bis employers wished to see his plans delineated on paper, he always completed the work without either drawing or model. His memory, which was astonishingly retentive, and was never taught to distrust itself, and commit its possessions to paper, was in no danger of suffering any link in his mechanical arrangement to escape. Of this he was, from experience, so confident, that he has often declared, he could remember and execute, all die parts of the most complex machine, provided he had time, in the survey of it, to settle in his mind, the several departments, and their relations to each other. Edmund. There is reason to suppose that the intense application of Mr. Brindley to the various important ' P 3 o22 MISCELLANEOUS. undertakings he had in hand, operated, at last, with so much injury to his constitution, as to bring on a hectic fever. This continued for some years, and, at length, terminated his life, on the twenty-seventh of Septem- ber, 1772, and in the fifty-sixth year of his age. Lady Irwin. He must have left many vast works incomplete. What became of these after his death? Edmund, They were carried on and finished by his brother-in-law, Mr. Henshall ; for whom he had- always expressed a particular regard, and of whose integrity and abilities, in conducting such works, he had the highest opinion. Among them was the completion of the Grand Trunk Navigation ; for Mr. Brindiey died about five years after it had been begun. FORTY-FIRST EVENING. ** Now," said Edmund Irwin, ^^ it is my turn, to pro- pose for discussion the life of a man of extraordinary genius." Miss Irwin, who, as already related, had been desirous of herself reciting some particulars relative to the life of a person wlio had been noted for extensive mechanical attainments, was again in alarm. ^' I do not pretend," continued Edmund, ^' that the person of whom I am about to speak, was, like Brindle . , a man wholly uneducated. His father, having been an attorney in considerable practice, was enabled to afford him a respectable education." The fears of Miss Irwin, on hearing this, were again allayed. It was evident that her brother's description could not apply to the person whose life she had been contemplating. She, however, anxiously inquired who it was to whom he alluded? '' To John Smea- TON," he replied, '' the projector of many useful public works, but chiefly celebrated for having con- structed a magnificent lighthouse, on the Eddystone- rock, in the English Channel." JOHN SMEATON. 323 Sir Charles, Where, and when was he born, Ed- mund ? Edmund, He was born at Austhorpe, a village, near -Leeds, in Yorkshire, in the year 1724. During his childhood his whole delight Avas in mechanical amuse- ments. Instead of playing with other boys, he chose to occupy his time with workmen's tools; and he made many infantine machines even while in petti- coats. This turn was the more remarkable, as he can- not be supposed to have derived it from objects that were placed before him at that early period. Frederic, While still a boy, we are told that he often surprised, and occasionally alarmed his friends, by mechanical efforts altogether disproportioned to his years. Sometimes he would be seen on the top of a building, erecting a mill; and sometimes at the side of a well, employed in the construction of a pump. Louisa, Was he, in consequence of this decidedly mechanical turn, brought up to the business of an en- gineer ? Edmund, No : he appears to have been articled as a clerk to his father, and to have served the whole term of his clerkship with him ; but his mind, not- withstanding this, was incessantly bent on mechanical studies. His leisure hours were occupied in pur- suits wholly foreign to the profession of the law. A visitor at his father's house, in the year 1742, describes him, then at the age of eighteen, as a complete artificer, ** He forged," says this gentleman, *' his own iron and steel, and melted his own metal. He had tools of every sort for working in wood, ivory, and metals. He had made a lathe, by which he had cut a perpetual screw in brass, a thing litde known at that day." His father, however, persevered in his legal education; and, in due time, sent him to Londcm to attend the courts at Westminster. But the young man, sensible that he could never obtain success in the law, wrote to his father so strong a memorial on the subject, that he was thenceforward allowed to pursue the path which nature had pointed out to him. S24 MISCELLANEOUS. Louisa, What were now his plans and pursuits ? Edmund, He had lodgings in Turnstile, Holboni; and, about the year 1750, commenced business, as a maker of mathematical and philosophical instruments. In the following year he invented a machine for mea- suring a ship's way at sea. He also communicated plans of several ingenious mechanical inventions to the Royal Society, and was elected a member of that body when about twenty-nine years of age. Frederic, Mr. Smeaton made several improvements in water-mills, wind-mills, and other machines. After a long course of experiments he ascertained, in a satis- factory manner, that wind and water could do at least one-third more than had before been known. In 1754 he travelled into Holland, for the purpose of informing himself respecting the improvements that had been introduced into mechanics, in that country. By intense study he fitted himself for the profession which he afterwards followed, that of a civil engineer;' and, in this particular branch, he exhibited the most extraor- dinary talents. Louisa, My brother has said, that the Eddy stone lighthouse was constructed by Mr. Smeaton. It will give me much pleasure to hear the account of his engagement in that building. I have often seen it from the ramparts at Plymouth. It is on an insulated rock, in the open sea, about fourteen miles from the shore. Mr. Allen, There are so many important particulars connected with this lighthouse, anterior to Mr, Smea- ton's engagement in it, that although, by so doing, we shall be led a little while from his history, I must request permission to relate to you a few of them. The first lighthouse that was erected on the Eddy- stone rock, was constructed under the direction of a gentleman whose name was Winstanley. He was a man of singular character, and had previously distin- guished himself by a peculiar turn for mechanics. He commenced the work in 1696, and completed it in about four years. The structure that he formed was JOHN SMEATON. 32.