MEM OIRS
OF
RICHARD CUMBERLAND,
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
CONTAINING
AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS,
INTERSPERSED WITH
ANECDOTES AND CHARACTERS
OF
SEVERAL OF THE MOST DISTINGUISHED PERSONS OF HIS TIME, WITH WHOM HE
HAS HAD INTERCOURSE AND CONNECTION.
WITH ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES.
BY
HENRY FLANDERS,
AUTHOR OF "THE LIVES AND TIMES OF THE CHIEF JUSTICES."
PHIL AD EL P HI A:
PARRY  AND  M C M ILLAN.
1856.




Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by
PARRY AND McMILLAN,
in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the United States in and
for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
PHILADELPHIA:
T. K. AND P. G. COLLINS, PRINTERS.




EDITOR'S PREFACE.
THE author of the following pages held a conspicuous place
in London literary society; and was on familiar terms with
many of the most eminent men of his time and country.  "The
sketches and anecdotes which he has introduced into his Memzoirs are in the highest degree interesting; whilst his habits of
observing and discriminating character give to his delineations
an authority, and consequently a value, which it is difficult to
over-estimate."l
The career of Cumberland in Spain is a curious episode in
his life; and, in connection with Jay's mission to that country,
of especial interest to the student of American history.
The Editor has divided the narrative into chapters, and added
notes, illustrative of the text, which he ventures to hope has
enhanced the value and interest of the work.
PHIILADELPHIA, Marcb, 1856.
Encyclopsedia Britannica.








CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Author's Preface-His ancestors-Doctor Richard Cumberland-Doctor Richard
Bentley-Swift's Battle of the Books-Anecdotes of Bentley-Collins-His
controversy with Bentley-Roger Cotes-Character of Bentley-Mrs. Bentley
-Richard Bentley, the younger-His connection with Horace WalpoleCharacter of Walpole-Elizabeth Bentley-Joanna Bentley, Cumberland's
mother-Author's reflections —His boyhood-His teacher, Arthur KinsmanAnecdote of —Cumberland at school-Joshua Barnes-Warburton-Death of
Dr. Bentley-Cumberland's success in his studies-Attempts English verse
-His home-His mother forms his taste in poetry-Goes to WestminsterVincent Bourne-Warren Hastings-Colman-Hinchliffe, Smith, and Vincent
-Dr. Nichols-Execution of Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino-Anecdote of
Selwyn-Progress of the rebels-Westminster school-Eton school-Edmund
Ashby- Cumberland goes to the play-Garrick-Death of Cumberland's
sister-Enters Trinity College.....      page 9
CHAPTER II.
His studies-His habits —His style of reading-A present of books-Doctor
Richard Walker-Disputation-Ill-health-Advantages of the system of instruction at Cambridge —Collectanea-Plan of reading-Mason's ElfridaPolitics-Change of life-Excursion to York-Elegiac verses-Candidate for
a fellowship-Appointed Lord Halifax's private secretary-Sketch of Halifax
-Dr. Crane-Cumberland goes to London-John Pownall-Visit to the Duke
of Newcastle-Bishop of Peterborough-Charles Mason-Cumberland's examination for a fellowship-His success-His competitors-His course of life
in London-Not fitted for public life-Demagogues-Charles TownshendLord and Lady Halifax —Ambrose Isted-Mr. Eskins-Jeffrey-Richard Reynolds-Poem  on India-Death of Lady Halifax-Her character —Cumberland's father removes to Fulham-His popularity-Bishop Sherlock-Mr's.
Sherlock-Richard Glover-Bubb Dodington-Cumberland's visit to-Character of-Henry Fox-Alderman Beckford-Lay-fellowship at Trinity College-The banishment of Cicero-Praised by Warburton-Recommended to
Garrick by Lord Halifax-Garrick's refusal to put it on the stage-Cumberland's marriage........  54




Vi                         CONTENTS.
CHAPTER III.
Lord Halifax, first lord of trade and plantations-Earl of Bute at the head of
affairs-Dodington-Lord Halifax, lord-lieutenant of Ireland-His arrangements- William  Gerard Hamilton — Cumberland, Ulster secretary-' The
Banishment of Cicero'-Lord Melcombe-Bentley-' The Wishes'-Opening
speech of the Lord Lieutenant-Edmund Burke-Mr. Roseingrave-Cumberland's disinterestedness-Offered a baronetcy-Hamilton as an orator-Quarrel with Burke-Cumberland's father raised to the bishopric-Society in
Dublin-Primate Stone-Dr. Robinson-Colonel Ford-George FaulknerMrs. Dancer —Cumberland returns to England-Health of his family-Bishop
Cumberland-Cumberland's disappointment-Situation at the Board of Trade
-Cumberland's estimate of Halifax-The Summer's tale-Bickerstaff-Smith
the actor-Cumberland visits his father-' The brothers'-Garrick-Fitzherbert-The West Indian-Mr. Talbot-Lord Eyre-Anecdote of a Catholic
priest-The O'Roukes-Sir Thomas Cuffee-Mr. Geoghegan-Doctor of laws
108
CHAPTER IV.
The West Indian-Garrick-Vindication of Dr. Bentley-Pride-Duke of Alva —
The Rev. Mr. Reynolds-His will-Society-Garrick-Reynolds-JohnsonJenyns-Anecdote of Garrick-Foote-Anecdote of Thomas Mills-The Fashionable Lover-Anonymous defamation-Oliver Goldsmith-Dr. JohnsonGoldsmith's comedies-Retaliation, Goldsmith's poems-Bishop Cumberland,
transferred to Kilmore-Death of-The choleric man-Mrs. Abington-Henderson-Death of the Earl of Halifax-Lord George Germain-Cumberland's
promotion.               150
CHAPTER V.
The American contest-Services to Lord George Sackville-His childrenOpera of Calypso-' The Widow of Delphi'-Lady Frances Burgoyne-Robert
Perreau —Dr. Dodd-Rodney-Anecdote of Germain —Anecdote of RodneyCharacter of-His nautical manceuvre-Lines to Lord Mansfield. 203
CHAPTER VI.
Mission to Spain-Occasion and incidents of-Storm at sea-Sea fight-Mr.
Lucas-A prize-Sea song-Arrival at Lisbon-Letters to Hillsborough-Visit
to Cintra-Sets out for Spain-Incidents of the journey-Appearance of the
country —Arrival at Madrid...... 212




CONTENTS.                              Vii
CHAPTER VII.
News of Lord George Gordon's riots —Influence of on the court of Spain-Progress of negotiations-Count D'Estaing-Florida Blanca-Galvez-Uncomfortable situation —Mr. Hussey-Departure of D'Estaing-Character of Hussey
— Thrown from his mule-His surgeons-Anecdote-Patrick Curtis-Letter
from Del Campo-Return of Hussey to England-Letters of Brutus-Visit to
the Escurial-Paintings-Interview with the king... 232
CHAPTER VIII.
The Prince of Asturias-His pavilion-Present of horses-Aneecdote of Cume:berland's daughter —Honors to the English monarch-The Princess Asturias
-Mode of life at Madrid-Count Kaunitz-Giusti-Pallavicini-Foreign
ambassador-His visitors-Tiranna-The Duke of Osuna-Anthony SmithRecalled-Generous offer of the Spanish king-Bills dishonored-Bad treatment-Memoirs-Official letters...                      252
CHAPTER IX.
Leaves Spain-Madrid-Progress and incidents of his homeward journey  277
CHAPTER X.
Secretary Robinson-Lord North-Lord George Germain-Sir Edward Sackville
-Duelling-Loses his situation at the Board of Trade-Removes to Tunbridge Wells-The men of Kent-Description of his house —Merciful to animals-His children-His books-' The Observer'-' Anecdotes of eminent
painters in Spain' —Offence to Sir Joshua Reynolds-' The Walloons'-' The
Mysterious Husband'-Henderson-' The Observer'-Habits of composition-'The Clouds'-Anecdote of Henderson-' The Arab'-Garrick-Anecdote of
Dr. Johnson-Reynolds-Romney-Lines to.        289
CHAPTER XI.
His dramas-Mrs. Siddons-Kemble-Reflections on theatrical fame-Controversy with the Bishop of Llandaff-With Dr. Parr-Mr. Dilly-BoswellRogers-Lines to Richard Sharpe-Sir James Bland Burges —Miss FarrenJohn Palmer-Lord Sackville —His interview  with Lord Mansfield —His
death-' The Impostor'-' Arundel'-Principles on which a novel should be
conducted-' Paradise Lost' -' Calvary'-' Tristranm  Shandy'-' Junius'Burke's reflections on the French Revolution-Variety of Cumberland's
writings-His dramatic labors-' The Jew'-Bannister-Dowton-Mrs. Bludworth-Fugitive compositions.         312




Viii                       CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XII.
Military preparations-Major Commandant-Drills-Presented with a swordThe volunteer system-His family-Lines to the Princess Amelia-Conclusion........        345
CHAPTER XIII.
Supplement-Reasons for writing-Difficulties in speaking of living characters
-His unpublished writings-Anecdote of his son and the seaman-Collision
with Mr. Hayley-Cowper-Dr. Bentley-Pitt-Cicero-Lines to Pitt-Nelson-Lord Collingwood-Commemorates the victory and death of NelsonSharon Turner-Earl of Dorchester-Reform in the newspapers-Love of
books-His health at Tunbridge Wells-Rev. Martin Benson-The men of
Kent-Volunteer companies-Captain of infantry-Residents at Tunbridge
Wells-Death of friends-Mr. Badcock-His children-Erskine-Answers to
letters-Lord Mansfield —Anecdote of Charles Townshend -Conversational
talents of Mansfield-Andrew Stuart-Lord North-Primate Robinson-Cathedral of Armagh-Sir William Robinson-Archbishop Moore-Doctor MossAnecdote of-Consequences of old age-Sir James Bland Burges-Moore-Sir
William Spencer-Eccentricities of eminent men-Edinburgh reviewersRodney's nautical manceuvre-Rev. Mr. Higgs-Doctor Drake-Epic poem-' The Exodiad'-His wife-His daughter-Apology to Mr. Smith-Drury Lane
and Covent Garden-Garrick-The stage-The profession of actor-Death
of Fox-Mr. Higgs-Mistakes in his' Memoirs'-Sir William Pepys-' A Hint
to Husbands'-Napoleon-Conclusion.        351




MEMO I R S
OF
RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
CHAPTER I.
Author's Preface-His ancestors-Doctor Richard Cumberland-Doctor Richard
Bentley —Swift's Battle of the Books —Anecdotes of Bentley-Collins-His
controversy with Bentley-Roger Cotes-Character of Bentley-Mrs. Bentley
-Richard Bentley, the younger —His connection with Horace WalpoleCharacter of Walpole-Elizabeth Bentley-Joanna Bentley, Cumberland's
mother-Author's reflections-His boyhood-His teacher, Arthur Kinsmlan —
Anecdote of —Cumberland at school-Joshua Barnes- Warburton-Death of
Dr. Bentley-Cumberland's success in his studies-Attempts English verse
-His homle-His mother forms his taste in poetry-Goes to WestminsterVincent Bourne-Warren Hastings-Colman-Hinchliffe, Smith, and Vincent
-Dr. Nichols-Execution of Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino-Anecdote of
Selwyn-Progress of the rebels-Westminster school-Eton school-Edmund
Ashby — Cumberland goes to the play-Garrick-Death of Cumberland's
sister-Enters Trinity College.
AT the close of the year 1804, whilst I am still in possession
of my faculties, though full of years, I sit down to give a history
of my life and writings.  I do not undertake the task lightly,
and without deliberation; for I have weighed the difficulties, and'
am prepared to meet them.  I have lived so long in this world,
mixed so generally with mankind, and written so voluminously
and so variously, that I trust my motives cannot be greatly misunderstood, if, with strict attention to truth, and in simplicity of
style, I pursue my narrative, saying nothing more of the immediate object of these memoirs, than in honor and in conscience I
am warranted to say.
I shall use so little embellishment in this narrative that, if the
reader is naturally candid he will not be disgusted; if he is easily
amused he will not be disappointed.
2




10        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
As I have been through life a negligent recorder of dates and
events relating to myself, it is very possible I may fall into errors
of memory as to the order and arrangement of certain facts and
occurrences; but whilst I adhere to veracity in the relation of
them, the trespass, I presume, will be readily overlooked.
Of many persons with whom I have had intercourse and connection, I shall speak freely and impartially. I know myself
incapable of wantonly aspersing the characters of the living or
the dead; but, though I will not indulge myself in conjectures,
I will not turn aside from facts, and neither from affectation of
candor, nor dread of recrimination, waive the privilege, which
I claim for myself in every page of this history, of speaking
the truth from my heart. I may not always say all that I
could; but I will never knowingly say of any man what I
should not.
As I am descended from ancestors illustrious for their piety,
benevolence, and erudition, I will not say I am not vain of that
distinction; but I will confess it would be a vanity, serving
only to expose my degeneracy, were it accompanied with the
inspiration of no worthier passion.
Doctor Richard Cumberland, who was consecrated Bishop of
Peterborough in the year 1691, was my great grandfather.  He
was author of that excellent work entitled'De Legibus Naturea,'
in which he effectually refutes the impious tenets of Hobbes; and
whilst he was unambitiously fulfilling the simple functions of a
parish priest in the town of Stamford, the revolution having
taken place, search was made after the ablest Protestant divines
to fill up vacancies in the hierarchy, and rally round their late
endangered church. WTithout interest, and without a wish to
emerge from his obscurity and retirement, this excellent man,
the vindicator of the insulted laws of nature, received the first
intelligence of his promotion from a paragraph in the public
papers, and, being then sixty years old, was with difficulty persuaded to accept the offer when it canme to him from authority.
The persuasion of his friends, particularly Sir Orlando B]ridgeman, at length overcame his repugnance; and to that see, though
very moderately endowed, he forever after devoted himself, and
resisted every offer of translation, though repeatedly made, and
earnestly recommended. To such of his friends who pressed an
exchange upon him, he was accustomed to reply that Peterborough was his first espoused, and should be his only one; and, in
fact, according to his principles, no church revenue could enrich
him, for I have heard my father say that, at the end of every
year, whatever overplus he found, upon a minute inspection of
his accounts, was by him distributed to the poor, reserving only




MY GREAT GRANDFATHER.                    11
one small deposit of twenty-five pounds in cash, found at his
death in his bureau, with directions to employ it for the discharge
of his funeral expenses; a sum, in his modest calculation, fully
sufficient to commit his body to the earth.
Such was the humility of this truly Christian prelate, and such
his disinterested sentiments as to the appropriation of his episcopal revenue. The wealthiest see could not have tempted him to
accumulate, the poorest sufficed. for his expenses, and of those
he had to spare for the poor; yet he was hospitable in his plain
and primitive style of living, and had a table ever open to his
clergy and his friends. He had a sweetness and placidity of temper that nothing ever ruffled or disturbed. I know it cannot be
the lot of human creature to attain perfection; yet so wonderfully near did this good man approach to consummate rectitude,
that, unless benevolence may be carried to excess, no other failing was ever known to have been discovered in his character.
His chaplain, Archdeacon Payne, who married one of his daughters, and whom I am old enough to remember, makes this observation in the short sketch of the bishop's life which he has
prefixed to his edition of'The Sanchoniatho.' This and his other
works are in the hands of the learned, and cannot need any effort
on my part to elucidate what they so clearly display, the vast
erudition and patient investigation of the author.
The death of this venerable prelate was, like his life, serene
and undisturbed: at the extended age of eighty-six years and
some months, as he was sitting in his library, he expired without
a struggle, for he was found in the attitude of one asleep, with
his cap fallen over his eyes, and a book in his hand, in which he
had been reading. Thus, without the ordinary visitations of
pain or sickness, it pleased God to terminate the existence of
this exemplary man.
HIe possessed his faculties to the last, verifying the only claim
he was ever heard to make as to mental endowments; for whilst
he acknowledged himself to be gifted by nature with good wearing parts, he made no pretensions to quick and brilliant talents;
and in that respect he seems to have estimated himself very truly,
as we rarely find such meek and modest qualities as he possessed
in men of warmer imaginations and a brighter glow of genius,
with less solidity of understanding, and, of course, more liable
to the influences of their passions.
Bishop Cumberland was the son of a respectable citizen of
London, and educated at St. Paul's school, from whence he was
admitted of Magdalen College in Cambridge, where he pursued
his studies, and was elected fellow of that society, to which I




12         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
had the honor to present a copy of that portrait from which the
print hereunto annexed was taken.l
In the oriental languages, in mathematics, and even in anatorny, he was deeply learned; in short, his mind was fitted for
elaborate and profound researches, as his works more fully testify. It is to be lamented that his famous work,'De Legibus
Naturse,' was allowed to come before the public with so many
and such glaring errors of the press, which his absence and considerable distance from London disabled him  from  correcting.
I had a copy interleaved and corrected and amended throughout
by Doctor Bentley, who, being on a visit to my father at his parsonage-house in Northamptonshire, undertook that kind office,
and completed it most effectually. This book I gave, when last
at Cambridge, to the library of Trinity College; and if by those
means it shall find a passport to the University press, I shall
have cause to congratulate myself for having so happily bestowed it.
Of Doctor Richard Bentley, my maternal grandfather, I shall
next take leave to speak. Of him I have perfect recollection.
His person, his dignity, his language, and his love, fixed my
early attention, and stamped both his image and his words upon
my memory. His literary works are known to all, his private
character is still misunderstood by many; to that I shall confine
myself, and, putting aside the enthusiasm of a descendant, I can
assert, with the veracity of a biographer, that he was neither
cynical, as some have represented him, nor overbearing and fastidious in the degree, as he has been described by many. Swift,
when he foisted him into his vulgar'Battle of the Books,' neither lowers B1entley's fame nor elevates his own; and the petulant poet, who thought he had hit his manner when he made him
haughtily call to W~alker for his hat, gave a copy as little like
the character of Bentley as his translation is like the original of
Homer.  That Dr. Walker, vice-master of Trinity College, was
the friend of my grandifather, and a frequent guest at his table,
is true; but it was not in Doctor Bentley's nature to treat him
with contempt, nor did his harmless character inspire it. As for
the hat, I must acknowledge it was of formidable dimensions,
I Cumberland's pleasing sketch of his paternal ancestor is justified by his contemporary reputation. He was a man of varied and profound learning, elevated
moral sentiments, and unaffected humility. From the year 1658, memorable
for the death of Cromwell, until he was raised to the Bishopric, in 1791, he clischarged the duties of a parish priest with zeal and unpretending piety. In
addition to the Treatise' De Legibus Nature,' he was the author of' An Essay on
the Jewish Weights and Measures;'' Sanchoniathon's Phoenician History,' translated from Eusebius; and' Origines Gentium Antiquissima.'




MY GRANDFATHER, DR. RICHARD BENTLEY.   13
yet I was accustomed to treat it with great familiarity, and, if it
had ever been further from the hand of its owner than the peg
upon the back of his great arm-chair, I might have been dispatched to fetch it, for he was disabled by the palsy in his latter
days; but the hat never strayed from its place, and Pope found
an office for Wallier that I can well believe he was never commissioned to in his life.l
I had a sister somewhat elder than myself. Had there been
any of that sternness in my grandfather, which is so falsely imputed to him, it may well be supposed we should have been
awed into silence in his presence, to which we were admitted
every day. Nothing can be further from the truth; he was the
unwearied patron and promoter of all our childish sports and
sallies; at all times ready to detach himself from any topic of
1 The essay of Sir William Temple, upon the subject of ancient and modern
learning, was the occasion of a famous controversy between Dr. Bentley and
Charles Boyle, afterwards Earl of Orrery. Sir William, in his essay, had highly
commended the Greek epistles of Phalaris; and Boyle subsequently published
a new edition of them. The essay of Temple was answered by W. Wotton,
B. D., with an appendix by Dr. Bentley.'In that appendix,' such is the account prefixed to Swift's'Battle of the Books,''the doctor falls hard upon a
new edition of Phalaris just out, by the Honorable Charles Boyle, to which Alr.
Boyle replied at large with great learning and wit; and the doctor voluminously
rejoined.' Bentley was opposed by the most celebrated wits and critics of his
time; but it has long been conceded that he was victorious. The spuriousness
of the epistles was successfully demonstrated. Swift's motive in attacking
Bentley is apparent. He wished to vindicate the literary judgment of his
patron, Sir William Temple, who had not escaped unscathed in the controversy.' Day being far spent,' such is Swift's description of the progress of the battle,
and Bentley's appearance on the field,' and the numerous forces of the moderns
half inclining to a retreat, there issued forth from a squadron of their heavyarmed foot a captain, whose name was Bentley, the most deformed of all the
moderns; tall, but without strength or proportion. His armor was patched up
of a thousand incoherent pieces; and the sound of it, as he marched, was loud
and dry, like that made by the fall of a sheet of lead, which an etesicna wind
blows suddenly down from the roof of some steeple. His helmet was of old
rusty iron, but the vizor was brass, which, tainted by his breath, corrupted into
copperas, nor wanted gall from the same fountain; so that, whenever provoked
by anger or labor, an atramentous quality of most malignant nature was seen
to distil from his lips. In his right hand he grasped a flail, and (that he might
never be unprovided of an offensive weapon) a vessel full of ordure in his left.
Thus completely armed, he advanced with a slow and heavy pace, where the
modern chiefs were holding a consult upon the sum of things; who, as he came
onwards, laughed to behold his crooked leg and hump shoulder, which his boot
and armor vainly endeavored to hide, were forced to comply with and expose.'
The' Battle of the Books,' like all Swift's works, abounds with wit, satire,
and coarseness.
Bentley's arrogance made him many enemies. The poets, especially, seemed
to owe him a grudge. Pope introduced him into' The Dulnciad,' and Dr. Garth
thus assailed him in his Dispensary:-'So diamonds owe a lustre to their foil,
And to a Bentley'tis we owe a Boyle.'




14        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
conversation, to take an interest and bear his part in our amusements. The eager curiosity natural to our age, and the questions
it gave birth to, so teasing to many parents, he, on the contrary,
attended to and encouraged, as the claims of infant reason never
to be evaded or abused; strongly recommending that to all such
inquiries answer should be given according to the strictest truth,
and information dealt to us in the clearest terms, as a sacred duty
never to be departed from. I have broken in upon him many a
time in his hours of study, when he would put his book aside,
ring his hand-bell for his servant, and be led to his shelves to
take down a picture-book for my amusement. I do not say that
his good nature always gained its object, as the pictures which
his books generally supplied me with were anatomical drawings
of dissected bodies, very little calculated to communicate delight; but he had nothing better to produce; and, surely, such
an effort on his part, however unsuccessful, was no feature of a
cynic: a cynic should be made of sterner stuff. I have had from
him, at times, whilst standing at his elbow, a complete and entertaining narrative of his schoolboy days, with the characters of
his different masters very humorously displayed, and the punishments described which they at times would wrongfully inflict
upon him for seeming to be idle and regardless of his task,'when the dunces,' he would say,'could not discover that I
was pondering it in my mind, and fixing it more firmly in my
memory than if I had been bawling it out amongst the rest of
my school-fellows.'
Once, and only once, I recollect his giving me a gentle rebuke
for making a most outrageous noise in the room over his library and disturbing him in his studies; I had no apprehension of
anger from him, and confidently answered that I could not help
it, as I had been at battledore and shuttlecock with Master Gooch,
the Bishop of Ely's son.' And I have been at this sport with
his father,' he replied;'but thine has been the more amusing
game, so there is no harm done.'
These are puerile anecdotes, but my history itself is only in
its nonage; and even these will serve in some degree to establish
what I affirmed, and present his character in those mild and
unimposing lights, which may prevail with those who know him
only as a critic and controversialistAs slashing Bentley with his desperate hook,
to reform and soften their opinions of him.
He recommended it as a very essential duty in parents to be
particularly attentive to the first dawnings of reason in their
children; and his own practice was the best illustration of his




CHARACTER OF DR. BENTLEY.                  15
doctrine; for he was the most patient hearer and most favorable
interpreter of first attempts at argument and meaning that I ever
knew.  WVhen I was rallied by my mother, for roundly asserting that I never slept, I remember full well his calling on me to
account for it; and when I explained it by saying I never knew
myself to be asleep, and therefore supposed I never slept at all,
he gave me credit for my defence, and said to my mother,'Leave your boy in the possession of his opinion; he has as
clear a conception of sleep, and at least as comfortable an one,
as the philosophers who puzzle their brains about it, and do not
rest so well.'
Though Bishop Lowth, in the flippancy of controversy called
the author of'The Philoleutherus Lipsiensis' and detector of
Phalaris, cut C67h)rimulgus aut fossor, his genius has produced
those living witnesses, that must for ever put that charge to
shame and silence. Against such idle inconsiderate words, now
dead as the language they were conveyed in, the appeal is near
at hand; it lies no further off than to his works, and they are
upon every reading man's shelves; but those, who would have
looked into his heart, should have stepped into his house, and
seen him in his private and domestic hours; therefore it is that
I adduce these little anecdotes and trifling incidents, which describe the man, but leave the author to defend himself.
His ordinary style of conversation was naturally lofty, and his
frequent use of thou and thee with his familiars carried with it a
kind of dictatorial tone, that savored more of the closet than
the court; this is readily admitted, and this on first approaches
might mislead a stranger; but the native candor and inherent
tenderness of his heart could not long be veiled from observation, for his feelings and affections were at once too impulsive
to be long repressed, and he too careless of concealment to attempt at qualifying them. Such was his sensibility towards human sufferings, that it became a duty with his family to divert
the conversation from all topics of that sort; and if he touched
upon them himself he was betrayed into agitations, which if the
reader ascribes to paralytic weakness, he will very greatly mistake a man who, to the last hour of his life, possessed his faculties firm and in their fullest vigor: I therefore bar all such misinterpretations as may attempt to set the mark of infirmity upon
those emotions, which had no other source and origin but in the
natural and pure benevolence of his heart.
He was communicative to all without distinction that sought
information, or resorted to him for assistance; fond of his college almost to enthusiasm, and ever zealous for the honor of
the purple gown of Trinity. When he held examinations for




16         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
fellowships, and the modest candidate exhibited marks of agitation and alarm, he never failed to interpret candidly of such
symptoms; and on those occasions he was never known to
press the hesitating and embarrassed examinant, but oftentimes,
on the contrary, would take all the pains of expounding on himself, and credit the exonerated candidate for answers and interpretations of his own suggesting. If this was not rigid justice,
it was, at least in my conception of it, something better and
more amiable; and how liable he was to deviate from the strict
line of justice, by his partiality to the side of mercy, appears
from the anecdote of the thief, who robbed him of his plate, and
was seized and brought before him with the very articles upon
him: the natural process in this man's case pointed out the
road to prison; my grandfather's process was more summary,
but not quite so legal.  While commissary Greaves, who was
then present, and of counsel for the college ex officio, was expatiating on the crime, and prescribing the measures obviously
to be taken with the offender, Doctor Bentley interposed, saying,'Why tell the man he is a thief? he knows that well
enough, without thy information, Greaves.-E- arkye, fellow,
thou seest the trade which thou hast taken up is an unprofitable
trade, therefore, get thee gone, lay aside an occupation by which
thou canst gain nothing but a halter, and follow that by which
thou mayst earn an honest livelihood.' Having said this, he
ordered him to be set at liberty against the remonstrances of
the by-standers, and insisting upon it that the fellow was duly
penitent for his offence, bade him go his way, and never steal
again.
I leave it with those, who consider mercy as one of man's best
attributes, to suggest a plea for the informality of this proceeding, and to such I will communicate one other anecdote, which
I do not deliver upon my own knowledge, though from unexceptiolnable authority, and this is, that when Collins had fallen
into decay of circumstances, Dr. Bentley, suspecting he had
written him out of credit by his'Philoleutherus Lipsiensis,'
secretly contrived to administer to the necessities of his baffled
opponent, in a manner that did no less credit to his delicacy
than to his liberality.'
Anthony Collins was a gentleman of ample estate, who devoted his
leisure to literature and philosophical inquiries. As a metaphysician, he discovered no mean ability, and displayed equal candor and courage in avowing
the conclusions to which his studies conducted him. In 1713 he published'A Discourse on Free-thinking.'  The object of the work was to vindicate the
unlimited frieedom of inquiry, and to expose the tyranny exercised by the
abettors of priestcraft, under paganism, Popery, or any other corrupt form of




CHARACTER OF DR. BENTLEY.                        17
A morose and overbearing man will find himself a solitary
being in creation;.Dr. Bentley, on the contrary, had many intimates; judicious in forming his friendships, he was faithful in
adhering to them.  With Sir Isaac Newton, Doctor Mead, Doctor Wallis of Stamford, Baron Spanheim, the lamented Roger
Cotes,' and several other distinguished and illustrious contemporaries, he lived on terms of uninterrupted harmony, and I
have good authority for saying, that it is to his interest and importunity with Sir Isaac Newton, that the inestimable publication of the'Principia' was ever resolved upon by that truly
great and  luminous philosopher.  Newton's portrait by Sir
James Thornhill, and those of Baron Spanheim  and my grandfather by the same hand, now hanging in the Master's lodge of
Trinity, were the bequest of Dr. Bentley. I was possessed of
letters in Sir Isaac's own hand to my grandfather, which, together with the corrected volume of Bishop Cumberland's'Laws
of Nature,' I lately gave to the library of that flourishing and
illustrious college.
The irreparable loss of Roger Cotes in early life, of whom
Newton had pronounced,'Now the world will know something,'
Doctor Bentley never mentioned but with the deepest regret;
he had formed the highest expectations of new lights and discoveries in philosophy from the penetrating force of his extraordinary genius, and on the tablet devoted to his memorNy, in
the chapel of Trinity College, Doctor Bentley has recorded his
sorrows and those of the whole learned world in the following
beautiful and pathetic epitaph:H. S. E.
Rogerus Roberti filius Cotes,
Hujus Collegii S. Trinitatis Socius,
Et Astronomie et experimentalis
religion. Collins, though distinguished both for moral and intellectual elevation, was nevertheless a disbeliever in Revelation.  In his Discourse, lhe
seemingly intended tp attack Revealed Religion generally. This called forth
Bentley, whose reply was entitled.'A Letter to F. H. (Francis Hare), D. D.,
by Philolentherus Lipsiensis.'
Cumberland, I suspect, has fallen into an error, when he speaks of Collins'
circumstances. I find no mention, in the biographical works I have consulted,
of his suffering from pecuniary difficulties.  He was born in 1676, and died in
1729.
This celebrated philosopher and mathematician, who died at the early age
of thirty-four, inspired all men of science with the highest opinion of his
abilities. He died too soon to fulfil the promise of his youth; but what nobler
eulogy could he covet, than Newton's exclamation, on hearing of his death:-'If Mr. Cotes had lived, we should have known something.' He was born in
1682, and died in 1716.'Delivering early to the voice of fame
The promise of a great immortal name.'




18        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Philosophiim Professor Plumianus;
Qui immatura Morte prlereptus,
Pauca quiclemn ingenii Sui
Pignora reliquit,
Sed egregia, sed admiranda,
Ex intimis Mathese6s penetralibus,
Felici Solertia turn primnum eruta;
Post magnum ilium Newtonuln
Societatis hujus spes altera
Et decus gemellulll;
Cui ad summanm Doctrinme laudem,
Omnes morum virtutlmque dotes
In cuuIiluniu accesserunt;
Eo magis spectabiles amabilesque,
Quod in formoso corpore
Gratiores venirent.
Natus Burbagii
In agro Leicestriensi.
Jul.. IDCLXXXII.
Obiit. Jun. v. v. DCCXVI.
HIis domestic habits, when I knew him, were still those of
unabated study: he slept in the room  adjoining to his library,
and was never with his family till the hour of dinner; at these
times he seemed to have detached himself most completely
from his studies; never appearing thoughtful and abstracted,
but social, gay, and possessing perfect serenity of mind and
equability of temper. IHe never dictated topics of conversation
to the company he was with, but took them up as they came in
his way, and was a patient listener to other people's discourse,
however trivial or uninteresting it might be.  When'The
Spectators' were in publication, I have heard my mother say he
took great delight in hearing them read to him, and was so particularly amused by the character of Sir Roger de Coverley, that
he took his literary decease most seriously to heart. She also
told me, that, when in conversation with him on the subject of
his works, she found occasion to lament that he had bestowed so
great a portion of his time and talents upon criticism instead of
employing them  upon original composition, he acknowledged
the justice of her regret with extreme sensibility, and remained
for a considerable time thoughtful and seemingly embarrassed
by the nature of her remark; at last recollecting himself, he
said:'Child, I am sensible I have not always turned my talents
to the proper use for which I should presume they were given
to me;' yet I have done something for the honor of my God and
the edification of my fellow creatures; but the wit and genius
of those old heathens beguiled me, and as I despaired of raising
myself up to their standard upon fair ground, I thought the




MY GRANDMOTHER.                           19
only chance I had of looking over their heads was to get upon
their shoulders.'
Of his pecuniary affairs he took no account; he had no use
for money, and dismissed it entirely from  his thoughts; his
establishment in the mean time was respectable, and his table
affluently and hospitably served. All these matters were conducted and arranged in the best manner possible by one of the
best women living; for such, by the testimony of all -who knew
her, was Mrs. Bentley, daughter of Sir John Bernard, of Brampton, in Huntingdonshire, a family of great opulence and respectability, allied to the Cromwells and Saint Johns, and by
intermarriages connected with other great and noble houses. I
have perfect recollection of the person of my grandmother, and
a full impression of her manners and habits, which, though in
some degree tinctured with hereditary reserve and the primitive
cast of character, were entirely free from  the hypocritical cant
and affected sanctity of the Oliverians.  Her whole life was
modelled on the purest principle of' piety, benevolence, and
Christian charity; and in her dying moments, my mother being
present and voucher of the fact, she breathed out her soul in a
kind of beatific vision, exclaiming in rapture as she expired,'It is all bright, it is all glorious!'
I was frequently called upon by her to repeat certain scriptural texts and passages which she had taught me, and for which
I seldom  failed to be rewarded, but by which I was also frequently most completely puzzled and bewildered; so that I
much doubt if the good effects of this practice upon immature
and infantine understandings, will be found to keep pace with
the good intentions of those who adopt it. One of these holy
apothegms, viz:'The eyes of the Lord are in every place,
beholding the evil and the good,' I remember to have cost me
many a struggle to interpret, and the result of my construction
was directly opposite to the spirit and meaning of the text. I
was also occasionally summoned to attend upon the readings of
Bentley was born on the 27th January, 1662. Thomas Bentley, his father,
is said to have been a blacksmith, and his mother, the daughter of a stonemason. To those, however, who value merit, in some measure according to its
pedigree, it may be well to mention that his ancestors, in the ascending dclegrees, belonged to the higher class of English yeomen. What Shakspeare is
among poets, and Bacon among philosophers, such is Bentley among critics.
As a man, however, we cannot join Cumlllberland in speaking his praise.
Learned, arrogant, rapacious and oppressive, lie seemed to be actuated by no
higher motives than power and interest.' His government of Trinity College,'
says the'Encyclopedia Britannica,''was that of an unprilncipled despot.' The
particulars of his life are too well known, or too easily referred to, to be repeated here. He died, July 14th, 1742.




20        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
long sermons and homilies of Baxter, as I believe, and ethers of
his period; neither by these was I edified, but, on the contrary,
so effectually wearied, that by noises and interruptions I seldom
failed to render myself obnoxious, and obtain my dismission
before the reading was over.
The death of this exemplary lady preceded that of my grandfather by a few years only, and by her he had one son, Richard,
and two daughters, Elizabeth and Joanna. Richard was a man
of various and considerable accomplishments; he had a fine
genius, great wit, and a brilliant imagination; he had also the
manners and address of a perfect gentleman, but there was a
certain eccentricity, and want of worldly prudence in my uncle's
character, that involved him in distresses, and reduced him to
situations uncongenial with his feelings, and unpropitious to the
cultivation and encouragement of his talents. His connection
with lMr. Horace Walpole, the late Lord Orford, had too much
of the bitter of dependence in it to be gratifying to the taste of
a man of his spirit and sensibility; the one could not be abject,
and the other, I suspect, was not by nature very liberal and
large minded. They carried on, for a long time, a sickly kind
of friendship, which had its hot fits and its cold; was suspended
and renewed, but I believe never totally broken and avowedly
laid aside. WValpole had by nature a propensity, and by constitution a plea, for being captious and querulential, for he was a
martyr to the gout. lie wrote prose and published it; he composed verses and circulated them, and was an author, who
seemed to play at hide-and-seek with the public. There was a
mysterious air of consequence in his private establishment of a
domestic printing press, that seemed to augur great things, but
performed little. Walpole was already an author with no great
claims to excellence, Bentley had those powers in embryo, that
would have enabled him to excel, but submitted to be the projector of Gothic establishments for Strawberry Hill, and humble
designer of drawings to ornament a thin folio of a meagre collection of odes by Gray, the most costive of poets, edited at the
Walpolian press. In one of these designs Bentley has personified himself as a monkey, sitting under a withered tree with his
pallet in his hand, while Gray reposes under the shade of a
flourishing laurel in all the dignity of learned ease. Such a
design with figures so contrasted might flatter Gray, and gratify
the trivial taste of Walpole; but, in my poor opinion, it is a
satire in copper-plate, and my uncle has most completely libelled
both his poet and his patron without intending so to do.
Let this suffice at present for the son of Doctor Bentley; in
the course of these memoirs I shall take occasion to recall the




ELIZABETH BENTLEY.                             21
attention of my readers to what I have further to relate of
him.'
Elizabeth Bentley, eldest dauvghter of her father, first married
Humphry Ridge, Esq., and, after his decease, the Rev. Dr. Favell,
fellow of Trinity College, and after his marriage with my aunt,
Rector of Witton,  near Huntingdon, in the gift of Sir John
Bernard, of Brampton.  She was an honorable and excellent
lady; I had  cause to love her, and lament her death.  She
I Bentley, the younger, possessed excellent talents, which, however, raised
him to no particular eminence. He was the friend of Gray, and, at one time,
of Walpole. The Gothic villa of Strawberry Hill owed much of its fame to his
taste and designs. He had a natural turn for architecture, but never gave to
the art any special study. Walpole, in one of his letters, styles him' a true
treasure of taste and drawing.' The temper of Walpole was capricious, and his
friendship precarious. He quarrelled with Bentley, as with Gray, and'the
good-humored, laughing George Montague.' Cumberland, however, has unjustly disparaged his genius.'It is the fashion,' said Byron,'to underrate
Horace Walpole; firstly, because he was a nobleman, and, secondly, because he
was a gentleman; but to say nothing of the composition of his incomparable
letters, and of' The Castle of Otranto,' he is the ultimtes Rlwoilaorum, the author
of the' Mysterious Mother,' a tragedy of the highest order, and not a puling loveplay. He is the father of the first romance, and of the last tragedy in our language, and surely worthy of a higher place than any living author, be he who
he may.' —Preface to' ih/iarilo Faliero.'
Such is Byron's estimate of his literary labors; Macaulay thus portrays
his character.'He was,' says the brilliant essayist and historian,'unless
we have formed a very erroneous judgment of his character, the most eccentric, the most artificial, the most fastidious, the most capricious of men. His
mind was a bundle of inconsistent whims and affectations. His features were
covered by mask within mask.  WVhen the outer disguise of obvious affectation was removed, you were still as far as ever from seeing the real man.
He played innumerable parts, and overacted them all. When le talked misanthropy, he out-Timoned Timon. When he talked philanthropy, he left
Howard at an immeasurable distance. He scoffed at courts, and kept a
chronicle of their most trifling scandal; at society, and was blown about by its
slightest veerings of opinion; at literary fame, and left fair copies of his private
letters, with copious notes to be published after his decease; at rank, and never
for a moment forgot that he was an honorable; at the practice of entail, and
tasked the ingenuity of conveyancers to tie up his villa in the strictest settlement.
The conformation of his mind was such, that whatever was little seemed to him
great, and whatever'was great seemed to him little.  Serious business was a
trifle to him, and trifles were his serious business. To chat with blue stockings;
to write little copies of complimentary verses on little occasions; to superintend
a private press; to preserve from natural decay the perishable topics of Ranelagh and White's; to record divorces and bets, Miss Chudleigh's absurdities
and George Selwyn's good sayings; to decorate a grotesque house with pie-crust
battlements; to procure rare engravings and antique chimney-boards; to match
odd gauntlets; to lay out a maze of walks within five acres of ground-these
were the grave employments of his long life. From these he turned to politics
as an amusement. After the labors of the print-shop and the auction-room, he
unbent his mind in the House of Commons. And, having indulged in the recreation of making laws andl voting millions, he returned to more important pursuits-to researches after Queen Mary's comb, Wolsey's red hat, the pipe which
Van Tromp smoked during his last seafight, ancl the spur which King William
struck into the flank of sorrel.'