> about eighty feet high. Notwithstanding this great elevation, so tremendous are sometimes the storms in this part of the sea, that the waves have been known to break more than a hundred feet over the top of the building ; and at times the sea has covered more than half the side of the house as if it were under water. Three years after this building was completed, it wanted some repairs; and Mr. Winstanley went to Plymouth to superintend them. Previously to his going off with the workmen, some of his friends intimated to him a fear that the building could not long withstand the dreadful storms, to w^hich, from its exposed situation, it was subject. This presumptuous man replied, ''he was so well assured of its stability, that he should only wish to be in it during the most dreadful storm that ever blew under the heavens ; that he might see what effect it would have." He w as too fatally gratified in this presumptuous wish ; for while he was there, with his workmen and the light-keepers, on the twenty-sixth of November, 1703, one of the most tremendous storms began that has ever been known in Great Britain. On the follow'ing day, when its violence was some- wdiat abated, many persons went anxiously to look out for the lighthouse ; but not a fragment of it was left. Not one of the unfortunate people was ever afterwards seen. It was conjectured that the building was overset altogether ; and that, in its fall, it had even torn up a portion of the rock itself, as far as the irons had been fastened into it. Thus, unhappily, perished both Mr. Winstanley and his building. So long, however, as it had stood, its utility had been found incalculably great ; and, conse- quently, arrangements were soon afterwards made for the erection of a new one. The person who now un- dertook it, w as a Mr. Rudyerd, a self-taught mechanic, who kept a silk-mercer's shop on Ludgate-hill. Mr. Rudyerd's structure was of wood ; upon a plan very different from the former; and, from the enormous strength of the timbers, w as w^ell calculated to resist 32S MISCELLANEOUS. the fury of the waves. It was of somewhat conical shape, ninety-two feet high, and surmounted by a cir- cular frame, with glass all round, so as to show the light on every side. This great work braved the fury of the elements for foriy-six years; but was at last destroyed by fire. About two o'clock in the morning of the second of December, 1755, one of the thiee light- keepers that were stationed there went into the lantern to snuff the candles as usual, and was alarmed by finding it filled with smoke. On opening the door to enter it, a flame instantly burst from the inside of the cupola. He awoke his companions, but before they could reach the lantern, the fire had at- tained such strength, that all their exertions to subdue it were of no avail. The terror and dismay of these wretched men, on an insulated rock many miles from the land, and without any means of escape, were inde- scribable. In dreadful alarm, they retreated from the immediate scene of horror, into one of the rooms below ; and they continued descending from room to room, as the fire, with increasing fury, advanced over their heads. Early in the morning, the conflagration was perceived by some fishermen in Plymouth Sound. They spread the alarm, and boats were immediately sent to the relief of the unhappy sufferers. They were discovered sitting in a hole under the rock, almost stupified with terror, and were all conveyed in safety to the shore ; when one of them instantly ran off", and was never afterwards seen. Another, the man who had originally discovered the fire, had been dreadfully burnt, by a shower of melted lead which had descended upon him from the roof; and a portion of which, weighing nearly half a pound, had fallen into his mouth as he had been looking upward. He died about twelve days afterwards, and on opening his body, this portion of the lead was found in his stomach. Lady Irivin, How dreadful an account! I have read that it was after this lamentable occurrence, that iMr. Smeaton was employed. JOHN SMEATON. 32? Edmund. He was recommended by Lord Maccles- field, then president of the Royal Society, as the fittest man in the country to construct another light- house. His lordship bore a strong testimony to his ability, by declaring that he had never known Mr. Smeaton undertake any thing in which he did not succeed, and to the perfect satisfaction of those who had employed him. Mr. Smeaton was, at that time, engaged on business in Scotland, but tiie impor- tance of this great work induced him immediately to return to London. Thence he went to Plymouth, examined the plans on which the two former buildings had been erected, and afterwards proposed one of his own. The structure that he projected was to be of stone. Louisa, I am glad to hear that. There could not then have been the same danger from fire as before. Edmund, Certainly not ; but his employers wished it to be again constructed of wood. They said that, with such materials, it would not only be cheaper, but would be less liable to injury from storms, than if it were of stone. Mr. Smeaton was of a different opinion, and they had the good sense not to oppose his judgment. With respect to the shape of the stone work, or solid part of the structure, it appeared to him that the greatest degree of strength would be attained by forming it like the natural figure of the bole, or trunk of an oak ; that is, of a circular shape, gradually taper- ing upward for some distance, and afterwards with its sides perpendicular. The next thing to be considered was, how the blocks of stone composing this mass were to be bonded, or fastened to the rock, and to one another. He determined not to cramp them together with iron, as is often done in large buildings, but to dovetail them ; that is, so to shape the stones that, when built, they should lock one another closely together. And the first courses he fixed in a similar manner, deeply into the rock. It was also requisite to use such mortar ^26 MISCELLANEOUS. or cement for the joints of the stones as should not be affected by the water. Louisa. As the building was to be of stone, it was a fortunate circumstance for Mr. Smeaton, that he could obtain it from the very rock on which it was to be constructed. Edmund. This, Louisa, was not the case. Though there are three principal rocks at the Eddy stone, yet that on which the lighthouse was to be erected, mea- sures, at low water, only about twenty-two yards in length, and twelve in width. The stone adopted for the exterior of the building was granite, as being more durable than any other; and that for the interior was Portland stone. All this was wrought and prepared, on the shore near Plymouth, and conveyed to the rock in vessels adapted to that particular use. The work was commenced on the thirty-first of July, 1756. The surface of the rock was levelled, and several of the steps, with their dovetails, were prepared before the setting in of the winter. The first stone for the building was landed, got into its place, and fixed on the twelfth of June, 1757, and, on the following day, the first course of stone-work was completed. On the fourteenth, the second course was begun ; but, in consequence of a gale of wind, the workmen were compelled to quit the rock, after securing every thing as fast as possible. On the eighteenth they were again as suddenly driven from their work ; and several pieces of the stone that had been landed, were washed away by the violence of the sea. The building proceeded, though its progress was retarded by various interruptions and accidents, till the latter end of August, when the seventh course was nearly finished. A violent storm then arose, which carried away the machinery for raising the stones, and even two of the largest of the stones themselves, which had been left chained on the rock ! Notwithstanding these and various other difficulties, the ninth course was completed by the end of September. Having JOHN SMEATON. 329 now made every thing as secure on the rock as possible, the workmen were again obliged to desist for the winter. Owing to various accidents in the beginning of the following year, 1758, the tenth course of stone-work was not completed till the fifth of July. From this time there w as no material interruption ; so that, before the end of September, the twenty-fifdi course, or the first of what Mr. Smeaton denominated the super- structure, was finished. During the early part of the year 1759, Mr. Smeaton was employed, in London, in forming and making out the necessary design for the iron rails of the bal- cony at the top ; the cast iron, the wrought iron, and the copper works for w hat was called the lantern, toge- ther with the plate-glass work. On the fifth of July he landed on the rock, and found every thing perfectly sound and firm ; but, on hauling up, from the store- room, the stones for the next circle, he had the mortifi- cation to find only seven instead of eight. It was imagined that a body of falling water had forced the stone that was wanting out of the store-room door, and washed it away ; though it weighed betwixt four and five hundred pounds. The progress of the work, notwithstanding this disappointment, was very rapid. On the sixteenth of September, the frame of the lan- tern A^ as fixed in its place ; on the seventeenth, the cupola, which was to cover the lantern; and on the eighteenth, the gilded ball that was to surmount the whole, was screwed on. The latter operation was per- formed by Mr. Smeaton himself, and a very perilous one it seems to have been. Elevated upon almost a point, at an immense height above a tremendous sea, he was supported only by a scaffold consisting of four boards, so nailed together as to permit it to be lifted over the ball when done with. This little scaffold rested on the cupola, and was balanced by one of the masons, who placed himself on the opposite side of il, while Mr. Smeaton moved round to fix the screws. 830 MISCELLANEOUS. Louisa. I can scarcely imagine a situation much more frightful. The very thought of it makes me giddy. I should think tiiat nothing but a most anxious zeal for the success of Lis work, and a desire to be assured, from his knowledge of the fact, that every thing was perfectly secured, could have induced Mr. Smeaton thus to risk his life. This, I presume, was the finishing of the exterior of the building. Edmund, It was. On the first of October the chan- deliers were hung ; twenty-four candles were put into their proper places, and lighted : and, though, during the whole time, it blew a hard gale of wind, they were found to burn perfectly well. On the sixteenth of the same month, the house was first lighted at night ; and the light has been continued ever since. Thus, after innumerable difficulties and dangers, was a happy period put to this undertaking, without the loss of life or limb to any one concerned in it. The time that elapsed between the first stroke upon the rock, and the lighthouse being completed, was three years, nine weeks, and three days. Mr. Allen. In this building Mr. Smeaton was pecu- liarly attentive to the comfort and accommodation of the light-keepers. In that constructed by Mr. Rud- yerd, the bed-rooms had been formed in the lower part, and the kitchen at the top ; and the beds were apt to be damp. In the present structure the chambers are contrived above the kitchen ; the funnel for the smoke from which passes through them, and they are thus kept warm and comfortable. Edmund. Mr. Smeaton, from this time, became a leading man in his profession, and was employed in most of the great public concerns of the nation, that were connected with the subjects of his peculiar study. He was often consulted in parliament, and frequently in the courts of law, on intiicate questions of science ; and his strength of judgment, perspicuity of expression, and strict integrity, always appeared, on these occa- sions, to the highest advantage. JOHN SMEATON. 331 Frederic. Like Brindley, he was frequently em- ployed, in the latter part of his life, as an engineer in inland navigation. He gave the plan and survey for the navigable communication betwixt the Firth of Forth, and the Clyde. Mr. Smeaton was also employed as the engineer to the harbour of Ramsgate. Edmund. His death was somewhat sudden. On the sixteenth of September, 1792, while walking in his garden at Austhorpe, he was seized by an attack of paralysis; and, remaining in a very infirm state, though in full possession of his faculties, he died on the twenty-eighth of the ensuing month, and in the sixty-ninth year of his age. Lady Irivin. Has any account been given of the habits of Mr. Smeaton in domestic life? Mr. Allen. Yes; his manners were simple, and his mode of living abstemious. In all the social duties of life he was exemplary; he was an affectionate hus- band, a good father, a warm, zealous, and sincere friend. He was a lover and encourager of merit wherever he found it; and himself singularly moderate in his pecuniary wishes. He had, it is true, a warmth of expression which, to those who did not know him, might appear to border on harshness; but those more intimately acquainted with him, knew that it arose from the intense application of