22        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
inherited the virtues and benignity of her mother, with habits
more adapted to the fashions of the world.
Joanna, the younger of Doctor Bentley's daughters, and the
Phcebe of Byrom's pastoral, was my mother.' I will not violate
the allegiance I have vowed to truth in giving any other character of her than what in conscience I regard as just and faithful. She had a vivacity of fancy and a strength of intellect in
which few were her superiors: she read much, remembered
well, and discerned acutely: I never knew the person who could
better embellish any subject she was upon, or render common
incidents more entertaining by the happy art of relating them;
her invention was so fertile, her ideas so original, and the points
of humor so ingeniously and unexpectedly taken up in the progress of her narrative, that she never failed to accomplish all
the purposes which the gayety of her imagination could lay itself
out for: she had a quick intuition into characters, and a faculty
of marking out the ridiculous, when it came within her view,
which of force I must confess she made rather too frequent use
of. Her social powers were brilliant, but not uniform, for on
some occasions she would persist in a determined taciturnity, to
the regret of the company present, and at other times would
lead off in her best manner, when perhaps none were present
who could taste the spirit and amenity of her humor. There
hardly passed a day in which she failed to devote a portion of
her time to the reading of the Bible; and her comments and
expositions mnighlt have merited the attention of the wise and
learned. Though strictly pious, there was no gloom in her religion, but, on the contrary, such was the happy faculty which
she possessed of making every doctrine pleasant, every duty
sweet, that what some instructors would have represented as a
burden and a yoke, she contrived to recommend as a recreation
and delight. All that son can owe to parent, or disciple to his
teacher, I owe to her.
iMy npaternal grandfather, Richard, only son of Bishop Cumberland, was rector.of Peakirk, in the diocese of Peterborough,
and A  c-hdeacon  of Northampton.  He had two sons and one
daughter, who was married to WVaring Ashby, Esquire, of Quenby
Hall, in the county of Leicester, and died in childbirth of her
only son, George Ashby, Esquire, late of IHaselbeach, in Northamptonshire. Richard, the eldest son of Archdeacon Cumberland, (died unmarried, at the age of twenty-nine, and the younger,
Denison, so named from his mother, was my father. He was
educated at Westminster School, and from that admitted fellow1 Dr. Byrom's Pastoral was printed in No. 603 of the'Spectator.'




MY BIRTH.                       23
commoner of Trinity College, in Cambridge. I-e married at the
age of twenty-two, and though in possession of an independent
fortune, was readily prevailed upon by his father-in-law, Doctor
Bentley, to take the rectory of Stanwiclc, in the county of NTorthampton, given to him by Lord Chancellor King, as soon as he
was of age to hold it. From this period, he fixed his constant
residence in that retired and tranquil spot, and sedulously devoted
himself to the duties of his function.  WVhecn I contemplate the
character of this amiable. man, I declare to truth I never yet
knew one so happily endowed with those engaging qualities
which are formed to attract and fix the love and esteem of mankind. It seemed as if the whole spirit of his grandfather's benevolence had been transfiused into his heart, and that he bore as
perfect a resemblance of him in goodness, as he did in person: in
moral purity he was truly a Christian, in generosity and honor
he was perfectly a gentleman.
On the nineteenth day of February, 1732, I was born, in the
Master's Lodge of Trinity College, inlter sil'as Academi, under the
roof of my grandfather Bentley, in what is called the Judge's
Chamber. Having therefore prefaced my history with these -few
faint sketches of the great and good men whom I have the honor
to number amongst my ancestors, I must solicit the condescension of my readers to a much humbler topic, and proceed to
speak professedly of myself.
Here, then, for a while, I pause for self-examination, and to
weigh the task I am about to undertake. I look into my heart;
I search my understanding; I review my life, my labors, the
talents I have been endowed with, and the uses I have put them
to, and it shall be my serious study not to be found guilty of
any partial estimates, any false appreciations of that self, either
as author or man, which of necessity must be made to fill so large
a portion of the following pages. When, from the date at which
my history now pauses, I look forward through a period of mnore
than seventy and two years, I discover nothing within mnay horizon of which to be vain-glorious; no sudden heights to turn
me giddy, no dazzling gleams of fortune's sunshine to bewilder
me; nothing but one long, laborious track, not often strewed
with roses, and thorny, cold, and barren, towards the conclusion
of it, where weariness wants repose, and age has need of comfort. I see myself unfortunately cast upon a lot in life neither
congenial with my character, nor friendly to my peace; combating with dependence, disappointment, and disgusts, of various
sorts, transplanted from a college, within whose walls I had devoted myself to studies, which I pursued with ardent passion
and a rising reputation, and what to obtain?  What, but the




24        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
experience of difficulties, and the credit of overcoming them;
the useful chastisement which unkindness has inflicted, and the
conscious satisfaction of not having merited, nor, in any instance
of my life, revenged it?
If I do not know myself I am not fit to be my own biographer;
and if I do know myself I am sure I never took delight in egotisms, and now behold! I am self-devoted to deal in little else.
Be it so! I will abide the consequences; I will not tell untruths
to set myself out for better than I have been, but as I have not
been overpaid by my contemporaries, I will not scruple to exact
what is due to me from posterity.-Ipse cle me scribam. (Cic.)
I have said that I was born on the 19th of February, 1732; I
was not the eldest child, though the only son, of my mother;
my sister Joanna was more than two years older than I, and more
than twice two years before me in apprehension, for whilst she
profited very rapidly by her mother's teaching, I by no means
trod in her steps, but, on the contrary, after a few unpromising
efforts, peremptorily gave up the cause, and persisted in a stubborn repugnance to all instruction. My mother's good sense and
my grandfather's good advice concurred in the measures to be
taken with me in this state of mutiny against all the powers of
the alphabet; my book was put before me, my lesson pointed
out, and though I never articulated a single word, I conned it
over in silence to myself. I have traces of my sensations at this
period still in my mind, and perfectly recollect the revolt I received from reading of the Heathen Idols, described in the 115th
psalm as having eyes and not seeing, ears, and not hearing, with
other contrarieties, which between positive and negative so completely overset my small stock of ideas, that I obstinately stood
fast upon the halt, dumb and insensible to instruction as the
images in question. Of this circumstance, exactly as I relate
it, with those sensations, which it impressed upon my infan tine
mind, I now retain, as I have already said, distinct recollection.
If there is any moral in this small incident, which can impart
a cautionary hint to the teachers of children, my readers will
forgive me for treating them with a story of the nursery. I
have only to add, that when I at length took to my business,
I have my mother's testimony for saying that I repaid her
patience.
iMy family divided their time between Cambridge and Stanwick so long as my grandfather lived, and when I was turned
of six years I was sent to the school at Bury Saint Edmund's,
then under the mastership of the Reverend Arthur Kinsman,
who formed his scholars upon the system of TVestminster, and
was a Trinity College man, much esteemed by my grandfather.




ARTHUR KINSATAN.                     25
This school, when I came to it, was in high reputation, and
numbered a hundred and fifty boys. Kinsman was an excellent master, a very sufficient scholar, and had all the professional requisites of voice, air and aspect, that marked him out
at first sight as a personage decidedly made on purpose-habere
imperium in pueros. In his hands I can truly witness the reins
of empire never slackened, but we did not murmur against his
authority, for with all his warmth of temper he was kind, cordial,
open-hearted, and an impartial administrator of punishments
and praises, as they were respectively deserved.  His name
was high in the counties of Suffolk and Norfolk, and the chief
families in those parts were present with him in the persons of
their representatives, and some yet living can bear witness to
the vigor of his arm. He was fiery zealous for the honor of his
school, which by the terms of his establishment was subject to
the visitation of those who were in the government of it, and
I remember, upon a certain occasion, when these gentlemen
entered the school-room, in the execution of their office (I
being then in the rostrum in the act of construing Juvenal), he
ordered me to proceed without noticing their appearance, and
something having passed to give him offence against one of
their number in particular, taking up the passage then under
immediate recitation, he echoed forth, in a loud and pointed
tone of voiceNos, nostraqaue lividus odit.
It must be confessed that my good old master had a vaunting
kind of style in setting forth his school, and once in conversation with my grandfather in Trinity Lodge, he was so unaccountably misled by the spirit of false prophecy, as to venture
to say, in a rallying kind of way-' Master, I will make your
grandson as good a scholar as yourself.'-To this Doctor
Bentley, in the like vein of raillery, replied-' Pshaw, Arthur,
how can that be, when I have forgot more than thou ever
knew'st?'  Certain it is that my inauspicious beginnings
augured very ill for the bold prediction, thus improvidently
hazarded; for so supremely idle was I, and so far from being
animated by the charms of the Latin grammar, that the labor
of instruction was but labor lost, and it seemed a chance if I
was destined to arrive at any other acquirement but the art of
sinking, in which I regularly proceeded till I found my proper
station at the very bottom of my class, which, as far as idleness
could be mny security, I was likely to take lasting possession of.
I am persuaded, however, that the tranquillity of my ignorance
would have suffered no interruption from the remonstrances of
3




26        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
the worthy usher of the under-school, who sat in a plaid nightgown and let things take their course, had not the penetrating
eye of old Kinsman discovered the grandson of his friend far in
the rear of the line of honor, and in a fair train to give the flattest contradiction to his prophecy. Whereupon, one day, which
by me canll never be forgotten, calling me up to him in his chair
at the head of the school, he began with much solemnity and in
a loud voice to lecture me very sharply, whilst all eyes were
upon rne, all ears open, and a dead silence, horrible to my feelings, did not leave a hope that a single word had escaped the
notice of my schoolfellows. I well remember his demanding of
me what report I could expect him to make of me to my grandfather Bentley. I shuddered at the name, even at that early age so
loved and so revered. I made no defence-I had none to makeand he went thundering on, further perhaps than he need to have
gone, had he given less scope to his zeal, and trusted more to his
intuition, for the keenness of his reproof had sunk into my heart;
I was covered with shame and confusion. I retired abashed to
my seat, which was the lowest in my class, and that class the
lowest save one in the under-school. I hid my face between my
hands, resting my head upon the desk before me, and gave myself up to tears and contrition; when I raised my eyes and looked
about me, I thought I discovered contempt in the countenances
of the boys. At that moment the spirit of emulation, which had
not yet awaked in my heart, was thoroughly roused; but whilst
I was thus resolving upon a reform I fell ill, whether from agitation of mind or from cause more natural I know not. I was,
however, laid up in a sick bed for a considerable time, and in
that piteous situation visited by my mother, who came fi-om
Cambridge on the alarm, and under her tender care I at length
regained both my spirits and my health.
My mother now returned to Cambridge, and I was taken into
Kinsman's own house as a boarder, where, being associated with
boys of a better description, and more immediately under the
eye of my most timely admonisher, I took all the pains that my
years would admit of to deserve his better opinion and regain
my lost ground. My diligence was soon followed by success,
and success encouraged me to fresh exertions.
I presume the teachers of grammar do not expect boys of a
very early age to understand it as a body of rules, but merely
as an exercise of memory; yet it is well to imprint it on their
memories, that they may more readily apply to it as they advance in their acquaintance with the language.  I had naturally a good memory, and practice added such a facility of getting by heart, that in my repetitions, when we challenged for




ARTHUR KINSMIAN.                    27
places, I entered the lists with all possible advantages, and soon
found myself able to break a lance with the very best of my
competitors. The good man in the plaid gown now began to
regard me with less than his usual indifference, and my early
star was evidently in the ascendant. Such were to me the happy
colnsequences of my worthy master's seasonable admonition.
Artier the decease of Mrs. Bentley, my mother, whose devotion
to her father was returned by the warmest affection on his part,
passed much of her time, as my father did of his, at Cambridge;
there I also passed my holidays, and the undescribable gratification those delightful seasons gave me hath left traces of the times
long pasit;nd the persons now dead, that can only be effaced by
death, and of their surviving even that I should be loth to lose
the hope. I was become capable of understanding my grandfather to be the great man he really was, and began to listen to
him with attention, and treasure up his sayings in my mind. I
was admitted to dine at his table, had my seat next to his chair,
served him in many little offices, and went upon his errands
with a promptitude and alacrity that showed what pride I took
in such commissions, and tempted his good nature to invent occasions for employing me.
One day, I full well remember, nay old master Kinsman walked
into the room, and was welcomed by my grandfather with the
cordiality natural to him. In the mean time my heart fluttered
with alarm and dread of that report which he had once threat.
ened to prefer against me: nothing could be further from his
generous thoughts, and as soon as ever he was at leisure to
notice such an insignificant little being, it was with the affection
an(l caresses of a father; when I looked in his face, there was
no longer any feature of the schoolmaster in it, the terrors of
the ferula and the rod were vanished out of sight, and that upright strutting little person, which in authority was so awful,
had now relaxed from its rigidity, and no longer strove to swell
itself into importance. Arthur, notwithstanding, was a great
man on his own ground, and though he venerated the master of
Trinity College, he did not renounce a proper self-esteem for the
master of Bury School, and the dignity appertaining to that
office, which he filled, and to which Bentley himself had once
stooped for instruction. He was a gay social fellow, who loved
his?tiend and had no antipathy to his bottle; he had then a kind
c;' Jitshing discourse, savoring somewhat of the shop, which trifles
did not check and contradiction could not daunt. He had at this
very time been recreating his spirit with the company in the combination room, and was fairly primed with priestly port. My
grandfather, I dare say, discovered nothing of this, and Walker,




28          hMEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
who accompanied Kinsman to the lodge, was exactly in that
state when silence is the best resort. Arthur, in the mean time,
whose tongue conviviality had by no means tied up, began to
open his school books upon Bentley, and had drawn him  into
Homer; Greek now rolled in torrents from the lips of Bentley,
and the most learned of moderns chanted forth the inspired rhapsodies of the most illustrious of ancients in a strain delectable
indeed to the ear, but not very edifying to poor little me and the
ladies; nay, I should even doubt if the master of Bury School
understood all that he heard, but that the worthy vice-master of
Trinity was innocent of all apprehension, and clear of the plot,
if treason was wrapped up in it, I can, upon my knowledge of
him, confidently vouch. This, however, I remember, and my
mother has frequently, in time past, refreshed my recollection
of it, that Joshua Barnes, in the course of this conversation,
being quoted by Kinsman, as a man understanding Greek, and
speaking it almost like his mother tongue-'Yes,' replied Bentley,'I do believe that Barnes had as much Greek, and understood it about as well, as an Athenian blacksmith.'"  Of Pope's
IIomer he said he had read it; it was an elegant poem, but no
translation. Of the learned Warburton, then in the outset of
his fame, he remarked that there seemed to be in him  a voracious appetite for knowledge; he doubted if there was a good
digestion. This is an anecdote I refer to those who are competent to make or reject the application.2
I Joshua Barnes was born at London, on the 10th of January, 1654, and died
the 3d of August 1712. Notwithstanding Bentley's disparaging comment on
his attainments, Barnes was considered one of the most learned Greek scholars
of his clay. He was Greek professor at Cambridge, and published an edition
of Anacreon and Homer. He is said to have been more remarkable for the
quickness of his wit, and the happiness of his memory, than for the solidity
of his judgment. As a theologian, he maintained that spiritual sins, such as
pride, defamation, &c., were more offensive to God than those which spring
from too great an indulgence of the senses.
2 If we judge of Warburton's abilities from the terms in which Dr. Johnson
speaks of them, in his edition of Shakspeare, we shall rate them highly. Others
of his contemporaries, however, distrusted his learning, and despised his talents.
The pride, not to say, the insolence of his manners, made him many enemies.
Hie was once addressed in a pamphlet,' To the most impudent man alive.'
Warburton was thus referred to in Johnson's celebrated interview with
George III. The king said,'that he heard Dr. Warburton was a man of such
general knowledge, that you could scarce talk with him on any subject on
which he was not qualified to speak, and that his learning resembled Garrick's
acting, in its universality.' His Majesty then talked of the controversy between
Warburton and Lowth, which he seemed to have read, and asked Johnson
what he thought of it.  Johnson answered,'Warburton has most general,
most scholastic learning; Lowth is the more correct scholar. I do not know
which of them calls names best.' The king was pleased to say he was of the
same opinion; adding,'You do not think then, Dr. Johnson, that there was




DEATH OF DR. BENTLEY.                  29
At no great distance of time from this period, which I have
been now recording, Doctor Bentley died, and was buried in
Trinity College chapel, by the side of the altar table, where a
square, black stone records his name, and nothing more. It remains with the munificence of that rich society to award him
other monumental honors, whenever they may think it right to
grace his memory with a tablet. He was seized with a complaint
that, in his opinion, seemed to indicate a necessity of immediate
bleeding; Dr. Heberden, then a young physician, practising in
Cambridge, was of a contrary opinion, and the patient acquiesced.
His friend, Dr. Wallis, in whose skilful practice and experience
he so justly placed his confidence, was, unfortunately, absent from
Stamford, and never came upon the summons for any purpose
but to share in the sorrows of his family, and lament the noncompliance with the process he had recommended, which, according to his judagment of the case, was the very measure he
should himself have taken.
I believe I felt as much affliction as my age was capable of
when my master K(insman imparted the intelligence of my grandfather's death to me, taking me into his private chamber, and
lamenting the event with great agitation.  Whilst I gave vent
to my tears, he pressed me tenderly in his arms, and encouraging
me to persist in my diligence, assured me of his favor and protection. He kept me out of school for a few days, gave me private instruction, and then sent me forth, ardently resolved to
acquit myself to his satisfaction. From this time, I may truly
say my task was my delight. I rose rapidly to the head of my
class, and, in the whole course of my progress through the upper
school, never once lost my place of head boy, though daily challenged by those who were as anxious to dislodge me from my
post as I was to maintain myself in it. As I have the honor to
name both Bishop Warren and his brother Richard, the physician,
as two amongst the most formidable of my form-fellows, I may
venture to say, that school-boy must have been more than commonly alert whom they could not overtake and depose; but the
exertion of my competitors was such a spur to my industry and
ambition, that my mind was perpetually in its business. IHad I,
in any careless moment, suffered a discomfiture, my mortification would have been most poignant; but the dread I had of that
event caused me always to be prepared against it, and I held
possession of my post under a suspended sword, that hourly
menaced me without ever dropping.
much argument in the case.' Johnson said he did not think there was.'Why
truly,' said the king,' when once it coemes to calling names, argument is pretty
well at an end.'-Bosiwell's Johnson, vol. ii. p. 39.




30        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Whilst I dwell on the detail of anecdotes like the above, I
must refer myself to the candor of the reader, but though it behoves me to study brevity, where I cannot furnish amusement,
it would be totally inconsistent with the plan I have laid down,
to pass over in total silence this period of my life; an era in the
history of every man's mind and character, only to be omitted
when it is not to be obtained; a plea which those, who are their
own biographers, are not privileged to make.
AMy good old master was a hospitable man, and every Wednesday held a kind of public day, to which his friends and neighbors used to resort. On that day he drank his bottle of port
and played his game of back-gammlon, after which he came in
gayety of heart to evening-school for one hour only. It was a gala
day for all the boys, and for me in particular, as I was sure on
all those occasions to be ordered up to the rostrum to recite and
expound Juvenal, and he seldom failed to keep me so employed
through the whole time.  He had a great partiality for that nervous author, and I remember his reciting the following passage
in a kind of rapturous enthusiasm in the ears of all the school,
crying out that he defied the writers of the Augustan age to
produce one equal to it. The classical reader very probably will
not second his opinion, but I dare say he will not fail to anticipate the passage, which is as follows:Esto bonus miles, tutor bonus, arbiter idemn
Integer; ambigume siquando citabere causwe,
Incertaeque rei, Phalaris licet imperet ut sis
Falsus, et almoto dictet perjuria Tauro,
Summumn crede nefas animam preferre padori,
Et propter vitam vivencli perdere causas.
This is unquestionably a fine passage and a sublime moral,
but I rather suspect there is a quaintness, and something of
what the Italians call concetto, in the concluding line, that is not
quite in the style and cast of the purer age.
The tasks of a school-boy are of three descriptions: he is to
give the construction of his author, to study his repetitions, and
to write what are called his exercises, whether in verse or prose.
In the former two, the tasks of construing and saying by heart,
it was the usage of our school to challenge for places: in this
province my good fortune was uncloucled; in my exercises I
did not succeed so well, for, by aiming at somnething like fancy
and invention, I was too frequently betrayed into grammatical
errors, whilst my rivals presented exercises with fewer faults,
and, by attempting scarcely anything, hazarded little.  These
premature and imperfect sallies, which I gave way to, did rame no
credit with my master, and once in particular, upon my giving




CRITICAL SEVERITY.                   31
in a copy of Latin verses, unpardonably incorrect, though not
entirely void of imagination, he commented upon my blunders
with great severity, and in the hearing of my form-fellows threatened to degrade me from my station at their head. I had earned
that station by hard labor and unceasing assiduity; I had maintained it against their united efforts for some years, and the dread
of being at once deprived of what they had not been able to
take from me, had such an effect on my sensibility, that I never
perfectly recovered it, and probably should at no time after have
gained any credit in that branch of my school business, had I
not been transplanted to Westminster.
The exercise, for which I was reprehended, I well remember
was a copy of verses upon Phalaris's bull, which bull I confess
led me into some blunders, that my master might have observed
upon with more temper. I stood in need of instruction, and he
inflicted discouragement.
Though I love the memory of my good old master, and am
under infinite obligations to his care and kindness, yet having
severely experienced how poignant are the inflictions of discouragement to the feelings, and how repulsive to the efforts of the
unformed embryo genius, I cannot state this circumstance in any
better light than as an oversight in point of education, which,
though well-intentioned on his part, could only operate to destroy what it was his object to improve.
When the talents of a young and rising author shall be found
to profit by the denunciations and browbeatings of his hypercritical contemporaries, then, and not till then, it will be right
to train up our children according to this system, and discouragement be the best model for education, which the conductors
of it can adopt.
As our master had lately discontinued his custom of letting
his boys act a play of Terence before the Christmas holidays,
after the example of Westminster, some of us undertook without his leave, though probably not without his knowledge and
connivance, to get up the tragedy of Cato at one of the boardinog-houses, and invite the gentry of the town to be present at
our childish exhibition. WVe escaped from school one evening, and climbed the wall that intercepted us from the scene of
action, to prepare ourselves for this goodly show. A full-bottomed periwig for Cato, and female attire for Portia and Marcia, borrowed from the maids of the lodging house, were the
chief articles of our scanty wardrobe, and of a piece with the
wretchedness of our property was the wretchedness of our performance. Our audience, however, which was not very select,
endured us, and we slept upon our laurels, till the next morning




32        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
being made to turn out for the amusement of the whole school,
and go through a scene or two of our evening's entertainment,
we acquitted ourselves so little to the satisfaction of Mr. Kinsman, that after bestowing some hearty buffets upon the virtuous
MlIarcia, who had towered above her sex in the person of a most
ill-favored wry-necked boy, the rest of our dramnatis personce
were sentenced to the fine of an imposition, and dismissed. The
part of Juba had been my cast, and the tenth satire of Juvenal
was my portion of the fine inflicted.
It was about this time I made my first attempt in English
verse, and took for my subject an excursion I had made with
my family in the summer holidays to visit a relation in HIampshire, which engaged me in a description of the docks at Portsmouth, and of the races of Winchester, where I had been present. I believe my poem was not short of a hundred lines, and
was written at such times as I could snatch a few minutes from
my business or amusements. I did not like to risk the consequences of confiding it to my school-fellows, but kept it closely
secret till the next breaking up, when I exhibited it to my father,
who received it after his gracious manner with unreserved commendation, and persisted in reciting it to his intimates, when I
had gained experience enough to wish he had consigned it to
oblivion.
Though I have no copy of this childish performance, T bear
in my remembrance two introductory couplets, which were the
first English lines I every wrote, and are as follows:Since every scribbler claims his share of fame,
And every Cibber boasts a Dryden's name,
Permit an infant Muse her chance to try;
All have a right to that, and why not I?
One other lame and miserable couplet just now occurs to me,
as being quoted frequently upon me by my mother as an instance in the art of sinking, and it is clear I had stumbled upon
it in my description of the dock-yard, viz:-'Here they weave cables, there they main-masts form,
Here they forge anchors-useful in a storm.'
Mly good father, however, was not to be put by fromn his defences by trifles, and stoutly stood by my anchors, contending
that as they were unquestionably useful in a storm, I had said no
more of them than was true, and why should I be ashamed of
having spoken the truth?  Yet ashamed I was some short time
after, not indeed for having violated the truth, but for suppressing it, and my dilemma was occasioned by the following circumstance. I had picked up an epigram amongst my school-fellows,




PARSONAGE HOUSE OF STANWICK.                  33
which struck my fancy, and without naming the author (for I
knew him not), I repeated it to my father-it was thisPoets of old did Argus prize
Because he had an hundred eyes,
But sure more praise to him is due,
WVho looks an hundred ways with two.
In repeating this epigram, which perhaps the reader can find
an author for, I did not give it out as my own, but it was so understood by my father, and he circulated it as mine, and took
pleasure in repeating it as such amongst his friends and intimates.
In this state of the mistake, when his credit had been affixed to
it, I had not courage to disavow it, and the time being once gone
by for saving my honor, I suffered him  to persist in his error
under the continual terror of detection.  The dread of thus forfeiting his good opinion hung upon my spirits for a length of
time; it passed, however, undiscovered to the end of his life, and
I now implore pardon of his memory for the only fallacy I ever
put upon him to the conviction of my conscience.
After the death of Doctor Bentley, my family resided in the
parsonage house of Stanwick near Higham Ferrers in Northarnptonshire; it had been newly built from the ground by my father's
predecessor, Doctor Needham, from a plan of Mr. Burroughs, of
Caius College, an architect of no small reputation; it was a handsome square of four equal fronts, built of stone, containing four
rooms on a floor, with a gallery running through the centre; it
was seated on the declivity of a gentle hill, with the village to
the south, amongst trees and pasture grounds in view, and a
small stream in the valley between; on the north, west and south
were gardens, on the east the church at some little distance, and
in the intermediate space an excellent range of stables and coach
houses, built by my father, and forming one side of a square
court laid out for the approach of carriages to the house. The
spire of Stanwick Church is esteemed one of the most beautiful
models in that style of architecture in the kingdom; my father
added a very handsome clock and ornamented the chancel with
a railing, screen and entablature upon three-quarter columns,
with a singing gallery at the west end, and spared no expense to
keep his church not only in that neatness and decorum which
befits the house of prayer, but also in a perfect state of good and
permanent repair.
Here in the hearts of his parishioners, and the esteem of his
neighbors, my good father lived tranquil and unambitious, never
soliciting other preferment than this for the space of thirty years,
holding only a small prebend in the church of Lincoln, given to




34        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
him by his uncle, Bishop Reynolds. lie was in the commission
of the peace, and a very active magistrate in the reconcilement
of parties, rather than in the commitment of persons: in those
quiet parts offences were in general trivial, and the differences
merely such as an attorney could contrive to hook a suit upon,
so that with a very little legal knowledge, and a very hospitable
generous disposition, my father rarely failed to put contentious
spirits to peace by reference to the kitchen and the cellar. In
the mean time, his popularity rose in proportion as his beer-barrels sunk, and as often as he made peace he made friends, till, I
may say without exaggeration, he had all men's good word in
his favor and their services at his command. In the mean time,
such was the orderly behavior and good disciplinie of his own
immediate flock, that I have frequently heard him say he never
once hlead occasion during his long residence amongst them to
issue his warrant within the precincts of his own happy village,
which being seated between the more populous and less correct
parishes of Raunds and Higham-Ferrers, he used appositely to
call Little Zoar, but made no further allusions to the evil neighborhood of Zoar.
In this peaceful spot, with parents so affectionate, I was the
happiest of beings in my breakings-up from school. Those delightful scenes are fresh in my remembrance, and when I have
occasionally revisited them, since the decease of objects ever so
dear to me, the sensations they have excited are not for me to
describe. I had inherited an excellent constitution, and, though
not robust in make, was more than commonly adroit in my
athletic exercises. In swiftness of foot for a short distance no
boy in Bury School could match me, and, when at Cambridge,
I gave a general challenge to the collegians, which was decided
in Trinity Walks in my favor.
Those field sports, of which the young and active are naturally
so fond, I enjoyed by my father's favor, in perfection, and in
my winter holidays constantly went out with him  upon his
hunting days, and was always admirably mounted. I-e was
light and elegant in his person, and had in his early youth kept
horses and rode matches at Newmarket after the example of
his elder brother; but though his profession had now put a stop
to those levities, he shared in a pack of hariers with a neighboring gentleman, and was a bold uand excellent rider. In my first
attendances upon him to the field, the joys of hunting scarcely
coimpensated for the terrors I sometimes felt in following him
against may will upon a racing' galloway, which he had purchased of old Panton, and whose attachment to her leader was
such as left me no option as to the pace I would wish to go, or




MY MOTHER'S INSTRUCTIONS.                 35
the leaps I would avoid to take. At length, when age added
strength and practice gave address, falls became familiar to me,
and I left both fear and prudence behind me in the pleasures of
the chase.
It was in these intervals from school that my mother began
to form both my taste and my ear for poetry, by employing me
every evening to read to her, of which art she was a very able
mistress. Our readings were, with very few exceptions, confined
to the chosen plays of Shakspeare, whom she both admired and
understood in the true spirit and sense of the author. Under
her instruction I became passionately fond of these our evening
entertainments; in the mean time she was attentive to model my
recitation, and correct my manner with exact precision. IHer
comments and illustrations were such aids and instructions to a
pupil in poetry as few could have given. What I could not else
have understood she could aptly explain, and what I ought to
admire and feel nobody could more happily select and recommend. I well remember the care she took to mark out for my
observation the peculiar excellence of that unrivalled poet in the
consistency and preservation of his characters; and wherever
instances occurred amongst the starts and sallies of his unfettered
fancy of the extravagant and false sublime, her discernment
oftentimes prevented me from being so dazzled by the glitter of
the period as to misapply my admiration, and betray my want
of taste. With all her father's critical acumen she could trace,
and teach me to unravel, all the meanders of his metaphor, and
point out where it illuminated, or where it only loaded and obscured the meaning; these were happy hours and interesting
lectures to me, whilst my beloved father, ever placid and complacent, sate beside us, and took part in our amusement: his
voice was never heard but in the tone of approbation; his countenance never marked but with the natural traces of his indelible
and hereditary benevolence.
The effect of these readings was exactly that which was naturally to be foreseen. I began to try my strength in several
slight attempts towards the drama, and as Shakspeare was most
upon my tongue and nearest to my heart, I fitted and compiled
a kind of cento, which I intitled'Shakspeare in the Shades,'
and formed into one act, selecting the characters of Hamlet and
Ophelia, Romeo and Juliet, Lear and Cordelia, as the persons
of my drama, and giving to Shakspeare, who is present throughout the piece, Ariel, as an attendant spirit, and taking for the
motto to my title-pageAst alii sex,
Et plures, uno concelamant ore



36          MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
I should premise that I was now at the head of Bury School,
though only in my twelfth year, and not very slightly grounded
in the Greek and Latin classics there taught.
The scene is laid in Elysium, where the poet is discovered,
and opens the drama with the following address:-' Most fair and equal hearers, know that whilst this soul inhabited its fleshly
tabernacle, I was called Shakspeare; a greater name and more exalted honlors
have dignified its dissolution. Blest with a liberal portion of the divine spirit,
as a tribute clue to the bounty of the gods, I left behind me an immortal monument of my fame. Think not that I boast; the actions of departed beings
may not be censured by any mortal wit, nor are accountable to any earthly
tribunal. Let it suffice that in the graveWVhen we have shuffled off this mortal coilall envy and detraction, all pride and vain-glory are no more; still, a grateful
remembrance of humanity, and a tender regard for our posterity on earth follow us to this happy seat; and it is in this regard I deign once more to salute
you with my favored presence, and am content to be again all actor for your
sakes. I have been attentive to your sufferings at my mournful scenes; guardian of that virtue, which I left in distress, I come now, the instrument of Proviclelce, to compose your sorrows, and restore to it the proportioned reward.
Those bleeding characters, those martyred worthies, whom I have sent untimely
to the shades, shall now, at length, and in your sight, be crowned with their
beloved retribution, and the justice, which as their poet I withheld from them,
as the arbiter and disposer of their fate, I will award to them; but for the villain and the adultererThe perjured and the simular man of virtuethe proud, the ambitious, and the murderer, I shall
Leave such to heaven,
And to those thorns, that in their bosoms lodge
To prick and sting them.But soft! I see one coming, that often hath beguiled you of your tears-the
fair Ophelia-'
The several parties now make their respective appeals, and
Shakspeare finally summons them  all before him  by his agent
Ariel, for whose introduction he prepares the audience by the
following soliloquy-' Now comes the period of my high commission:
All have been heard, and all shall be restor'd,
All errors blotted out and all obstructions,
Mortality entails, shall be remov'd,
And from the mental eye the film withdrawn,
Which in its corporal union had obscur'd
And clouded the pure virtue of its sight.
But to these purposes I must employ
My ready spirit, Ariel, some time minister
To Prospero, and the obsequious slave
Of his enchalntments, from whose place preferr'dc
lie here attends to do me services,




SHAKSPEARE  IN  THE  SHADES.                       37
And qualifies these beings for ElysiumHoa! Ariel, approach my dainty spirit!'
(ARIEL enters.)
All hail, great master, grave sir, hail! I come
To answer thy best pleasure; be it to fly,
To swilm, to dive into the fire, to ride
On the curled clouds-to thy strong-bidding task
Ariel and all his qualitiesSHAKSPEARE.' Know then, spirit,
Into this grove six shades consign'd to bliss
I've separately remov'd, of each sex three;
Unheard of one another and unseen
There they abide, yet each to each endear'd
By ties of strong affection: not the same
Their several objects, though the effects alike,
But husband, father, lover mlake the change.
Now though the body's perish'd, yet are they
Fresh from their sins and bleeding with their wrongs;
Therefore all sense of injury remove,
Heal up their wounded faculties anew,
And pluck affliction's arrow from their hearts;
Refine their passions, for gross sensual love
Let it become a pure and faultless friendship,
Raise and confirm their joys, let them exchange
Their fleeting pleasures for immortal peace:
This done, with speed conduct them each to other
So chang'd, and set the happy choir before me.'
I have the whole of this puerile production, written in a schoolboy's hand, which by some chance has escaped the general wreck,
in which I have lost some records, that I should now be glad to
resort to.  I am  not quite sure that I act fairly by my readers
when I give any part of it a place in these memoirs, yet as an
instance of the  impression, which my mother's lectures had
made upon my youthful fancy, and perhaps as a sample of composition indicative of more thought and contrivance, than are
commonly to be found in boys at so very early an age, I shall
proceed to transcribe the concluding part of the scene, in which
Romeo has his audience, and can truly  affirm that the copy is
faithful without the alteration or addition of a single word:Ronno.'0 thou, the great disposer of my fate,
Judge of my actions, patron of my cause,
Tear not asulnder such united hearts,
But give me up to love and my Juliet.
SHAKSPEArIE.'Unthinking youth, thou dost forget thyself;
Rash inconsiderate boy, must I again
Remind thee of thy fate? What! know'st thou not
The man, whose desperate hand foredoes himself,




38          MIEMIOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Is doomn'd to wander on the Stygian shore
A restless shade, forlorn and comfortless,
For a whole age? Nor shall he hope to soothe
The callous ear of Charon, till he win
His passion by repentance and submission
At this my fixed tribunal, else be sure
The wretch shall hourly pace the lazy wharf
To view the beating of the Stygian wave,
And waste his irksome leisure.'
RoMEo.
Gracious powers,
Is this my doom, my torment-?  Heaven is here
Where Juliet lives, and each unworthy thing
Lives here in heaven and may look on her,
But Romeo may not: more validity,
More honorable state, more worship lives
In carrion flies than Romeo; they may seize
On the white wonder of my love's dear hand,
And steal immortal blessings from her lips,
But Romeo may not;'He is doom'd to bear
An age's pain and sigh in banishment,
To drag a restless being on the shore
Of gloomy Styx, and weep into the flood,
Till, with his tears made full, the briny stream'
Shall kiss the most exalted shores of all.
SIHAKSPEARE.'Now then dost thou repent thy follies past?
ROIEo.'Oh, ask me if I feel my torments present,
Then judge if I repent my follies past.
Had I but powers to tell you what I feel,
A tongue to speak my heart's unfeign'd contrition,
Then might I lay the bleeding part before you;
But'twill not be-something I yet would say
To extenuate my crime; I fain would plead
The merit of my love-but I have doneHowever hard my sentence, I submit.
My faithless tongue turns traitor to my heart,
And will not utter what it fondly prompts;
A rising gust of passion drowns my voice,
And I'm most dumb when I've most need to sue.
(iK eels.)
SIIA-SPEARE.
Arise, young sir! before my mercy-seat
None kneel in vain; repentance never lost
The cause she pleaded. Mercy is the proof,
The test that, marks a character divine;'Were ye like nierciful to one another,
The earth would be a heaven and men the gods.
Withdraw awhile; I see thy heart is full;
Grief at a crime committed merits more
Than exultation for a duty done.
(RoaEcO zwithdraws.)




MY REMOVAL TO WESTMINSTER.                       39
SIJAKSPEARE REMAINS AND SPEAKS-'What rage is this, 0 man, that thou should'st dare
To turn unnatural butcher on thyself,
And thy presumptuous violent hand uplift
Against that fabric which the gods have rais'cl?
Insolent wretch, did that presumptuous hand
Temper thy wond'rous frame? Did that bold spirit
Inspire the quicken'd clay with living breath?
Do not deceive thyself. Have the kind gods
Lent their own goodly image to thy use
For thee to break at pleasure?What are thy merits? Where is thy dominion?
If thou aspir'st to rule, rule thy desires.
Thou poorly turn'st upon thy helpless body,
And hast no heart to check thy growing sills:
Thou gain'st a mighty victory o'er thy life,
But art enslaved to thy basest passions,
And bowest to the anarchy within thee.
0! have a care
Lest at thy great account thou should'st be found
A thriftless steward of thy master's substance.'Tis his to take away, or sink at will,
Thou but the tenant to a greater lord,
Nor maker, nor the monarch of thyself.'
I select these extracts because what is within hooks is of my
own composing, whereas, in the preceding scenes, where the
characters make their appeal, I perceive I had in general contrived to let them speak the language which their own poet had
given to them.  I presume to add that the passages I have
extracted from. their parts, as they stand in the originals of their
great author, are ingeniously enough chosen, and appositely introduced. I likewise take the liberty to observe that where I
have, in those scenes above alluded to, connected the extracts
with my own dialogue, considering it as the work of so mere a
novice, it is not contemptibly executed.  As I have solemnly
disavowed all deception or finesse in the whole conduct of these
memoirs, so in this instance I have not sought to excite surprise
by making my years fewer, or my verses better than they strictly
and truly were, having faithfully attested the one, and correctly
transcribed the other.
My worthy old master at Bury, now in the decline of life,
intimated his purpose of retiring; and my father took the opportunity of transplanting me to Westminster, where he admitted
me under Doctor Nichiols, and lodged me in the boarding-house,
then kept by Ludford, where he himself had been placed.  He
took me in his hand to the master, who seemed a good deal surprised to hear that I had passed through Bury school at the age
of twelve, and immediately put a Homer before me, and after
that an ode in Horace.  I turned my eyes upon my father, and




40         AMEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
perceived him to be in considerable agitation.  There happened
to be no occasion for it, as the passages were familiar to me,
and my amiable examiner seemed perfectly disposed to approve,
cautioning me, however, not to read in too declamatory a style,'which,' said he,'my boys will call conceited.'  It was highly
gratifying to me to hear him  say that he had found the boys
who came out of Mr. Kinsman's hands generally better grounded
in their business than those who came from  other schools.  The
next day he gave nme a short examination for form-sake at the
table, and placed me in the Shell; as I was then only twelve
years old, and small in stature for my years, my location in so
high a class was regarded with some surprise by the corps into
which I was so unexpectedly enrolled. Doctor Johnson, afterwards Bishop of Worcester, was then second master; Vincent
Bourne,l  well known to the literary world for his elegant Latin
verses, was usher of the fifth form, and Lloyd, afterwards second
master, was at the fourth.  Cracherode, the learned collector and
naunificent benefactor to the Royal Museum, was in the head
election, and at that time as grave, studious, and reserved as he
was through life, but correct in morals and elegant in manners,
not courting a promiscuous acquaintance, but pleasant to those
who knew him, beloved by many, and esteemed by all.  At the
head of the town boys was the Earl of lIuntingdon, whom I
should not name as a boy; for he was even then the courtly and
accomplished gentleman such as the world saw and acknowledged
him to be.  The late Earl of Bristol, the late Earl of Buckinghamshire, and the late Right Honorable Thomas Harley were my
form-fellows; the present Duke of Richmond, then Lord March,
WVarren Itastings,2 Colman,3 and Lloyd were in the under school,
I Vincent Bourne was educated at Westminster School and Trinity College.
The taste and elegance of his Latin compositions were his titles to distinction.
For several years prior to his death, which occurred in 1747, he was undermaster at WVestminster. His character commnandeci the respect, but his habits
and manners exposed him to the pleasantry of his pupils.
2 The name of Warren Hastings involuntarily associates itself with one of the
striking passages of British history. Eloquence has employed her most bewitchinog strains to assail or praise him; but when the influence of contemporary opinion shall cease to operate, history will sit in judgment on his career.
Before that trlibunal, the circumstances and motives that determinecd his conduct,
in the great points of his life, will be weighed, and impartially pronounced on.
It will be told that his abilities were ever equal to his power; that his most
reprehensible acts were not committed in mere wantonness, but as subsidiary
to the great purposes of his rule; that if he was rancorous in his hatreds, he was
firm in his friendships; and that no sordid, mercenary motive, throughout his
long career, was the impelling motive of his conduct. l1elzas iEqea it Ardutis,
is the inscription beneath his portrait in the Council-chamber of Calcutta; and
justly expressive of his constancy and fortitude.
3 Colhlnan, the author of' The Jealous W~ife' andi'Clandestine Marriage,' was




MY SCHOOLMATES.                         41
and, what is a very extraordinary coincidence, there were then
in school together three boys, Hinchliffe, Smith, and Vincent,
who afterwards succeeded to be severally head masters of'Westminster School, and not by the decease of any one of them.
H-inchliffe might well be called the child of fortune, for he
was born in penury and obscurity, and was lifted into opulence
and high station, not by the elasticity of his own genius, but by
that lucky combination of opportunities, which merit has no
share in making, and modesty no aptitude to seize. At Trinity
College I knew him as an under-graduate below my standing;
in the revolution of a few years! saw him  in the station aforetime filled by my grandfather as m:aster of the college, and holding with it the bishopric of Pe'erborough; thus doubly dignified with those preferments which had separately rewarded the
learned labors of Cumberland and Bentley.
Smith labored longer and succeeded less, yet he wisely chose
his time for relaxation and retirement, whilst he was yet unexhausted by his toils, sufficiently afflueilt to enjoy his independence, and, with the consciousness of having done his duty, to
consult his ease, and to dismiss his cares.
Vincent, whom  I love as a friend and honor as a scholar,
has at length found that station in the deanery of Westminster,
which, whilst it relieves him from  the drudgery of the schoolmaster, keeps him still attached to the interests of the school,
and eminently concerned in the superintendence and protection
of it. As boy and mnan he made his passage twice through the
forms of Westminster, rising step by step from  the very last
boy to the very captain of the school, and again from the junior
usher through every gradation to that of second and ultimately
of senior master; thus, with the interval of four years only devoted to his degree -it Cambridge, Westminster has indeed kept
possession of his person, but has let the world partake with her
in the profit of lis researches.  Without deserting the laborious
post) to which his duty fettered him, his excursive genius led
him over seas and countries far remote, to follow and develop
tracts, redeem authorities, and dig up evidences long buried in
the grave of ages.  Thaeis is the more to his honor, as his hours
born at Florence, in 1733. EHis. father and Lord Bath, the great rival of Sir
Robert Walpole, married sisters;n and, by that nobleman's desire, he entered
upon the study of the law, and A,.A called to the bar. But Apollo and Littleton, says Wycherly, seldom mraet in the same brain; the law proved an uncongenial pursuit, and he devoted himself to the muses and tlio belleslettres. He
was connected for the greater part of his life with the drama, and though
slightingly mentioned by Walpole, was justly distinguished as an author and
critic.
A1




42        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
of study were never taken but from his hours of relaxation, and
he stole no moment from the instruction of the bov to enrich
the understanding of the man. His last work, small in bulk,
but great in matter, was an unanswerable defence of public education, by which, with an acuteness that reflects credit on his
genius, and a candor that does honor to his heart, he demonstrates the advantages of that system, which had so well prospered under his care, and generously forbears to avail himself
of those arguments which, in a controversy with such an opponent, some men would have resorted to. Let the mitred preacher
against public schools rejoice in silence at his escape, but when
the yet un-mitred master of the Temple, indisputably one of the
first scholars and finest writers of his time, leaves the master of
Westminster in possession of the field, it is not from want of
courage, it less can be from want of capacity, to prolong the
contest; it can only be from the operation of reason on a candid
mind, and a clearer view of that system, which, whilst he was
denouncing, he probably did not recollect that he was himself
most unequivocally patronizing in the instance of his own son.
Diversion of thought I well know is not uncommon with him,
perversion never will be imputed to him.
When I found, upon coming into the Shell, that my station
was to be quiescent, and that all challenging for places was at
an end, I regretted it as an opportunity lost for turning out
with new competitors, so much my seniors in age, and who
seemed to regard me with an air of conscious superiority. I
sat down, however, with ardor to my school business and also
to my private studies, and I soon perceived that I had now no
discouragements to contend with in my attempts at composition, for the very first exercise in Latin verse, which I gave in,
gained the candid approbation of the master, and from that moment I acquired a degree of confidence in myself that gave
vigor to my exertions; and though I bear all possible respect
and gratitude to the memory of that kind friend of my youth,
whose rigor was only the effict of anxiety for my well-doing,
yet I cannot look back to this period of my education without
acknowledging the advantages I experienced in being thus transplanted to Westminster, where to attempt was to succeed, and
placed under a master, whose principle it evidently was to
cherish every spark of genius which he could discover in his
scholars, and who seemed determined so to exercise his authority,
that our best motives for obeying him should spring from the
affection that we entertained for him. Arthur Kinsman certainly knew how to make his boys scholars; I)Dr. Nichols had
the art of making his scholars gentlemen; for there was a court




CHARACTER OF IMY PRECEPTOR.               43
of honor in that school, to whose unwritten laws every member
of our community was amenable, and which, to transgress by
any act of meanness that exposed the offender to public contempt, was a degree of punishment, compared to which the
being sentenced to the rod would have been considered as an
acquittal or reprieve.
Whilst I am making this remark, an instance occurs to me of
a certain boy from the fifth, who was summoned before the
seniors in the seventh, and convicted of an offence which, in the
high spirit of that school, argued an abasement of principle and
honor: Doctor Nichols having stated the case, demanded their
opinion of the crime, and what degree of punishment they conceived it to deserve; their answer was unanirnously —'The
severest that could be inflicted' -'I can inflict none more
severe than you have given him,' said the master, and dismissed
him without any other chastisement.
It was not many days after my admission that I myself stood
before him as a culprit, having been reported by the monitor
for escaping out of the Abbey during divine service, and joining
a party of my school-fellows for the unjustifiable purpose of intruding ourselves upon a meeting of quakers at their devotions.
W}e had not been guilty of any gross impertinence, but the
offence was highly reprehensible, and when my turn came to be
called up to the master, I presume he saw my contrition, when,
turning a mild look upon me he said aloud:'Erubuit, salva est
res,' and sent me back to my seat.
Was it possible not to love a character like this? Nichols
certainly was a complete fine gentleman in his office, and entitled
to the respect and affection of his scholars, who in his person
found a master not only of the dead languages, but also of the
living manners. As for me, who had experienced his lenity in
the instance above related, it cannot be to my credit that I was
destined to put his candor once more to the prodf, yet so it was
that in an idle moment I was disingenuous enough to give in
an exercise in Latin verse, every line of which I had stolen out
of Duport, if I rightly recollect. It passed inspection without
discovery, and Doctor Nichols, after commending me for the
composition, read my verses aloud to the seniors in the seventh
form, and was proceeding to renew his praises, when, being
touched with remorse for the disgraceful trick by which I had
imposed upon him, I fairly confessed that I had pirated every
syllable, and humbly begged his pardon. He paused a few moments and then replied:'Child, I forgive you; go to your
seat and say nothing of the matter. You have gained more
credit with me by your ingenuous confession than you could




44:        MEMA1OIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
have got by your verses, had they been your own.' I must
be allowed to add, in palliation of this disreputable anecdote,
that I had the grace to make the voluntary atonement next
mnorning of an exercise as tolerable as my utmost pains and capacity could render it.  I gave it in uncalled for; it was graciously received, and I took occasion to apprise the seniors in
the seventh, that I had repented of my attempt.
About this time the victory of Culloden having given the
death's-blow to the rebel cause, the Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino were beheaded upon Tower Hill.'  The elegant person
of the former, and the intrepid deportment of the latter, when
suffering on the scaffold, drew pity even from the most obdurate,
and I believe it was at that time very generally lamented, that
mercy, the best attribute of kings, was not, or could not be
extended to embrace their melancholy case; every heart that
felt compassion for their fate could find a plea for their offence;
amongst us at school we had a great majority on the side of
mercy, and not a few who, in the spirit of those times, divided
in opinion with their party. In the mean while it seemed a
point of honor with the boys neither to inflame nor insult each
other's feelings on this occasion, and I must consider the decorum observed by such young partisans on such an occasion as
a circumstance very highly to their credit.  I don't doubt but
respect and delicacy towards our kind and well-beloved master
hadl a leading share in disposing them  to that orderly and hunmane behavior.
WVhen the rebels were in march and had advanced to Derby,
appearances were very gloomy; there was a language held by
some, who threw off all reserve, that menaced danger, and intimidated many of the best affected. In the height of this alarm,
the Honorable Mirs. Wentworth, grandmother of the late Marquis of Rockingham, fearing that the distinguished loyalty of
her noble house might expose her to pillage, secured her papers
and buried her plate, flying to my father's house for refuge,
where she remained an inmate during the immediate pressure
of the danger she apprehended.  Here I found her at my breaking up from school, a fugitive from her mansion at Harrowden,
and residing in the parsonage house at Stanw-ick.  She was a
venerable and excellent lady, and retained her friendship for
I Selwyn, it is well known, had a morbid curiosity to witness criminal executions. He was present at the trials of Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino-observing a Mrs. Bethel (a daughter of Lord Sandclys, who was distinguished by
what has been happily styled a liatchet face), looking wistfully at the rebel lords,' Wha t a shame it is,' he said,' to turn her face to the prisoners till they are
condemnecl.'-Selzvyn and his Contemporaries, vol. i. p. 11.




MARTIAL ARDOR OF MY FATHER.                45
my family to her death: she gave me a copy of the great Earl
of Strafford's Letters in two folio volumes magnificently bound.
This was the time for my good father, who I verily think
never knew fear, to stand forward in the exertion of that popularity, which was almost without example. He had been conspicuously active in assembling the people of the neighboring
parishes, where his influence lay, and persuading them to enroll
and turn out in the defence of their country. This he did in
the very crisis of general despondency and alarm, whilst the
disaffected in a near-neighboring quarter, abetted by a noble
family, which I need not name, in tlhe height of their exultation
were burning him in effigy, as a person most obnoxious to their
principles and most hostile to their cause. In a short time, at
the expense merely of the enlisting shilling per man, he raised
two full companies of one hundred each for the regiment then
enrolling under the command of the Earl of HIalifax, and marched
them in person to Northampton, attended by four picked men
on his four coach horses, where he was received on his entrance
into the town with shouts and acclamations expressive of applause so fairly merited. The Earl of Halifax, then high in
character and graceful in his person, received this tribute of my
father's loyalty as might naturally be expected, and as a mark
of his consideration insisted upon bestowing one of these companies upon me, for which I had the commission, though I was
then too young to take command. An officer was named with
the approbation of my father, to act in my place, and the regiment set out on their route for Carlisle, then in the hands of
the Highlanders. There many of them lost their lives in the
siege, and the smallpox made such cruel havoc amongst our
young peasantry, that, although they had in the first instance
been cheaply raised, the distresses of their families brought a
very considerable and lasting charge upon the bounty of my
father.
I remained at Westminster School, as well as I can recollect,
half a year in the Shell, and one year in the sixth form, and I
cannot reflect upon this period of my education without ac
knowledging the reason I have to be contented with the time so
passed. I did not indeed drink long and deeply at the Helicon
of that distinguished seminary, but I had a taste of the spring
and felt the influence of the waters. In point of composition I
particularly profited, for which I conceive there is in that school
a kind of taste and character, peculiar to itself, and handed down
perhaps from times long past, which seems to mark it out for a
distinction, that it may indisputably claim, that of having been
above all others the most favored cradle of the Muses. If any




46         MIEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
are disposed to question this assertion, let them turn to the lives
and histories of the poets and satisfy their doubts. I know there
is a tide, that flows from the very fountain-head of power, that
has long run strongly in another channel, but the vicinity of
Windsor Castle is of no benefit to the discipline and good order
of Eton School.'  A  wise father will no more estimate his son's
improvement by the measure of his boarding-house bills and
pocket money amount, than a good soldier will fix his preference
on a corps, because it happens to figure in the most splendid
uniform, and indulge in the most voluptuous and extravagant
mess.
When I returned to school I was taken as a boarder into the
family of Edmund Ashby, Esq., elder brother of Waring, who
had been married to my father's sister.  This gentleman had a
wife and three daughters, and occupied a spacious house in Peter
Street, two doors from the turning out of College Street.  Having been set aside by the will of his father, he was in narrow
circumstances, and his style of living was that of economy upon
the strictest scale. No visitor ever entered his doors, nor did
he ever go out of them in search of amusement or society.
Temperate in the extreme, placid and unruffled, he simply vegetated without occupation, did nothing, and had nothing to do,
never seemed t to trouble himself with much thinking, or interrupt the thoughts of others with much talking, and I don't recollect ever to have found him engaged with a newspaper, or a
book, so that had it not been for the favors I received from  a
few Canary birds which the ladies kept, I might as well have
boarded in the convent of La Trappe. I confess my spirit felt
the gloomy influence of the sphere I lived in, and my nights
were particularly long and heavy, annoyed as they were by the
I George III. was very partial to Eton School. Dr. Quincey thus relates the
incident of his suddenly meeting the king in one of the walks at Frogmore,
while, together with his young friend, Lord W, he was'practically commenting on the art of throwing stones.''The king,' says he,'having first
spoken with great kindness to my companion, inquiring circumstantially about
his mother and grandmother, as persons particularly well known to himself,
then turned his eye upon me. What passed was pretty nearly as follows:
My name, it seems, from what followed, had been communicated to him as we
were advancing; he did not, therefore, inquire about that. Was I of Eton?
was his first question. I replied that I was not, but I hoped I should be. Had
I a father living? I had not; my father had been dead about eight years.'But you have a mother?' I had.'And she thinks of sending you to Eton?'
I answered tl hat she had expressed such an intention in my hearing; but I was
not sure whether thact might not be in order to waive an argument with the person to whom she spoke, who happened to have been an Etonian.' Oh, but
all people think highly of Eton; everybody praises Eton; your mother does
right to inquire; there can be no harm in that; but the more she inquires the
more she will be satisfied; that I can answer for.'-Life and 3lcTanmers.




RECOLLECTIONS OF GARRICK.                 47
yells and howlings of the crews of the depredators, which infest
that infamous quarter, and sometimes even roused and alarmed
us by their pilfering attacks. In some respects, however, I was
benefited by my removal from Ludfords, as I was no longer
under the strict confinement of a boarding-house, but was once
or twice allowed to go, under proper convoy, to the play, where
for the first time in my life I was treated with the sight of Garrick in the character of Lothario; Quin played Horatio, Ryan
Altamont, Mrs. Cibber Calista, and Mrs. Pritchard condescended
to the humble part of Lavinia. I enjoyed a good view of the
stage from the front row of the gallery, and my attention was
riveted to the scene. I have the spectacle even now as it were
before my eyes. Quin presented himself upon the rising of the
curtain in a green velvet coat embroidered down the seams, an
enormous full-bottomed periwig, rolled stockings, and high-heeled
square-toed shoes; with very little variation of cadence, and in
a deep full tone, accompanied by a sawing kind of action,
which had more of the senate than of the stage in it, he rolled
out his heroics with an air of dignified indifference, that seemed
to disdain the plaudits that were bestowed upon him. Mrs.
Cibber, in a key high-pitched, but sweet withal, sung or rather
recited Rowe's harmonious strain, something in the manner
of the Improvisatores; it was so extremely wanting in contrast,
that, though it did not wound the ear, it wearied it; when she
had once recited two or three speeches, I could anticipate the
manner of every succeeding one; it was like a long old legendary ballad of innumerable stanzas, every one of which is sung to
the same tune, eternally chiming in the ear without variation
or relief. Mrs. Pritchard was an actress of a different cast, had
more nature, and of course more change of tone, and variety
both of action and expression: in my opinion the comparison
was decidedly in her favor; but when, after long and eager expectation, I first beheld little Garrick, then young and light and
alive in every muscle and in every feature, come bounding on
the stage, and pointing at the wittol Altamont and heavy-paced
HIoratio —heavens, what a transition! —it seemed as if a whole
century had been stepped over in the transition of a single scene;
old things were done away, and a new order at once brought
forward, bright and luminous, and clearly destined to dispel the
barbarisms and bigotry of a tasteless age, too long attached to
the prejudices of custom, and superstitiously devoted to the illusions of imposing declamation. This heaven-born actor was
then struggling to emancipate his audience from the slavery they
were resigned to, and though at times he succeeded in throwing
in some gleams of new-born light upon them, yet in general they




48         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMIBERLAND.
seemed to love darkness better than light, and in the dialogue of
altercation  between  Horatio and Lothario, bestowed far the
greater show of hands upon the master of the old school than
upon the founder of the new. I thank my stars, my feelings in
those moments led me right; they were those of nature, and
therefore could not err.'
At the house of Mr. Ashby I had a room to myself, a solitude
within it, and silence without; I had no plea for neglecting my
studies, for I had no avocations to draw me off; and no amusements to resort to.  I pursued my private studies without intermission, and having taken up the Georgics for recreation's sake,
I began to entertain myself with a translation in blank verse of
Virgil's beautiful description of the plague amongst the cattle,
beginning at verse 478 of the third book, and continued to the
end of the same, viz:Hic quondam morbo cceli miseranda coorta est
Tempestas, &c. &c.
As this is one of the very few samples of my'Juvenilia,' which
I have thought well enough of to preserve, I shall now insert it
verblattm  from  my first copy, and, without repeating  former
Garrick's appearance on the boards of a theatre in Goodman's Fields, the
19th of October, 1741, marked a change in the style of dramatic representations in England. He abandoned the artificial declamation of the prevailing
school, and adhered to nature and truth. The effect was wonderful.' All the
town,' wrote Walpole to Sir Horace Mann, May 26, 1742,' is now after Garrick, a wine merchant, who is turned player at Goodman's Fields. He plays
all parts, and is a very good mimic. His acting I have seen, and may say to
you, who will not tell it again here, I see nothing wonderful in it; but it is
heresy to say so.  The Duke of Argyle says he is superior to Betterton.''Garrick,' said Sir Joshua Reynolds, and surely he is a more reliable judge
than Walpole,'produces more amusement than anybody.''No wonder, sir,
that he is vain,' said Johnson,'a man who is perpetually flattered in every
mode that can be conceived. So many bellows have blown the fire that one
wonders he is not by this time become a cinder.'  Boswell.-' And such bellows, too. Lord Mansfield, with his cheeks like to burst; Lord Chatham, like
an ZEolus. I have read such notes from them to him, as were enough to turn
his head.' Johnson.-' True. WVhen he whom everybody else flatters, flatters
me, I then am truly happy.'.....'If there's delight in love,'tis when I see
That heart which others bleed for, bleed for me.'
Boswell's Johsoni, vol. ii. pp. 233, 241.'Garrick,' said Johnson, on another occasion,'was a very good man, the
cheerfullest man of his age; a decent liver in a profession which is supposed
to give indulgence to licentiousness; and a man who gives away freely, money
acquired by himself. He began the world with a great hunger for money; the
son of a half-pay officer, bred in a family whose study was to make fourpence
do as much as others made fourpence-halfpenny do.  But, when he had got
money, he was very liberal.' —Ibid., vol. iii. p. 417.




JUVENILIA.                              49
apologies, submit it unaltered in a single instance to the candor
of the reader:-' Here once from foul and sickly vapors sprung
A piteous plague, through all th' autumnal heats
Fatally raging: not a beast throughout,
Savage or tame, escap'd the general bane.
The foodful pasture and frequented pool
Lay charg'd with mischief; death itself assumcd
Strange forms of horror, for when fiery drought
Persuasive, coursing through the circling blood,
The feeble limbs had Wasted, straight again
The oozy poison work'd its cursed way,
Sapping the solid bones: they by degrees
Sunk to corruption. Oft the victim beast,
As at the altar's sacred foot it stood,
With all its wreathy honors on its head,
Dropt breathless, and escap'd the tardy blow.
Or if its lingering spirit might chance t' await,
The priest's death-dealing hand, no flames arise
From the disposed entrails; there they lie
In thick and unpresaging smoke obscur'd.
The question'd augur holds his peace, and sees
His divination foil'd; the slaughtering blade
Scarce quits its paly hue, and the light sand
Scarce blushes with thin and meagre blood.' Hence o'er the pasture rich and plenteous stalls
The tender herd in fragrant sighs expire;
Fell madness seizes the domestic dog;
The pursy swine heave with repeated groans.
A rattling cough inflamles their swelling throats:
No toils secure, no paln the victor-horse
Availeth, now no more the wholesome spring
Delights, no longer now the once-lov'd mead;
The fatal ill prevails; with anguish stung
Raging he stamps, his ears hang down relax'dl;
Sometimes an intermitting sweat breaks forth,
Cold ever at th' approach of death; again
The dry and staring hide grows stiff ancd hard,
Scorch'd and imlpastedl with the feverish heat.
Such the first signs of ruin, but at length
When the accomplish'd and mature disease
With.its collected and full vigor works,
The redl'ning eyeballs glow with baneful fire,
The deep and hollow breath with frequent groans,
Piteous variety —! is solely mix'd,
And long-drawn sighs distend the laboring sides:
Then forth the porches of the nose descends,
As from a conduit, blood clefil'd and black,
And'twixt the glew'd and unresolved jaws
The rough and clammy tongue sticks fast-at first
With generous wine they drench'cd the closing throatSole antidote, worse bane at last-for then
Dire madness —such as the just gods to none
Save to the bad consign!-at the last pang
Arose, whereat their teeth with fatal gripe,
Like pale and ghastly executioners,
Their fair and sightly limbs all mangled o'er.




50   ~-~MEMOIOTRS OF RICHARD CUMLJBERLANTD.'The lab'ring ox, while o'er the furrow'ci land
HIe trails the tardy plough, downi drops at once,
Forth issues bloody foam, till the last groan
Gives a long close to his labors: The sad hincd
Unvokes his widow'd and complainful mlate,
Leaving the blasted and imperfect work
Where the fix'd ploughshare points the luckless spot.
The shady covert, where the lofty trees
Form cold retreat, the lawns, whose springing herb
Yields food ambosial, the transpalrent stream,
Which o'er the juttinog stones to t]h' neighl)oring: mead
Takles its fantastic course, these 10now1 no more
Ielight as they were wont, rather afflict,
With hinm they cheer'd, with hilla thfir joys expir'c,
Joys only in participation clear;
Faimine insteacd stares in his hollow sides,
h1-is leaden eyeballs, motionless and fix'd,
Sleep in their sockets, his unnerved( neckl
tiangs drooping down,  deathl lays his load unpon him,
Acnd  boiws him to the g1round-l-what now avail
His useful toils, his life-' of service past?
What though full oft hLe turn'd thle stubborn glebe,
It boots not now —yet have these never fclt
The ills of riot and intemperate draughlts,
Where the full goblet crowns the luscious feast:
Their o-nly feast to graze the sprliloingn herb
O'er the fresh lawn, or from the pendancit bnouh
To crop the savory leaf, from the clear spring,
Or active stream refined in its course,
They slake their sobe thirst, their sweet lrepose
_Nor cares forbicd, no  soothin ig arts invite,
But pure diiSestion  breeds and lighlt reopst.
"'Twas then great Juno's altar ceas'd to smoke
With blood of bullocks, and the votive car
WTith huge misshapen buffaloes na lis drawn
To the h11ih temples.  Each one tilld his field,
IEacli sowr'd his acres with thei ownllelr's hand.
Or, bendlin  to the yoke writh straining ilecek,
Up the high steep dragg'c the slow lacid along.
No imlore the wrolf with craftvy sierge infests
The niShtly fold; more pressing cxares than these
lEngage the sly colltriver and slbdlue.
The fearful deer lea guee withl the hostile hounci,
And ply about the chiaiitable door
Famailiar, nannoy'd.  The mighty deep
At every imouth1 clisgorog'd the scaly tribe,
And on the nakecd shore expos'd to viewv
The various wvreck: the furthest rivers felt
The vast discharge and swarm'd wnithl mlonstrous shapes.
In vain the viper bu-ilds his mazy cell;
Death follows him thoughll all his wxiles; in vain
The snake involves ihim deep beneathl the flood,
~Wonci'ring he starts, erects his scales ccand dies.
The birds thenselves confess the tainted air,
D)rop whllile on xwing,. ni as they soar expire.
Nought now a-1ails the pasture freshll anci new;
F<rach art applied turns opposite; e'en theyl
Sage Chiron, sage Melaimpuis, they clespair,




DEATH OF MY SISTER JOANNA.                       51
Whilst pale Tisiphone, come fresh from hell,
Driving before her Pestilence and Fear,
Her ministers of vengeance to fulfil
Her dread commission, rages all abroad,
And lifts herself on ruin day by day
More and more high. The hollow banks resound,
The winding streams and hanging hills repeat
Loud groans from ev'ry herd, from ev'ry fold
Complaintive murmurs; heaps on heaps they fall,
There where they fall they lie, corrupt and rot
Within the loathsome stalls, fill'd and dam'd up
With impure carcasses, till they perform
The necessary office and confine
Deep under ground the foul offensive stench;
For neither might you dress the putrid hide,
Nor could the purifying stream remove,
The vigorous all-subduing flame expel
The close incorporate poison; none essayed
To shear the tainted fleece, or bind the wool,
For who e'er dar'd to clothe his desp'rate limbs
With that Nessean garment, a foul sweat,
A vile and lep'rous tetter bark'd about
All his smooth body, nor long he endur'd,
But in the sacred fire consum'd and died.'
A great and heavy affliction now befell my parents and myself. A short time before my holidays in autumn, my father and
mother came to town, and brought my eldest sister Joanna with
them, a very lovely girl, then in her seventeenth year.  She
caught the smallpox, and died in the house of the Reverend
Doctor Cutts Barton, Rector of Saint Andrew's, lIolborn, who
kindly permitted my father to remove thither, when she sickened with that cruel disease.  She was truly most engaging in her
person, and, though much admired, her manners were extremely
modest, and her temper mild and gentle.  When I first visted
her, after the symptoms of the disease were upon her, she told
me she was persuaded she had caught the smallpox, and that
it would be fatal to her. Her augury was too true; it was confluent, and assistance was in vain; the regimen then followed
was exactly contrary to the present improved method of treating
that disease, which, when it had kept her in torments for eleven
clays, having effectually destroyed her beauty, finally put an end
to her life.  My father, who tenderly loved her, submitted to the
afflicting dispensation in silent sadness, never venting a complaint; my mother's sorrows were not under such control, and as
to me, devoted to her as I had been from my cradle, the shock
appeared to threaten me with such consequences, that my father
resolved upon taking me out of town immediately, and we went
down to our abode at Stanwick, a sad and melancholy party,
while Mr. Ashby, my father's nephew, stayed in town and attended the body of his lamented cousin to the grave.  My surviving




52       MIEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUIMBERLAND.
sisters, Elizabeth and lMary, the elder of whom was six years
younger than myself, had been left in the country; the attentions,
which these young creatures had a claim to, the consolatory
visits of our friends, and the healing hand of time by degrees
assuaged the keenness of affliction, and patient resignation did
the rest.
The alarm, which my father had been under on account of
my health upon my sister's death, and the abhorrence he had
conceived of London since that unfortunate event, determined
him against my return to WVestminster, and though another
year, which my early age might well have dispensed with, was
recommended by Dr. Nichols, and would most probably have
been so employed with advantage to my education, yet the
measure was taken, and, though only in my fourteenth year, I
was admitted of Trinity College in Cambricge. There were yet
some months of the vacation unexpired, and that I might pass
this time at home with the more advantage, my father prevailed
upon a neighboring clergyman, the Reverend Mr. Thomas Strong,
to reside with us and assist me in my studies. A better man I
never knew; a brighter scholar might easily have been found;
yet we read together some few hours in every day, and those
readings were almost entirely confined to the Greek Testament:
there I had a teacher in Mr. Strong well worthy of my best
attention, for none could better recommend by practice what he
illustrated by precept, than this exemplary young man. He
some time after married very happily, and resided on his living
of I-argrave in our neighborhood universally respected, and I
trust it is not amongst my sins of omission ever after to have
forgotten his services, or failed in my attention to him.
When the time came for me to commence my residence in
College, my father accompanied me and put me under the care
of the Reverend Doctor Morgan, an old friend of our family,
and a senior fellow of that society. My rooms were closely adjoining to his, belonging to that staircase which leads to the chapel
bell; he was kind to me when we met, but as tutor I had few
communications with him, for the gout afforded him not many
intervals of ease, and with the exception of a few trifling readings in Tully's Offices, by which I was little edified, and to
which I paid little or no attention, he left me and one other pupil,
my friend and intimate, Mr. WTilliam I-udd, of Durham, to choose
and peruse our studies as we saw fit. This dereliction of us
was inexcusable, for Rudd was a youth of fine talents and a wellgrounded scholar. In the course of no long time, however,
Doctor Morgan left college, and went to reside upon his living
of Gainford, in the bishopric of Durham, and I was turned




DR. PHILIP YOUNG.                   53
over to the Reverend Doctor Philip Young, professor of oratory
in the University, and afterwards Bishop of lNorwich; what
Morgan made a very light concern, Young made an absolute
sinecure, for fronm him I liever received a single lecture, and I
hope his lordship's conscience was not much disturbed on my
account, for, though he gave me free leave to be idle, I did not
make idleness my choice.




54         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
CHAPTER II.
His studies-His habits-His style of reading-A present of books-Doctor
Richard Walker-Disputation-IIll-health-Advantages of the system of instruction at Cambridge- Collectanea-Plan of reading-Mason's ElfridaPolitics-Change of life-Excursion to York-Elegiac verses-Candidate for
a fellowship-Appointed Lord Halifax's private secretary-Sketch of Halifax
-Dr. Crane-Cumberland goes to London-John Pownall-Visit to the Duke
of Newcastle-Bishop of Peterborough-Charles Mason-Cumberland's examination for a fellowship-His success-His competitors-His course of life
in London-Not fitted for public life-Demagogues-Charles TownshendLord and Lady Halifax-Ambrose Isted —Mr. Eskins-Jeffrey-Richard Reynolds-Poem on India-Death of Lady Halifax —Her character-Cumberland's father removes to Fulham —Iis popularity-Bishop Sherlock-Mrs.
Sherlock-Richard Glover-Bubb Dodington-Cumberland's visit to-Character of-IIenry Fox-Alderman Beckford-Lay-fellowship at Trinity College-The banishment of Cicero-Praised by Warburton —Recommended to
Garrick by Lord Halifax-Garrick's refusal to put it on the stage-Cumberland's marriage.
IN the last year of my being under graduate, when I commenced Soph, in the very first act that was given out to be kept
in the mathematical schools, I was appointed to an opponency,
when at that time I had not read a single proposition in Euclid;
I had: now been just turned over to Mr. Backhouse, the WVestminster tutor, who gave regular lectures, and fulfilled the duties
of his charge ably and conscientiously.  Totally unprepared to
answer the call now made upon me, and acquit myself in the
schools, I resorted to him in my distress, and through his interference my name was withdrawn from  the act; in the mean
time I was sent for by the master, Doctor Smith, the learned author of the well-known Treatises upon Optics and Harmonics,
and the worthy successor to my grandfather Bentley, who
strongly reprobated the neglect of my former tutors, and recommended me to lose no more time in preparing myself for my degree, but to apply closely to my academical studies for the remainder of the year, which I assured him I would do.
As I did not belong to Mr. Backhouse till I had commenced
Soph, but nominally to those who left me to myself, I had hitherto pursued those studies that were familiar to me, and indulged
my passion for the classics, with an ardor that rarely knew any
intermission or relief. I certainly did not wantonly misuse my




MY COURSE OF READING.                  55
time, or yield to any even of the slightest excesses, that youth is
prone to: I never frequented any tavern, neither gave nor received
entertainments, nor partook in any parties of pleasure, except now
and then in a ride to the hills, so that I thank God I have not to
reproach myself with any instances of misconduct towards a
generous father, who at this tender age committed me to my
own discretion and confided in me. I look back therefore upon
this period of my life with a tranquil conscience; I even dwell
upon it with peculiar delight, for within those maternal walls I
passed years given up to study and those intellectual pure enjoyments, which leave no self-reproach, whilst with the works of
my ancestors in my hands, and the impression of their examples
on my heart, I flattered myself in the belief that I was pressing
forward ardently and successfully to follow them in their profession, and peradventure not fall far behind them in their fame.
This was the great aim and object of my ambition; for this I labored, to this point I looked, and all my world was centred in
my college. Every scene brought to my mind the pleasing recollection of times past, and filled it with the animating hope of
times to come: as my college duties and attendances were occupations that I took pleasure in, punctuality and obedience did
not put me to the trouble of an effort, for when to be employed
is our amusement, there is no self-denial in not being idle. If
I had then had a tutor, who would have systematized and arranged my studies, it would have been happy for me; but I
had no such director, and with my books before me (poets,
historians and philosophers), sate down as it were to a ccenza
cdubia, with an eager, rather than a discriminating, appetite; I
am now speaking of my course of reading from my admission to
my commencing Soph, when I was called off to my academical
studies. In that period my stock of books was but slender, till
Doctor Richard Bentley had the goodness to give me a valuable
parcel of my grandfather's books and papers, containing his correspondence with many of the foreign literati upon points of
criticism, some letters from Sir Isaac Newton, a pretty large
body of notes for an edition of Lucan's Pharsalia, which I gave
to my uncle Bentley, and were published under his inspection
by Dodsley, at Mr. Walpole's press, with sundry other manuscripts, and a considerable number of Greek and Latin books
mostly collated by him, and their margins filled with alterations
and corrections in his own hand, neatly and legibly written in a
very small character. The possession of these books was most
gratifying and acceptable to me; some few of them were extremely rare, and in the history I have given in' The Observers'
of the Greek writers, more particularly of the Comic Poets now




56       MEIiEMOI-RS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
lost, I have availed myself of them, and I am vain enough to
believe no such collection of the scattered extracts, anecdotes
and remains of those dramatists is anywhere else to be found.
The donor of these books was the nephew of my grandfather,
and inherited by will the whole of his library, which at his death
was sold by auction in Leicestershire, where he resided in his
latter years on his rectory of Nailstone: he was himself no inconsiderable collector, and it is much to be regretted that his
executors took this method of disposing of his books, by which
they became dispersed in small lots amongst many country purchasers, who probably did not know their value. He was an
accurate collator, and for his judgment in editions much resorted
to by Doctor Mead, with whom he lived in great intimacy.
During the time that he resided in college, for he was one of
the senior fellows of Trinity, he gave me every possible proof,
not only in this instance of his donation, but in many others, of
his favor and protection.
At the same time Doctor Richard Walker, the friend of my
grandfather, and vice-mnaster of the college, never failed to distinguish me by every kindness in his power. Hie frequently
invited me to his rooms, which I had so often visited as a child,
and which had the further merit with me as having been the
residence of Sir Isaac Newton, every relic of whose studies and
experiments were respectfully preserved to the minutest particular, and pointed out to me by the good old vice-master with
the most circumstantial precision. He had many little anecdotes of my grandfather, which to me at least were interesting,
and an old servant Deborah, whom he made a kind of companion, and who was much in request for the many entertaining
circumstances she could narrate of Sir Isaac Newton, when she
waited upon him as his bedmaker, and also of Doctor Bentley,
with whom she lived for several years after Sir Isaac left college, and at the death of my grandfather was passed over to
Doctor Walker, in whose service she died.
My mind in these happy days was so tranquil, and my time
passed in so uniform a tenor of study and retirement, that though
it is a period pleasing to me to reflect upon, yet it furnishes little
that is worthy to be recorded. I believe I hardly ever employed
myself upon English composition, except on the event of the
Prince of WVales's death, when amongst others I sent in my contribution of elegiac verses to the university volume, and very
indifferent ones they were. To my Latin declamations I paid
my best attention, for these were recited. publicly in the chapel
after evening prayers on Saturdays, when it was open to all




SCHOLASTIC DISPUTATION.                 57
who chose to resort thither, and we were generally flattered by
pretty full audiences.
The year of trial now commenced, for which, through the
neglect of my tutors, I was, as an academical student, totally
unprepared. Determined to use every effort in my power for
redeeming my lost time, I began a course of study so apportioned as to allow myself but six hours sleep, to which I strictly
adhered, living almost-entirely upon milk, and using the cold
bath very frequently. As I was then only seventeen years old,
and of a frame by no means robust, many of my friends remonstrated against the severity of this regimen, and recommended
more moderation, but the encouragement I met in the rapidity
of my progress through all the dry and elementary parts of my
studies, determiped me to persist with ardor, and made. me deaf
to their advice.  In the several branches of the mechanics,
hydrostatics, optics and astronomy, I consulted the best treatises,
and made myself master of them; I worked all propositions,
formed all my minutes, and even my thoughts, in Latin, whereby
I acquired a facility of expounding, solving and arguing in that
language, in which I may presume to say I had advantages,
which some of the best of my contemporaries in our public disputations were but too sensible of, for so long as my knowledge
of a question could supply matter for argument, I never felt any
want of terms for explanation.
When I found myself prepared to take my part in the public
schools, I thirsted for the opportunity, which I no longer dreaded, and with this my ambition was soon gratified, being appointed to keep an act, and three respectable opponents singled
out against me, the first of which was looked up to as the best
of the year. When his name was given out for disputation, the
schools never failed to be crowded, and as I had drawn my
questions from Newton's Principia, I gave him fair scope for
the display of his superiority, and was by all considered (for
his fame was universal) as a mere child in his hands, justly to
be punished for my temerity, and self-devoted to comlplete confutation. I was not only a mere novice in the schools, but also
a perfect stranger to the gentleman opposed to me; when, therefore, mounted on a bass in the rostrum, which even then I could
scarcely overtop, I contemplated, in the person of my antagonist, a North-country black-bearded philosopher, who at an
advanced age had admitted at Saint John's to qualify for holy
orders (even at that time a finished mathematician and a private lecturer in those studies), I did not wonder that the contrast of a beardless boy, pale and emaciated as I was then become, seemed to attract everybody's curiosity; for after I had