his mind, which was incessantly engaged in the investigation of difficult subjects. Mr. Smeaton spent much of his leisure time in cultivating the science of asironomy, for which pur- pose he fitted up an observatory in his house, and furnished it with some curious instruments of his own contriving. As a companion, he was always both entertaining and instructive ; and none could long be in his company without improvement. A few years before he died, he wished, as much as possible, to withdraw himself from business, and to employ part of his leisure in drawing up and publish- ing an account of his principal inventions and works. The only part of this design that he completed was, a '^^^^ MISCELLANEOUS. folio volume, published in 1791, entitled, ^* A Narrative of the Building, and a Description of the Construction of the Eddystone Lighthouse/' Tiiis work, which is Illustrated with fine plates, and is that to which Ed- mund has been indebted for the account he has given, is one of the most curious and most interesting archi- tectural productions in any language. After the death ot Mr. hmeaton, his papers were purchased by Sir Joseph Banks, under a voluntary promise of account- ing to his executors for whatever profits might arise rom the printing of them. Three quarto volumes of his reports have, in consequence, been published. FORTY-SECOND EVENING. Louisa, I know not whether an unusual degree of anxiety may have been apparent in my conduct at the commencement of the conversations for the two last evenings. Frederic said that he had remarked nothing further than a close attention to the subjects discussed; but Edmund recollected a pecuUar eagerness in his sister's last night inquiring the name of the person of whom he was about to speak. Louisa. The fact is this. I had been reading tlie life of Ferguson, the Scots mechanist and astro- nomer, and had stored in my mind most of the leading particulars of it. These I was desirous of being per- mitted to recite, in the same manner that Mr. Allen had spoken of Jedidiah Buxton; and was fearful that 1 might have been anticipated, first by Frederic, and then by Edmund. That, however, not having been the case, I will request to speak of him now. ' Frederic repUed that, he had certainly intended to propose the life of Ferguson for discussion ; but that in this, as on every other subject, he should have great pleasure in giving place to his cousin. JAMES FERGUSON. 33;5 ]Miss Irwin thus began: "James Ferguson was born of indigent parents, at Keith, a small town in BamfFsliire, Scotland, in the year 1710. His father had a large family ; and could give his children no further education, than at his leisure hours to teach them himself, in a very humble way, to read and write. James, who showed early indications of exti-aordinary genius, learned to read by only looking over his brother from time to time, as he read aloud the Scots catechism. This he did with- out exciting the attention of any one ; so that, some time afterwards, his father was astonished to hear him reading aloud by himself. His father then taught him to write ; and determined to send him for three months, though he could ill afford it, to a grammar school at Keith. This was all the education that Mr. Ferguson ever received. " When he was betwixt seven and eight years old, part of the roof of his father's house fell in; and a prop and lever were applied to raise it to its former place. The facility with which this was effected, so strongly excited his astonishment, that, young as he was, he was led to consider attentively the means by which it had been accomplished. He immediately began to construct levers, and soon indicated a peculiar taste for mechanics. By endeavouring to make a lever that would raise bodies to any height, he discovered another of the mechanical powers, the wheel and axle; and he contrived to make models of these and other machines, by means of his father's turning lathe, and a knife. He soon afterwards wrote out a little account of them, which he illustrated with rude draw ings in ink. This he showed to a gentleman of the neighbour- hood, imagining it to have been the first treatise of the kind that had ever been written ; and was not a little astonished to find that the same things had been known long before. The gentleman lent him a printed book in which they were treated of; and the boy was much pleased to observe that, in many particulars, his 33-1 MISCELLANEOUS. own account coincided with what he found insertec there. ''In consequence of his father^s poverty, Jamed was placed out to service, in the occupation of a shep-r herd. This was an employment that suited his dispoi sition. Part of his night was now spent in studying the stars ; while, in the day-time, he made models o* mills, spinning wheels, and odier machinery. '' After a few years he went into the service of a farmer, who was peculiarly indulgent to him. When his work was over, James was permitted to go into the fields with a blanket wrapped around him. Here, lying on his back, he would take the apparent distances of the stars, by a thread with small beads strung upon it. He used to stretch the thread at arms length before his eyes ; then laying it on a paper, he marked the respective positions of the stars by the beads. His master at first laughed at this apparently ridiculous occupation ; but as soon as he understood the object of it, he encouraged James, by every means in his power, to proceed. " One day, being sent on an errand to the minister of Keith, James took with him what he called his star-papers. He found the minister occupied in look- ing over a large parcel of maps. They were the first that he had ever seen. The minister described to him the shape of the earth; told him that it was round, like a ball; and kindly explained to him the map of it, This map James begged permission to borrow, that he might copy it, in the evenings after his work was over. The minister readily lent it him; he also gave him a pair of compasses, a ruler, pens, ink, and paper; at the same time strictly enjoining of him not to neglect his master's business. His master however, was so much pleased with his performances that he w^ould often take the threshing flail out of hif hands, and work himself, while James was sitting be- side him in the barn, busily employed with his pen ruler, and compasses. JAMES FERGUSON. 