58        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
concluded my thesis, which precedes the disputation, when he
ascended his seat under the rostrum of the ModeratorWith grave
Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem'd
A pillar of strength; deep in his front engraven
Deliberation sate-sage he stood
With Atlantean shoulders fit to bear
The weight of mightiest argument.
Formidable as he appeared, I did not feel my spirits sink, for
I had taken a very careful survey of the ground I was upon,
and thought myself prepared against any attack he could devise
against me.  I also saw that all advantages, resulting from
the unequal terms on which we engaged, were on my side;
I might obtain glory from him, and he could but little profit by
his triumph over me. My heart was in my cause, and proudly
measuring its importance by the crowd it had collected, armed,
as I believed myself to be, in the full understanding of my
questions, and a, perfect readiness in the language in which our
disputations were to be carried on, I waited his attack amidst
the hum and murmur of the assembly. His argument was
purely mathematical, and so enveloped in the terms of his art,
as made it somewhat difficult for me to discover where his syllogism pointed without those aids and delineations, which our
process did not allow of; I availed myself of my privilege to
call for a repetition of it, when at once I caught the fallacy, and
pursued it with advantage, keeping the clue firm in hand till I
completely traced him through all the windings of his labyrinth.
The same success attended me through the remaining seven
arguments, which fell off in strength and subtlety, and his
defence became sullen and morose, his latinity very harsh,
inelegant and embarrassed, till I saw him descend with no very
pleasant countenance, whilst it appeared evident to me that my
whole audience were not displeased with the unexpected turn
which our controversy had taken. He ought in course to have
been succeeded by a second and third opponent, but our disputation had already been prolonged beyond the time commonly
allotted, and the schools were broken up by the Moderator with
a compliment addressed to me in terms much out of the usual
course on such occasions.
If it is allowable for me to speak of such trifling events circumstantially, and with the importance which at that time I
attached to them, when I knew nothing of this great world beyond the walls of my college, I hope this passage will be read
with candor, and that I shall be pardoned for a long tale told
in my old age of the first triumph of my youth, earned by




EFFECT OF PROLONGED STUDY.                59
extreme hard labor, and gained at the risk and hazard of my
healths by a perseverance in so severe a course of study, as
brought me ultimately to the very brink of the grave.
Four times I went through these scholastic exercises in the
course of the year, keeping two acts and as many first opponencies.
In one of the latter, where I was pitched against an ingenious
student of my own college, I contrived to form certain arguments, which by a scale of deductions so artfully drawn, and
involving consequences which, by mathematical gradations (the
premises being once granted), led to such unforeseen confutation,
that even my tutor, Mr. Backhouse, to whom I previously imparted them, was effectually trapped, and could as little parry
them as the gentleman who kept the act, or the Moderator who
filled the chair.
The last time I was called upon to keep an act in the schools,
I sent in three questions to the Moderator, which he withstood
as being all mathematical, and required rne to conform to the
usage of proposing one metaphysical question in the place of
that which I should think fit to withdraw. This was ground I
never liked to take, and I appealed against his requisition; the
act was accordingly put by till the matter of right should be
ascertained by the statutes of the university, and in the result
of that inquiry it was given for me, and my questions stood.
This litigation between the Moderator and an under-graduate,
whose interest in the distribution of honors at the ensuing degree lay so much at the mercy of his report, made a considerable stir, and gave rise to much conversation; so that when this
long-suspended act took place, not only the floor of the schools
was filled with the juniors, but many of high standing in the
university assembled in the gallery. The Moderator had nominated the same gentleman as my first opponent, who no doubt
felt every motive to renew the contest, and bring me to a proper
sense of my presumption. The term was now drawing near to
its close, and I began to feel very sensibly the effects of my too
intense application, my whole frame being debilitated in a manner that warned me I had not long to continue my course of
labor without the interruption of some serious attack; I had in
fact the seeds of a rheumatic fever lurking in my constitution,
and was led between two of my friends and fellow collegians to
the schools in a very feeble state. I was, however, intellectually
alive to all the purposes of the business -we were upon, and
when I observed that the Moderator exhibited symptoms of indisposition by resting his head upon the cushion on the desk, I
cut short my thesis to make way for my opponent, who had
hardly brought his argument to bear, when the Moderator, on




60       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
the plea of sudden indisposition, dismissed me with a speech,
which, though tinctured with some petulance, had more of praise
in it than I expected to receive.
I yielded now to advice, and paid attention to my health, till
we were cited to the senate house to be examined for our
Bachelor's degree.  It was hardly ever my lot during that
examination to enjoy any respite. I seemed an object singled
out as every man's mark, and was kept perpetually at the table
under the process of question and answer. My constitution just
held me up to the expiration of the scrutiny, and I immediately
hastened to my own home to alarm my parents with my ghastly
looks, and soon fell ill of a rheumatic fever, which for the space
of six months kept me hovering between life and death. The
skill'of my physician, the afore-mentioned Dr. Wallis, of Stamford, and the tender'attention of the dear friends about me,
rescued me at length, and I recovered under their care. Whilst
I was in this state, I had the pleasure of hearing from Cambridge
of the high station which had been adjudged to me amongst'The
Wrarlers' of my year, and I further understood how much I
was indebted to the generous support of that very Moderator,
whom I had thwarted in the matter of my questions, for this
adjudication so much in my favor and perhaps above my merits,
for my knowledge had been hastily attained; a conduct so candid on the part of the Reverend Mr. Ray (fellow of Corpus
Christi, and the Moderator, of whom I have been speaking) was
ever remembered by me with gratitude and respect: Mr. Ray
was afterwards domestic chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and, when I was resident in town, I waited upon him at
Lambeth palace to express my sensibility of the very liberal
manner in which he had protected me.
I now found myself in a station of ease and credit in my native
college, to which I was attached by every tie that could endear
it to me. I had changed my under-graduate's gown, and obtained my degree of Bachelor of Arts with honors hardly earned
by pains the more severe because so long postponed: and now,
if I have been seemingly too elaborate in tracing my own particular progress through these exercises, to which the candidate
for a degree at Cambridge must of necessity conform, it is not
merely because I can quote my privilege for my excuse, but
because I would most earnestly impress upon the attention of
my reader the extreme usefulness of these academical exercises
and the studies appertaining to them, by which I consider all
the purposes of an university education are completed; and so
convinced am I of this, that I can hardly allow myself to call
that an education, of which they do not make a part; if there



ADVANTAGES OF DIALECTICAL SKILL-.           61
fore I am to speak for the discipline of the schools, ought I not
first to show that I am speaking from experience, without which
opinions pass for nothing? Having therefore first demonstrated
what my experience of that discipline has been, I have the
authority of that, as far as it goes, for an opinion in its favor,
which every observation of my life has since contributed to
establish and confirm. What more can any system of education hold out to those, who are the objects of it, than public
honors to distinguish merit, public exercises to awaken; emulation, and public examinations, which cannot be passed without
extorting some exertion' even from the indolent, nor can be
avoided without a marked disgrace to the compounder? Now
if I have any knowledge of the world, any insight into the
minds and characters of those whom I have had opportunities
of knowing (and few have lived more and longer amongst mankind), all my observations tend to convince me that there is no
profession, no art, no station nor condition in life, to which the
studies I have been speaking of will not apply and come in aid
with profit and advantage: That mode of investigation step by
step, which crowns the process of the student by the demonstration and discovery of positive and mathematical truth, must
of necessity so exercise and train him in the habits of following
up his subject, be it what it may, and working out his proofs, as
cannot fail to find their uses, whether he who has them dictates
from the pulpit, argues at the bar, or declaims in the senate; nay,
there is no lot, no station (I repeat it with confidence), be it
either social or sequestered, conspicuous or obscure, professional
or idly independent, in which the man, once exercised in these
studies, though he shall afterwards neglect them, will not to his
comfort experience some mental powers and resources, in which
their influence shall be felt, though the channels that conducted
it may from' disuse have become obscure, and no longer- to be
traced.
HIear the crude opinions, that are let loose upon society in our
table conversations: mark the wild and wandering arguments
that are launched at random without ever hitting the mark they
should be levelled at; what does all this noise and nonsense
prove, but that the talker has indeed acquired the fluency of
words, but never known the exercise of thought, or attended
to the development of a single proposition? Tell him that he
ought to hear what may be said on the other side of the question-he agrees to it, and either begs leave to wind up with a
few words more, which he winds and wire-draws without end;
or, having paused to hear, hears with impatience a very little,
foreknows everything you, had further to say, cuts short your




62       MEMOIRS- OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
argument and bolts in upon you-with an answer to that argument-? No; with a continuation of his own gabble, and, having stifled you with the torrent of his trash, places your contempt to the credit of his own capacity, and foolishly conceives
he talks with reason because he has not patience to attend to
any reasoning but his own.
WVhat are all the quirks and quibbles, that skirmishers in controversy catch hold of to escape the point of any argument,
when pressed upon them? If a laugh, a jeer, a hit of mimicry,
or buffoonery cannot parry the attack,, they find themselves disarmed of the only weapons they can wield, and then, though
truth should stare them in the face, they will affect not to see it:
instead of receiving conviction as the acquirement of something,
which they had not themselves, -and have gained from you, they
regard it as an insult to their understandings, and grow sullen
and resentful; they will then tell you they shall leave you to
your own opinions, they shall say no more, and with an air of
importance wrap themselves up in a kind of contemptuous indifference, when their reason for saying nothing is only because
they have nothing more- to say. How many of this cast of
character are to be met with in the world every man of the
world can witness.
There are also others, whose vivacity of imagination having
never felt the trammels of a syllogism is for ever flying off into
digression and displayQuo teneam nodo mutantem Protea formas?To attempt at hedging in these cuckoos is but lost labor.
These gentlemen are very entertaining as long as novelties with
no meaning can entertain you; they have a great variety of opinions, which, if you oppose, they do not defend, and if you agree
with, they desert. Their talk is like the wild notes of birds,
amongst which you shall distinguish some of pleasant tone, but
out of which you compose no tune or harmony of song. These
men would have set down Archimedes for a fool when he danced
for joy at the solution of a proposition, and mistaken Newton
for a madman, when in the surplice, which he put on for chapel
over night, he was found the next morning in the same place
and posture fixed in profound meditation on his theory of the
prismatic colors. So great is their distaste for demonstration,
they think no truth is worth the waiting for; the mountain must
come to them, they are not by half so complaisant as Mahomet.
They are not easily reconciled to truisms, but have no particular
objection to impossibilities. For argument they have no ear; it
does not touch them; it fetters fancy, and dulls the edge of re



I OBTAIN MY BACHELOR'S DEGREE.               63
partee; if by chance they find themselves in an untenable position,'and wit is not at hand to help them out of it, they will
take up with a pun, and ride home upon a horse laugh: if they
can't keep their ground,; they won't wait to be attacked and
driven out of it. Whilst a reasoning man will be picking his
way out of a dilemma, they, who never reason at all, jump over
it, and land themselves at once upon new ground, where they
take an imposing attitude, and escape pursuit. Whatever these
men do, whether they talk, or write, or act, it is without deliberation, without consistency, without plan. Having no expanse
of mind, they can comprehend only in part; they will promise
an epic poem, and produce an epigram: In short, they glitter,
pass away, and are forgotten; their outset makes a show of mighty
things; they stray out of their course into by-ways and obliquities, and when out of sight of their contemporaries, are forever
lost to posterity.
When characters of this sort come under our observation, it is
easy to discover that their levities and frivolities have their source
in the errors and defects of education, for it is evident they have
not been trained in any principles of right reasoning. Therefore
it is that I hold in such esteem the academical studies pursued
at Cambridge, and regard their exercises in the mathematical
schools, and their examinations in the theatre, as forming the
best system, which this country offers, for the education of its
youth. Persuaded as I am of this, I must confess I have ever
considered the election of scholars from the college of Eton to
that of King's in Cambridge, as a bar greatly in their disfavor,
forasmuch as by the constitution of that college they are not
subjected to the same process for attaining their degrees, and of
course the study of the mathematics makes no part of their
system, but is merely optional. I leave this remark to those
who may think it worthy of their consideration. Under-graduates of Trinity College, whether elected from Westminster or
not, have no such exemptions.
Having now, at an age more than commonly early, obtained
my Bachelor's degree, with the return of health I resumed my
studies, and without neglecting those I had so lately been engaged in, again took up those authors who had lain by untouched for a whole twelvemonth. I supposed my line in life
was decided for the church, the profession of my ancestors, and
in the course of three years I had good reason to expect a fellowship with the degree of Master of Arts. These views, so suited
to my natural disposition, were now before me, and I dwelt upon
them with entire content.
Having now been in the habit of reading upon system, I re



64   -   MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
solved to put my thoughts together upon paper, and began to
form a kind of Collectanea of my studies. With this view I got
together all the tracts relative to the controversy between Boyle
and Bentley, omitting none even of the authorities and passages
they referred to, and having done this, I compressed the reasonings on both sides into a kind of statement and report upon the
question in dispute, and if in the result my judgment went with
him, to whom my inclination leant, no learned critic of the present age will condemn me for the decision.
When I had accomplished this, I meditated on a plan little
short of what might be projected for an Universal History, or at
least for that of the Great Empires in particular. For this purpose I began with studying the Sanchoniatho of Bishop Cumberland, contrasting the Phoenician and Egyptian Cosmogonies with
that of Moses, by which I found myself at length involved in
references to so many authors, which I had no means of consulting, and so hampered by Oriental languages, which I did
not understand, that after filling a large folio foul-book, which
I still keep in possession, I gave up the task, or, more properly
speaking, reduced it to a more contracted scale, in which, however, I contrived to review all the several systems of the heathen
philosophers, and discuss at large the tenets and opinions maintained and professed by their respective schools and academies.
This was a work of labor and considerable research, and having
had lately occasion to resort to it for certain purposes, which I
have in hand, I must do myself the justice to say I found it
very accurate, and derived all the aid and information from it
that I expected or required. That I was at that age disposed
and able to apply my mind to a work so operose and argumentative I ascribe entirely to the nature of the studies, and the habitudes of thinking I had so recently been engaged in.
Thus, after wandering at large for a considerable time, without any one to guide me, I was at last compelled to chalk out
for myself a settled plan of reading, which, if I had not been
disciplined, as above described, I certainly should have long
postponed, or perhaps never have struck out.  Why will not
those whose duty it is to superintend the education of their
pupils in our universities, when they discover talents and a thirst
for learning, point out to the student the best and nearest road
to its attainment? It is surely within their province to do it;
and the benefit would be incalculable.
I well remember, when I was newly come to college, with what
avidity I read the Greek tragedians, and with what reverence I
swallowed the absurdities of their chorus, and was bigoted to




CHARACTER OF GREEK  TRAGEDY.-                      65
their cold character and rigid unities; and when Mason,l of
Pembroke-Hall, published his' Elfrida' after their model, though
I did not quite agree with him  as to his choice of plot, or the
perfect legitimacy of his chorus, yet I was warm in my praises of
that generally admired production, and in imitation of it planned
and composed an entire drama, of which Caractacus was the
hero, with bards and Druids attached to it as a chorus, for whom
I wrote odes in the manner of'Elfrida.' I have this manuscript
now in my possession, and it is flattering to my choice of subject
that Mason, with whom I had no communication or correspondence, should afterwards strike upon the same character for the
hero; of his drama; but though in' this particular I have the good
chance to agree with him, in point of plot I strayed equally from
him and from the history, for, not writing with any thought of
publication, I wove into my drama some characters and several
incidents perfectly fictitious.  There is a good deal of fancy, and
some strong writing in it; but, as a whole, it must be read with
allowances, and I shall, therefore, pass it over, not wishing to
make too many demands upon the candor of the reader.
Whilst I was thus living with my family at Stanwick, in the
enjoyment of everything that could constitute my felicity, a
strong contest took place upon the approach of the general
election; and the county of Northampton was hotly canvassed
by the rival parties of Knightly and Hanbury, or, in other words,
by the Tories and the Whigs.  My father, whose politics accorded with the latter, was drawn out upon this occasion, and
gave a very active and effectual support to his party, and
though the cause he embarked in was unsuccessful, yet his particular exertions had been such that he might truly have saidSi Pergama dextra
Defendi possent, etiam hac defensi fuissent.
l Mason was the son of a clergyman in Yorkshire, where he was born in 1725.
He adopted his father's profession, and after the publication of'Elfrida,' was
appointed one of the royal chaplains. At the era of the American Revolution,
Mason was an advocate for freedom, and, in consequence, lost his chaplaincy.
The excesses of the French Revolution, however, brought about a change in his
sentiments, or an abatement of his zeal; and, in the latter part of his life, his
politics were conservative. Johnson, who disliked Mason, was in the habit of
disparaging him as a poet.'Surely, sir,' said Boswell, on one occasion,'Mr.
Mason's'Elfrida' is a fine poem; at least you will allow there are some good
passages in it.' Johnson.-' There are now and then some good imitations of
Milton's bad manner.' Johnson had an equally low estimate of Gray.'Mr.
Mason's'Elfrida,' says Boswell,'is exquisite, both in political description and
moral sentiment; and his' Caractacus' is a noble drama. Nor can I omit paying my tribute of praise to some of his smaller poems, which I have read with
pleasure, and which no criticism shall persuade me not to like. If I wondered
at Johnson's not tasting the works of Mason and Gray, still more have I wondered at their not tasting his works.'-Boswell's Johnson, vol. ii. 348.




66       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
This second striking instance of his popularity and influence
was by no means overlooked by the Earl of Halifax, then high
in office, and Lord Lieutenant of the county. Offers, which he did
not court, were pressed upon him; but though he was resolute
in declining all favors personal to himself, yet he was persuaded
to lend an ear to flattering situations pointed out for me, and
my destiny was now preparing to reverse those tranquil and
delectable scenes which I had hitherto enjoyed, and to transplant me from the cloisters of my college, and free range of my
studies, to the desk of a private secretary, and the irksome,
painful restraints of dependence.
Let me not, by my statement of this event, appear to lay anything to the charge of my ever dear and honored father; if I
were unnaturally disposed to find a fault in his proceeding upon
this occasion, I must search for it amongst his virtues. He was
open, warm, and unsuspecting, apt to credit others for what was
natural to himself, ever inclined to look only on the best side of
men and things, and certainly not one of the children of this
world. If I have cause to regret this departure from the line in
which by education I had been trained, I am the author of my
own misfortune; I was perfectly a free agent, and have nobody
but myself to accuse. My youth, however, and the still unsettled state of my health, spared me for a time; and my father
proposed an excursion to the city of York, for the double purpose of my relaxation and my sister's accomplishments in music
and dancing. We had a near relation living there, a widow
lady, niece to Doctor Bentley, who accommodated us with her
house; and we passed half a year in the society and amusements
of the place. This'lady, Forster by name, and first cousin to
my mother, was a woman' of superior understanding. Her
opinions were pronounced authoritatively, and without respect
of person; they were considered in York as little less than
oracular. The style of living in this place was so new to me
and out of character, when contrasted by the habits of study and
retirement which I had been accustomed to, that it seemed to
enfeeble and depress that portion of genius which nature had
endowed me with. I hunted in the mornings, danced in the
evenings, and devoted but a small portion of my time to anything that deserved the name of study. I had no books of my
own, and unfortunately got engaged with Spenser's'Fairy Queen,'
in imitation of which I began to string nonsensical stanzas to
the same rhyming kind of measure. Though I trust I should
not have surrendered myself for any length of time to this jingling strain of obsolete versification, yet I am indebted to my
mother for the seasonable contempt she threw upon my imita



ELEGIAC  VERSES.                         67
tions, felt the force of her reproof, and laid the  Fairy Queen'
upon its shelf.
The Earl of Galloway, father of the present Lord, was then
residing at York with his family; a beautiful copy of elegiac
verses, the composition of his daughter, Lady Susan, was communicated to me, of which the hint seemed to be taken from
Hamlet's meditations on the skull of Yorick.  I do not feel
myself at liberty to publish the elegant poem of that lady, who
lived to grace the high station which by her birth, virtues, and
endowments she was entitled to, and when I now venture to insert my own, I am  fully conscious how  ill it would endure a
comparison with that which gave occasion to it-'True! We must all be chang'd by death,
Such is the form the dead must wear,
And so, when Beauty yields its breath,
So shall the fairest face appear.
But let thy soul survey the grace,
That yet adorns its frail abode,
And through the wondrous fabric trace,
The hand of an unerring God.
Why does the blood in stated round
Its vital warmth throughout dispense?
WVho tun'd the ear to every sound,
And lent the hand its ready sense?
Whence had the eyes that subtle force,
That languor, they by turns display?
Who hung the lips with prompt discourse,
And tun'd the soft melodious lay?
What but thy Maker's image there
In each external part is seen?
But'tis thy better part to wear
His image pictur'd best within.
Else what avail'd the raptur'd strain,
Did not the mind her aid impart,
The melting eye would speak in vain,
Flow'd not its language from the heart.
The blood with stated pace had crept
Along the dull and sluggish veins,
The ear insensibly had slept,
Though angels sung in choicest strains.
It is that spark of quick'ning fire,
To every child of nature giv'n,
That either kindles wild desire,
Or lights us, on the road to heav'n.
That spark, if Virtue keeps it bright,
And Genius fans it into flame,
Aspiring mounts, and in its flight,
Soars far above this earthly frame.




68         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Strong and -expansive in its view,
It tow'rs amidst the boundless sky,
Sees planets other orbs pursue,
Whose systems other suns supply.
Such Newton was, diffusing far
His radiant beams; such Cotes had been,
This a bright comet; that a star,
Which glitter'd and no more was seen.
Blush then if thou hast sense of shame,
Inglorious, ign'rant, impious slave!
Who think'st this heav'n-created frame
Shall basely perish in the grave.
False as thou art, dar'st thou suggest
That thy Creator is unjust?
Wilt thou the truth with Him contest,
Whose wisdom form'd thee of the dust?
Say, dotard, hath he idly wrought,
Or are his works to be believ'd?
Speak, is the whole creation nought?
Mortal, is God or thou deceiv'd?
Thy harden'd spirit, convict at last,
Its damning error shall perceive,
Speechless shall hear its sentence past,
Condemn'd to tremble and believe.
But thou in reason's sober light
Death clad with terror can'st survey,
And from the foul and ghastly sight
Derive the pure and moral lay.
Go on, sweet Nymph, and when thy Muse
Visits the dark and dreary tomb,
Bright-rob'd Religion shall diffuse
Her radiance, and dispel the gloom.
And when the necessary day
Shall call thee to thy saving God,
Securp thou'lt choose that better way,
Which Conscience points and Saints have trod.
So shall thy soul at length forsake
The fairest form e'er soul receiv'd
Of those rich blessings to partake,
Which eye ne'er saw, nor heart conceiv'd.
There,'midst the full angelic throng,
Praise Him, who those rich blessings gave,
There shall resume the grateful song,
A joyful victor o'er the grave.'
This excursion to York was indeed a relaxation, but not alto.
gether of a sort that either suited my ease or accorded with
my taste.  Certain it is I had, for a time, impaired my health
by too much application and the over-abstemious habits I im



LITERARY RECREATION.                        69
posed upon myself during my last -year at college, but tranquillity, not dissipation, or what is called amusement, was the
restorative I most needed. The allurements of public assemblies and the society of those who resort to them, form so great
a contrast to the occupations of a student, that instead of being
enlivened by the change, I felt a lassitude of mind, that put me
out of humor with myself, and damped that ardent spirit of acquirement, which in my nature seemed to have been its ruling
passion. Extremes of any sort are dangerous to youthful minds,
and should be studiously avoided. The termination of our visit
to York, and the prospect of returning to college were welcomed by me most cordially.  I had brought no books with me
to York, and of course had nothing to call off my mind from
the listless idle style in which I dangled away my time, amusing myself only now and then with my pen, because my fancy
would not be totally unemployed; sometimes, as I have before
related, imitating Spenser's style, and at other times composing
short elegies after the manner of Hammond; for this, when I
was reprimanded by the same judicious monitress, who rallied
me out of my imitations of the stanzas of' The Fairy Queen,' I
promised her I would write no more love elegies, and took
leave of Hammond with the following lines, written almost extempore-'When wise men love, they love to folly;
When blockheads love, they're melancholy;
When coxcombs love, they love for fashion,
And quaintly call it the belle passion.
Old bachelors, who wear the willow,
May dream of love and hug the pillow,
Whilst love, in poet's fancy rhyming,
Sets all the bells of folly chiming.
But women, charming women, prove
The sweet varieties of love;
They can love all, but none too dearly,
Their husbands, too, but not sincerely.
They'll love a thing, whose outward shape
Marks him twin brother to an ape;
They'll take a miser for his riches,
And wed, a beggar without breeches.
Marry, as if in love with ruin,
A gamester to their sure undoing;
A drunkard, raving, swearing, storming,
For the dear pleasure of reforming.
They'll wed a lord, whose breath shall falter
Whilst he is crawling from the altar:
What is there women will not do,
WVhen they love man and money too?'




70       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
These and numerous trifles of the like sort, not worth recording, amused my vacant hours at York, but when I returned
home, I made a very short stay and hastened to college, where
I was soon invited to the master's lodge by Doctor Smith, who
was pleased to honor me with his approbation of my past exertions, and imparted to me a new arrangement, that he and the
seniors had determined upon for annulling so much of the existing statutes as restricted all Bachelor of Arts, except those
of the third year's standing, from offering themselves candidates
for fellowships: when he had signified this to me, he kindly
added, that as I should be in the second year of my degree at
the next election, he recommended it to me by all means to
present myself for examination, and to take my chance. This
was a communication so flattering, that I knew not how to shape
the answer, which he seemed to expect from me; I clearly saw
that his meaning was to bring me into the society a year before
any one had been elected since the statutes were in existence;
I knew that by my election there must be an exclusion of some
candidate of the year above me, who had only a single chance,
whereas I had a double one; in the mean time, my circumstances
were such as not to want the emoluments of a fellowship, and
my age such as might well admit of a postponement. These
were my reflections at that time, and I felt the force of them,
but the regulation was gone forth, and there were others of my
own year, who had announced their resolution of coming forward as candidates at the time of the election. There was no
part therefore for.me to take but to prepare myself for the examination and expect the result. To this I looked forward
with much more terror and alarm than to all I had experienced
in the schools and theatre, for I not only stood in awe of the
master of Trinity, as being the deepest mathematician of his
time, but as I had reason to believe he had been led to lay open
the election in some degree on my account, I apprehended he
would never suffer his partiality to single me out to the exclusion
of any other without strict scrutiny into my pretensions, and as I
had obtained a high honor when I took my degree, I greatly
feared he might expect too much, and meet with disappointment.
Under these impressions, whilst I was preparing to resume
my studies with increased attention, and repair the time not
profitably passed of late, I received a summons, which opened to
me a new scene of life. I was called for by Lord Halifax to
assume the situation of his private confidential secretary; it was
considered by my family and the friends and advisers of my
family, as an offer, upon which there could be no hesitation.
They took the question as it struck them in their view of it;




INVITED TO BE SECRETARY OF HALIFAX.           71
they could not look into futurity, neither could they take a perfect estimate either of my fitness for the situation held out to
me, or of the eventual value of the situation, from which I was
about to be displaced. What the prosecution of my studies
might have led me to in that line of life, to which I had directed
my attention, and fixed my attachment, is a matter of speculation and conjecture; what I might have avoided is now become
matter of experience, and I can only say that had certain passages of my past life been then stated to me as probabilities to
occur, I would have stuck- to my college, and endeavored to
have trodden in the steps of my ancestors.
I was not fitted for dependence; my nature was repugnant to
it; I was most fortunately formed with feelings that could ill
endure the assumed importance of some, or submit to take advantage of the weakness of others. I had ambition enough, and
it may be more than enough; but it was the ambition of working out my own way by the labors of my mind, and raising tomyself a character upon a foundation of my own laying. I certainly do not offend against truth when I say I had an ardent
wish to earn a name in literature: I had studied books; I had
not studied men, and perhaps I was too much disposed to measure my respect for their characters by the standard of their talents.
I had no acquaintance with the noble lord, who now invited me
to share his confidence, and receive my destiny from his hands.
My good father did what was perfectly natural for a father to
do in the like circumstances, he availed himself of the opportunity for placing me under the patronage of one of the most
figuring and rising men of his time.'There was something extremely brilliant and more than commonly engaging in the
person, manners, and address of the Earl of Halifax. He had
been educated at Eton, and came with the reputation of a good
scholar to Trinity College, where he established himself in the
good opinion of the whole society, not only by his orderly and
regular conduct, but in a very distinguished manner by the
attention which he paid to his studies, and the proofs he gave
in his public exercises of his classical acquirements.. lie was
certainly, when compared with men of his condition, to be distinguished as a scholar much above the common mark: he
quoted well and copiously from the best authors, chiefly Horace;
he was very fond of English poetry, and recited it very emphatically after the manner of Quin, who had been his master in that
art: he had a partiality for Prior, which he seemed to inherit
from the celebrated Lord Halifax, and would rehearse long
passages from his Solomon, and I-Ienry and Emma, with the,whole of his verses, beginning with' Sincere, oh tell me'-and




72       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
these he would set off with great display of action, and in a
style of declamation more than sufficiently theatrical. He was
married to a virtuous aud. exemplary lady, who brought him a
considerable fortune, and from whom he took the name of Dunk,
and was made a freeman of London to entitle him to marry in
conformity to the condition of her father's will. His family,
when I came to him, consisted of this lady, with whom he lived
in great'domestic harmony, and three daughters; there was an
elderly clergyman of the name of Crane, an inmate also, who
had been his tutor, and to whom he was most entirely attached. A better guide, and a more faithful counsellor he could
not have, for amongst all the men it has been my chance to
know, I do not think I have known a calmer, wiser, more rightheaded man; in the ways of the world, the politics of the time,
and the characters of those who were in the public management
and responsibility of affairs, Doctor Crane was incomparably
the best steersman that his pupil could take his course from,
and so long as he submitted to his temperate guidance he could
hardly go astray. The opinions of Doctor Crane were upon all
points decisive, because in the first place they were always
withheld till extorted from him by appeal, and secondly, because
they never failed to carry home conviction of the prudence and
sound judgment they were founded upon.
This was the state of the family to which I was now introduced. In the lord of the house I contemplated a man regular
in his duties, temperate in his habits, and a strict observer of
decorum: in the lady, a woman in which no fault or even foible
could be discovered-mild, prudent, unpretending: in the tutor,
a character not easy to develop, or rightly and correctly to appreciate, for whilst his qualities commanded respect, the dryness of his external repulsed familiarity: in short, I set him
down as a man of a clear head and a cold heart: the daughters
were children of the nursery.
I went to town attended by a steady and intelligent servant
of my father's; this person, Anthony Fletcher by name, who
then wore a livery, has since, by a series of good conduct and
good fortune, established himself in an affluent and creditable
situation at Bath, where he still lives in a very advanced age in
the Crescent, well known and universally respected. Lord'Halifax's house was in Grosvenor Square, but I found lodgings
taken for me by his order in Downing Street, for the purpose,
as I understood, of my being near Mr. John Pownall, then
acting secretary to the Board of Trade, at which it was Lord
Halifax's office to preside. This gentleman was to give me the
necessary instructions for my obtaining some insight into the




CEREMONIOUS INTERVIEW.                 73
nature of the business likely to devolve upon me. My location
was certainly very well pitched for those communications, for
Mr. Pownall lodged and boarded at a house in the same street,
and with him I was to mess when hot invited out.
The morning after my arrival I waited on this gentleman at
his office in Whitehall, and was received by him with all possible politeness, but in a style of such ceremony and form as I was
little used to, and not much delighted with. How many young
men at my time of life would have embraced this situation with
rapture! The whole town indeed was before me, but it had not
for me either friend or relation, to whom I could resort for comfort or for counsel. With a head filled with Greek and Latin,
and a heart left behind me in my college, I was completely out
of my element. I saw myself unlike the people about me, and
was embarrassed in circles, which according to the manners of
those days were not to be approached without a set of ceremonies and manoeuvres, not very pleasant to perform, and, when
awkwardly performed, not very edifying to behold. In these
graces Lord Halifax was a model; his address was noble and
impressive; he could never be mistaken for less than he was,
whilst his official secretary Pownall, who egregiously overacted
his imitations of him, could as little be mistaken for more
than he was. In the world, which I now belonged to, I heard
very little, except now and then a quotation from Lord Halifax,
that in any degree interested me; there were talkers, however,
who would take possession of a subject as a highwayman does
of a purse, without knowing what it contained, or caring whom
it belonged to: many of these gentlemen had doubtless found
that ignorance had been no obstacle to their advancement, and
now they seemed resolved it should be no bar to their assurance.
I found there was a polite as well as a political glossary, which
involved mysteries little less obscure than those which are
couched under the hieroglyphics of Egypt, and I perceived that
whosoever had the ready use and apt application of those pass:
words, was by right looked up to as the best bred and best informed man in the company: when a single word can comprise
the matter of a whole volume, those worthy gentlemen have a
very sufficient plea for not wasting their time upon reading. I
have lived long enough to witness such amazing feats performed
by impudence, that I much wonder why modest men will allow
themselves to be found in societies, where they are condemned
to be annoyed by talkers, who turn'all things upside down,
whilst they are not permitted to utter that which would set them
rig'ht.
When it was my chance to dine at our boarding-house table




74        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
with the afore-mentioned sub-secretary, I contemplated with surprise the importance of his air, and the dignity that seemed attached to his official situation. The good woman of the house, who
was at once our provider and our president, regularly addressed
him by the name of statesman, and in her distribution of the
joint showed something more than an impartial attention to his
plate. If he knew any state secrets, I will do him the justice to
say that he never disclosed them; and if he talked with ministers and great nobles as he talked of them, I will venture to say
he was extremely familiar with them; and I cannot doubt but
that this was the case; for if he was thus high with his equals,
it surely behoved him to be much higher with those who but
for such self-swelling altitudes might stand a chance to pass for
his superiors. He had a brother in the guards, a very amiable
man, and with him I formed a friendship. Having been told to
inform myself about the colonies, and shown some folio books
of formidable contents, I began more meo with the discoverers of
America, and proceeded to travel through a mass of voyages,
which furnished here and there some plots for tragedies, dumb
shows and dances, as they have since done, but in point of
information applicable to the then existing state of the colonies,
were most discouragingly meagre, and most oppressively tedious
in communicating nothing.  I got a summary but sufficient
insight into the constitutions of the respective provinces, for
what was worth knowing was soon learnt, and when I found
that my whole employment in Grosvenor Square consisted in
copying a few private letters to governors and civil officers
abroad, I applied my thoughts to other objects, and particularly
to the approaching election at my college; still, London lodgings and London hours were not quite so well adapted to study
as I could have wished, though I changed my situation for the
better when I removed to an apartment which was taken for
me in Mount Street, within a very short walk of Lord Halifax's
house, where I attended for his commands every morning, and
dined twice or thrice in the week. One day he took me with
him to Newcastle House, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, for the purpose of presenting me to the duke, then prime minister; his
lordship was admitted without delay; I waited two hours for
my audience, and was then dismissed in two minutes, whilst his
grace, stripped to his shirt, with his sleeves rolled up to his
elbows, was washing his hands.'
I Sir Robert WValpole used to say of the Duke of Newcastle-' He has a
foolish head and a -perfidious heart. His name is perfidy.''For nearly thirty
years,' says Lord Mahon,' was he Secretary of State; for inearly ten years First
Lord of the Treasury. His character during that period has been, of course,




SPENCER MADAN.                             75
The recess took place at the usual time, when Lord Halifax
left town and went to Horton in Northanptonshire; I accompanied him  thither, and from  thence went to Cambridge; he
seemed interested in my undertaking, and offered me letters of
recommendation, which with due acknowledgments I declined.
On my arrival, I found Doctor Richard Bentley had come from
his living,of Nailstone, in Leicestershire, purposely to support
my cause; the vice-master also welcomed me with his accustomed cordiality, and I found the candidates of both years had turned
out strong for the contest.  There were six vacancies, and six
candidates of the year above me; of these Spencer Madan, now
Bishop of Peterborough, was, as senior Westminster, secure of
his election, and such was his merit, independent of any other
claim, that it would have been impossible to pass him over.
HIe was a young man of elegant accomplishments, and with the
recommendation of a very interesting person and address, had
derived from the Cowpers, of which family his mother was, no
observed and described by writers of every rank and every party; and it may
well astonish us to find how much they agree in their accounts. His peculiarities were so glaring and ridiculous that the most careless glance could not
mistake, nor the most bitter enmity exaggerate them. There could be no caricature where the original was always more laughable than the likeness. Ever
in a hurry, yet seldom punctual, he seems, said Lord Wilmington, as if he had
lost half an hour in the morning which he is hurrying after the rest of the day
without being able to overtake it!  He never walked, but constantly ran;'insomuch,- writes Chesterfield,'that I have sometimes told him that by his
fleetness one should rather take him for the courier than the author of the
letters.'  His conversation was a sort of quick stammer-a strange mixture of
slowness and rapidity; and his ideas sometimes were in scarcely less confusion.'Annapolis! Annapolis! Oh yes, Annapolis must be defended; to be slre
Annapolis should be defended! Pray, where is Annapolis?' Extremely timorous, and moved to tears on even the slightest occasions, he abounded in childish caresses,, and in empty protestations. At his levees he accosted, hugged,
clasped, and promised everybody with a seeming cordiality, so universal that
it failed to please any in particular. Fretful and peevish with his dependents,
always distrusting his friends, and always ready to betray them, he lived in a
continual turmoil of harassing affairs, vexatious opposition, and  burning
jealousies. In business, Lord H-erveythus contrasts him to Sir Robert WValpole:'We have one minister that does everything with the same seeming ease and
tranquillity as if he was doing nothing; we have another that does nothing' in
the same hurry and agitation as if he did everything.' Yet in some points
Newcastle. might bear a more favorable parallel with WValpole. He built no
palace at Haughton. He formed no splendid collection of paintings. He won
no fortune in the South Sea speculations. In noticing his decease, Lord Chesterfield gives him this high testimony:' My old kinsman and conteumporary is
at last dead, and, for the first time, quiet....  After all the great offices
which he had held for fifty years, he died ~300,000 poorer than he was when
he came into them. A very unministerial proceeding!' Nor was disinterestedness the only merit of Newcastle. In private life, though a bundle of weaknesses, his character was excellent.'-Ifistory of Egigland, vol. ii. p. 154.
The only-thing dearer to Newcastle than his place, says Macaulay, was his
neck.