333 ** On his return to the minister with the map he had borrowed, and the copy that he liad made of it, James saw a man painting a sun-dial. He stopped a little while to observe him; and, proud of his performance, showed him the copy he had made of the map. He then went on to the minister's. While he and the minister were conversing, a neighbouring gentleman, whose name was Grant, came in. To this gentleman the minister introduced him, and showed his map. Mr. Grant was so much pleased with the boy, that he in- vited him to live with him. He said, if he would do so, his butler, Alexander Cantley, should give him a great deal of instruction. James, delighted with this invita- tion, gladly complied with it, as soon as the term of servitude with his master was expired. "Alexander Cantley, the butler of Mr. Grant, proved to be the same person that James had seen painting the sun-dial. He was a very extraordinary character. Though entirely self-taught, he was a good mathematician, and a performer on every kind of musi- cal instrument except the harp. He understood Latin, Greek, and French; and, on urgent occasions, was often applied to by the country people as a physician. *' Having received from this butler a present of Gordon's Geographical Grammar, James constructed a globe, from the description which is there given of it. And, having delineated upon his globe a map of the world, he was enabled to solve, by means of it, all the common problems in geography and astronomy. This globe, of his own making, was the first he had ever seen. "Cantley proved a kind and attentive instructor; hut, after a little while, he left Mr. Grant to live with the Earl of Fife; and James could not be prevailed with to continue when his friend was gone. He con- sequently went into the service of a miller, expecting that he should there have sufficient time to study deci- mal arithmetic and geometry; but his new master was so fond of drinking, that James had the whole care of 330 MISCELLANEOUS. tlie mill upon himself. He was also nearly starved for want of food. To this inhuman master he was engaged for a year: and, at the end of that time, he returned, in a very weak state, to his father. ^' As soon as he had somewhat recovered his strength, he entered the service of a person whose name was Young, and who acted in the joint capacity of farmer and physician. His chief inducement to this had been a promise, on the part oi Young, that he would instruct him in medicine. His new master, however, proved as bad as the former. He never even showed him one of his books, and overwrought him to such a degree, that, at the end of three months, James was obliged to leave him, in a state of great debility, and without receiving any part of his wages. The inhuman doctor did not even give him medical advice ; and it was only by medicines that were sent by his old friend Cantley, who lived twelve miles off, that he at last recovered his strength. '* During his illness, James, who had too active a mind ever to be idle, contrived to make a wooden clock, the hours of which were struck on the neck of aijottle instead of a bell. Some time afterwards, hap- pening to see a gentleman ride past his father's house, he asked him what o'clock it was. The gentleman answered him with so much good nature, that James ventured to request he would show him the inside of his watch ; as he could not imagine how it went with- out a weight and a string, similar to those of a clock. The gentleman kindly complied with his request. When James saw the spring-box, with part of the chain round it, he eagerly inquired what it was that made the box turn round. The gentleman, delighted with the inquisitive mind of a rough-looking country lad, told him it was turned by a steel spring that was within it. James could not immediately compre- hend this ; but the gentleman said to him : ' Well, my lad, take a long thin piece of whalebone, hold one end of it fast between your finger and thumb, and JAMES FERGUbON. 337 w ind it round your finger : it will then endeavour to unwind itself. And if you fix the other end of it to the inside of a small hoop, and leave it to itself, it will turn the hoop round and round, and wind up a string tied to the outside of the hoop.' James thanked the gentleman for his information, and told him he perfectly understood how the motion of the watch was caused. '' His whole mind was'now bent on making a watch. This he at last effected, with wooden wheels and a whalebone spring. He enclosed the whole in a wooden box, not much larger than a breakfast cup. But a clumsy neighbour, one day looking at this extraordinary watch, let it fall ; and, turning hastily round to take it up, crushed it to pieces with his foot, Ferguson was so much discouraged by this accident, that he never attempted another ; especially as he was convinced he could not make one that would be of any use. *' As soon as he had recovered from his illness, and was able to go abroad, he carried his globe, clock, and maps, to Sir James Dunbar, of Durn, about seven miles- from his father's house ; as he had been informed that Sir James was a good natured and inquisitive gentleman. He was received with great kindness; and Sir James asked him if he did not think he could clean his clocks. Ferguson made the attempt, and succeeded. From this time he was employed aromid the neighbourhood in the cleaning and repairing of clocks, and in drawing patterns for ladies' needle- work, at which he also became very skilful. Sir James invited him to live at his house, which he did for some time. By his different employments, he now contrived to earn so much money, that he began to think of growing rich ; and he had the satisfaction of frequently supplying the wants of his father. *' TV' bile in the house of Sir James Dunbar, Ferguson's taste for drawing induced Lady Dipple, the sister of Sir James, to invite him, for twelve months, to her house at Edinburgh, that he might have an opportunity of o 338 MISCELLANEOUS. acquiring a knowledge of that art, under proper mas- ters. He succeeded so well, that he was encouraged to attempt portrait painting. In this he acquired so great a facility, as to make it a lucrative profession, and to obtain from it his principal support for more than twenty years. '' It ought to be remarked that, during the two years that Ferguson resided in Edinburgh, he had so strong a desire to study medicine that, for a time, he forsook all his favourite pursuits for this. He then went into the countr}^ with a cargo of medicines and plasters, but with a very scanty knowledge of the art ; and began to practice medicine in his native town. He was, however, an unsuccessful practitioner; and, jinding that no one paid him for his medicines, he went to Inverness, for the