76       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
small proportion of hereditary taste and talent; he was a good
classical scholar, composed excellent declamation in the Ciceronian style, which he set off with all the grace of recitation and
voice that can well be conceived: he had a great passion for
music, sung well, and read in chapel to the admiration of every
one. I have passed many happy hours with him in the morning of our lives, and I hope he will enjoy the evening of his
days in comfort and tranquillity, having chosen that better lot,
which has brought him into harbor, whilst I, who lost it, am
left out at sea.
The senior Westminster of my year, and joint candidate with
me at this time, was John Higgs, now Rector of Grandisburgh
in Suffolk, and a senior fellow of Trinity College; a man who,
when I last visited him, enjoyed all the vigor of mind and body
in a green old age, the result of good humor, and the reward of
temperance. We have spun out mutually a long measure of
uninterrupted friendship, he in peace throughout, and I at times
in perplexity; and if I survive to complete these memoirs, and
he to read this page, I desire he will receive it as a testimony
of my unaltered regard for him through life, and the bequest of
my last good wishes at the close of it.
It would hardly be excusable in me to detail a process that
takes place every year, but that in this instance the novelty of
our case made it matter of very general attention. VWhen the
day of examination came, we went our rounds to the electing
seniors; in some instances by one at a time, in others by parties
of three or four; it was no trifling scrutiny we had to undergo,
and here and there pretty severely exacted, particularly, as I
well remember, by Doctor Charles Mason, a man of curious
knowledge in the philosophy of mechanics and a deep mathematician; he was a true modern Diogenes, in manners, and apparel, coarse and slovenly to excess in both: the witty made a
butt of him, but the scientific caressed him; he could ornament
a subject at the same time that he disgusted and disgraced society.
I remember when he came one day to dinner in the college hall,
dirty as a blacksmith from his force, upon his being questioned
on his appearance, he replied-that he had been turning-then
I wish, said the other, when you was about it, friend Charles,
you had turned your shirt. This philosopher, as I was prepared
to believe, decidedly opposed my election. lIe gave us a good
dose of dry mathematics, and then put an Aristophanes before
us, which he opened at a venture, and bade us give the sense of
it. A very worthy candidate of my year declined having any
thing to do with it, yet Mason gave his vote for that gentleman,




ENDURE A CLOSE EXAMINATION.                77
and against me, who took his leavings.l Doctor Samuel Hooper
gave us a liberal and well chosen examination in the more
familiar classics; that indeed was a man in whom nothing could
be found but what was gentle and engaging, whom suavity of
temper and the charms of manners made dear to all that knew
him; he died and was buried in the chapel of his college, where
a marble tablet, erected to his memory, cannot fail to awaken
the sensibility of all who, like me, were acquainted with his
virtues..
The last, whom in order of our visits we resorted to, was
the master; he called us to him one by one according to our
standings, and of course it fell to me as junior candidate to
wait till each had been examined in his turn. When in obedience to his summons I attended upon him, he was sitting, not
in' the room where my grandfather had his library, but in a
chamber up stairs, encompassed with large folding screens, and
over a great fire, though the weather was then uncommonly
warm: he began by requiring of me an account of the whole
course and progress of my studies in the several branches of
philosophy, so called in the general, and as I proceeded in my
detail of what I had read, he sifted me with questions of such
a sort as convinced me he was determined to take nothing upon
trust; when he had held me a considerable time under this examination, I expected he would have dismissed me, but on the
contrary he proceeded in the like general terms to demand of
me an account of what I had been reading before I had applied
myself to academical studies, and when I had acquitted myself
of this question as briefly as I could, and I hope as modestly as
became me in presence of a man so learned, he bade me give
him  a summary account of the several great empires of the
ancient world, the periods when they flourished, their extent
when at the summit of their power, the causes of their declension and dates of their extinction. When summoned to give
answer to so wide a question, I can only say it was well for me
I had worked so hard upon my scheme of General History,
which I have before made mention of, and which, though not
complete in all the points of his inquiry, supplied me with materials for such a detail as seemed to give him more than tolerable satisfaction. This process being over, he gave me a sheet
of paper written through in Greek with his own hand, which he
ordered me to turn either into Latin or English, and I was
T We apprehend this is the same Charles Mason who, with Mr. Dixon, was
sent out in 1763, to determine the limits of the provinces of Maryland and
Pennsylvania.




78       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
shown into a room containing nothing but a table furnished
with materials for writing, and one chair, and I was required to
use dispatch. The passage was maliciously enough selected in
point of construction, and also of character, for he had scrawled
it out in a puzzling kind of hand with abbreviations of his own
devising; it related to the arrangement of an army for battle,
and I believe might be taken from Polybius, an author I had
then never read. WVhen I had given in my translation in Latin,
I was remanded to the empty chamber with a subject for Latin
prose and another for Latin verse, and again required to dispatch them in the manner of an impromptu. The chamber,
into which I was shut for the performance of these hasty productions, was the very room, dismantled of the bed, in which I
was born. The train of ideas it revived in my mind were not
inappositely woven into the verses I gave in, and with this task
my examination concluded.
Doctor Smith, who so worthily succeeded to the mastership
of Trinity on my grandfather's decease, was unquestionably
one of the most learned men of his time, as his works, especially his'System of Optics,' effectually demonstrate. He led
the life of a student, abstemious and recluse, his family consisting of a sister, advanced in years, and unmarried like himself, together with a niece, who in the course of her residence
there, was married to a fellow of the college. He was a man,
of whom it might be said-Philosophy had marked him for her
own; of a thin spare habit, a nose prominently aquiline, and
an eye penetrating as that of the bird, the semblance of whose
beak marked the character of his face: the tone of his voice
was shrill and nasal, and his manner of speaking such as denoted forethought and deliberation. How deep a theorist he
was in harmony his treatise will evince; of mere melody he was
indignantly neglectful, and could not reconcile his ear to the
harpsichord, till by a construction of his own he had dividedthe half tones into their proper flats and sharps. Those who
figured to themselves a Diogenes in Mason, might have fancied
they beheld an Aristotle in Smith, who, had he lived in the age
and fallen within the eye of the great designer of The School
of Athens, might have left his image there without discrediting
the group.
The next lay the election was announced, and I was chosen,
together with Mr. John Orde, now one of the masters in Chancery, who was of the same year with myself, and next to me
upon the list of wran/glers.' This gentleman had also gained the
prize adjudged to him for his Latin declamation; for his private
worthiness he was universally esteemed, and for his public merits




FRANKNESS OF DR. MASON.                 79
deservedly rewarded. By our election, two candidates of the
year above us forever lost their chance; the one of these a Mr.
Briggs, the other Mr. Penneck, a name well known, and a character much esteemed: he filled a situation in the British Miuseum with great respectability, was a very amiable worthy man,
highly valued by his friends when living, and much lamented
after death. His disappointment on this occasion was very generally regretted, and I think I can answer for the feelings of Mr.
Orde as confidently as for my own.
When I waited upon the electing seniors to return my thanks,
of course I did not omit to pay my compliments to Doctor
Mason.'You owe me no compliment,' he replied,' for I tell
you plainly I opposed your election, not because I have any
personal objection to you, but because I am no friend to innovations, and think it hard upon the excluded candidates to be
subjected on a sudden to a regulation which, according to my
calculation, gives you two chances to their one, and takes away,
as it has proved, even that one; but you are in, so there's an
end of it, and I give you joy.'
Having stayed as long in college as in gratitude and propriety
I conceived it right to stay, I went home to Stanwick, and from
thence paid my duty in a short visit to Lord Halifax. This
was certainly a moment of which I could have availed myself
for returning into the line of life which I had stepped out of; and
as neither now, nor in any day of my long attendance upon
Lord Halifax, there ever was an hour when my father would
not have lent a ready ear to my appeal, the reasons that prevailed with me for persisting were not dictated by him. In the
mean time, the life I led in town during the first years of my
attendance was almost as much sequestered from the world as if
I had been resident in college. In my lodgings in Mount Street,
I had stocked myself with my own books, some of my father's,
and those which Doctor Richard Bentley had bestowed upon
me. I sought no company, nor pushed for any new connections
amongst those whom I occasionally met in Grosvenor Square.
One or two of my fellow collegiates now and then looked in
upon me; and about this time I made my first small offering
to the press, following the steps of Gray with another churchyard elegy, written on Saint Mark's Eve, when, according to
rural tradition, the ghosts of those who are to die within the
year ensuing are seen to walk at midnight across the clhurchyard. I believe the public were very little interested by my
plaintive ditty, and Mr. Dodsley, who was publisher, as little
profited. I had written it at Stanwick in one of my college
vacations some time before I belonged to Lord Italifax, and




80        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
had affixed to my title-page the following motto, with which I
sent it into the world05 ~EV LVFV>~V (JV, pEyO XEta  4  &  ~PE
1- Axqii sr bcrtv 6"E (PPC,0 trnE C~E f 10
Atp/ldaco E~J av as pueapcov r1`P05 Jvn7.)
I had made my stay at Horton as short as I could with propriety, being impatient to avail myself of every day that I could
pass in the society of my family. WVith them, I was happy; in
their company, I enjoyed those tranquil and delicious hours;
which were endeared to me still more by the contrast of what I
suffered when in absence from them.
With all these sensations within me, these filial feelings and
family attachment, I hardly need confess that, however time and
experience may have changed nmy taste or capacity for public
life, certain it is that I was not then fitted for it, nor had any of
those worldly qualities and accommodations in my nature which
are sure to push their possessors into notice, and form what may
be called the very nicdus of good fortune. A man who is gifted
with these lucky talents is armed with hands, as a ship with
grappling-irons, ready to catch hold of, and make himself fast to
everything he comes in contact with, and such a man, with all
these properties of adhesion, has also the property, like the
polypus, of a most miraculous and convenient indivisibility; cut
off his hold-nay, cut him how you will, he'is still a polypus,
whole and entire. Men of this sort shall work their way out of
their obscurity like cockroaches out of the hold of a ship, and
crawl into notice, nay, even into kings' palaces, as the frogs did
into Pharaoh's; the happy faculty of noting times and seasons,
and a lucky promptitude to avail themselves of moments with
address and boldness, are alone such all-sufficient requisites, such
marketable stores of worldly knowledge, that, although the minds
of those who own them shall be, as to all the liberal sciences, a
rasa tabuc, yet knowing these things needful to be known, let
their difficulties and distresses be what they may, though the
storm of adversity threatens to overwhelm them, they are in alife-boat, buoyed up by corks, and cannot sink.  These are the
stray children turned loose upon the world, whom fortune, in
her charity, takes charge of, and for whose guidance in the byways and cross-roads of their pilgrimage she sets up fairy fingerposts, discoverable by them whose eyes are near the ground, but
unperceived by such whose looks are raised above it.
In a nation like this, where all ranks and degrees are laid
open to enterprise, merit, or good fortune, it is fit, right, and




SOCIAL PARASITES.                     81
natural that sudden elevations should occur and be encouraged;
it is a spur to industry, and incites to emulation and laudable
ambition. Whilst it leads to these good consequences, it must
also tend to others of a different sort. In all communities s9
constituted, there will be a secret market for cunning, as well
as a fair emporium for honesty; and a vast body of men, who
can't support themselves without labor of some sort, and won't
live by the labor of their hands, must contrive to live by their
witsHonest men
Are the soft easy cushions, on which knaves
Repose and fatten.
But there are more than these-vain men will have their flatterers, rich men their followers, and powerful men their dependents. A great man in office is like a great whale in the ocean;
there will be a sword-fish and a thresher, a Junius and a John
Wilkes, ever in his wake and arming to attack him: These are
the vexed spirits of the deep, who trouble the waters, turning
them up from the very bottom, that they may emerge from their
mud, and float upon the surface of the billows in foam of their
making.
The abstract history of some of these gentry is curious-when
they have made a wreck of their own reputation, they assault
and tear in pieces the reputations of others; they defame man
and blaspheme God; they are punished for their enormities;
this makes them martyrs; martyrdom makes them popular;
they are crowned with praises, honors and emoluments, and
they leave the world in admiration of their talents, before they
have tasted the contempt which they deserve.
But-whilst these men may be said to fight their way into consequence, and so long as they can but live in notice are content
to live in trouble, there is a vast majority of easy, unambitious,
courteous humble servants, whose unoffending vanity aspires no
higher than, like Samson's bees, to make honey in the bowels of
a lion, and fatten on the offal of a rich man's superfluities.
They ask'no more of fortune than to float, like the horse dung
with the apples, and enjoy the credit of good company as they
travel down the smooth and easy stream of life. For these there
is a vast demand, and their talents are as various as the uses
they are put to. Every great, rich and consequential man, who
has not the wisdom to hold his tongue, must enjoy his privilege
1 This is a faithful description of the class of men referred to. They abound
in every country, and under every form of government. In despotic countries
they are conspirators; in Republics, demagogues.




82        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
of talking, and there must be dull fellows to listen to him;
again, if, by talking about what he does not understand, he gets
into embarrassments, there must be clever fellows to help him
out of them. When he would be merry, there must be witty
rogues to make him laugh; when he would be sorrowful, there
must be sad rogues to sigh and groan and make long faces: as
a great man must be never in the wrong, there must be hardy
rascals, who will swear he is always in the right; as he must
never show fear, of course he must never see danger; and as
his courage must at no time sink, there must be friends at all
times ready to prevent its being tried.
A great man is entitled to his relaxations; he who labors
for the public, must recreate his spirit with his private friends:
then it is that the happy moments, the qnollic tempora, are to be
found, which the adept in the art of rising knows so well how
to make his use of. Of opportunities like these I have had my
share; I never turned them to my own advantage; if at any
time I undertook a small solicitation, or obtruded a request, it
was for some humble client, who told a melancholy tale, and
could advance no nearer to the principal than by making suit to
me; in the mean time, I saw many a favor wrested by importunity out of that course which I had reason to expect they
would have taken: I never remonstrated, and a very slight apology sufficed for me. These negative merits I may fairly claim
without offence against the modesty of truth; I was assiduous
in discharging all the duties of my small employ, and faithfully
attached to my employer: if he had no call upon me for more
or greater services than any man of the commonest capacity
could have performed, it was because occasions did not occur;
I had not the fault of neglecting what I had to do, nor the
presumption of dictating in any single instance what should be
done.
Lord Halifax wrote all his own dispatches, and with reason,
for he wrote well; but I am tempted to record one opportunity,
that was thrown in my way by the candor of Mr. Charles
Townshend, whilst he was passing a few days at Horton;
amongst a variety of subjects, which his active imagination was
forever starting, something had recurred to his recollection of
an enigmatical sort, that he wished to have the solution of, and
could not strike upon it; it was only to be done by a geometrical process, which I was fortunate enough to hit upon; I worked
it as a problem and gave him my solution in writing; I believe
it pleased him, but I am very sure that his good nature was
glad of the opportunity to say flattering things to a diffident
young man, who said very little for himself, and further to do




CHARLES TOWNSHEND.                           83
me grace he was pleased to put into my hands a very long and
elaborate report of his own drawing up, for he was then one of
the lords of trade, and this he condescended to desire I would
carefully revise and give him my remarks without reserve.
How highly I was gratified by this condescension in a man of
his extraordinary and superior genius, I need not say, nor how
well, or how ill, I executed my commission; I did it to the best
of my abilities; there was much to admire, and something here
and there in his paper to warrant a remark; if his compliments
were sincere, I succeeded, and shortly After I had proofs, that
put his kind opinion of me out of doubt.l
One morning, in conversation tete-a-tete, he said he recollected
There seems but little diversity of opinion as to the merits and qualities of
this extraordinary man. Burke's splendid tribute of affection and admiration
to his memory, however, dwells too much on the lights, without contrasting the
shades, of his character. That he was among the most versatile and accomplished
men of his time is conceded. As an orator, he was eclipsed only by Pitt. As
a wit, he yielded only to Selwyn. But vain, fickle, ambitious; himself, not
country; glory, not truth, were the guiding lights of his career.
His speech on the famous Marriage Bill, when but twenty-eight years of age,
first placed him in the rank of Parliamentary Orators.'A second adversary
appeared against the bill,' says Walpole, in describing the discussion.' This
was Charles Townshend, second son of my Lord Townshend, a young man of
unbounded ambition, of exceeding application, and, as it now appeared, of abilities capable of satisfying that ambition, and of not wanting that application;
yet to such parts and such industry he was fond of associating all the little
arts and falsehoods that always depreciate, though so often thought necessary
by, a genius. He had been an early favorite of Lord Halifax, and had already
distinguished himself in affairs of trade, and in drawing plans and papers for
that province; but, not rising in proportion to his ambition, he comforted himself with employing as many stratagems as had ever been imparted to the most
successful statesmen. His figure was tall and advantageous, his action vehement, his voice loud, his laugh louder. He had art enough to disguise anything but his vanity.'-Memoirs of the Reign of George II., vol. i. p. 340.
Such is Walpole's description of Townshend, when just setting out on his high
career. Burke thus portrays him as an orator, when his light had' passed and
set for ever.'' In truth, sir, he was the delight and ornament of this house, and
the charm of every private society which he honored with his presence. Perhaps
there never arose in this country, nor in any country, a man of a more pointed
and finished wit; and (where his passions were not concerned) of a more refined,
exquisite, and penetrating judgment. If he had not so great a stock, as some
have had who flourished formerly, of knowledge long treasured up; he knew
better by far, than any man I ever was acquainted with, how to bring together,
within a short time, all that was necessary to establish, to illustrate, and to
decorate that side of the question he supported. He stated his matter skilfully
and powerfully. He particularly excelled in a most luminous explanation and
display of his subject. His style of argument was neither trite and vulgar, nor
subtle and abstruse. He hit the house just between wind and water. And
not being troubled with too anxious a zeal for any matter in question, he was
never more tedious, or more earnest than the preconceived opinions and present
temper of his hearers required, to whom he was always in perfect unison. He
conformed exactly to the temper of the House; and he seemed to guide, because
he was always sure to follow it.' —Speech on A8merican Taxation.




84          MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
a quotation he had chanced upon in an anonymous author, who
maintained opinions of a very impious sort.-The passage he
repeated is as follows: —
Post mortem nihil est, ipsaq; mors nihilAnd he asked me if I knew where those words were to be found.
I recollected them  to be in one of the tragedies of Seneca; I
believed it was that of the Troades, which I had lately chanced
upon amongst my grandfather's books. As soon as I had access
to these, I turned to the passage, and, according to his desire,
copied and inclosed it to him.'Tis found in the second act of
the Troades; and, as it is a curious extract, and short withal, I
have inserted it, together with the stanzas written at the time,
and  transmitted with  it, which, though  not very closely translated, I have transcribed verbatim as I find them.
Verum est, an timidos fabula decipit
Umbras corporibus vivere condclitis?
Cum conjux oculis imposuit manum,
Supremusq; dies solibus obstitit,
Et tristes cineres urna courcuit;
Non prodest animam tradere funeri,
Sed restat miseris vivere longius,
An toti morimur, nullaq; pars nzalet
Nostri, cum profugo spiritus halitu
Immistus nebulis cessit in aera,
Et nudum  tetigit subclita fax latus-?
Quidquid sol oriens, quidquid et occidens
Novit, cteruleis oceanus fretis
Quidquid vel veniens vel fugiens lavat,
ZEtas pegaseo corripiet gradu.
Quo biscena volant sidera turbine,
Quo cursu properat secula volvere
Astrorum dominus, quo properat modo
Obliquis Hecate currere flexubus,
Hoe omnies pet'imus fata; nec amplius
Juratos Superis qui tetigit lacus
Usquam est: ut calidis fumus ab ignibus
Vanescit, spatium per breve sordiduls,
Ut nubes graviclas, quas modo vidimus,
Arctoi Boreo disjicit impetus,
Sic hic, quo regimur, spiritus effluet.
Post mortem nihil est, ipsaq; mors nihil;
Velocis spatii meta novissima.
Spemn.ponant avidi, solliciti metum!
Qumris quo jaceas post obitunm loco-?
Quo non nata jacent.
Tempus nos avidum devorat, et chaos:
Mors individua est; noxia corpori,
Nec parcens animae. Tnenara, et aspero
Regnu-m sub domino, limen et obsidens
Custos non facili Cerberus ostio,
Runmores vacui, verbaq; inania,
lEt par sollicito fabula somnio.




TROADES OF SENECA.                              85
Chorus of Trojan Women.'Is it a truth, or fiction all,
Which only cowards trust,
Shall the soul live beyond the grave,
Or mingle with our dust?
When the last gleam of parting day
Our struggling sight hath blest,
And in the pale array of death.
Our clay-cold limbs are drest,
Did the kind friend who clos'd our eyes,
Speak peace to us in vain?
Is there no peace, and have we died
To live and weep again?
Or sigh'd we then our souls away,
And was that sigh our last,
Or e'er upon the flaming pile
Our bare remains were cast?
All the sun sees, the ocean laves,
Kingdoms and kings shall fall,
Nature and nature's work shall cease,
And time be lord of all.
Swift as the monarch of the skies
Impels the rolling year,
Swift as the gliding orb of night
Pursues her prone career,
So swift so sure we all descend
Down life's continual tide,
Till in the void of fate profound
We sink with worlds beside.
As in the flame's resistless glare'Th' envelop'd smoke is lost,
Or as before the driving North
The scatter'd clouds are tost,
So this proud vapor shall expire,
This all-directing soul,
Nothing is after death; you've run
Your race and reach'd the goal.
Dare not to wish, nor dread to meet
A life beyond the grave;
You'll meet no other life than now
The unborn ages have.
Time whelms us in the vast Inane,
A gulf without a shore;
Death gives the exterminating blow,
We fall to rise no more.
Hell, and its triple-headed guard,
And Lethe's fabled stream,
Are tales that lying gossips tell,
And moon-struck Sibyls dream.'




86       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
It was the good old custom of the Earl of Halifax to pass the
Christmas at his family seat of Horton in great hospitality, and
upon these occasions he never failed to be accompanied by
parties of his friends and intimates from town; the chief of these
were the Lords Dupplin and Barrington, Mr. Charles Townshend,
Mr. Francis Fane,  Mr. James Oswaldc, Mr. Hans Stanley, Mr.
Narbonne Berkeley, Lord Hillsborough, Mr. Dodington, Colonel
James Johnstone, the husband of his sister, Lady Charlotte, and
Mr. Ambrose Isted, of Ecton, near Northampton, his neighbor
and constant visitor at those seasons; these, with the addition of
Doctor Crane and the Reverend Mr. Spencer, an elderly clergyman, long attached to the family, formed a society highly respectable. I ever entertained a perfect and sincere regard for Lady
Halifax; her mild, complacent character was to me far more
engaging than the livelier spirits and more figuring talents of
many who engrossed that attention which she did not aspire to.
She was uniform in her kindness to me, and whilst she lived, I
flatter myself I had a friend who esteemed and understood me;
when she died, I had more reason to regret her loss than for
myself alone.
My father was still fixed in his residence at Stanwick; and
there I ever found unvaried felicity, unabated affection.  lie had
some excellent friends, and many pleasant neighbors, with whom
he lived upon the most agreeable terms; for in his house everybody seemed to be happy. His table was admirably managed
by my mother, his cellar, servants, equipage in the best order,
and without parade unbecoming of his profession, or unsuitable
to his fortune-no family could be better conducted; and here
I must indulge myself in dilating on the character of one of his
best friends and best of men, Ambrose Isted, Esq., of Ecton,
afore-mentioned. Through every scene of my life, from  my
childhood to the lamented event of his death, whic  happened
whilst I was in Spain, he was invariably kind, indulgent, and
affectionate to me. I conceive there is not upon record one,
who more perfectly fulfilled the true character of a country
gentleman, in all its most respectable duties and departments,
than did this exemplary person; nor will his name be forgotten
in Northamptonshire so long as the memory or tradition of
good deeds shall circulate, or gratitude be considered as a tribute due to the benevolent. He was the pattern and very model
of hospitality most worthy to be copied; for his family and
affairs were administered and conducted with such measured
liberality, such correct and wise economy, that the friend, who
found nothing wanting, which could constitute his comforts,
found nothing wastefully superfluous to occasion his regret.




AMBROSE ISTED.                      87
Though Mr. Isted's estate was not large, yet by the process of
inclosure, and above all by his prudent and well-ordered management, it was augmented without extortion, and left in excellent condition to his son and heir. The benefits he conferred
upon his poorer neighbors were of a nature far superior to the
common acts of alms-giving (though these were not omitted), for
in all their difficulties and embarrassments, he was their counsellor and adviser, not merely in his capacity of acting justice of
the peace, but also from his legal knowledge and experience,
which were very considerable, and fully competent to all their
uses; by which numbers, who might else have fallen under the
talons of country attorneys, were saved from pillage and beggary.  WVith this gentleman my father acted as justice, and was
united in friendship and in party, and to him he resorted upon
all occasions, where the opinion and advice of a judicious friend
were wanted. Our families corresponded in the utmost harmony,
and our interchange of visits was frequent and delightful. The
house of Ecton was to me a second home, and the hospitable
master of it a second father; his gayety of heart, his suavity of
temper, the interest he took in giving pleasure to his guests, and
the fund of information he' possessed in the stores of a well-furnished memory and a lively animated genius, are'ever fresh in
my recollection, and I look back upon the days I have passed
with him as some of the happiest in my life. For many years
before his death, I saw this excellent man by intervals excruciated with a tormenting and incurable disease, which lay too
deep and undiscoverable in his vitals to admit of any other
relief than laudanum  in large doses could at times administer:
nothing but a soul serene and piously resigned as his was,
could have borne itself up against a visitation at once so agonizing and so hopeless; a spirit, however, fortified by faith, and a
conscience clear of reproach, can effect great things, and my
heroic friend, through all his trials, smiled in the midst of sufferings, and submitted unrepining to his fate. One of the last
letters he lived to write I received in Spain: I saw it was the
effort of an exhausted frame, a generous zeal to send one parting testimony of his affection to me, and being at that time
myself extremely ill, I was hardly in a capacity to dictate a
reply.
I was also at this time in habits of the most intimate friendship with two young men of my own age, sons of a worthy
clergyman in our neighborhood, the Reverend Mr. Ekins.
Jeffery, the elder, now  deceased, was Dean of Carlisle, and
Rector of Mlorpeth; John, the younger, is yet living, and Dean
of Salisbury. Few men have been more fortunate in life than




88        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
these brothers; fewer still have probably so well deserved their
good success.  With the elder of these my intimacy was the
greatest.  The same passion for poetry possessed us both, the
same attachment to the drama; our respective families indulged
us in our propensities, and were mutually amused with our
domestic exhibitions.  My friend Jeffery was in my family as
I was in his, an inmate everwelcome; his genius was quick
and brilliant, his temper sweet, and his nature mild and gentle
in the extreme.  I loved him as a brother; we never had the
slightest jar, nor can I recollect the moment in our lives that
ever gave occasion of offence to either. Our destinations separated us in the more advanced period of our time; his duties
drew him to a distance from the scenes I was engaged in. His
lot was prosperous and placid, and well for him it was; for he
was not made to combat with the storms of life. In early youth,
long before he took orders, he composed a drama of an allegorical cast, which he entitled'Florio; or, the Pursuit of Happiness.'
There was a great deal of fancy in it; and I wrote a comment
upon it almost as long as the drama itself, which I sent to him
as a mark of my admiration of his genius, and my affection
for his person.   IHe also wrote a poem  upon Dreams, which
had great merit; but as I wished my friend to employ his talents
upon subjects of a more elevated nature, I addressed some lines
to him in the style of remonstrance, of which I shall transcribe
no more than the concluding stanza —
But thou, whose powers can wield a weightier theme,
WXhy waste one thought upon an empty dream?
Why all this genius, all this art display'd
To paint a vapor and arrest a shade?
Can fear-drawn shapes and visions of the night
Assail thy fancy, or deceive thy sight?
WNilt thou to air-built palaces resort,
lWhere the sylphs flutter and the fairies sport?
No, let them soothe the love-enfeebled brain,
Thy Muse shall seize her harp and strike a loftier strain.'
During the time I lived in this pleasing intercourse with the
family of these worthy brothers, there was an ingenious friend
and school-fellow of theirs, pretty constantly resident with them,
of the name of Arden, a young man very much to be loved for
the amenity of his temper and the vivacity of his parts. He
was the life and soul of our dramatic amusements, and had an
energy of character, as well as a fund of humor, that enabled
him  to give its true force and expression to every part he
assumed in our private exhibitions; and here let me not omit to
mention a near relation, and once my most dear friend, Richard,
son of the Reverend Doctor George Reynolds, and grandson of




TENDER REMEMBRANCES.                   89
Bishop Reynolds, who married the daughter of Bishop Cumberland. This mild and amiable young man had, in early life, so
far attached himself to the Earl of Sandwich as to accompany
him to the Congress at Aix-la-Chapelle; but, being perfectly
independent in his fortune, and of an unambitious, placid nature,
he declined pursuing any further the unquiet track of public
life, and sat down, with his family, at their house of Paxton, in
Huntingdonshire, to the possession of which he succeeded, and
where he still resides. I am here speaking of the days of my
intimacy with this gentleman, and I look back to them with
none but grateful recollection; in the course of these memoirs,
I shall have to speak of other days, that will recall sensations
of another sort.
If ever this once-valued friend shall be my reader, let me
appeal to his candor for a fair interpretation of my feelings
when I cannot pass, this period over without recalling to his
memory and my own the name of his departed sister, who
merited and possessed my best affections in their purest sense.
The hospitable welcome I always received from the parents of
this amiable lady, and their encouraging politeness to me, might
have tempted one less respectful of her comforts, and less sensible of her superior pretensions, to have presumed upon their
favor, and made tender' of his addresses; but my precarious
dependency and unsettled state of life forbade such hopes, and
I was silent. I now return to my narrative, in which I am
prepared to speak both of others and myself no more than I
know, or verily believe to be true.
It was about this time I employed myself in collecting materials from the history of India for the plan of a poem in heroic
verse, many fragments of which I find amongst my old papers,
which prove I had bestowed considerable labor on the work,
and made some progress. Whether I found the plan could not
be made to accord to my idea of the epic, or whether any other
project called me off, I cannot now recollect; but at that time I
had not attempted anything professedly for the stage. I must,
however, lament that it has lain by, unlooked at, for so great a
length of time, as there have been intermediate periods of leisure
when it would have been well worth my pains to have taken it
up; it is now too late, and the only use I can apply it to is humbly
to lay before the public a specimen, faithfully transcribed from
that part of the poem where the discoveries of the Portuguese
are introduced. I might perhaps have selected passages less
faulty; but I give it correctly as I find it, trusting that the
candid reader will make allowances for that too florid style which
7




90          MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
juvenile versifiers are so apt to indulge themselves in, whilst the
fancy is too prurient, and the judgment not mature.
Fragment.
Long time had Afric's interposing mound,
Stretching athwart the navigator's way,
Fenc'd the rich East, and sent th' advent'rous bark
Despairing home, or whelm'd her in the waves.
Gama the first on bold discovery bent,
With prow still pointing to the further pole,
Skirted Caffraria till the welcome cape,
Thence call'd of HTope-but not to Asia's sonsSpoke the long coast exhausted; still'twas hope,
Not victory; nature in one effort foil'd,
Still kept the contest doubtful, and enrag'd,
Rous'd all the elements to war. Meanwhile,
As once the Titans with Saturnian Jove,
So he in happier hour and his bold crew
Undaunted conflict held; old Ocean storm'd,
Loud thunder rent the air, the leagued winds
Roar'd in his front, as if all Afric's gods
With necromantic spells had charm'd the storm
To shake him from his course-in vain; for Fate,
That grasp'd his helm with unrelenting hand,
Had register'd his triumph: through the breach
All Lusitania pour'd; Arabia mourn'd,
And saw her spicy caravans return
Shorn of their wealth; the Adriatic bride
Like a neglected beauty pin'd away;
Europe which by her hand of late receiv'd
India's rich fruits, from the deserted mart
Now turn'd aside and pluck'd them as they grew.
A new-found world from out the waves arose.
Now Soffala, and all the swarming coast
Of fruitful Zanguebar, till where it meets
The sultry Line, pour'd forth their odorous stores.
The thirsty West drank deep the luscious draught,
And reel'd with luxury: Emmanuel's throne
Blaz'd with barbaric gems; aloft he sate
Encanopied with gold, and circled round
With warriors and with chiefs in Eastern pomp
Resplendent with their spoils. Close in the rear
Of conquest march'd the motley papal host,
Monks of all colors, brotherhoods and names:
Frowning they rear'd the cross; th' affrighted tribes
Look'd up aghast, and whilst the cannon's mouth
Thunder'd obedience, dropt the unwilling knee
In trembling adoration of a God,
Whom, as by nature tnutor'd, in his works
They saw, and only in his mercy knew.
But creeds, impos'd by terror, can ensure
No fix'd allegiance, but are strait dismiss'd
From the vext conscience, when the sword is sheath'd.
Now when the barrier, that so long had stood'Twixt the departed nations, was no more,
Like fire once kindled, spreading in its course,
Onward the mighty conflagration roll'd.




THE EAST.                             91
As if the Atlantic and the Southern seas,
Driv'n by opposing winds and urg'd amain
By fierce tornadoes, with their cumbrous weight
Should on a sudden at the narrowing pass
Of Darien burst the continental chain
And whelm together, so the nations rush'd
Impetuous through the breach, where Gama forc'd
His desperate passage; terrible the shock,
From Ormus echoing to the Eastern isles
Of Java and Sumatra; India now
From th' hither Tropic to the Southern Cape
Show'd to the setting sun a shore of blood:
In vain her monarchs from a hundred thrones
Sounded the arbitrary word for war;
In vain whole cataracts of dusky slaves
Pour'd on the coast: earth trembled with.the weight;
But what can slaves? What can the nerveless arm,
Shrunk by that soft emasculating clime,
WVhat the weak dart against the mailed breast
Of Europe's martial sons? On sea, on shore
Great Almeed triumph'd, and the rival sword
Of Albuquerque, invincible in arms,
Wasted the nations, humbling to the yoke:
Kings, whom submissive myriads in the dust
Prostrate ador'd, and from the solar blaze
Of majesty retreating veil'd their eyes.
As when a roaming vulture on the wing
From Mauritania or the cheerless waste
Of sandy Thibet, by keen hunger press'd,
With eye quick glancing from his airy height
Haply at utmost need descries a fawn,
Or kid, disporting in some fruitful vale,
Down, down at once the greedy felon drops
With wings close cow'ring in his hollow sides
Full on the helpless victim; thence again
Tow'ring in air he bears his luscious prize,
And in his native wild enjoys the feast:
So those forth issuing from the rocky shore
Of distant Tagus on the quest for gain
In realms unknown, which feverish fancy paints.
Glittering with gems and gold, range the wide seas,
Till India's isthmus, rising with the sun
To their keen sight, her fertile bosom spreads,
Period and palm of all their labors past;
Whereat with avarice and ambition fir'd,
Eager alike for plunder and for fame,
Onward they press to spring upon their prey;
There every spoil obtain'd, with greedy haste
By force or fraud could ravage from the hands
Of Nature's peaceful sons, again they mount,Their richly freighted bark; she, while the cries
Of widows and of orphans rend the strand,
Striding the billows, to the venal winds
Spreads her broad vans, and flies before the gale.
Here as by sad necessity I tell
Of human woes to rend the hearer's heart,
Truth be my Muse, and thou, my bosom's star,
The planetary mistress of my birth,




92         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Parent of all my bliss, of all my pain,
Inspire me gentle Pity and attune
Thy numbers, heavenly cherub, to my strain
Thou, too, for whom my heart breathes every wish,
That filial love can form, fairest of isles,
Albion, attend and deign to hear a son,
Who for afflicted millions, prostrate slaves
Beneath oppression's scourge, and waning fast
By ghastly famine and destructive war,
No venal suit prefers; so may thy fleets,
Mistress of commerce, link the Western world
To thy maternal bosom, chase the sun
Up to his source, and in the bright display
Of empire, and the liberal search of fame
Belt the wide globe-but mount, ye guardian waves,
Stand as a wall before the spoiler's path!
Ye stars, your bright intelligence withdraw,
And darkness cover all, whom lust of gold,
Fell rapine, and extortion's guilty hope
Rouse from their native dust to rend the thrones
Of peaceful princes, and usurp that soil,
Where late as humble traffickers they sought
And found a shelter: thus what they obtain'd
By supplication they extend by force,
Till in the wantonness of power they grasp
Whole provinces, where millions are their slaves.
Ah whither shall I turn to meet the face
Of love and human kindness in this world,
On which I now am ent'ring? Gracious heaven,
If, as I trust, thou hast bestow'd a sense
Of thy best gift, benevolence, on me,
Oh visit me in mercy, and preserve
That spark of thy divinity alive,
Till time shall end me! So when all the blasts
Of malice and unkindness, which my fate
May have in store, shall vent their rage upon me,
Feeling, but still forgiving, the assault,
I may persist with patience to devote
My life, my love, my labors to mankind.'
The severest misfortune that could menace my unhappy patron, was now hanging over him.  The state of Lady Halifax's
health became daily more and more alarming; she seemed to be
sinking under a consumptive and exhausted constitution. It
was then the custom for the chief families in Northamptonshire
to attend the country races in great form, and the Lord Lieutenant on that occasion made it a point to assemble his friends and
party in their best equipage and array to grace the meeting: this
was ever a formidable task for poor Lady Halifax, whose tender
spirits and declining health were ill suited to such undertakings;
but upon the last year of her accompanying her lord to this
meeting, I found her more than usually apprehensive, and she
too truly'predicted that it would accelerate her death. I attended upon her at that meeting, and when I expressed my




DEATH OF LADY HALIFAX.                  93
hopes that she had escaped her fatigues without any material
injury, as I was handing her to her coach on the morning of
her departure, she shook her head and again repeated her entire
conviction that she should not long survive. My heart sank as
I took leave of her under this melancholy impression: we met
no more: she languished for a time, and to the irreparable loss
of her afflicted husband died.
Lady Halifax was by birth of humble rank, and not endowed
by nature with shining talents or superior charms of person.
She did not aim at that display which conciliates popularity,
nor affect those arts which invite admiration; without any of
those brilliant qualities which, whilst they gratify a husband's
vanity, too often endanger his honor and his peace, the virtues
of her: heart and the serenity of her temper were so happily
adapted to allay and tranquillize the more impassioned character of her lord, that every man, who knew his nature, could
not fail to foresee the dangers he would be exposed to when she
was no longer at his side. lHe had still a true and faithful
friend -in Doctor Crane, and to him Lady Halifax had been most
entirely attached.,He merited all her confidence, and sincerely
lamented her loss, foreseeing, as I had good reason to know, the
unhappy consequences it might lead to, for by this time I was
favored with some tokens of his regard, that could not be mistaken, and though his feelings never forced him into warm expressions, yet his heart was kind, and his friendship sincere.
Many days passed before I was summoned to pay my respects
to the afflicted widower, who was represented to me as being
almost frantic with his grief. I divided this time between my
own home and the house of Ecton: at length I was invited to
Horton, and the meeting was a very painful moment to us both.
We soon removed to town for the winter season, and there,
whilst politics and public office began to occupy his thoughts
and by degrees to wean him from his sorrows, I resumed my
solitary lodgings in Mount Street, where, with my old Swiss servant for my caterer and cook, I lived in all the temperance and
nearly all the retirement of a hermit. Then it was that I derived all my resources in the books I possessed, and the talents
God had given me. I read and wrote incessantly, and should
have been in absolute solitude but for the kind visits of my
friend Higgs, who, not forgetting our late intimacy at college
and at school, nor disdaining my poor fare and dull society,
cheered and relieved my spirits with the liveliness and hilarity
natural to him: these are favors I can never forget; for they
supported me at a time when I felt all the gloominess of my
situation, and yet wanted energy to extricate myself from it,




94       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
and renounce those expectations, to which I had devoted so
much time in profitless dependence. I lived indeed upon the
narrowest system I could adopt, but nevertheless I could not
make the income of my fellowship bear me through without the
generous assistance of my father, and that reflection was the
only painful concomitant of a disappointment, that I should not
in my own particular else have wasted a regret upon.
In the mean time, the long and irksome residence in town
which my attendance upon Lord Halifax entailed upon me, and
the painful separation from my family, became almost insupportable, and whilst T was meditating a retreat, my good father, who
participated with me and his whole family in these sensations,
projected and concluded an exchange for his living of Stanwick
with the Reverend Mr. Samuel Knight, and with permission of
the Bishop of London, took the vicarage of Fulham as an equi.
valent, and thereby opened to me the happy prospect of an easier
access to those friends so justly valued and so justly dear.
In point of income the two livings were as nearly equal as
could well be, therefore no pecuniary compensation passed between the contracting parties; but the comforts of tranquillity
in point of duty, or of- conveniences in respect of locality, were
all in favor of Mr. Knight, and nothing could have prevailed
with my father for leaving those, whom he had so long loved
and cherished as his flock, but the generous motive of giving me
an asylum in the bosoms of my family. With this kind and
benevolent object in his view, he submitted to the pain of tearing himself from his connections, and amidst the lamentations of
his neighbors and parishioners came up to Fulham to take
upon himself the charge of a great suburban parish, and quitted Stanwick, where he had resided for the space of thirty years
in peace, beloved by all around him.
He found a tolerably good parsonage house at Fulman, in
which, with my mother and my sisters, he established himself
with as much content as could be looked for. Wherever he
went the odor of his good name, and of course his popularity,
was sure to follow him; but the task of preaching to a large
congregation after being so long familiarized to the service of his
little church at Stanwick, oppressed his modest mind, and
though his person, matter and manner were such as always left
favorable impressions on his hearers, yet it was evident to us
who knew him and belonged to him, that he suffered by his exertions.
Bishop Sherlock was yet living and resided in the palace, but
in the last stage of bodily decay. The ruins of that luminous
and powerful mind were still venerable, though his speech was




DODINGTON AND HIS ASSOCIATES.                     95
almost unintelligible, and his features cruelly disarranged and
distorted by the palsy: still his genius was alive, and his judgmnent discriminative, for it was in this lamentable state that he
performed the task of selecting sermons for the last volume he
committed to the press, and his high reputation was in no respect lowered by the selection.  I had occasionally the honor of
being admitted to visit that great man in company with my
father, to whom he was uniformly kind and gracious, and in token of his favor bestowed on him a small prebend in the church
of St. Paul, the only one that became vacant within his time.
Mrs. Sherlock was a truly respectable woman, and my mother
enjoyed much of her society till the bishop's death brought a
successor in his place.
In the adjoining parish of Hammersmith lived Mr. Dodington, at a splendid villa, which by the rule of contraries he was
pleased to call La Trappe, and his inmates and familiars the
monks of the convent; these were Mr. Windham, his relation,
whom he made his heir, Sir William Breton, privy purse to the
lking, and Doctor Thompson, a physician out of practice; these
gentlemen formed a very curious society of very opposite characters; in short it was a trio consisting of a misanthrope, a courtier, and a quack. Mr. Glover, the author of Leonidas, was occasionally a visitor, but not an inmate as those above mentioned.'
How a man of Dodington's sort came to single out men of their
sort (with the exception  of Mr. Glover) is hard to say, but
though his instruments were never in unison, he managed to
make music out of them all. IHe could make and find amusement in contrasting the sullenness of a Grumbetonian with the
egregious vanity and self-conceit of an antiquated coxcomb, and
as for the Doctor, he was a juck-pudding ready to his hand at
any time.  IHe was understood to be Dodington's body physician, but I believe he cared very little about his patient's health,
and his patient cared still less about his prescriptions; and when
in his capacity of superintendent of his patron's dietetics, he
cried out one morning at breakfast to have the munins taken
1 Richard Glover, the author of' Leonidas,''Progress of Commerce,' and the
celebrated ballad of'Hosier's Ghost,' was the son of a London merchant, and
born in 1712. He was, at one time, a member of Parliament, and esteemed by
the mercantile interest for his activity and abilities. The letters of Junius,
upon very slight and insubstantial grounds, have been attributed to him. In
1742, he was selected by the London merchants to conduct an application to
Parliament, complaining of the neglect of trade. His speech on the occasion
was much applauded. Walpole, however, who always depreciates him, thus
refers to this passage of his life:'We have at last finished the merchant's petition, under the conduct of the Lord Mayor and Mr. Leonidas; the greatest coxcomb and the greatest oaf that ever met in blank verse or prose.'-Letters, vol.
i. p. 110. Mr. Glover died in 1785, at the age of seventy-three.




96       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
away, Dodington aptly enough cried out at the same time to the
servant to take away the ragamfiin, and truth to say, a more
dirty animal than poor Thompson was never seen on the outside
of a pigsty; yet he had the plea of poverty and no passion
for cold water.
It is about a short and pleasant mile from this villa to the parsonage house of Fulham, and Mr. Dodington having visited us
with great politeness, I became a frequent guest at La Trappe,
and passed a good deal of my time with him there, in London
also, and occasionally in Dorsetshire. He was certainly one of
the most extraordinary men of his time, and as I had opportunities of contemplating his character in all its various points of
view, I trust my readers will not regret that I have devoted
some pages to the further delineation of it.
I have before observed that the nature of my business as
private secretary to Lord Halifax was by no means such as to
employ any great portion of my time, and of course I could devote many hours to my own private pursuits without neglecting
those attendances, which were due to my principal. Lord Halifax had also removed his, abode to Downing Street, having
quitted his house in Grosvenor Square upon the decease of his
lady, so that I rarely found it necessary to sleep in town, and
could divide the rest.of my time between Fulham and La Trappe.
It was likewise entirely correspondent with Lord Halifax's
wishes that I should cultivate my acquaintance with Mr. Dodington, with whom he not only lived upon intimate terms as a
friend, but was now in train to form, as it seemed, some opposition connections; for at this time it happened that upon a breach
with the Duke of Newcastle, he threw up his office of First Lord
of Trade and Plantations, and detached himself from administration. This took place towards the latter end of the late king's
reign, and the ground of the measure was a breach of promise
on the part of the Duke to give him the Seals and a seat in the
Cabinet as Secretary of State- for the Colonies.
In the summer of this year, being now an ex-secretary of an
ex-statesman, I went to Eastbury, the seat of Mr. Dodington, in
Dorsetshire, and passed the whole time of his stay in that place.
Lord Halifax, with his brother-in-law, Colonel Johnstone, of the
Blues, paid a visit there, and the Countess Dowager of Stafford,
and old Lady Hervey, were resident with us the whole time.
Our splendid host was excelled by no man in doing the honors
of his house and table; to the ladies he had all the courtly and
profound devotion of a Spaniard, with the ease and gayety of a
Frenchman towards the men. His mansion was magnificent,
massy, and stretching out to a great extent of front, with an




VISIT TO DODINGTON S COUNTRY SEAT.            97
enormous portico of Doric columns, ascended by a stately flight
of steps; there were turrets and wings that went I know not
whither, though now they are levelled with the ground, and
gone to more ignoble uses. Vanbrugh, who constructed this
superb edifice, seemed to have had the plan of Blenheimn in his
thoughts, and the interior was as proud and splendid as the exterior was bold and imposing. All this was exactly in unison
with the taste of its magnificent owner, who had gilt and furnished the apartments with a profusion of finery, that kept no
terms with simplicity, and not always with elegance or harmony
of style. Whatever Mr.'Dodington's revenue then was, he had
the happy art of managing it with that regularity and economy,
that I believe he made more display at less cost than any man
in the kingdom but himself could have done. His town house
in Pall-Mall, his villa at Hammersmith, and the mansion above
described, were such establishments as few nobles in the nation
were possessed of. In either of these he was not to be approached but through a suite of apartments, and rarely seated
but under painted ceilings and gilt entablatures. In his villa
you were conducted through two rows of antique marble statues
ranged in a gallery floored with the rarest marbles, and enriched
with columns of granite and lapis lazuli; his saloon was hung
with the finest Gobelin tapestry, and he slept in a bed encanopied with peacock's feathers in the style of Mrs. Montague.
When he passed from Pall-Mall to La Trappe, it was always in
a coach, which I could suspect had been his ambassadorial
equipage at Madrid, drawn by six fat unwieldy black horses,
short docked, and of colossal dignity: neither was he less characteristic in apparel than in equipage; he had a wardrobe
loaded with rich and flaring suits, each in itself a load to the
wearer, and of these I have no doubt but many were coeval.
with his embassy above mentioned, and every birth-day had
added to the stock. In doing this he so contrived as never to
put his old dresses out of countenance by any variations in the
fashion of the new; in the mean time, his bulk and corpulency
gave full display to a vast expanse and profusion of brocade
and embroidery, and this, when set off with an enormous tyeperiwig and deep laced ruffles, gave the picture of an ancient
courtier in his gala habit, or Quin in his stage dress; nevertheless, it must be confessed this style, though out of date, was not
out/of character, but harmonized so well with the person of the
wearer, that I remember when he made his first speech in the
House of Peers, as Lord Melcombe, all the flashes of his wit,
all the studied phrases and well-turned periods of his rhetoric,
lost their effect, simply because the orator had laid aside his




98       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
magisterial tye, and put on a modern bag wig, which was as
much out of costume upon the broad expanse of his shoulders,
as a cue would have been upon the robes of the Lord Chief
Justice.
Having thus dilated more than perhaps I should have done
upon this distinguished person's passion for magnificence and
display, when I proceed to inquire into those principles of good
ta'ste which should naturally have been the accompaniments
and directors of that magnificence, I fear I must be compelled
by truth to admit that in these he was deficient. Of pictures,
he seemed to take his estimate only by their cost-in fact, he
was not possessed of any; but I recollect his saying to me one
day, in his great saloon at Eastbury, that if he had half a score
pictures, of a thousand pounds apiece, he would gladly decorate
his walls with them, in place of which, I am sorry to say, he had
stuck up immense patches of gilt leather, shaped into buglehorns, upon hangings of rich crimson velvet, and round his
state-bed he displayed a carpeting of gold and silver embroidery,
which too glaringly betrayed its derivation from coat, waistcoat,
and breeches by the testimony of pockets, buttonholes, and loops,
with other equally incontrovertible witnesses, subpoenaed from
the tailor's shopboard. When he paid his court at St. James's
to the present queen upon her nuptials, he approached to kiss
her hand decked in an embroidered suit of silk, with lilac waistcoat and breeches, the latter of which, in the act of kneeling
down, forgot their duty, and broke loose from their moorings in
a very indecorous and uncourtly manner.
In the higher provinces of taste, we may contemplate his
character with more pleasure; for he had an ornamented fancy
and a brilliant wit. He was an elegant Latin classic, and well
versed in history, ancient and modern. His favorite prose writer
was Tacitus; and I scarce ever surprised him in his hours of
reading without finding that author upon his table before him.
He understood him well, and descanted upon him very agreeably, and with much critical acumen. Mr. Dodington was in
nothing more remarkable than in ready perspicuity and clear
discernment of a subject thrown before him on a sudden. Take
his first thoughts, then, and he would charm you; give him
time to ponder and refine, you would perceive the spirit of his
sentiments and the vigor of his genius evaporate by the process,
for though his first view of the question would be a wide one,
and clear withal, when he came to exercise the subtlety of his
disquisitorial powers upon it, he would so ingeniously dissect and
break it into fractions, that as an object, when looked upon too
intently for a length of time, grows misty and confused, so would




CHARACTER OF DODINGTON.                           99
the question under his discussion when the humor took him to
be hypercritical. Hence it was that his impromptus in Parliament were generally more admired than his studied speeches,
and his first suggestions in the councils of his party better
attended to than his prepared opinions.
Being a man of humble birth, he seemed to have an innate
respect for titles, and none bowed with more devotion to the
robes and fasces of high rank and office; he was decidedly aris
tocratic.  He paid his court to Walpole in panegyric poems,
apologizing for his presumption by reminding him that it was
better to be pelted with roses than with rotten eggs. To Chesterfield, to Winnington, Pulteney, Fox, and the luminaries of
his early time, he offered up the oblations of his genius, and
incensed them  with all the odors of his wit; in his latter days,
and within the period of my acquaintance with him, the Earl of
Bute, in the plenitude of his power, was the god of his idolatry.
That noble lord was himself too much a man of letters and a
patron of the sciences to overlook a witty head that bowed so
low; he accordingly put a coronet upon it, which, like the barren sceptre in the hand of Macbeth, merely served as a ticket for
the coronation procession, and, having nothing else to leave to
posterity in memory of its owner, left its mark upon the lid of
his coffin.'
During my stay at Eastbury, we were visited by the late Mr.
Henry Fox2 and Mr. Alderman Beckford; the solid good sense' In an age,of low and dirtyprostitution-in the age of Dodington and Sandys
-it was something to have a man,' thus does Macaulay refer to Dodington in
connection with the Elder Pitt,'who might, perhaps, under some strong excitement, have been tempted to ruin his country, but who never would have stooped
to pilfer from her; a man whose -errors arose, not from a sordid desire of gain,
but from a fierce thirst for power, for glory, and for vengeance.'-Essays, vol. ii.
p. 246. Dodington was son of an apothecary; but got his name and estate from
a maternal uncle.' He had,' says Walpole,' a great deal of wit, great knowledge
of business, and was an able speaker in Parliament, though an affected one, and
though most of his speeches were premeditated. He was, as his diary shows,
vain, fickle, ambitious, servile, and corrupt.'-Memoirs of the Reign of George
II., vol. i. p. 437.
2 The father of Charles James Fox. He was younger son of Sir Stephen Fox,
and born in 1705. His youth, like the youth of his renowned son, was characterized for wild and reckless dissipation. His morals were profligate; his politics
venal; but his abilities of the highest order. Distrusted as a statesman, he
was beloved as a man. When he had nearly reached the age of forty, he made
a runaway match with the eldest daughter of Charles, Duke of Richmond, grandson of King Charles II.'Mr. Fox fell in love with Lady Caroline Lennox;' thus
wrote Walpole on the occasion,'asked her, was refused, and stole her. His
father was a footman; her great grandfather a king: hinc illee lacrymce; all the
blood royal have been up in arms.' —Letters, vol. i. p. 284.'Fox,' says Lord
Chesterfield,'had not the least notion of or regard for the public good or the
constitution, but despised those cares as the objects of narrow minds.'-Lord
Chesterfield's Characters. On the other hand, he had many attractive virtues.




100         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
of the former, and the dashing loquacity of the latter' formed a
striking contrast between the characters of these gentlemen.
To Mr. Fox, our host paid all that courtly homage which he so
well kinew how to time, and where to a""ply; to Beckford, he
did not observe the same attentions, but in the happiest flow of
his raillery and wit combated this intrepid tal]ker with admirable
effect.  It was an interlude truly comic and amusing.  Beckfbrd,
loud, voluble, self-sufficient, and galled by hits which he could
not parry, and probably did not expect, laid himself more and
more open in the vehemence of his argument. Dodington, lolling in his chair in perfect apathy and self-command, dozing,
and even snoring at intervals in his lethargic way, broke out
every now and then into such gleams and flashes of wit and
irony as, by the contrast of his phlegm with the other's impetuosity, made his humor irresistible, and set the table in a roar;2'In natural disposition, as well as in talents,' says Macaulay,'he bore a great
resemblance to his more celebrated son. He had the same sweetness of temper,
boldness, and impetuosity, the same cordiality towards friends, the same placability towards enemies. No man was more warmly or justly beloved by his
family or by his associates.'-Essays, vol. ii. p. 266. As a speaker, he was inferior only to Pitt; as a debater, he surpassed him.'Fox,' says Walpole,'with
a great hesitation in his elocution, and a barrenness of expression, had conquered these impediments, and the prejudices they had raised against his
speaking, by a vehemence of reasoning, and closeness of argument, that beat
all the orators of the time. His spirit, his steadiness, andl humanity, procured
him strong attachments, which the more jealous he grew of Pitt the more he
cultivated. Fox always spoke to the question; Pitt to the passions. Fox, to
carry the question; Pitt to raise himself. Fox pointed out, Pitt lashed the
errors of his antagonists. Pitt's talents were likely to make him soonest; Fox's to
keep him First Minister longest.' —iMemoirs of the Reigni of Geo-rge II., vol. i. p. 93.
1 Beckford, whom Walpole styles a'noisy, good-humored flattering bombast,
as became the priest of such an idol' (referring to Pitt),' and vulgar and absurdl
as was requisite to captivate any idol's devotees, the mob,' was Pitt's personal
friend and efficient supporter.'He was pompous in his expense, or rather in
his expressions, but he knew his interest, and was attentive to it.' —TValpole's
Memoirs of the Reign of George II., vol. iii. p. 177. His fortune was large, and
lay chiefly in Jamaica. He'was a man of neglectedl educatio  says Mabon,'noted in the House of Commons for his loud tones and his faulty Latin, but
upright ancl fearless, and ever prompt and ready; of much commercial weight
and especial popularity in the city of London, which he represented in Parliament.' —tlistory of Englazd, vol. v. p. 174. Beckford was on intimate terms
with Horne Tooke, and, on several occasions, availed himself of the talents of
his friend. His celebrated address to the king (George III.), which is inscribed
on the base of the statue erected to his honor, by the grateful citizens of London,
is said to have been composed by Tooke. He died in 1770, leaving his enormous fortune to his only son, known as the author of' Vathek,'' the fastidious
man of taste-the fantastic decorator of Ramalhao and Fonthill.'
2 This it was that gave such zest to the wit of Lord North and Selwyn. It
came unexpectedly, bursting forth as it were from their sleep. Their'prime
distinction' wasSocial wit; which, never kindling strife,
Blazed in the small, sweet courtesies of life;
Those little sapphires round the diamond shone,
Lending soft radiance to the richer stone.'




SOCIETY AT EASTBURY.                 101
he was here upon his very strongest ground, for no man was
better calculated to exemplify how true the observation isRidiculum acri
Fortius ac melius.
At the same time, he had his serious hours and graver topics,
which he would handle with all due solemnity of thought and
language; and these were to me some of the most pleasing hours
I have passed with him, for he could keep close to his point if
he would, and could not be less argumentative than he was eloquent when the question was of magnitude enough to interest
him. It is with singular satisfaction I can truly say that I
never knew him flippant upon sacred subjects; he was, however,
generally courted and admired as a gay companion rather than
as a grave one.
I have said that the dowager Ladies Stafford and Hervey
made part of our domestic society, and as the trivial amusement of cards was never resorted to in Mr. Dodington's house,
it was his custom in the evenings to entertain his company with
reading, and in this art he excelled; his selections, however,
were curious, for he treated these ladies with the whole of
Fielding's'Jonathan Wild,' in which he certainly consulted his
own turn for irony rather than theirs for elegance, but he set
it off with much humor after his manner, and they were polite
enough to be pleased, or at least to appear as if they were.
His readings from Shakspeare were altogether as whimsical,
for he chose his passages only where buffoonery was the character of the-scene; one of these I remember was that of the
clown, who brings the asp to Cleopatra. He had, however, a
manuscript copy of Glover's' Medea,' which he gave us con amorae,
for he was extremely warm in his praises of that classical drama,
which Mrs. Yates afterwards brought upon the stage, and played
in it with her accustomed excellence; he did me also the honor
to devote an evening to the reading of some lines, which I had
hastily written to the amount of about four hundred, partly
complimentary to him as my host, and in part consolatory to
Lord Halifax upon the event of his retiring from public office;
they flattered the politics then in favor with Mr. Dodington, and
coincided with his wishes for detaching Lord Halifax from the
administration of the Duke of Newcastle. I was not present,
as may well be conceived, at this reading, but I confess I sat
listening in the next room, and was not a little gratified by what
I overheard. Of this manuscript I have long since destroyed
the only copy that I had, and if I had it now in my hands it
would be only to consign it to the flames, for it was of that




.102       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
occasional class of poems for the day, which have no claim upon
posterity, and in such I have not been ambitious to concern myself: it served the purpose, however, and amused the moment;
it was also the tribute of my mite to the lares of that mansion,
where the Muse of Young had dictated his tragedy of The
Revenge, and which the genius of Voltaire had honored with a
visit: here Glover had courted inspiration, and Thompson caught
it: Dodington also himself had a lyre, but he had hung it up,
and it was never very high sounding; yet he was something
more than a mere admirer of the Muse. He wrote small poems
with great pains, and elaborate letters with much terseness of
style, and some quaintness of expression: I have seen him refer
to a volume of his own verses in manuscript, but he was very
shy, and I never had the perusal of it. I was rather better acquainted with his diary, which since his death has been published, and I well remember the temporary disgust he seemed
to take, when upon his asking what I would do with it, should
he bequeath it to my discretion, I instantly replied that I would:destroy it.  There was a third, which I more coveted a sight of
than either of the above, as it contained a miscellaneous collection of anecdotes, repartees, good sayings and humorous incidents, of which he was part author and part compiler, and out
of which he was in the habit of refreshing his memory, when
he prepared himself to expect certain men of wit and pleasantry either at his own house or elsewhere.' Upon this practice,
which he did not affect to conceal, he observed to me one day,
that it was a compliment he paid to society, when he submitted
to steal weapons out of his own armory for their entertainment,
and ingenuously added, that although his memory was not in
general so correct as it had been, yet he trusted it would save
him from the disgrace of repeating the same story to the same
hearers, or foisting it into conversation in the wrong place or
out of time.  No man had fewer oversights of that sort to
answer for, and fewer still were the men, whose social talents
could be compared with those of Mr. Dodington.' It was in like manner a trick of Sheridan to use the bon-mots of his acquaintance; but with such address and embellishment as almost to entitle him to the
credit of original creation.' Like all men of genius,' says his biographer,'he
had, in addition to the resources of his own wit, a quick apprehension of what
suited his purpose in the wit of others, and a power of enriching whatever he
adopted from them with such new grace as gave him a sort of claim of paternity
over it, and made it all his own.''It is certain, that even his bon-mots in society were not always to be set down to the credit of the occasion; but that frequently, like skilful priests, he prepared the miracle of the moment beforehand.'
-Moore's Life of Sheridan.




MY FIRST LEGITIMATE PLAY.                 103
Upon my return out of Dorsetshire, I was invited by my
friends at Trinity College to come and offer myself as a candidate for the Lay-fellowship then vacant by the death of Mr.
Titley, the Danish envoy. There are but two fellowships of
this description, and there were several solicitors for an exemption so desirable, but the unabated kindness of the master and
seniors patronized my suit, and honored me with that last and
most distinguished mark of their favor and protection. I did
not hold it long, for Providence had a blessing in store for me,
which was an effectual disqualification from holding any honors
on the terms of celibacy.
About this time I wrote my first legitimate drama in five
acts, and entitled it' The Banishment of Cicero.' I was led to this
by the perusal of Middleton's account of his life, which afforded
me much entertainment. As the hero of a drama I was not
happy in my choice of Cicero, and banishment is a tame incident to depend upon for the interest and catastrophe of a tragic
plot. I knew that his philosophy had deserted him on this
occasion, and that I could find no feature of Coriolanus in the
character of my exile, but as I began it without any view of
offering it to the stage, as long as I found amusement I continued to write. As a classical composition, which tells its story in
fair language, and has stood the test of the press both in England and Ireland, with the approbation of some who were most
competent to decide upon it, I may venture to say it was creditable to its author as a first attempt. It has been long out of
print, and when, after a period of more than forty intermediate
years, I read it (as I have now been doing) with all the impartiality in my power, I certainly can discover inaccuracies in the
diction here and there, and in the plot an absolute inaptitude to
scenic exhibition, yet I think I may presume to say, that. as a
dramatic poem for the closet it will bear examination, though I
cannot expect that any of its readers at this time would pass so
favorable a judgment upon it as I was honored with by Primate
Stone and Bishop Warburton, from the latter of whom I received a letter, which I have preserved, and which I cannot
withstand the temptation of inserting, though I am thoroughly
conscious it bestows praises far above the merits of my humble
workTo RICHARD CUMBERLAND, ESQ.
Grosvenor Square, May 15, 1767.
DEAR SIR: Let me thank you for the sight of a very fine dramatic poem. It
is (like Mr. Mason's) much too good for a prostitute stage. Yesterday I received
a letter from the Primate. He was on the point of leaving Bath for Ireland; so




104        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
that my letter got to him just in time.'It gives me great satisfaction,' says
he,'that my opinion of Bishop Cumberland's grandson agrees with yours,' &c.
&c.
I have the honor to be,
Dear sir, your very faithful
And assured humble servant,
W. GLOUCESTER.
It is a singular circumstance, though perhaps not a favorable
one, that in the dramatis personie of this play there is not one
auxiliary character; they are all principals, and such in respect
of consequence as few authors ever brought together, in one
point of view, for they consist of the two Consuls L. Calphurnius
Piso and Aulus Gabinius, the Tribune P. Clodius, Cicero and
Pomponius Atticus, Caius Piso Frugi, Terentia and Tullia, wife
and daughter of Cicero, and Clodia, sister of the Tribune, without one speaking attendant or interloper throughout the piece,
except a very few words from one Apollodorus.
To give display to characters like these, the bounds of any
single drama would hardly serve, and of course the arrangement
was so far injudicious; yet the author, as if he had not enough
on his hands, goes aside to speak of Cato in the scene betwixt
Gabinius and ClodiusGABINIUS.'Cato is -still severe, is still himself;
Rough and unshaken in his squalid garb,
He told us he had long in anguish mourn'd,
Not in a private but the public cause,
Not for the wrong of one, but wrong of all,
Of Liberty, of Virtue, and of Rome.
CLODIUS.'No more: I sleep o'er Cato's drowsy theme.
He is the senate's drone, and dreams of liberty,
When Rome's vast empire is set up to sale,
And portioned out to each ambitious bidder
In marketable lots —-—'
In the further progress of the same scene, Pompey is mentioned, and Calphurnius Piso introduced in the following
terms:GABINIUS.
--— Oh! who shall attempt to read
In Pompey's face the movements of his heart?
The same calm artificial look of state,
His half-clos'd eyes in self-attention wrap'd,
Serve him alike to mask unseemly joy,
Or hide the pangs of envy and revenge.
CLoODIs.
See, yonder your old colleague Piso comes!
But name hypocrisy and he appears.
How like his grandsire's monument he looks!




MY FIRST LEEGITIMATE PLAY.                    105
He wears the dress of holy Numa's days,
The brow and beard of Zeno; trace him home,
You'll find his house the school of vice and lust,
The foulest sink of Epicurus' sty,
And him the rankest swine of all the herd.'
I find the two first acts are wound up with some couplets in
rhyme after the manner of the middle age. It will, I hope, be
pardonable if I here insert the lines, with which Clodius concludes the first act-'When flaming comets vex our frighted sphere,
Though now the nations mnelt with awful fear,
From the dread omen fatal ill presage,
Dire plague and famine and war's wasting rage;
In time some brighter genius may arise,
And banish signs and omens from the skies,
Expound the comet's nature and its cause,
Assign its periods and prescribe its laws,
Whilst man grown wise, with his discoveries fraught,
Shall wonder how he needed to be taught.'
I shall only add that the dialogue between Cicero and Atticus
in the third act seems in point of poetry one of the happiest
efforts of its author: in short, although this drama: has not all
the finishing of a veteran artist, yet in parts it has a warmth
of coloring and a strength of expression, which might induce
a candid reader to augur not unfavorably of the novice who
composed it.
It is here I begin more particularly to feel the weight of those
difficulties, which at my outset I too rashly announced myself
prepared to meet.  When I review what I have been saying
about this my first drama, and recollect what numbers are behind, I am almost tempted to shrink back- from the task, to
which I am comniitted.  If indeed the candor and liberality of
my readers will allow me to step out of myself (if I may so term
it), whilst I am speaking of myself, I have little to fear; but if I
must be tied down to my individuality, and not allowed my fair
opinion without incurring the charge of self-conceit, I am in a
most unenviable situation, and must either abandon my undertaking, or abide by the conditions of it with what fortitude I can
muster.  If, when I am  professedly the recorder of my own
writings, I am to record nothing in them  or about them  but
their simple titles and the order in which they were written, I
give the reader nothing more than a catalogue, which any magazine might furnish, or the prompter's register as well supply;
if, on the contrary, I proceed to fulfill the real purposes of biographer and critic, ought I not to act as honestly and conscientiously in my own case, as I would in the instance of
8




106       MEM}OIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
another person? I think I ought: It is what the title of my
book professes; how I am to execute it I do not know, and how
my best endeavors may be received I can form no guess. In
the mean time, I will strive to arm myself with an humble but
honest mind, resolving, as far as in me lies, not to speak partially of' my works because they are my own, nor slightingly
against my conscience from apprehension that readers may be
found to differ from me, where my thoughts may seem more
favorable than theirs. The latter of these consequences may
perhaps frequently occur, and when it does, my memoirs must
encounter it, and acquit themselves of it as they can; for myself,
it cannot be long before I am alike insensible to censure or applause.
This play, of which I have been speaking, lay by me for a
considerable time; till Lord Halifax one day, when we were at
Bushey Park, desired me to show it to him; he read it, and immediately proposed to carry it to Garrick, and recommend it to
him for representation. Garrick was then at Hampton, and I
went with Lord Halifax across the Park to his house. Thtis was
the first time I found myself in company with that extraordinary man. He received his noble visitor with profound obeisance,
and in truth there were some claims upon his civility for favors
and indulgences granted to him by Lord Halifax as iRanger of
Bushey Park. I was silently attentive to every minute particular of this interview, and soon discovered the embarrassment,
which the introduction of my manuscript occasioned; I saw my
cause was desperate, though my advocate was sanguine, and in.
truth the first effort of a raw author did not promise much to
the purpose of the manager. HIe took it, however, with all
possible respect, and promised an attentive perusal, but those
tell-tale features, so miraculously gifted in the art of assumed
emotions, could not mask their real ones, and I predicted to Lord
5H.alifax, as we returned to the lodge, that I had no expectation
of my play being accepted. A day or two of what might scarce
be called suspense, confirmed this prediction, when Mr. Garrick
having stated his despair of accommodating a play on such a
plan to the purposes of the stage, returned the manuscript to
Lord Halifax with many apologies to his lordship, and some
few qualifying words to its author, which certainly was as much
as in reason could be expected from him, though it did not
satisfy the patron of the play,:who warmly resented his noncompliance with his wishes, and for a length of time forbore to
live in habits of his former good neighborhood with him.
When I published this play, which I soon after did, I was
conscious that I published Mr. Garrick's justification for re



MY MARRIAGE.                    107
fusing it, and I made no mention of the circumstances above
stated.
George Ridge, Esq., of Kilmiston, in the county of Hants, had
two sons and one daughter by Miss Brooke, niece to my grandfather Bentley; with this family we had lived as friends and relations in habits of the greatest intimacy. It was upon an excursion, as I have before related, to this gentleman's house that I
founded miy school-boy poem written at Bury, and our families
had kept up an interchange of annual visits for a course of time.
From these meetings I had been for several years excluded by
my avocations at college or London, till upon Mr. Ridge's coming to town accompanied by his wife and daughter, and taking
lodgings in the near neighborhood of Mount Street, where I held
my melancholy abode, I was kindly entertained by them, and
found so many real charms in the modest manners and blooming beauty of the amiable daughter, that I passed every hour I
could command in her society, and devoted all my thoughts to
the attainment of that happiness, which it was in her power to
bestow upon my future days. As soon, therefore, as I obtained,
through the patronage of Lord Halifax, a small establishment
as Crown Agent for the province of Nova Scotia, I began to
hope the object I aspired to was withini my reach, when upon a
visit she made with her parents to mine at Fulham, I tendered
my addresses, and had the unspeakable felicity to find them accepted, and sanctioned by the consent of all parties concerned;
thus I became possessed of one, whom the virtues of her heart
and the charms of her person had effectually endeared to me,
and on the 19th day of February, 175.9 (being my birth-day), I
was married by my father in the church of Kilmiston, to Elizabeth, only daughter of George and Elizabeth Ridge.




108         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
CHAPTE R III.
Lord Halifax, first lord of trade and plantations-Earl of Bute at the head of
affairs-Dodington-Lord Halifax, lord-lieutenant of Ireland-IIis arrangements - William  Gerard Hamilton- Cumberland, Ulster secretary-' The
Banishment of Cicero'-Lord Melcombe-Bentley-' The Wishes'-Opening
speech of the Lord Lieutenant —Edmund Burke-Mr. Roseingrave —Cumberland's disinterestedness-Offered a baronetcy-Hamilton as an orator-Quarrel with Burke-Cumberland's father raised to the bishopric-Society in
DublinI-Primate Stone-Dr. Robinson-Colonel Ford-George FaulknerMrs. Dancer-Cumberland returns to England-Health of his family-Bishop
Cumberland-Cumberland's disappointment-Situation at the Board of Trade
-Cumberland's estimate of Halifax-The Summer's tale-Bickerstaff-Smith
the actor-Cumberland visits his father' The brothers'-Garrick-Fitzherbert-The West Indian-Mr. Talbot-Lord Eyre-Anecdote of a Catholic
priest-The O'Roukes-Sir Thomas Cuffee Mr. Geoghegan-Doctor of laws.
LORD HIALIFAX, upon some slight concessions from the Duke
of Newcastle, had reassumed his office of First Lord of Trade and
Plantations, and I returned with my wife to Fulham, taking a
house for a short time in Luke Street, Westminster, and afterwards in Abington Buildings.
In the following year, upon the death of the king, administration it is well known took a new shape, and all eyes were turned
towards the Earl of Bute, as dispenser of favors and awarder
of promotions.'  Mr. Dodington, whom I had visited a second
X'Lord Bute,' said Dr. Johnson,'though a very honorable man-a man who
meant well —a man who had his blood full of prerogative-was a theoretical
statesman-a book minister-and thought this country could be governed by
the influence of the crown alone.' —Bosuell's Johnson, vol. ii. p. 355. How
mistaken he was, his short, unpopular, and inglorious administration will
attest.' The Earl of Bute,' says Walpole,'was a Scotchman, who, having no estate,
had passed his youth in studying mathematics and mechanics in his own little
island, then simples in the hedges about Twickenham, and at five-and-thirty
had fallen in love with his own figure, which he produced at masquerades in
becoming dresses, and in plays, which he acted in private companies, with a
set of his own relations.'-Memloirs of the Reign of George II., vol. i. p. 46.
Bute married the only daughter of the celebrated Mary Wortley Montague.
After the death of her father, and brother, the eccentric Edward Wortley
Montague, she came into possession of a large landed property. After living
several years in profound retirement, on his patrimonial estate, in the Isle of
Bute, he emerged from his retreat, and took a house on the banks of the
Thames. Accident made him acquainted with Frederic, Prince of Wales, and




LORD  HALIFAX.                            109
time at Eastbury with my wife and her father, Mr. Ridge, obtained  an  English  peerage, and  Lord  Halifax was honored
with  the high office of Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and was
preparing to open his majesty's first Parliament in that kingdom; I had reason to believe myself at this time very much in
his confidence, and in the conduct of a certain private transaction, which I am not called upon to explain, I- had done him
father of George III. He became a great favorite with the Prince and Princess;
took a part in the private theatricals exhibited for their amusement, and gradually laid the foundations of his subsequent elevation. After the death of the
Prince, his intimacy with the Princess gave rise to rumors which compromised
her character and injuriously affected him. The Earl's handsome person was
supposed to be an irresistible attraction to the plastic and pleasure-loving
Princess.  To his external accomplishments, says Wraxall,'he added a cultivated mind, illuminated by a taste for many branches of the fine arts and
letters. For the study of botany he nourished a decided passion, which he
gratified to the utmost; and, in the indulgence of which predilection, he manifested on some occasions a princely liberality. Of a disposition naturally retired and severe, he was not formed for an extensive commerce with mankind,
or endowed by nature with talents for managing popular assemblies. Even in
his family he was austere, harsh, difficult of access, and sometimes totally inaccessible to his own children. In the House of Lords he neither displayed eloquence nor graciousness of manners. But he proved himself likewise deficient
in a quality still more essential for a first minister, firmness of character. Yet,
with these political defects of mind, and of personal deportment, he undertook
to displace. and he aspired to succeed Mr. Pitt, at a moment when that minister
had carried the glory of the British arms to an unexampled height by sea and
land. We cannot sufficiently regret that George the Third should not have
contented himself with heaping honors and dignities on him, carefully excluding
him from any political employment. Few princes, however, of whom history
preserves any record, have manifested, at twenty-three, a judgment so superior
to the natural partialities of youth. Even Elizabeth, though she placed Cecil
at the head of her councils, yet committed her armies successively to Leicester
and to Essex. After an administration of about two years, passed either in
the post of Secretary of State or as First Lord of the Treasury, during which
time he brought the war with France and Spain to a conclusion, Lord Bute,
abandoning his royal master, quitted his situation, and again withdrew to
privacy; no testimonies of national regret, or of national esteem, accompanied
him at his departure from office. His magnificent residence in Berkeley Square
exposed him to very malignant comments, respecting the means by which he
had reared so expensive a pile. His enemies asserted that he could not possibly have possessed the ability, either from his patrimonial fortune, or in consequence of his marriage, to erect such a structure. As little could he be supposed to have amassed wherewithal, during his very short administration, to
suffice for its construction. The only satisfactory solution of the difficulty,
therefore, lay in imagining that he had either received presents from France,
or had made large purchases in the public funds previous to the signature of
the preliminaries.'-Historical Memoirs, p. 175, vide liahbon's Character of Bute,
History of England. vol. iv. p. 23; and Chleste:field's Characters. The violence
of his opponents and the lukewarmnless of his friends drove Bute into retirement. The popular displeasure followed him even there, and his influence was
supposed still to control public measures. He was disliked by his contemporaries, and his character seems to have inspired no other feeling in their
posterity.




110        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
faithful service; happy for him  it would have been, and the
prevention of innumerable troubles and vexations, if my zealous efforts had been permitted to take effect, but a fatal propensity had again seized possession of him, and probably the
more strongly for the interruption it had received-but of this
enough.
HtIis family was now to be formed upon an establishment suitable to his high office.  In these arrangements there was much
to do, and I was fully occupied.  Some few persons of obscure
characters were pressed upon him for subordinate situations from
a quarter where I had no communication or connection; but I
had the satisfaction to see his old and faithful friend, Doctor
Crane, prepare himself to head the list of his chaplains, and Doctor Oswald, afterwards Bishop of Raphoe, with my good father,
completed that department.  I obtained a situation for a gentleman, who had married my eldest sister, but what gave me peculiar satisfaction was to have it in my power to gratify the wishes
of one of the best and bravest young officers of his time, Captain
William  Ridge, brother to my wife.  IHe had served the whole
war in America with distinguished reputation; had been shot
and carried off the field in the fatal affair of Ticonderoga, and
was now returned with honorable wounds and the praises and
esteem of his general and brother officers.. This amiable, this
excellent friend, whose heart was as it were my own, and whose
memory will be ever dear to me, I caused to be put upon the
staff of aids-de-camp, and had the happiness of making him one
of my family during the whole time of my residence in Dublin
Castle, as Ulster Secretary.
William Gerard Hamilton, a name well known, had negotiated
himself into the office of Chief Secretary.1 I need say no more
than that he did not owe this to the choice of Lord Halifax; of
course it was not easy for that gentleman to find himself in the
confidence of his principal, to whom he was little known, and in
the first instance not altogether acceptable. I do not think he
William Gerard Hamilton was born in 1729, at Lincoln's Inn, where his
father was a barrister.'His father,' says Walpole,'had been the first Scot
who ever pleaded at the English bar, and, as it was said of him, should have
been the last; the son had much more parts.'-Ai_.eenoirs of the Reign of'Georsge
II., vol. ii. p. 44. Hamilton was ednucated at Winchester School, and Oriel
College, Oxford. He studied his father's profession; but was never called to
the bar. In 1754, he was elected a member of Parliament, and made the memlorable speech, which gave him the name of Single Speech Hamilton.' He spoke
for the first time,' wrote Walpole to Conway,' and was at once perfection; his
speech was set and full of antitheses, but these antitheses were full of argument;
indeed, his speech was the most argumentative of the whole day, and he broke
through the regularity of his own composition, answered other people, and fell




'THE BANISHMIENT OF CICERO.'                     Af
took much pains to conquer first impressions, and recommend
himself to the confidence of Lord Halifax; it is certain he did
not possess it, and the consequence was, that I, who held the
secondary post of Ulster Secretary, became involved in business
of a nature, that should not in the course of office have belonged
to me.  Affairs of this sort, which I did not court, and had no
right to be concerned in, made my situation very delicate and
not a little dangerous, whilst at the same time the entire superintendence of Lord Halifax's private finances, then very far from
being in a flourishing condition, was a task which no prudent
man would covet, yet such an one as for his sake I made no
scruple to undertake.:  It was his lot to succeed the Duke of
Bedford, and his high spirit would not suffer him  to sink upon
the comparison; I found him therefore resolute to start on his
career with great magnificence, and leave behind him all attentions to expense. All that was in my power I did with unwearied diligence and attention to his interest, inspecting his
accounts and paying his bills every week, to the minutest article.
I put his Green Cloth upon a liberal, but regulated, establishment; I placed a faithful and well experienced servant of my
father's at the head of his stables and equipages, and gave charge
of the household articles to his principal domestic, of whose
honesty he had many years' experience.
I had published my tragedy of'The Banishment of Cicero,' by
Mr. J. W~alter, at Charing Cross, upon quarto paper in a handsome type; I found it pirated and published in a sixpenny
edition at Dublin, from the press of George Faulkner of immortal memory; if he had subjoined a true and faithful list of
errata, I doubt if he could have afforded it at the price.  I also,
upon the king,'s accession, composed and published a poem  addressed to the young sovereigni in which I attempted to delineate the character of the people he was to govern, and the principles of that conduct, which, if pursued, would insure their
into his own track again with the greatest ease.' Nov. 15, 1755.'His voice,
manimer, and language,' says the same ear-witness, in recording this display on
the historic page,'were most advantageous; his arguments sound, though
pointed; and his command of himself easy and undaunted.' —Melmoirs of the
Reign qf George II., vol. ii. p.- 51. Hamilton was subsequently made one of the
lords of trade; and, as stated by Cumberland, went to Ireland as the Secretary
of Lord Halifax. In the Irish Parliament, he stood high as an orator; though
he did not realize the promise of excellence, which his famous speech had
made, vide post, p. 120. He held for many years the office of Chancellor of the Exchequer in Ireland; and when he retired from that employment, in 1784, he
gave the remainder of his life to literary pursuits. He died in 1796. On a
subsequent page the reader will find Cumberland's estimate of his character and
talents.  ( Post, p. 120.)