purpose of resuming his profes- sion of a painter. *^ After having continued some years longer in dif- ferent parts of Scotland, Ferguson, in 1745, went to London, with letters of recommendation to many per- sons of science and distinction. Here he began his old profession of portrait painting; amusing himself at his leisure hours, with astronomical studies. He afterwards published some curious astronomical tables and calculations ; and he gave public lectures (by sub- scription) in experimental philosophy, not only in London, but in many of the principal towns of En- gland, with the highest marks of approbation. He was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society ; and, about the same time, was introduced to his present Majesty, then Prince of Wales. The prince attended his lec- tures, and took great pleasure in conversing with him on astronomical subjects. Mr. Ferguson received se- veral presents from the prince ; and, afterwards, a pen- sion of fifty pounds a year out of his privy purse, which was regularly paid to him till his death. "Mr. Ferguson had always a weak constitution; which perhaps was much uijured by his intense appli- cation to study. After long struggling with a lingering JAMES FERGUSON. 339 illness, he expired on the sixteenth of November, 1776, in the sixty-sixth year of his age; leaving an only son, to whom he bequeathed the property that he had derived from his lectures, and his various works." Here Miss Irwin terminated. Edmund inquired whether Ferguson had not died very poor. Mi\ Allen, His friends had always imagined him to be poor; but he left, at his death, a sum of money amounting to about six thousand pounds. Lady Irwin, What was his private character? Mr, Allen. In his manners he was benevolent, meek, and innocent as a child. His whole life is said to have been an example of resignation, and Christian piety; and his philosophy to have produced in him, only diffidence and urbanity , a love for mankind, and sincere devotion to liis Maker. Frederic, He is described to have been a man of clear judgment, and unwearied application ; and to have had a happy manner of conveying his ideas on the subjects of astronomy, and natural philosophy, with ease, perspicuity, and familiarity ; and thus he became not only a useful, but a popular writer and lecturer. Mr, Allen, Notwithstanding this, it is somewhat singular, that his general mathematical knowledge was very superficial. Of algebra he understood little more than the notation; and he often declared, that he could never demonstrate even a single proposition in Euclid's Elements. His constant method was, to satisfy himself as to the truth of any problem, by measurement with a scale and compasses. Louisa. What were his principal publications ? Mr, Allen, Besides astronomical tables, ti'acts, let- ters, and papers on subjects connected with philosophy, Ferguson published, in 1756, ''Astronomy explained upon Sir Isaac Newton's Principles, and made easy to those who have not studied Mathematics;" in I7G0, " Lectures on several Subjects, in Mechanics, Hydro- statics, Pneumatics, Optics, Geography, Astronomy, MO MISCELLANEOUS. and Dialling;" in 1768, "The Young Gentleman's and Ladies' Astronomy familiarly explained, in Ten Dia- logues;" which was reprinted in the ensuing year, under the title of *'An easy Introduction to Astro- nomy for Young Gentlemen and Ladies;" in 1773, " Select Mechanical Exercises, with a short Account of the Author, by himself." The two first of these works have each been lately republished by Dr. Brewster, in two volumes octavo, with additions of discoveries since the death of the author. The lectures on me- chanics, &c, are considered the best and most useful of all his works. They passed through several edi- tions, and are said to have contributed more to the diffusion of mathematical knowledge, than all the other works that have been written upon these subjects. FORTY-THIRD EVENING. The last life proposed for discussion, under the pre- sent head of Biographical Conversations, was that of the philanthropist JLohn Howard, the active and in- defatigable friend of the unfortunate; whose pure delight it was to visit the abodes of misery, wherever found, that he might be the happy instrument of alle- viating its oppression ; and the great tendency of whose labours was, to effect the most important improvements, both with respect to comfort and morals, in the regu- lation of public prisons, not merely of our own, but of every other country. He was born at Hackney, in the year 1726. Miss Irwin said she had read much relative to the exertions of Mr. Howard, in visiting prisons in different parts of Europe, but was unacquainted with the particulars of his early life. Frederic replied that^ his father had kept a carpet- warehouse in Long-lane, Smithfield; and that, dying while Mr. Howard was very young, the guardians of the latter had subse- JOHN HOWARD. 341 quently apprenticed him to a wholesale grocer in the city of London. Mr, Allen, But he did not long continue in this situation ; for his constitution appearing too delicate for the toils of a laborious business, and his father having left him, and an only sister, in circumstances which placed him above the necessity of pursuing it, he bought out the remainder of his indentures before the time, and made a tour through the principal parts of France and Italy. Frederic, This is nearly all the account we have of his early years. Not having been brought up to a learned profession, his education had not been much attended to ; but the strength of his mind, and the steadiness of his perseverance, supplied, in a great degree, this deficiency. Louisa, On his return from the continent, what were the occurrences respecting him ? Edmund, He took lodgings in the house of a Mrs. Lardeau, a sensible and worthy woman, who resided at Stoke Newington. His health was now very infirm ; and, in Mrs. Lardeau, he found so tender and affec- tionate a nurse, that, although she was old enough to be his mother, and had herself been an invalid for many years, he was induced to offer her his hand in mar- riage. She was surprised at the offer, and expostulated with him on the extravagance of such an union. But it was not the character of Mr. Howard to be deterred from his purpose by a dread of obloqu}? or ridicule; and she became his wife in the year 1752. Louisa, How did Mr. Howard chiefly occupy his time while at Stoke Newington ? Edmund. When his health would permit it, he em- ployed himself in improving his mind by reading and study. It is said that he would