112       YEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
attachment, and establish his own happiness and glory. This I
wrote in blank verse; it was published by Mr. Dodsley, and I
did not give my name to it.  Of the extent of its circulation I
cannot speak, neither did I make any search into the reviews of
that time for the character, good or ill, which they thought fit
to give it.
I had taken leave of Lord Melcombe the day preceding the
coronation, and found him before a looking-glass in his new
robes practising attitudes and debating within himself upon the
most graceful mode of carrying his coronet in the procession.
Ele was in high glee with his fresh and blooming honors, and
I left him in the act of dictating a billet to Lady IIervey, apprising her that a young lord was coming to throw himself at her
feet.' lHe conjured me to keep my Lord Lieutenant firmly attached to Lord Bute, and we parted.
Here, however, I must take leave to pause upon a period in
the life of my uncle, Mr. Bentley, when fortune smiled upon him,
and his genius was drawn forth into exertion by the patronage
of Lord Bute. Through my intimacy with Mr. Dodington, I
had been the lucky instrument of opening that channel which,
for a time at least, brought him affluence, comfort, and consideration. There was not a man of literary talents then in the
kingdom who stood so high, and so deservedly in fame and
favor with the Premier as Mr. Bentley; and though when that
great personage went out of office, my uncle lost every place of
profit that could be taken from him, he continued to enjoy a
pension of five hundred pounds per annum, in which his widow
had her life, and received it many years after his decease.
Lord Bute had all the disposition of a Mecaenas, and fondly
hoped he would be the auspicious instrument of opening an
Augustan reign. He sent out his runners upon the search for
men of talents; and Dodington was perfectly reconciled to the
honor of being his provider in that laudable pursuit, for which
no man was better qualified. He was not wanting in intuition
to discern what the powers of Bentley's genius were; and none
could better point out the purposes to which they might be
usefully directed. Opposition was then beginning to look up,
and soon felt the sharp point of Bentley's pen in one of the
I'To my Lord Melcombe; address as many lords and lordships as you please,
and you cannot err; he is as fond of his title as his child could be, if he had
one.'- Walpole to Sir Horace 21fan, May 14; 1761, vide Walpole's Letters. Dodingtoni did not live long to enjoy his coveted honors. He died July 28, 1762,
of a dropsy in his stomach,'just when,' says Walpole,'the views of his life
were nearest being realized.'




'THE WISHES.'                         113
keenest and wittiest satires extant in our language; Lord Temple, WVilkes, and others of the party were attacked with unsparing
asperity and much classical acumen. Churchill, the Dryden of
his age, and indisputably a man of first-rate genius, was too
candid not to acknowledge the merit of the poem; and when
he declined taking up the gauntlet so pointedly thrown down
to him, it was not because he held his challenger in contempt.
It was this poem that brought an accumulation of favors on its
author; but I don't know that he ever had an interview with
the bestower of them, and I am  rather inclined to think they
never met. About the same time, my uncle composed his witty,
but eccentric drama of' The Wishes,' in which he introduces
the speaking harlequin, after the manner of the Italians. This
curious production, after being circulated in manuscript, admired
and applauded by all who had seen it, and those the very party
which led the taste of the time under the auspices of Lord Bute,
was privately rehearsed at Lord Melcombe's villa of La Trappe.
It was on a beautiful summer's evening when it was recited upon
the terrace on the banks of the Thames by Obrien, Miss Elliot,
Mrs. Haughton, and some few others, under the management of
Foote and Murphy, who attended on the occasion.'  At this
rehearsal, there was present a youth unknown to famne, who was
understood to be protected by Lord Bute, and came thither in a
i Walpole, in a letter to George Montague, thus gossips about his quondam
friend Bentley's play:'If you will stay with me a fortnight or three weeks, perhaps I may be able to carry you to a play of Mr. Bentley's-you stare, but I
am in earnest; nay, and de par le roy. In short, here is the history of it. You
know the passion he always had for the Italian comedy; about two years ago,
he wrote one, intending to get it offered to Rich, but without his name. He
would have died to be supposed an author and writing for gain. I kept this
an inviolable secret. Judge, then, of my surprise, when about a fortnight or
three weeks ago, I found my Lord Melcombe reading this very Bentleian in a
circle at my Lady Hervey's. Cumberland had carried it to him with a recornmendatory copy of verses, containing more incense to the King and my Lord
Bute, than the Magi brought in their portmanteaus to Jerusalem. The idols
were propitious, and, to do them justice, there is a great deal of wit in the piece,
which is called'The Wishes, or Harlequin's Mouth Opened.' A bank note of
two hundredc pounds was sent from the treasury to the author, and the play
ordered to be performed by the summer company. Foote was summoned to
Lord Melcombe's, where Parnassus was composed by the Peer himself, who, like
Apollo, as I am going to tell you, was dozing, the two Chief Justices and Lord B.
Bubo read the play himself,'with handkerchief and orange by his side.' But
the curious part is a prologue, which I never saw. It represents the God of
Verse fast asleep by the side of Helicon; the race of modern bards try to wake
him, but the more they repeat their works the louder he snores. At last'ruin,
seize thee, ruthless king!' is heard, and the god starts from his trance. This. is a
good thought, but will offend the bards so much that I think Dr. Bentley's son
will be abused at least as much as his father was. The prologue concludes
with young Augustus, and how much he excels the ancient one by the choice




114         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAJND.
hackney-coach with  Mrs. lTaughton.  This gentleman was of the
party at the supper with which the evening's entertainment concluded; he modestly resigned the conversation to those who
were more disposed  to  carry it on, whilst it was only in the
contemplation of an intelligent countenance that we could form
any conjecture as to that extraordinary gift of genius which in
course of time advanced him to the Great Seal of the kingdom,
and the Earldom of Rosslyn.'
of his friend. Foote refused to act this prologue, and said it was too strong.'Indeed,' said Augustus's friend,'I think it is.' They have softened it a little,
and I suppose it will be performed.'-Letters, vol. iii. p. 129, June 18, 1761.
I This was Alexander Wedclerburn, the son of a Scotch advocate at Edinburgh,
where the future Chancellor was born, in 1733. He adopted the profession of
his father, and was called to the Scottish bar. But quarrelling with the Dean
of Faculty, and doubtless ambitious of a success which he could not attain in
his own country, he suddenly bade adlien to Scotland, and sought his fortune
in London. At the time referred to'by Cumberland, he had been four years at
the English bar; his rise was slow. He was brought into Parliament by Lord
Bute, and at a time when the popular prejudice was setting strongly against
the inhabitants of the Northern Island. Thus is he' described by Churchill-'A pert prim prater of the Northern race,
Guilt in his heart, and famine in his face!
Mute at the bar, and in the Senate loud,' &c.
Unscrupulous, dexterous, able, with his eye fixer steadily on office, SWedderburn, through the mazes of treachery, attained the objects of his ambition.'It is the imperative duty of the historian,' says Lord Brougham,'to dwell
upon the fate, while he discloses with impartial fulness, and marks with just
reprobation, the acts of such men; to the end that their great success, as it is
called, may not mislead others, and conceal behind the glitter of worldly prosperity, the baser material with which the structure of their fortune is built up.
This wholesome lesson, and indeed needful warning, is above all requiredwhen
we are called upon to contemplate a professional and political life so eminently
prosperous as the one which we have been contemplating, which rolled on in
an ininterrupted tide of worldly gains and worldly honors, but was advanced
only by shining and superficial talents, supported by no fixed principles, illustrated by no sacrifices to public virtue, embellished by no feats of patriotism,
nor made memorable by any monuments of national utility, and which, being
at length closed in the disappointment of many unworthy desires, ended
amidst universal neglect, and left behind it no claim to the respect or gratitude
of mankind, though it may have excited the admiration or envy of the contemporary vulgar.'
Wedderburn, though an accomplished debater, full of resources of argument
and illustration, and occasionally rising into the regions of oratory, seems to
have failed in conversation.'He did not seek, like Thurlow,' says Lord
Campbell,'to gain distinction by a display of his colloquial powers; and,
thinking of the superior eclat to be obtained by a brilliant speech in Pacrliament,
he was contented with being rather obscure in the salon. According to some
accounts, he submitted to this necessity after having found by experience that
his genius did not fit him for talk. Boswell, having told us that Johnson, in
allusion to Lord Mansfield, had said,' It is wonderful, sir, with how little real
superiority of mind men can make an eminent figure in public life,' thus
proceeds:' He expressed himself to the same purpose concerning another law




'THE WISHES' BROUGHT OUT'AT DRURY LANE. 115
Foote, Murphy, and Obrien were  then joint conductors of
the summer theatre, and performed their plays upon the stage
of Drury Lane, and here they brought out' The Wishes,' which
had now been so much the topic of conversation, that it drew
all the wit and fashion then in town to its first representation.
The brilliancy of its dialogue, and  the reiterated strokes of
point and repartee kept the audience in good humor with the
leading acts, and seemed to augur favorably for the conclusion,
till when the last of the Three Wishes produced the ridiculous
catastrophe of the hanging of HIarlequin in full view of the audience, my uncle, the author, then sitting by me, whispered in
my ear-' If they don't damn this, they deserve to be damn'd
themselves,' and whilst he was yet speaking the roar began,
and' The Wishes' were irrevocably condemned.'  Mr. Harris
lord,* who, it seems, once took a fancy to associate with the wits of London;
but with so little success that Foote said:' What can he mean by coming
among us? He is not only dull himself, but the cause of dulness in others.'
Trying him by the test of his colloquial powers, Johnson had found him very
defective.  He once said to Sir Joshua Reynolds,' This man has been ten
years now about town, and has made nothing of it;' meaning as a companion.
He said to me:' I never heard anything from him in company that was at all
striking; and depend upon it, sir, it is when you come close to a man in conversation that you discover what his real abilities are; to make a speech in a
public assembly is a knack.'' —Boswell's Johnson.-Canmpbell's Lives of the
Chancellors.' I came to town yesterday,' writes Walpole to George Montague,' through
clouds of dust, to see the'Wishes,' and went, actually feeling for Mr. Bentley,
and full of the emotions he must be suffering. What do you think, in a house
crowded, was the first thing I saw? Mr. and Madame Bentley, perched up in
the front boxes, and acting audience at his own play! No, all the impudence
of false patriotism never came up to it. Did one ever hear of an author that
had courage to see his own first night in public? I don't believe Fielding or
Foote himself ever did; and this was the modest, bashful Mr. Bentley, that
died at the thought of being known for an author, even by his own acquaintance! In the stage-box was Lady Bute, Lord Halifax, and Lord Melcombe. I
must say the two last entertained the house as much as the play; your king
was prompter, and called out to the actor every minute to speak louder....
The audience were extremely fair; the first act they bore with patience, though
it promised very ill; the second is admirable, and was much applauded; so
was the third; the fourth woful; the beginning of the fifth it seemed expiring,
but was revived by a delightful burlesque of the ancient chorus, which was
followed by two dismal scenes, at which people yawned, but were awakened on
a sudden by Harlequin's being drawn up to a gibbet, nobody knew why or
wherefore. This raised a prodigious and continued hiss, Harlequin all the
while suspended in the air. At last they were suffered to finish the play, but
nobody attended to the conclusion.  Modesty and his lady all the while
sat with the utmost indifference.... To add to the judgment of his conduct, Cumberland two days ago published a pamphlet to abuse him.'-July 28,
1761.
* Evidently Wedderburn, though not named.




116      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
some years after gave it a second chance upon his stage: the
judgment of the public could not take away the merit of the
poet, but it decided against his success. Upon the hint of this
play, and the entertainment at La Trappe, where Foote had
been a guest, that wicked wit took measure of his host, and
founded his satirical drama of'The Patron'-in short, he feasted,
flattered and lampooned.
Mr. Bentley also wrote a very elegant poem, and addressed
it as an epistle to Lord Melcombe: it was in my opinion a most
exquisite composition, in no respect inferior to his satire, but for
reasons I could never understand, nor even guess, it was coolly
received by Melcombe, and stopped with him. If that poem is in
the hands of any of Mr. Bentley's family, it is much to be'regretted that they withhold it from the public, though all that was
then temporary is now long past and forgotten.
What may be the nature or amount of the manuscripts which
my uncle may have left behind him, I do not know: I can speak
only of two dramas; one of these, entitled Philodamus, has been
given to the public by Mr. Harris, and Henderson performed
the character, that gives its name to the play. The ingenious
author always wrote for the reader, he did not study how to
humor the spectator: Philodamus has much of the old cast in
its style, with a considerable portion of originality and a bold
vein of humor running through it, occasionally intermixed even
with the pathos of the scene, which in a modern composition,
professing itself to be a tragedy, is a perilous experiment.
Such it proved to Philodamus: its very best passages in perusal were its weakest points in representation, and it may be
truly said it was ruined by its virtues: but in the galleries of
our theatres the Graces have no seats, and he that writes to the
populace must not borrow the pen of the author of Philodamus.
Poet Gray wrote a long and elaborate critique upon this drama,
which I saw, and though his flattery was outrageously pedantic,
yet the incense of praise from author to author is always sweet,
and perhaps not the less acceptable on account of its being
so seldom offered up. The other drama, on the Genoese Conspiracy, I saw ill its unfinished state, and can only say that I
was struck by certain passages, but cannot speak of it as a
whole.
When the ceremony of the coronation was over, the Lord
Lieutenant set out for Ireland with a numerous cavalcade. I
was now the father of two infant children, a daughter and a
son; these I left with their grandmother Mrs. Ridge, and was
accompanied by my wife, though in a state ill calculated to endure the rough roads by land, and the more rough passage by




SPEECH OF LORD LIEUTENANT.               117
sea: my father, mother and sisters were with us in the yacht;
they took a house in Dublin, and I was by office an inhabitant
of the castle, and lodged in very excellent and commodious
apartments.
The speech of the Lord Lieutenant upon the opening of the
session is upon record. It was generally esteemed a very brilliant composition. His graceful person and impressive manner
of delivery set it off to its best advantage, and all things seemed
to augur well for his success. When I was called in jointly
with Secretary Hamilton to take the project and rough copy of
this speech into consideration, I could not help remarking the
extraordinary efforts, which that gentleman made, to engraft his
own very peculiar style upon the sketch before him; in this I
sometimes agreed with him, but more commonly opposed, him,
till Lord Halifax, whose patience began to be exhausted, no
longer submitted his copy to be dissected, but took it to himrnself with such alterations as he saw fit to adopt, and those but
few. I must candidly acknowledge that at times when I have
heard people searching for internal evidence in the style of Junius as to the author of those famous letters, I have called to
recollection this circumstance, which I have now related, and
occasionally said that the style of Junius bore a strong resemblance to what I had observed of the style of Secretary Hamilton; beyond this I never had the least grounds for conjecture,
nor any clue to lead me to the discovery of that anonymous
writer beyond what I have alluded to.
I remember a conversation he held with me some time before
we left England on the subject of Mr. Edmund Burke, whom
he had then attached to himself, and for whom he wished me
to assist in projecting some establishment. I had then never
seen that eminent person, nor did I meet him till after my arrival in Dublin, when I had merely the opportunity of introducing myself to him in passing through the apartment, where he
was in attendance upon Mr. Hamilton. He had indeed his fortune to make, but he was not disposed to make it by any means
but such as perfectly accorded with his feelings and his honor;
for when Mr. Hamilton contrived to accommodate him by some
private mancoeuvre, which I am not correctly possessed of, he
saw occasion in a short time after his acceptance of it to throw
it up, and break from all connection with that gentleman and
his politics. With the Lord Lieutenant he had little, if any,
correspondence or acquaintance, for though Lord Halifax's intuition could not have failed to discover the merits of Mr. Burke
and ringhtly to have appreciated them, had they ever come cordially into contact, it was not from the quarter, in which he




118        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
was then placed, that favor and promotion were to be looked
for.1
Without entering upon the superannuated politics of that time,
it is enough to say that the king's business was carried through
the session with success, and when the vote was passed for augmenting the revenue of the Lord Lieutenant, and settling it at
the standard to which it is now fixed, he accepted and passed it
in favor of his successors, but peremptorily rejected it for himself. At this very time I had issued to the amount of twenty
thousand pounds expended in office, whilst he had been receiving about twelve, and I know not where that man could have
been found, to whom those exceedings were more severely embarrassing than to this disinterested personage; but in this case
he acted entirely from the dictates of his own high spirit, scarce
deigning to lend an ear to the remonstrances even of Doctor
Crane, and taking his measures with such rapidity, as to preclude all hesitation or debate.
His popularity, however, was so established by this highminded proceeding, that, upon his departure from  Ireland, all
parties seemed to unite in applauding his conduct and invoking
his return; the shore was thronged with  crowds of people,
that followed him to the water's edge, and the sea was in a
manner covered with boats and vessels, that accompanied the
vacht through the bay, studious to pay to their popular chief
governor every valedictory honor, that their zeal and attention
could devise.
The patronage of the Lord Lieutenant was at that time so
extremely circumscribed, that except in the church and army
few expectants could have been put in possession of their wishes,
had not my under-secretary, Mr. Roseingrave, discovered a number of lapsed patents that had laid dormant in my office for a
length of time, neither allowances nor perquisites being annexed
to them.  When a pretty considerable number of these patents
were collected, and a list of them made out, I laid them before
1 When Burke went to Ireland as Hamilton's secretary, his talents had given
himn a name in literature; but, unaccompanied with those more substantial rewards, in the absence of which, merit is supposed to rise slowly.'Nitor in
adversumlt, is the motto for a man like me,' he afterwards remarked. At the time
of receiving this post of secretary from Hamilton, he had attained the age of thirtythree. After a service of little more than a twelve-month he obtained a pension
of ~300 a year; but this he did not long enjoy. The friendship that had subsisted between Hamilton and himself was broken. The circumstances of the
quarrel are not clearly known; but enough has appeared to justify the imputation on Hamilton of tyranny and meanness.'To get rid of him completely,'
says Burke,'and not to.carry a memorial of such a person about me, I offered
to transmit my pension to his attorney in trust for him. This offer he thought
proper to accept.'




A BARONETCY OFFERED ME.                 119
the Lord Lieutenant for his disposal in such manner as he saw
fit. He at once discerned the great accommodation they would
afford him, and very gladly availed himself of them, obtaining
grants of Parliament for each respectively, which, though virtually pensions, were not so glaringly obnoxious, nor were any
of them in fact such absolute sinecures, some duty being attached
to every one of them. They were certainly a very seasonable
accession to his patronage, and I make no doubt i very acceptable one to the circumstances of those on whom he bestowed
them. I sought no share in the spoil, but rather wished to stand
correctly clear of any interested part in the transaction; some
small thing, however, I asked and obtained for my worthy
second Mr. Roseingrave, who had all the merit of the manneuvre,
and many other merits of a much superior sort, for which I sincerely esteemed him, and, till his death put an end to our correspondence, preserved a constant interchange of friendly sentiments, and at times of visits, when either he came to Englafid,
or I passed over to Ireland.
And here, in justice to myself, I must take credit for a disinterestedness which never could be betrayed into the acceptance
of anything, however covered or contrived (and many were the
devices then ingeniously practised upon me) which delicacy
could possibly interpret as a gratuity, whether tendered as an
acknowledgment for favors past, or as an inducement for services to come. As I went to Ireland so I returned from it, perfectly clean-handed, not having profited my small fortune in the
value of a single shilling, except from the fair income of my
office arising from the established fees upon wool licenses, which
netted, as well as I can recollect, about 3001. per annum, and
did not clear my extraordinary expenses.
Towards the close of the session the Lord Lieutenant took
occasion one morning, when I waited upon him with his private accounts, to express his satisfaction in my services, adding
that he wished to mark his particular approbation of me by
obtaining for me the rank of baronet: a title, he observed, very
fit in his opinion for me to hold, as my father would in all
probability be a bishop, and had a competent estate, which would
descend to me. I confess it was not the sort of favor I expected,
and struck me as a gaudy insubstantial offer, which as a mere
addition to my name without any to my circumstances, was (as
my friend Isted afterwards described it) a mouthful of moonshine. I received the tender notwithstanding with all due respect, and only desired time to turn it in my thoughts. I was
now the father of three children, for I had a daughter born in
the castle, and when I found my father and my whole family




120      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
adverse to the proposal, I signified to Lord Halifax my wish to
decline the honor he had been pleased to offer to me: I certainly
did not make my court to him by this refusal, and vanity, if I
had listened to it, would in this instance have taught me better
policy, but to err on the side of moderation and humility is an
error that ought not to'be repented of; though I have reason to
think, from ensuing circumstances; that it contributed to weaken
an interest, which so many engines were at work to extinguish.
In fact, I plainly saw it was not for me to expect any lasting
tenure in the share I then possessed of favor, unless I kept it
up by sacrifices I was determined not to make; in short, I had
not that worldly wisdom, which could prevail with me to pay
my homage in that quarter, from which my patron derived his
ruin, and purchase by disgraceful attentions a continuance of
that claim to his protection and regard, which I had earned by
long and faithful services for ten years past (the third part of
my life) without intermission, and for the longer half of that
time without consideration or reward.
As sure as ever my history brings me to the mention of that
fatal step, which took me out of the path I was in, and turned
me from the prosecution of those peaceful studies, to which I
was so cordially devoted, and which were leading me to a profession, wherein some that went before me had distinguished
themselves with such credit, so sure am I to feel at my heart a
pang, that wounds me with regret and self-reproach for having
yielded to a delusion at the inexperienced age of nineteen, since
which I have seen more than half a century go by, every day of
which has only served to strengthen more and more the full
conviction of my error.
Hamilton, who in the English Parliament got the nick-name
of Single-speech, spoke well, but not often, in the Irish House
of Commons. He had a promptitude of thought, and a rapid
flow of well-conceived matter, with many other requisites, that
only seemed waiting for opportunities to establish his reputation as an orator.  I-e had a striking countenance, a graceful
carriage, great self-possession and personal courage: he was not
easily put out of his way by any of those unaccommodating
repugnances, that men of weaker nerves or more tender consciences might have stumbled at, or been checked by; he could
mask the passions, that were natural to him, and assume those
that did not belong to him; he was indefatigable, meditative;
mysterious, his opinions were the result of long labor and
much reflection, but he had the art of setting them forth as if
they were the starts of ready genius and a quick perception:
he had as much seeming steadiness as a partisan could stand in




DR. CRANEe.                    121
need of, and all the real flexibility that. could suit his purpose
or advance his interest.  HIe would fain have retained his
connection with Edmund Burke, and associated him to his
politics, for he well knew the value of his talents, but in that
object he was soon disappointed: the genius of Burke was of too
high a cast to endure debasement.
The bishopric of Elphin became vacant, and was offered to
Doctor Crane, who, though moderately beneficed in England,
withstood the temptation of that valuable mitre, and disinterestedly declined it. This was a decisive instance of the purity
as well as moderation of his mind, for had he not disdained all
ideas of negotiation in church preferments, he might have accepted the see of Elphin, and traded with it in England, as
others have done both before and since his time. He was not
a man of this sort; he returned to his prebendal house at Westminster in the little cloisters, and some years before his death
resided in his parsonage house at Sutton, a living given him by
Sir Roger Burgoyne, near to which I had a house, from which
I paid him frequent visits, and with unspeakable concern saw
that excellent man resign himself with patience truly Christian
to the dreadful and tormenting visitation of a cancer in his face.
I was at my house at Tetworth near Sutton in Bedfordshire,
when he rode over to me one morning, and complained of a
soreness on his lip, which he said he had hurt in shaving himself; it was hardly discernible, but alas! it contained the seeds
of that dire disease, and from that moment kept spreading over
his face with excruciating agony, which allowed him no repose,
till it laid him in his grave.
By his refusal of Elphin, Doctor Oswald was promoted to an
inferior bishopric, and my father thereby stood next upon the
roll for a mitre: in the mean time, he formed his friendships in
Ireland with some of the most respectable characters, and made
a visit, accompanied by my mother, to Doctor Pocock, Bishop
of Ossory, at his episcopal house at Kilkenny. That celebrated
oriental traveller and author was a man of mild manners and
primitive simplicity: having given the world a full detail of
his researches in Egypt, he seemed to hold himself excused
from saying anything more about them, and observed in general
an obdurate taciturnity. In his carriage and deportment he'
appeared to have contracted something of the Arab character,
yet there was no austerity in his silence, and though his air
was solemn, his temper was serene.  When we were on our
road to Ireland, I saw from the windows of the inn at Daventry
a cavalcade of horsemen approaching on a gentle trot, headed
by an elderly chief in clerical attire, who was followed by five
9




122      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
servants, at distances geometrically measured and most precisely
maintained, and who, upon entering the inn, proved to be this
distinguished prelate, conducting his horde with the phlegmatic
patience of a scheik.
I found the state of society in Dublin very different from
what I had observed in London: the professions more intermixed, and ranks more blended; in the great houses I met a
promiscuous assembly of politicians, lawyers, soldiers and
divines; the profusion of their tables struck me with surprise;
nothing that I had seen in England could rival the Polish magnificence of Primate Stone, or the Parisian luxury of Mr.
Clements. The style of Dodington was stately, but there was
a watchful and well-regulated economy over all, that here
seemed out of sight and out of mind. The professional gravity
of character maintained by our English dignitaries was here
laid aside, and in several prelatical houses the mitre was so
mingled with the cockade, and the glass circulated so freely,
that I perceived the spirit of conviviality was by no means
excluded from the pale of the church of Ireland.
Primate Stone was at that time in the zenith of his power;
he had a great following; his intellect was as strong as ever,
but his constitution was in its wane. I had frequent occasions
to resort to him, and much reason to speak highly of his candor
and condescension.  No man faced difficulties with greater
courage, none overcame them with more address; he was
formed to hold command over turbulent spirits in tempestuous
seasons; for if he could not absolutely rule the passions of men,
he could artfully rule men by the medium of their passions; he
had great suavity of manners when points were to be carried by
insinuation and finesse; but if authority was necessarily to be
enforced, none could hold it with a higher hand: he was an
elegant scholar, a consummate politician, a very fine gentleman,
and in every character seen to more advantage than in that
which, according to his sacred function, should have been his
chief and only object to sustain.
Dr. Robinson was by Lord Halifax translated from the see
of Ferns to that of Kildare. I had even then a presentiment
that we were forwarding his advancement towards the primacy,
and persuaded myself that the successor of Stone would be found
in the person of the Bishop of Kildare. Of him I shall probably
have occasion to speak more at large hereafter, for the acquaintance, which I had the honor to form with him at this time, was
in the further course of it ripened into friendship and an intimacy which he never suffered to abate, and I prized too highly
to neglect.




GEORGE- FAULKNER.                   123
I made but one short excursion from Dublin, and this was to
the house of that gallant officer Colonel Ford, who perished in
his passage to India, and who was married to a relation of my
wife. Having established his fame in the battle of Plassey and
several other actions, he seated himself at Johnstowni, in the
centre of an inveterate bog, but the soil, such as it was, had the
recommendation to him of being his native soil, and all its
deformities vanished from his sight.
I had more than. once the amusement of dining at the house
of'that most singular being, George Faulkner, where I found
myself in a company so miscellaneously and whimsically classed,
that it looked more like a fortuitous concourse of oddities,
jumbled together from all ranks, orders, and descriptions, than
the effect of invitationi and desigin. Description must fall short
in the attempt to convey any sketch of that eccentric being to
those who have not read him in the notes of Jephson, or seen
him in the mimicry of Foote, who, in his portraits of Faulkner,
found the only sitter whom his extravagant pencil could not
caricature; for he had a solemn intrepidity of egotism, and a
daring contempt of absurdity, that fairly out-faced imitation, and
like Garrick's ode on Shakspeare, which Johnson said'defied
criticism,' so did George, in the original spirit of his own perfect
buffoonery, defy caricature. He never deigned to join in the
laugh he had raised, nor seemed to have a feeling of the ridicule
he had provoked: at the same time, that he was pre-eminently,
and by preference, the butt and buffoon of the company, he
could find openings and opportunities for hits of retaliation,
which were such left-handed thrusts as few could parry: nobody
could foresee where they would fall, nobody of course was forearmed, and as there was in his calculation but one super-eminent character in the kingdom of Ireland, and he the printer of
the'Dublin Journal,' rank was no shield against George's
arrows, which flew where he listed, and fixed or missed as
chance directed, he cared not about consequences. He gave
good meat and excellent claret in abundance; I sat at his table once
from dinner till two in the morning, whilst George swallowed
immense potations with one solitary sodden strawberry at the
bottom of the glass, which he said was recommended to him by
his doctor for its cooling properties. He never lost his recollection or equilibrium the whole time, and was in excellent foolery;
it was a singular coincidence, that there was a person in company, who had received his reprieve at the gallows, and the
very judge who had passed sentence of death upon him. This
did not in the least disturb the harmony of the society, nor embarrass any human creature present.  All went off perfectly




124        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
smooth, and George, adverting to an original portrait of Dean
Swift, which hung in his room, told us abundance of excellent
and interesting anecdotes of the Dean and himself with minute
precision and an importance irresistibly ludicrous. There was
also a portrait of his late lady, Mrs. Faulkner, which either
made the painter or George a liar, for it was frightfully ugly,
whilst he swore she was the most divine object in creation. In
the mean time, he took credit to himself for a few deviations in
point of gallantry, and asserted that he broke his leg in flying
from the fury of an enraged husband, whilst Foote constantly
maintained that he fell down an area with a tray of meat upon
his shoulder, when he was journeyman to a butcher: I believe
neither of them spoke the truth. George prosecuted Foote for
lampooning him on the stage of Dublin; his counsel, the primesergeant, compared him to Socrates, and his libeller to Aristophanes; this I believe was all that George got by his course of
law; but he was told he had the best of the bargain in the comparison, and sat down contented under the shadow of his laurels.
In process of time he became an alderman; I paid my court to
him in that character, but I thought he was rather marred than
mended by his dignity. George grew grave and sentimental,
and sentiment and gravity sat as ill upon George, as a gown
and a square cap would upon a monkey.
Mrs. Dancer,' then in her prime, and very beautiful, was acting with Barry at the Crow Street theatre, and Miss Elliot,2 who
had played in Mr. Bentley's'Wishes,' came over with the
recommendation of Mr. Arthur Murphy, who interested himself much in her success. This young uneducated girl had great
I This lady, says Taylor, was an excellent actress, both in tragedy and comedy.
Her Rosalind was,' he adds,'in my opinion, one of the most perfect performances I ever attended.'-Records of my Life, p. 64.
2 Miss Elliott was of humble origin, and possessing the'fatal gift' of beauty;
she was betrayed into that unfortunate mode of life to which charms like hers
too frequently lead. She was brought upon the stage by Murphy.'He lived
with her in a cottage near Richmond,' says Taylor,' and she resided there while
he went upon the circuit. Returning unexpectedly, on one of these occasions,
he found a fine haunch of venison roasting at the fire. Upon inquiry, he found
that the Earl of Bristol was a constant visitor to the lady, and expected to dine
there that day. This circumstance put an end at once to the connection, and
to his rural retirement. The lady at length lived under the protection of a
member of the royal family, now deceased. Mr. Murphy never withdrew his
countenance from her, and she was glad to retain so valuable a friend. At her
desire, her royal admirer permitted Mr. Murphy to visit her when he was at
home, and was much pleased with his conversation. Miss Elliott-died in this
situation, and such was her regard for Mr. Murphy, that she would have left
the bulk of her property to him, but he declined it, and took care to secure it
for her relations; of whom one, as far as I can recollect, was her sister. By all
accounts she was one of the most original and spirited actresses that ever appeared on the stage.'-Records of my Life, p. 120.




RETURN FROM DUBLIN.                  125
natural talents, and played the part of Maria in her patron's
farce of'The Citizen,' with admirable spirit and effect. The
whimsical mock-opera of Midas was first brought upon the
Dublin stage in this season, and had all the protection which the
castle patronage could bestow, and that could not be more than
its pleasantry and originality deserved.
When the time for our departure was in near approach, the
Lord Lieutenant expressed his wish that I would take the conduct of his daughters and the ladies of his family on their
journey home, whilst he went forward, and would expect us at
Bushey Park. Circumstanced as I was, I could not undertake
the charge of his family without abandoning that of my own,
which I did with the utmost regret, though my brother-in-law,
Captain Ridge, kindly offered himself to conduct his sister and
her infant to the place of their destination, and accordingly embarked with them in a packet for Holyhead some days before
my departure. Painful as this parting was, I had yet the consolation of surrendering those objects of my affection to the care
of him whom I would have chosen out of all men living for the
trust. They were to repose for a few days at a house called
Tyringham, within a short distance of Newport Pagnell, which
I had taken of the heir of the -Bakewell family. It was a large
and venerable old mansion, situated on the banks of the Ouse,
and had caught my eye as I was on my road to Ireland; understanding it was furnished, and to be let, I crossed the river, and
in a few minutes' conversation with the steward agreed to take
it, and in this I was in some degree biassed by the consideration
of its near neighborhood to Lord Halifax, at Horton. It was a
hasty bargain, but one of the cheapest ever made, and I had no
occasion at any time after to repent of it.
WVhen we arrived at Bushey Park, and I had surrendered my
charge to Lord Halifax, I lost no further time, but hastened to
my wife, who was then in Hampshire at her father's, where the
children we left behind us had been kindly harbored; them indeed I found in perfect health, but that and every other joy attendant on my return was at once extinguished in the afflicting
persuasion. that I had only arrived in time to take a last leave
of my dying wife, who was then in the crisis of a most violent
fever, exhausted, senseless, and scarce alive. Many florid writers
would seize the opportunity of describing scenes of this sort; I
shall decline it. It was my happy lot to see her excellent constitution surmount the shock, and to witness her recovery in
her native air by the blessing of Providence and the unwearied
attentions of her hospitable parents. As soon as she was reestablished in her health, we removed with our children to




126      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Tyringham, where my wife had left her infant fellow traveller
in the care of an excellent young woman, who, from the day of
our marriage to the day of her death, lived with me and my
family, faithfully attached and strictly fulfilling every part of
her duty.
A_ short time before LordE Halifax quitted the government
of Ireland, in which he was succeeded by the Duke of Northumberland, a vacancy happened in the bench of bishops, and my
father was promoted to the see of Clonfert. - This vacancy fell
so close upon the expiration of Lord Halifax's government,
that great efforts were made and considerable interest exerted
to wrest the nomination out of his Lordship's patronage, and
throw it into the disposal of his successor; it was proposed to
recompense my father by preferment of some other description;
but this was firmly resisted by Lord Halifax, and the mitre was
bestowed upon one, who wore it to the last hour of his life with
unblemished reputation, honored, beloved, and I may say
(almost without a figure) adored by the people of Ireland for
his benevolence, his equity, his integrity, and every virtue that
could make him dear to his fellow-creatures, and acceptable to
his Creator.
The expectant, who, if I was rightly informed, would have
obtained the bishopric of Clonfert in the event of my father's
being deprived of it, has had reason to felicitate himself on his
disappointment, if, as I just now observed, I am not mistaken
in believing Dr. Markham was the person whose happy destiny
sent my father to Ireland, and reserved him for better fortune
at home, and higher dignities most worthily bestowed and most
honorably enjoyed.
My father, in the mean time, had returned to his vicarage of
Fulham, and sat down without repining at the issue of his expedition, which now seemed to close upon him without any
prospect of success, when I hastened to impart to him the intelligence I had just received from Secretary Hamilton, whom
I had accidentally crossed upon in Parliament Street.  He
received it in his calm manner, modestly remarking, that his
talents were not turned to public life, nor did he foresee any
material advantages likely to accrue to such as belonged to him
from his promotion to an Irish bishopric; it was not consistent,
he said, with his principles to avail himself of the patronage in
that country to the exclusion of the clergy of his diocese, and
of course he must deny himself the gratification of serving his
friends and relations in England, if any such should solicit him.
This did happen in more instances than one, and I can witness
with what pain he withstood requests, which he would have
been so happy to have complied with; but his conscience was




MY FATHER'S PROMOTION.                127
a rule to him, and he never deviated from it in a single instance.
HIe further observed, in the course of this conversation with me,
what I have before noticed in my remarks upon Bishop Cumnberland's appropriation of his episcopal revenue, and, alluding
to that rule as laid down by his grandfather, expressed his
approbation of it, and said, that though he could not aspire to
the most distant comparison with him in greater matters, yet he
trusted he should not be found degenerate in principle; and
certainly he did not trust in himself without reason. In conclusion, he said, that having visited Ireland, and formed many
pleasing and respectable connections there, he would quietly
wait the event without embarrassing Lord Halifax with any
solicitation, and when he thought he perceived me in a disposition to be not quite so tranquil and sedentary in the business,
he positively forbade me to make any stir, or give Lord Halifax
any trouble on his account-'You have shown your moderation,' added he,'in declining the title that was offered to you;
let me at least betray no eagerness in courting that, which may
or may not devolve upon me. Had it not been for you, it
would never have come under my contemplation; I should
still have remained parson of Stanwick, but the same circumstances that have drawn you from your studies, have taken me
from my solitude, and if you are thus zealous to transport me
and your mother into another kingdom, I hope you will be not
less solicitous to visit and console us with the sight of you, when
we are there.'
I bless God I have not to reproach myself with neglecting
this tender and paternal injunction. Not a year passed during
my father's residence in Ireland that I did not happily devote
some months of it to the fulfilment of this duty, always accompanied by my wife, and, with the exception of one time only, by
some part of my young family.
In a few days after this conversation, I was authorized to
announce to my father his nomination to the bishopric of Clonfert. He lost no time in arranging his affairs, and preparing
for his departure with my mother and my younger sister, then
unmarried. Lord Halifax, in the mean time, had received the
Seals of Secretary of State; he had to name one Under Secretary, and his choice fell upon a gentleman of the name of
Sedgewicke, who had attended upon him  to Ireland in the
capacity of Master of the Horse, and on this promotion vacated
an employ, which he held in the office of Trade and Plantations
under the denomination of Clerk of the Reports. He was a
civil, mannerly, and, as far as suited him, an obsequious little
gentleman; fond of business, and very busy in it, be it what it
might; his training had been in office, and his education stamped