frequently ride out with a book in his pocket ; and, turning his horse to gi'aze on a common, or by the side of the road, Avould take out the book, and read for several hours. Lady Irwin, He must have been a very eccentric man. o2 342 MISCELLANEOUS. Edmund, He was certainly singular in many of his habits ; but nearly all his singularities were of an amiable kind. His wife survived their union but three years; and he sincerely mourned her loss. Frederic. Being now disengaged from domestic cares, he determined to make a voyage to Lisbon. Louisa. And what was the object of this voyage ? Frederic. Apparently a somewhat singular one : to view the state of Lisbon after the dreadful earthquake, which had occurred in November, 1755. Mr. Howard sailed in the Hanover frigate. This country was then at war with France. He was taken prisoner; and the inconveniences that he suffered, during his subsequent confinement in France, are supposed to have first awakened his sympathy in favour of prisoners, and to have, in some degree, given rise to his subsequent plans for rendering prisons less pernicious to health than they had before been. Louisa. I am aware of Mr. Howard's zealous atten- tion to the state of prisons in various parts of Europe. Did he commence his different journies of inspection immediately after his own liberation ? Frederic. I believe not immediately afterwards. He returned to England, and settled at Brokenhurst, in the New Forest, Hants. Sir Charles. One of his first acts on settling at Broken- hurst was to make a tour through the parish, and to visit, in person, every poor family it contained. To each of these he gave pecuniary relief, comfortable clothing where it was requisite, a Bible, Prayer-book, and the Whole Duty of Man. Lady L^win. I thought Mr. Howard had been a dissenter from the Church of England; and yet you state that he distributed Prayer-books at Brokenhurst. Sir Charles. Mr. Howard had been brought up in the principles of Presbyterianism ; but his religion was of that description which considered chiefly the prac- tice of Christian duties. His attendance at the church JOHN HOWARD. 343 and meeting-house was equally regular. His bene- volence was of the most extensive kind. It was enough for him to see distress; the form of it was not material; no difference of sect or opinion cramped his philanthropy, or prevented him from endeavouring to promote the happiness of mankind. During his residence at Brokenhurst, Mr. Howard V as married a second time. His present lady lived about seven years; and, dying in 1765, left an only child, a son. About this time he relinquished his habitation in the New Forest, and purchased an estate near Bedford. Frederic. Here his benevolence was again actively displayed. He projected numerous improvements in his property, for the purpose chiefly of giving employ- ment to the poor. He built for them numerous cot- tages, and distributed both money and clothes accord- ing to their wants and deserts. Edmund. It was during his residence near Bedford, that the actual distress of prisoners was brought more immediately under his notice than before. In 1773 he served the office of high sheriff; and was witness to so much misery, as, reviving the idea of his own confinement in France, to be led to the bene- volent design of himself visiting the gaols, and other places of confinement, throughout England, with a view of procuring, if possible, an alleviation of the miseries of the sufferers. This project he accomplished with indefatigable zeal; and being afterwards examined before the house of commons, on the subject of prisons, he received the thanks of that house for his attention to them. Lady Irivin. It must have been extremely gratifying to him, to have thus found that his voluntary labours had not been wholly in vain; and that they appeared to promise those benefits which he had proposed to himself by them. Mr. Allen, A stimulus to do good was scarcely necessary to such a man as Mr. Howard; but the 344 MISCELLANEOUS. encouragement he received, induced him to hope for more success from greater exertions. He, therefore, again and again visited the receptacles of crime, of poverty, and misery, throughout Great Britain and Ireland ; and, shortly afterwards, extended his views even to foreign countries, Frederic. With this design, sir, I have read that he three times travelled through France, four times tlirough Germany, five through Holland, twice through Italy, once in Spain and Portugal; and through Denmark, Sweden, Russia, Poland, and part of Turkey. Louisa, How many years were in the whole occu- pied by these various excursions ? Frederic. With some short intervals of rest at home, nearly twelve. There never before was so considerable a portion of the life of any individual applied to such benevolent and useful purposes, and that without any motive whatever of interest or pleasure, beyond the virtuous satisfaction of benefiting his fellow-creatures. Edmund. I have read a considerable portion of Mr. Howard's work on the state of prisons in England and Wales, including an account of some foreign prisons, as it was republished in 1784. Mr. Allen. And a more lamentable statement of pri- vate misery, of insensibility in goalers, and of neglect or cruelty in those who had the superintendence of prisons, was never exhibited to the commiseration or abhorrence of mankind. Lady Lwin. The exposure of all this to the public must alone have had a beneficial tendency; and, indeed, we find that, in consequence of it, the state of prisons was afterwards much improved both in our own and in other countries. So much attention was excited in England, that I recollect a large subscrip- tion was made for the purpose of erecting a statue to the honour of Mr. Howard. Frederic. He was abroad at the time, engaged in one of his peregrinations of love and charity to the human race. When he was first informed of this JOHN HOWARD. 345 intention, he exclaimed, " Have I not one friend in England who would put a stop to such a proceeding ?" and immediately wrote to the subscribers, to request, in the most earnest manner, that the design might be given up. This was done; and the money that had been collected, was applied principally towards the relief of prisoners. Edmund. But Mr. Howard was not contented witli visiting prisons : his anxious attention was also paid to an examination of lazarettos or hospitals for the recep- tion of diseased persons. And, in 1789, he published " An Account of the principal Lazarettos in Europe, with various Papers relative to the Plague, together with further Observations on some Foreign Prisons and Hospitals ; and additional Remarks on the present State of those in Great Britain and Ireland." Frederic, In this publication he announced his de- sign of revisiting Russia, Turkey, and some other countries, and extending his tour in the east. *^ I am not," he says, " insensible of the dangers that must attend such a journey. Trusting, however, in the pro- tection of that kind Providence Avhich has hitherto preserved me, I calmly and cheerfully commit myself to the disposal of unerring wisdom. Should it please God to cut off my life in the prosecution of this design, let not my conduct be uncandidly imputed to rashness or enthusiasm, but to a serious, deliberate conviction, that I am pursuing the path of duty; and to a sincere desire of being made an instrument of more extensive usefulness to my fellow-creatures, than could be ex- pected in the narrower circle of a retired life." Sir Charles, It was in the pursuance of this truly benevolent design, that Mr. Howard did actually fall a sacrifice. Having passed some time at Cherson, a new Russian settlement, on the banks of the Dnieper, where the insalubrity of the place had cut oflP thou- sands of the inhabitants, his benevolence induced him to visit a young lady, who lay dangerously ill of an infectious fever, that he might administer some medi- 346 MISCELLANEOUS. cines for her relief. Mr. Howard caught the distem- per, and became a victim to his humanity. He died about twelve days afterwards, on the twentieth of January, 1790; and was interred in a place selected by himself, in the desert near the village of Daupliigny, at a little distance from Cherson. Lady Irwin. Did he not give directions that there should be no monument erected over his remains ? Sir Charles. He did so; but a black pyramid, or obelisk, though without any inscription, was erected there. A compliment was paid to him in this country, which no other private subject ever received : his death was announced to the public by the London Gazette. Louisa, I have often seen the monument that, after his death, was erected to his memory in St. Paul's cathedral. It represents Mr. Howard, in a Roman dress, with a look and attitude expressive of bene- volence and activity; holding in one hand a scroll of plans for the improvement of prisons, &c. and in the other a key ; while he is trampling on chains and and fetters. The epitaph contains a sketch of his life, and concludes with these words : '' He trod an open but unfrequented path to immortality, in the ardent and unremitted exercise of Christian charity. May this tribute to his fame excite an emulation of his truly glorious achievements I" Sir Charles. We have yet said nothing respecting Mr. Howard's habits of life. In these he w as rigidly temperate. He totally avoided the use of animal food; and, at one time, subsisted entirely on potatoes; and at another chiefly on tea and bread and butter. He did not at all mix with convivial society ; and no pubhc invitations, however honourable, were accepted by him. His only delight, during many of the latter years of his life, appears to have consisted in visiting and afford- ing comfort in the abodes of misery. Mr. Allen. How beautiful an eulogium did Mr. Burke pronounce upon him, even during his life, in a speech made at Bristol, in the year 1780. *' I JOHN HOWARi3. 347 cannot name this gentleman," says he, '' without remarking that his labours and writings have done much to open the eyes and the hearts of mankind. He has visited all Europe, — not to survey the sump- tuousness of palaces, nor the stateliness of temples; not to make accurate measurements of the remains of ancient grandeur, nor to form a scale of the curiosity of modern art; not to collect medals, nor collate manuscripts; — but to dive into the depths of dungeons; to plunge into the infections of hospitals; to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain; to take the gage and dimensions of misery, depression, and contempt; to remember the forgotten, to attend to the neglected, to visit the forsaken, and to compare and collate the distresses of all men in all countries. His plan was original, and it is as full of genius, as it is of humanity. It was a voyage of discovery, a circumnavigation of charity. Already the benefit of his labour is felt more or less in every country ; I hope he will anticipate his final reward, by seeing all its effects fully realised in his own. He will receive, not by retail, but in gross, the reward of those who visit the prisoner; and he has so forestalled and monopolized this branch of cha- rity, that there will be, I trust, little room to merit by such acts of benevolence hereafter." With the life of Howard the present class of bio- graphical discussions terminated. A new series was proposed by Mr. Allen, which, he said, might perhaps be rendered even more entertaining than the past, because they would comprise an account of personal adventures, sometimes of very extraordinary kind : they would also tend to illustrate, in a familiar manner, the geography of foreign countries, and, in some de- gree, the habits and customs of the people of foreign nations. ^ He then laid down the plan of a series of Biogra- phical Conversations, relative to the most eminent VOYAGERS AND TRAVELLERS of all nations. He f '7 fi> " 348 MISCELLANEOUS. proposed that the leading domestic events of each of the lives should, as before, be subject to discussion: but, with respect to their different enterprises and ad- ventures ^ he was desirous of having these drawn up, and read in the form of narratives. By this plan the mode of discussion, he said, would be somewhat varied; and the peculiar interest of the narratives themselves would not be weakened by interruption. He stated, that he had another reason: the young per- sons would thereby be supplied with daily exercises in EngUsh composition. It was probable, he remarked, that most of the narratives might elicit some discussion ; and, he observed, that, in such case, this would, of course, take place immediately after they were respec- tively read. Sir Charles and Lady Irwin each ap- proved of the project ; and the young gentlemen were directed to prepare themselves with an account of the life and voyages of Columbus. To this they immediately and most cheerfully assented ; at the same time expressing themselves much indebted io Sir Charles Irwin and Mr. Allen, both for the pleasiire and information they had derived from the iate dis- eussions. I'lNlS. ^ C. VVhittin^ham, Printer, Chiswick. . LB My '04