128      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
his character with marks that could not be mistaken; he well
*knew how to follow up preferment to its source, and though the
waters of that spring were not very- pure, he drank devoutly at
the fountain head, and was rewarded for his perseverance.
I could not be said to suffer any disappointment on the occasion of this gentleman's promotion; I had due warning of the
alternative that presented itself to my choice. I had a holding
on Lord Halifax, founded on my father's merits, and a long and
faithful attachment on my own part; but, as I had hitherto kept
the straight and fair track in following his fortunes, I would not
consent to deviate into indirect roads, and disgrace myself in the
eyes of his and my own connections, who would have marked
my conduct with deserved contempt. In attending upon him to
Ireland, I had the example of Dr. Crane to refer to; and I had
his advice and approbation on this occasion for tendering my
services when he received the seals as a point of duty, though
not with any expectation of my tender being accepted. The
answer was exactly what I looked to receive, cool in its terms,
repulsive in its purport; Iwas not fitfor every situation. Nothing
could be more true; neither did I oppose a single word to the
conviction it carried with it. In that, I acquiesced respectfully
and silently; but I said a few words in thankful acknowledgment of the favor he had conferred upon my father, and for that
which I had received in my own person, namely, the CrownAgency of Nova Scotia. Perhaps he did not quite expect to
have disposed of me with so little trouble to himself; for my
manner seemed to waken some sensations, which led him to
dilate a little on his motives for declining, to employ me, inasmuch as I did not speak French. This also was not less true
than his first remark, for as certainly as I was not fit for all
situations, so surely was I unfit for this if speaking French fluently (though I understood it as a language) was a qualification
not to be dispensed with; in short, I admitted this objection in
its full force, well persuaded that if I had possessed the elegance
and perfection of Voltaire himself in that language, I should not
have been a step nearer to the office in question. When we
know ourselves to be put aside for reasons that do not touch
the character, but will not truly be revealed, we do well to
acquiesce in the very first civil, though evasive apology that is
passed upon us in the way of explanation.
Finding myself thus cast out of employ, and Mr. Sedgewicke
in possession of his office, I began to think it might be worth
my while to endeavor at succeeding him in his situation at the
Board of Trade, and submit to follow him as he had once followed, and now passed me in this road to preferment. After
above eleven years attendance, my profit was the sole attainment




TIHE BOARD OF TRADE.                 129
of a place of two hundred pounds per annum; my loss was that
of the expense I had put my father to for my support and maintenance in a style of life very different from that in which I was
found. This expense I had the consolation of being enabled to
replace to my father upon the receipt of my wife's fortune; but
by this act of justice and duty, so gratifying to my conscience,
the balance upon ~3,000, which was the portion allotted to Miss
Ridge, was very inconsiderable when it reached me. I had
already three children, and the prospect of an increasing family;
my father's bishopric was not likely to benefit me, neither could
it be considered as a compensation for my services, inasmuch as
the past exertions of his influence and popularity in Northamptonshire might fairly give him a claim to a favor not less than
that of appointing him second chaplain to Dr. Oswald, who was
a perfect stranger to his lordship till introduced and recommended
by his brother James. These considerations induced me to hope
I could not be thought a very greedy or presumptuous expectant
when I ventured to solicit him in competition with a gentleman
who had only been in' his immediate service as Master of the
Horse for one session in Ireland; and at the same time they
served as motives with me for endeavoring to succeed that gentleman, whose office, if I could obtain it, would be an addition
to my income of two hundred per annum. The Earl of Hillsborough was the first Lord of Trade and Plantations, and, being
an intimate friend -of Lord Halifax, was, I presume, not indis.
posed towards me. I thereupon went to Bushey Park to wait
upon Lord Halifax, and communicated to him the idea which
had occurred to me of making suit for the office that Mr. Sedgewicke had vacated. He received this intimation in a manner
that did not merely denote embarrassment; it made it doubtful
to me whether he meant to take it up as matter of offence, or
turn it off as matter of indifference. For some time, he seemed
inclined to put an interpretation' upon the measure proposed
which certainly it could not bear, and to consider it as an abandonment on my part of a connection that had uninterruptedly
subsisted for so many years. When a very few words on my
part convinced him that this charge could not lie against me,
he stated it in another view, as a degradation, which he was
surprised I could think of submitting to after the situation I
had stood in with respect to him; this was easily answered, and
in terms that could not give offence. Thus, whilst I was guarding my expressions from any semblance of disgust, and his lordship was holding a language that could not come from his heart,
we broke up the conference without any other decision than that
of referring it to my own choice and discretion, as a measure he
neither advised nor opposed,




130       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
As it was from this interview with the noble person to whom
I had attached myself for so long a term of years, that my future
line in life took a new direction, I could not pass it over in
silence; but though my mind retains the memory of many particulars which, if my own credit only was at stake, I should be
forward to relate, I shall forbear, convinced that when I lost the
favor and protection of that noble person I had not forfeited his
real good opinion. Of this truth, he survived to give, and I to
receive proofs that could not be mistaken. I had known him
too intimately not to know, in the very moment of which I have
been speaking, that what he was by accident he was not by nature.
I am persuaded he was formed to be a good man; he might also
have been a great one. His mind was large, his spirit active,
his ambition honorable; he had a carriage noble and imposing.
HIis first approach attracted notice; his consequent address
insured respect. If his talents were not quite so solid as some,
nor altogether so deep as others, yet they were brilliant, popular,
and made to glitter in the eyes of men; splendor was his passion.
His good fortune threw opportunities in his way to have supported it; his ill fortune blasted all those energies which should
have been reserved for the crisis of his public fame. The first
offices of the state, the highest honors which his sovereign could
bestow, were showered upon him, when the spring of his mind
was broken; and his genius, like a vessel overloaded with treasure, but far gone in decay, was only precipitated to ruin by
the very freight that in its better days would have crowned it
with prosperity and riches.
I now addressed a letter to the Earl of Hillsborough, tendering my humble services in Mr. Sedgewicke's room, and was
accepted without hesitation. Thus I entered upon an office, the
duties of which consisted of taking minutes of the debates and
proceedings at the Board, and preparing for their approbation
and signature, such reports as they should direct to be drawn
up for his Majesty, or the Council, and, on some occasions, for
the Board of Treasury, or Secretaries of State. It was at most
an office of no great labor, but as Mr. Pownall, now actual
Secretary, was much in the habit of digesting these reports
himself, my task was greatly lightened, and I had leisure to
address myself to other studies, and indulge my propensities
towards composition in whatever way they might incline me to
employ them.
Bickerstaff' having at this time brought out his operas of'Love in a Village' and'The Maid of the Mill' with great sue1 Bickerstaff was a native -of Ireland, and was born about the year 1735. As
a writer, he was very successful; but as a man, he had no claims to respect.




CSUMMER'S TALE.'                  131
cess, some friends persuaded me to attempt a drama of that
sort, and engaged Simpson, conductor of the band at Covent
Garden and a performer on the hautboy, to compile the airs and
adapt them to the stage. With very little knowledge of stageeffect, and as little forethought about plot, incident, or character,
I sat down to write, and soon produced a thing in three acts,
which I named the'Summer's Tale,' though it was a tale about
nothing and very indifferently told; however, being a vehicle
for some songs, not despicably written, and some of these very
well set, it was carried by my friends to Beard, then manager
of the theatre, and accepted for representation. My friends,
who were critics merely in music, took as little concern about
revising the drama, as I took pains in writing it: they brought
me the music of old songs, and I adapted words to it, and wove
them into the piece, as I could. I saw, however, how very ill
this plan was adapted for any credit that could be expected to
accrue to me from my share in it, and to mark how little confidence I placed in the composition of the drama, I affixed as
motto to the title page the following words: Vox, et prceterea
nihil.-Abel furnished the overture, Bache, Doctor Arne and
Arnold supplied some original compositions; Beard, Miss
Brent (then in high reputation), Mr. and Mrs. Mattocks and
Shuter filled the principal characters. It was performed nine
or ten nights to moderate houses without opposition, and very
deservedly without much applause, except what the execution
of the vocal performers, and some brilliant compositions justly
obtained; but even with these, it was rather overloaded, and
was not sufficiently contrasted and relieved by familiar airs.
The fund for the support of decayed actors being then
recently established by the company of Covent Garden Theatre,
I appropriated the receipts of my ninth night to that benevolent
institution, which the conductors were pleased to receive with
much good will, and have honored me with their remembrance
at their annual audits ever since.
The Summer's Tale was published by Mr. Dodsley, and as I
received no complaint from him on account of the sale, I hope
that liberal purchaser of the copy had no particular reason to
be discontented with his bargain.
Bickerstaff, who had established himself in the public favor
by the success of his operas above mentioned, seemed to consider me as an intruder upon his province, with whom he was to
keep no terms, and he set all engines of abuse to work upon me
and my poor drama, whilst it was yet in rehearsal, not repressHe was compelled to flee his country, to escape punishment for crime, and died
abroad, poor and despised.




132       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
ing his acrimony till it had been before the public; when to
have discussed it in the spirit of fair criticism might have
afforded him full matter of triumph, without convicting him of
any previous malice or personality against an unoffending
author. i I was no sooner put in possession of the proofs against
him, which were exceedingly gross, than I remonstrated by
letter to him against his uncandid proceeding; I have no copy
of that letter; I wish I had preserved it, as it would be in proof
to show that my disposition to live in harmony with my contemporaries was, at my very outset as a writer for the stage, what
it has uniformly been to the present hour, and that, although
this attack was one of the most virulent and umnair ever made
upon me, yet I no otherwise appealed against it, than by telling
him'that if his contempt of my performance was really what
he professed it to be, he had no need to fear me as a rival, and
might relax from his intemperance; on the contrary, if alarm
for his own interest had any share in the motives for his animosity, I was perfectly ready to purchase his peace of mind and
good-will by the sacrifice of those emoluments, which might
eventually accrue from my nights, in any such way as might
relieve his anxiety, and convince him of my entire disinterestedness in commencing author; adding, in conclusion, that he
might assure himself he would never hear of me again as a
writer of'operas.' This I can perfectly recollect was the purport of my letter, which I dictated in the belief of what was
reported to me as an apology for his conduct, and entirely
ascribed his hostility to his alarm on the score of interest, and
not to the evil temper of his mind. This was the interpretation I put upon what Mr. Bickerstaff had written of me, and
my real motive for what I wrote to him: I understood he was
wholly dependent on the stage, and that the necessity of his
circumstances made him bitter against any one who stepped forward to divide the favor of the public with him. To insult his
poverty, or presume on my advantage over him in respect of
circumstances, was a thought that never found admission to my
heart, nor did Bickerstaff himself so construe my letter, or suspect me of such baseness; for Mr. Garrick afterwards informed
me that Bickerstaff showed this letter to him as an appeal to
his feelings of such a nature, as ought to put him to silence;
and when Mr. Garrick represented to him, that he also saw it
in that light, he did not scruple to confess that his attack had
been unfair, and that he should never repeat it against me or
my productions. I led him into no further temptations, for
whilst he continued to supply the stage with musical pieces, I
turned my thoughts to dramas of another cast, and we interfered no longer with each other's labors.




MY ABANDONMENT OF OPERA.                133
One day as I was leaving the theatre after a rehearsal of the
Summer's Tale, I was met by Mr. Smith, then engaged at
Covent Garden, and whom I had known at the University, as
an under-graduate of Saint John's College. WVe had of course
some conversation, during which he had the kindness to remonstrate with me upon the business I was engaged in, politely
saying, that I ought to turn my talents to compositions of a
more independent and a higher character; predicting to me,
that I should reap neither fame nor satisfaction in the operatic
department, and demanding of me, in a tone of encouragement,
why I would not rather aim' at writing a good comedy, than
dabbling in these sing-song pieces. The animating spirit of this
friendly remonstrance, and the full persuasion that he predicted
truly of the character and consequences of my undertaking then
on foot, made a sensible impression on my mind, and in the
warmth of the moment I formed my resolution to attempt the
arduous project he had pointed out. If my old friend and contemporary ever reads this page, perhaps he can call to mind
the conversation I allude to; though he has not the same
reasons to keep in his remembrance this circumstance, as I have,
who was the party favored and obliged, yet I hope he will at
all events believe that I record it truly as to the fact, and
gratefully for the effects of it. As his friend, I have lived with
him, and shared his gentlemanly hospitality; as his author, I
have witnessed his abilities, and profited by his support; and
though I have lost sight of him ever since his retirement from
the stage, yet I have ever retained at heart an interest in his
welfare, and as he and I are too nearly of an age to flatter ourselves that we have any very long continuance to come upon
the stage of this life, I beg leave to make this public profession
of my sincere regard for him, and to pay the tribute of my
plaudits now, before he makes his final exit, and the curtain
drops.
Before I had ushered my melodious nonsense to the audience,
I had clearly discovered the weakness of the tame and lifeless
fable on which I had founded it; there were still some scenes
between the characters of Henry and Amelia, which were
tolerably conceived, and had preserved themselves a place in
the good opinion of the audience by the simplicity of the style,
and the address of Mrs. Mattocks and Mr. Dyer, to whom those
parts were allotted. It was thereupon thought advisable to cut
down the Summer's Tale to an after-piece of two acts, and
exhibit it in the next season under the title of Amelia. In this
state it stood its ground, and took its turn with very tolerable
success'behind the foremost and before the last.' Simpson




134      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
published the music in a collection, and I believe he got home
pretty well upon the sale of it. - The good judges of that time
thought it good music, but the better judges of this time would
probably think it good for nothing.
In the summer of this year, as soon as the Board of Trade
broke up for their usual recess, I went with my wife and part
of my young family to pay my duty and fulfil my promise to
my father and mother in Ireland.  They waited for us in
Dublin, where my father had taken the late Bishop of Meath's
house in Kildare Street, next door to the Duke of Leinster's.'When we had reposed ourselves for a few days, after the
fatigues of a turbulent passage, we all set off for Clonfert in the
county of Galway. Everybody who has travelled in Ireland,
and witnessed the wretched accommodation of the inns, particularly in the west, knows that it requires some forecast and
preparation to conduct a large family on their journey. It certainly is as different from travelling in England as possible, and
not much unlike travelling in Spain; but with my father for
our provider, whose appointments of servants and equipage
were ever excellent, we could feel few wants, and arrived in
good time at our journey's end, where, upon the banks of the
great river Shannon, in a nook of land, on all sides, save one,
surrounded by an impassable bog, we found the episcopal residence, by courtesy called palace, and the Church of Clonfert, by
custom called cathedral. This humble residence was not devoid
of comfort and convenience, for it contained some tolerable
lodging rooms, and was capacious enough to receive me and
mine without straitening the family. A garden of seven acres,
well planted and disposed into pleasant walks, kept in the
neatest order, was attached to the house, and at the extremity
of'a broad gravel walk in front stood the cathedral. Within
this boundary the scene was cheerful; all without it was either
impenetrable bog, or a dreary undressed country; but whilst
all was harmony, hospitality and affection underneath the
parental roof,'the mind was its own place,' and every hour
was happy. My father lived, as he had ever done, beloved by
all around him; the same benevolent and generous spirit, which
had endeared him to his neighbors and parishioners in England,
now began to make the like impressions on the hearts of a
people as far different in character, as they were distant in
place, from those whom he had till now been concerned with.
Without descending from the dignity he had to support, and
condescending to any of the paltry modes of courting popularity,
I instantly perceived how high he stood in their esteem; these
observations I was perfectly in the way to make, for I had no




IRISH SOCIETY.                   135
forms to keep, and was withal uncommonly delighted with
their wild eccentric humors, mixing with all ranks and descriptions of men, to my infinite amusement. If I have been successful in my dramatic sketches of the Irish character, it was,
here I studied it in its purest and most primitive state; from
high to low it was now under my view. Though I strove to
present it in its fairest and best light upon the stage, truth
obliges me to confess there was another side of the picture,
which could not have been contemplated without affright and
horror I Atrocities and violences, which set all law and justice
at defiance, were occasionally committed in this savage and
licentious quarter, and suffered to pass over with impunity. In
the neighboring town of Eyre Court, they had by long usage
assumed to themselves certain local and self-constituted privileges and exemptions, which rendered it unapproachable by any
officers or emissaries of the civil power, who were universally
denounced as mad dogs, and subjected to be treated as such,
and even put to, death with as little ceremony or remorse. I
speak of what actually occurred within my own immediate
knowledge, whilst I resided with my father, in more instances
than one, and those instances would be shocking to relate. To
stem these daring outrages, and to stand in opposition to these
barbarous customs, was an undertaking that. demanded both
philanthropy and courage, and my father of course was the very
man to attempt it. Justice and generosity were the instruments
he employed, and I saw the work of reformation so auspiciously
begun; and so steadily pursued by him, as convinced me that
minds the most degenerate may be to a degree reclaimed, by
actions, that come home to their feelings, and are evidently
directed to the sole purposes of amending their manners, and
improving their condition. To suppose they were a race of
beings stupidly vicious, devoid of sensibility, and delivered
over by their natural inertness to barbarism and ignorance,
would be the very falsest character that could be conceived of
them; it is, on the contrary, to the quickness of their apprehensive faculties, to the precipitancy and unrestrained vivacity of
their talents and passions, that we must look for the causes, and
in some-degree for the excuse of their excesses; together with
their ferocious propensities there are blended and compounded
humors so truly comic, eccentricities so peculiar, and attachments and affections at times so inconceivably ardent that it is
not possible to contemplate them in their natural characters
without being diverted by extravagances which we cannot
seriously approve, and captivated by professions which we cannot implicitly give credit to.




136      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
The bishop held a considerable parcel of land, arable and
grazing, in his hands, or more properly speaking in the phrase
of the country, a large demesne, with a numerous tribe of laborers, gardeners, turf-cutters, herdsmen and handicraft-men of various denominations. HEis first object, and that not an easy one
to attain, was to induce them to pursue the same methods of
husbandry as were practised in England, and to observe the
same neat and cleanly course of cultivation. This was a great
point gained; they began it with unwillingness, and watched it
with suspicion: their idle neighbors, who were without employ,
ridiculed the work, and predicted that their hay-stacks would
take fire, and their corn be rendered unfit for use; but in the
further course of time, when they experienced the advantages
of this process, and witnessed the striking contrast of these productive lands, compared with the slovenly grounds around
them, they began to acknowledge their own errors and to reform
them. With these operations the improvements of their own
habitations were contrived to keep pace; their cabins soon wore
a more comfortable and decent appearance; they furnished them
with chimneys, and emerged out of the smoke, in which. they
had buried and suffocated their families and themselves. When
these old habits were corrected within doors, on the outside of
every one of them there was to be seen a stack of hay, made in
the English fashion, thatched and secured from the weather,
and a lot of potatoes carefully planted and kept clean, which,
with a suitable proportion of turf, secured the year's provision
both for man and beast. When these comforts were placed in
their view, they were easily led to turn their attention to the
better appearance of their persons, and this reform was not a
little furthered by the premium of a Sunday's dinner to all,
who should present themselves in clean linen and with wellcombed hair, without the customary addition of a scare-crow
wig, so that the swarthy Milesian no longer appeared with a
yellow wig upon his coal-black hair, nor the yellow Dane with a
coal-black wig upon his long red locks: the old barbarous custom
also of working in a great coat loosely thrown over the shoulders, with the sleeves dangling by the sides, was now dismissed,
and the bishop's laborers turned into the field, stripped to their
shirts, proud to show themselves in whole linen, so that in
them vanity operated as a virtue, and piqued them to excel in
industry as much as they did in appearance. As for me, I was
so delighted with contemplating a kind of new creation, of which
my father was the author, that I devoted the greatest portion
of my time to his works, and had full powers to prosecute his
good intentions to whatever extent I might find opportunities




MY FIRST COMEDY.                    137
for carrying them. This commission was to me most gratifying, nor have any hours in my past life been more truly satisfactory, than those in which I was thus occupied as the administrator of his unbounded benevolence to his dependent fellow
creatures. My father being one of the governors of the Linen
Board, availed himself also of the opportunity for introducing
a branch of that valuable manufacture in his neighborhood, and
a great number of spinning-wheels were distributed, and much
good linen made in consequence of that measure. The superintendence of this improving manufacture furnished an interesting occupation to my mother's active mind, and it flourished
under her care.
In the month of October my father removed his family to
Dublin, and from thence I returned to resuIme my official duty
at the Board of Trade. In the course of this winter I brought
out my first comedy, entitled.' The Brothers,' at Covent Garden
theatre, then under the direction of Mr. Harris and his (associates, joint proprietors with him. I had written this play, after
my desultory manner, at such short periods of time and leisure,
as I could snatch from business or the society of my family,
and sometimes even in the midst of both, for I could then form
whole scenes in my memory, and afterwards write them down
when opportunity afforded; neither was it any interruption, if
my children were playing about me in the room. I believe I
was indebted to Mr. Harris singly for the kind reception which.
this offer met; for if I rightly remember what passed on that
occasion, my Brothers were not equally acceptable to his breth.
ren as to him. He took it, however, with all its responsibility,.
supported it, and cast it with the best strength of his company.
Woodwar(l in the part of Ironsides, and Yates in that of Sir
Benjamin Dove, were actors that could keep their scene alive,
if any life was in it.  Quick, then a young performer, took
the part of Skiff, and my friend Smith, who had prompted me
to the undertaking, was the young man of the piece; Mrs.
Green performed Lady Dove, and Mrs. Yates was the heroine
Sophia.
The play was successful, and I believe I may say that it
broought some advantage to the theatre as well as some reputation to its author.. It has been much played on the provincial
stages, and occasionally revived on the royal ones. There are
still such excellent successors in the lines of Yates and Woodward to be found in both theatres, that perhaps it would not
even now be a loss of labor, if they took it up afresh. I recollect that I borrowed the hint of Sir Benjamin's assumed valor,
upon being forced into a rencounter, from one of the old come,
10




138       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
dies, and if I conjecture rightly, it is' The Little French Lawyer.'
It may be said of this comedy, as it may of most, it has some
merits and some faults; it has its scenes that tell, and its scenes
that tire; a start of character, such as that of the tame Sir Benjamin, is always a striking incident in the construction of a
dramrna, and when a revolution of that sort can be brought about
without violence to nature, and for purposes essential to the plot,
it isxa point of art well worthy the attention and study of a
writer for the stage. The comedy of' Rule a Wife and have a
Wife,' and particularly that of Massinger's'City Madam,' are
strong instances in point. It is to be wished that some man of
experience in stage effect would adapt the latter of these comedies to representation.
Garrick was in the house at the first night of'The Brothers,'
and as I was planted in the back seat of an upper box, opposite to where he sat, I could not but remark his action of surprise when Mrs. Yates opened the epilogue with the following
lines:-'Who but hath seen the celebrateld strife,
Where Reynolds calls the canvas into life,
And'twixt the tragic and the comic muse,
Courted of both, and dubious where to choose,
Th' immortal actor stands —?'
My friend Fitzherbert, father of Lord St. Helen, was then
with Garrick, and came from his box to me across the house, to
tell me that the immortal actor had been taken by surprise, but
was not displeased with the unexpected compliment from  an
author with whom he had supposed he did not stand upon the
best terms; alluding no doubt to his transaction with Lord Halifax respecting' The Banishment of Cicero.' From this time Mr.
Garrick took pains to cultivate an acquaintance, which he had
hitherto neglected, and after Mr. Fitzherbert had brought us
together at his house, we interchanged visits, and it is nothing
more than natural to confess I was charmed with his company
and flattered by his attentions. I had a house in Queen Ann
Street, and he then lived in Southampton Street, Covent Garden,
where I frequently went to him and sometimes accompanied him
to his pleasant villa at Hampton. In the mean time, whilst I
was thus fortunate in conciliating to lnyself one eminent person
by my epilogue, I soon discovered to my regret how many I
had offended by my prologue. A host of newspaper writers fell
upon me for the pertness and general satire of that incautious
composition, and I found myself assailed from various quarters
with unmitigated acrimony. I made no defence, and the only
one I had to make would hardly have brought me off, for I




DRAMATIC AUTHORSHIP.                 139
could have opposed nothing to their charge against me, but the
simple and sincere assertion that I alluded personally to no man,
and being little versed in the mock modesty of modern addresses
to the audience, took the old style of prologue for my model,
and put a bold countenance upon a bold adventure. Numerous
examples were before me of prologues arrogant in the extreme;
Johnson abounds in such instances, but I did not advert sufficiently to the change, which time had wrought in the circumstances of the dramatic poet, and how much it behoved him to
lower his tone in the hearing of his audience: neither did Smith,
who was speaker of the prologue, and an experienced actor,
warn me of any danger in the lines he undertook to deliver. In
short, mine was the error of inexperience, and their efforts to
rebuff me only gave a fresh spring to my exertions, for I can
truly say, that, although I have been annoyed by detraction, it
never had the property of depressing me. I was silly enough
to send this comedy into the world with a dedication to the
Duke of Grafton, a man with whom I had not the slightest acquaintance, nor did I seek to establish any upon the merit of
this address; he was Chancellor of the University of Cambridclge, and this was my sole motive for inscribing my first
comedy to him. As for the play itself, whilst the prologue and
the prologue's author run- the gauntlet, that kept possession of
the. stage, and Woodward and Yates lost no credit by the support they gave it.
I will not trouble the reader with many apologies or appeals,
yet just now, whilst I am beginning to introduce a long list of
dramas, such as I presume no English author has yet equalled
in point of number, I would fain intercede for a candid interpretation of my labors, and recommend my memory to posterity
for protection after death from those unhandsome cavils, which
I have patiently endured whilst living.
I am not to learn that dramatic authors are to arm themselves
with fortitude before they take a post so open to attack; they,
who are to act in the public eye, and speak in the public ear,
have no right to expect a very smooth and peaceful career. I
have had my full share of success, and I trust I have paid my
tax for it always without mutiny, and very generally without
murmuring. I have never irritated the town by making a
sturdy stand against their opposition, when they have been
pleased to point it against any one of my productions; I never
failed to withdraw myself on the very first intimation that I was
unwelcome, and-the only offence I have been guilty of is, that I
have not always thought the worse of a composition only because the public did not think well of it. I solemnly protest.




140        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
that I have never written, or caused to be written, a single line
to puff and praise myself, or to decry a brother dramatist, since
I had life; of all such anonymous and mnean manceuvres I am
clearly innocent and proudly disdainful; I have stood firm  for
the corps, into which I enrolled myself, and never disgraced my
colors by abandoning the cause of the legitimate comedy, to
whose service I am sworn, and in whose defence I have kept the
field for nearly half a century, till at last I have survived all
true national taste, and lived to see buffoonery, spectacle, and
puerility so effectually triumphant, that now to be repulsed from
the stage is to be recommended to the closet, and to be applauded by the theatre is little else than a passport to the puppet-show. I only say what everybody knows to be true; I do
not write from personal motives, for I have no more cause for
complaint than is common to many of my brethren of the corps.
It is not my single misfortune to have been accused of vanity,
which I did not feel, of satires, which I did not write, and of invectives, which I disdained even to meditate.  It stands recorded of me in a review to this hour, that on the first night of'The School for Scandal' I was overheard in the lobby endeavoring to decry and cavil at that excellent comedy. I gave my
accuser proof positive, that I was at Bath during the time of its
first run, never saw it during its first season, and exhibited my
pocket-journal in confirmation of my alibi; the gentleman was
convinced of my innocence, but as he had no opportunity of
correcting his libel, everybody that read it remains convinced
of my guilt.l  Now, as none who ever heard my name, will fail
to suppose I must have said what is imputed to me in bitterness
of heart, not from  defect in head, this false aspersion of my
character was cruel and injurious in the extreme.  I hold it
right to explain that the reviewer I am  speaking of has been
long since dead.
I It was said, and reported to Sheridan, that while the whole house was convulseci with laughter, during the representation of the School for Scandal, Cumberland never smiled, nor relaxed a feature. Sheridan replied that there was
some ingratitude in Cumberland's refusal to laugh at his comedy, since he
had laughed at one of his tragedies from beginning to end. This tale appeared
in print, and hence Cumberland's denial. It is supposed that Shericlan intended the character of Sir Fretful Plagiary, in'The Critic,' for Cumberland,
but the latter, unmindful of the supposition, invariably speaks in terms of respect of Sheridan's talents.'Cumberland,' says Taylor,'came one night to Mr. Sheridan's box in the
theatre, somewhat late, and stumbled at the entrance. Mr. Sheridan sprang
forward and assisted him.'Ah! sir,' said Cumberland,'you are the only
man to assist a falling author.' Mr. Sheridan, in waggery or forgetfulness,
said:''Rising, you'mean,' the very words which Mr. Sheridan has assigned to
Sir Fretful Plagiary, in'The Critic,' a character connmonly understood to be
drawn for Mr. Cumberland.'-Records of mny LJe, p. 328.




CHARACTERISTICS OF THE DRAMA.               141
In the ensuing year I again paid a visit to my father at Clonfert, and there, in a little closet at the back of the palace, as it
was called, unfurnished and out of use, with no other prospect
from  my single window but that of a turf-stack, with which
it was almost in contact, I seated myself by choice, and began
to plan and compose'The West Indian.'
As the writer for the stage is a writer to the passions, I hold
it matter of conscience and duty in the dramatic poet to reserve
his brightest coloring for the best characters, to give no false
attractions to vice and immorality, but to endeavor, as far as is
consistent With that contrast, which is the very essence of his
art, to turn the fairer side of human nature to the public, and,
as much as in him lies, to contrive so as to put men into good
humor with one another. Let him, therefore, in the first place,
strive to make worthy characters amiable, but take great care
not to make them insipid; if he does not put life and spirit
into his man or woman of virtue, and render them entertaining
as well as good, their morality is not a whit more attractive
than the morality of a Greek chorus. He had better have let
them alone altogether.
Congreve, Farquhar, and some others have made vice and
villany so playful and amusing, that either they could not find
in their hearts to.punish them, or not caring how wicked they
were, so long as they were witty, paid no attention to what became of them: Shadwell's comedy is little better than a brothel.
Poetical justice, which has armed the tragic poet with the
weapons of death, and commissioned him to wash out the offence
in the blood of the offender, has not left the comic writer without his instruments of vengeance; for surely, if he knows how
to employ the authority that is in him, the scourge of ridicule
alone is sharp enough for the chastisement of any crimes, which
can fall within his province to exhibit. A true poet knows
that, unless he can produce works whose fame will outlive him,
he will outlive both his works and his fame; therefore, every
comic author who takes the mere clack of the day for his subject, and abandons all his claims upon posterity, is no true poet;
if he dabbles in personalities; he does considerably worse. WVhen
I began, therefore, as at this time, to write for the stage, my
ambition was to aim at writing something that might be lasting
and outlive me; when temporary subjects were suggested to
me, I declined them: I formed to myself in idea what I conceived to be the character of a legitimate corhedy, and that alone
was my object, and though I did:not quite aspire to attain, I
was not altogether in despair of approaching it. I perceived
that I had fallen upon a time when great eccentricity of charac



142      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
ter was pretty nearly gone by, but still I fancied there was an
opening for some originality, and an opportunity for showing
at least my good-will to mankind, if I introduced the characters
of persons who had been usually exhibited on the stage, as the
butts for ridicule and abuse, and endeavored to present them in
such lights as might tend to reconcile the world to them, and them
to the world. I thereupon looked into society for the purpose
of discovering such as were the victims of its national, professional, or religious prejudices; in short, for those suffbring
characters which stood in need of an advocate, and out of these
I meditated to select and form heroes for my future dramas, of
which I would study to make such favorable and reconciliatory
delineations, as might incline the spectators to look upon them
with pity, and receive them into their good opinion and esteem.
With this project in my mind, and nothing but the turf-stack
to call off my attention, I took the characters of an Irishman
and a WTest Indian for the heroes of my plot, and began to work
it out into the shape of a comedy. To the West Indian. I devoted a generous spirit, and a vivacious giddy dissipation; I
resolved he should love pleasure much, but honor more; but as
I could not keep consistency of character without a mixture of
failings, when I gave him charity, I gave him that which can
cover a multitude, and thus protected, thus recommended, I
thought I might send him out into the world to shift for himself.
For my Irishman I had a scheme rather more complicated;
I put him into the Austrian service, and exhibited him in the
livery of a foreign master, to impress upon the audience the melancholy and impolitic alternative, to which his religious disqualification had reduced a gallant and a loyal subject of his natural king:
I gave him courage, for it belongs to his nation; I endowed
him with honor, for it belongs to his profession, and I made him
proud, jealous, susceptible, for such the exiled veteran will be,
who lives by the earnings of his sword, and is not allowed to
draw it in the service of that country which gave him birth,
and which of course he was born to defend: for his phraseology
I had the glossary ready at my hand; for his mistakes and trips,
vulgarly called bulls, I did not know the Irishman of the stage
then existing, whom I would wish to make my model: their
gross absurdities, and unnatural contrarieties have not a shade
of character in them. When his imagination is warmed, and
his ideas rush upon him in a cluster,'tis then the Irishman will
sometimes blunder; his fancy having supplied more words than
his tongue can well dispose of, it will occasionally trip. But
the imitation must be delicately conducted; his meaning is clear,




MR. TALBOT.                      143
he conceives rightly, though in delivery he is confused; and the
art, as I concedte it, of finding language for the Irish character
on the stage consists not in making him foolish, vulgar, or absurd, but, on the contrary, whilst you furnish him with expressions that excite laughter, you must graft them upon sentiments
that deserve applause.
In all my hours of study, it has been through life my object
so to locate myself as to have little or nothing to distract my
attention, and therefore brilliant rooms or pleasant prospects I
have ever avoided. A dead wall, or, as in the present case, an
Irish turf-stack, are not attractions, that can call off the fancy
from its pursuits; and whilst in those pursuits it can find interest and occupation, it wants no outward aids to cheer it. My
mother, who had a fellow-feeling with me in these sensations,
used occasionally to visit me in this hiding hole, and animated
me with her remarks upon the progress of my work: my father
was rather inclined to apologize for the meanness of my accommodation, and I believe rather wondered at my choice: in
the mean time, I had none of those incessant avocations which
forever crossed me in the writing of'The Brothers.' I was
master of my time, my mind was free, and I was happy in the
society of the dearest friends I had on earth. In parents, sister,
wife and children, greater blessings no man could enjoy. The
calls of office, the cavillings of angry rivals, and the jibings of
newspaper critics could not reach me on the banks of the
Shannon, where all within doors was love and affection, all
without was gratitude and kindness devolved on me through
the merits of my father. In no other period of my life have the
same happy circumstances combined to cheer me in any of my
literary labors.
During an excursion of a few days upon a visit to Mr. Talbot, of Mount Talbot, a very respectable and worthy gentleman
in those parts, I found a kind of hermitage in his pleasure
grounds, where I wrote some few scenes, and my amiable host
was afterwards pleased to honor the author of the West Indian
with an inscription, affixed to that building, commemorating the
use that had been made of it; a piece of elegant flattery very
elegantly expressed.
On this visit to Mr. Talbot I was accompanied by Lord Eyre,
of Eyre Court, a near neighbor and friend of my father. This
noble lord, though pretty far advanced in years, was so correctly indigenous as never to have been out of Ireland in his
life, and not often so far from Eyre Court as in this tour to Mr.
Talbot's. Proprietor of a vast extent of soil, not very productive, and inhabiting a spacious mansion, not in the best re



144      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
pair, he lived according to the style of the country with more
hospitality thap elegance: whilst his table groaned with abundance, the order and good taste of its arrangement were little
thought of: the slaughtered ox was hung up whole, and the
hungry servitor supplied himself with his dole of flesh, sliced
from off' the carcass. I-is lordship's day was so apportioned as
to give the afternoon by much the larger share of it, during
which, from an early dinner to the hour of rest, he never left
his chair, nor did the claret ever quit the table. This did not
produce inebriety, for it was sipping rather than drinking that
filled up the time, and this mechanical process of gradually
moistening the human clay was carried on with very little aid
from conversation, for his lordship's companions were not very
communicative, and fortunately he was not very curious. I-Ie
lived in an enviable independence as to reading, and of course
he had no books. Not one of the windows of his castle was
made to open, but luckily he had no liking for fresh air, and
the consequence may be better conceived than described.
He had a large and handsome pleasure-boat on the Shannon,
and men to row it. I was of two or three parties with him on
that noble water as far as to Pertumna, the then deserted castle
of the Lord Clanrickarde; upon one of these excursions, we were
hailed by a person from the bank, who somewhat rudely called
us to take him over to the other side. The company in the boat
making no reply, I inadvertently called out:'Ay, ay, sir!
Stay there till we come.' Immediately, I heard a murmur in
the company, and Lord Eyre said to me:'You'll hear from that
gentleman again, or I am mistaken. You don't know perhaps
that you have been answering one of the most irritable men
alive, and the likeliest to interpret what you have said as an
affront.' He predicted truly, for the very next morning the
gentleman rode over to Lord Eyre, and demanded of him to
give uTp my name; this his lordship dicd, but informed him withal
that I was a stranger in the country, the son of Bishop Cumberland, at Clonfert, where I might be found if he had any
commands for me. He instantly replied, that he should have
received it as an affront from any other man; but Bishop Cumberland's was a character he respected, and no son of his could
be guilty of an intention to insult him. Thus, this valiant
gentleman permitted me to live, and only helped me to another
feature in my sketch of Major O'Flaherty.
A short time after this, Lord Eyre, who had a great passion
for cock-fighting, and whose cocks were the crack of all Ireland,
engaged me in a main at Eyre Court. I was a perfect novice in
that elegant sport; but the gentlemen from all parts sent me




AN INCIDENT.                    145
in their contributions, and, having a good feeder, I won every
battle in the main but one. At this meeting, I fell in with my
hero from the Shannon bank. Both parties dined together;
but when I found that mine, which was the more numerous,
and infinitely the most obstreperous and disposed to quarrel,
could no longer be left in peace with our antagonists, I quitted
my seat by Lord Eyre, and went to the gentleman above alluded
to, who was presiding at the second table, and, seating myself
familiarly on the arm of his chair, proposed to him to adjourn
our party, and assemble them in another house, for the sake of
harmony and good fellowship. With the best grace in life, he
instantly assented; and when I added that I should put them
under his care, and expect from him, as a man of honor and my
friend, that every mother's son of them should be found forthcoming and alive the next morning,'Then, by the soul of me,'
he replied,'and they shall, provided only that no man in company shall dare to give the glorious and imnmortal memory for his
toast, which no gentleman who feels as I do will put up with.'
To this, I pledged myself, and we removed to a whiskey-house,
attended by half a score pipers, playing different tunes; here we
went on very joyously and lovingly for a time, till a well-dressed
gentleman entered the room, and, civilly accosting me,requested to
partake of our festivity, and join the company, if nobody had an
objection.'Ah, now, don't be too sure of that!' a voice was instantly heard to reply;'I believe you will find plenty of objection
in this company to your being one amongst us.' What had he done,
the gentleman demanded.'What have you done?' rejoined the
first speaker.'Don't I know you for the miscreant that ravished
the poor wench against her will in presence of her mother?
And didn't your Pagans that held her down ravish the mother
afterwards in presence of her daughter? And do you think we
will admit you into our company'? Make yourself sure that we
shall not; therefore, get out of this as speedily as you can, and
away Wid you!' Upon this, the whole company rose; and in
their rising the civil gentleman made his exit, and was off. I
relate this incident exactly as it happened, suppressing the name
of the gentleman, who was a man of property and some consequence. When my surprise had subsided, and the punch began
to circulate with a rapidity the greater for this gentleman's
having troubled the waters, I took my departure, having first
cautioned a friend who sat by me (and the only Protestant in
the company) to keep his head cool, and beware of the glorious
memory., This gallant young officer, son to a man who held
lands of my father, promised faithfully to be sober and discreet,
as well knowing the company he was in; but my friend, having




146       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
forgot the first part of his promise, and getting very tipsy, let
the second part slip out of his memory, and became very mad,
for stepping aside for his pistols, he re-entered the room, and,
laying them on the table, took the cockade from his hat and
dashed it into the punch-bowl, demanding of the company to
drink the glorious and immortal memory of King William in a
bumper, or abide the consequences. I was not there; and if I
had been present I could neither have stayed the tumult nor
described it. I only know he turned out the next morning
merely for honor's sake; but as it was one against a host, the
magnanimity of his opponents let him off with a shot or two
that did no execution. I returned to the peaceful family at
Clonfert, and fought no more cocks.
The fairies were extremely prevalent at Clonfert. Visions of
burials, attended by long processions of mourners, were seen to
circle the churchyard by night; and there was no lack of oaths
and attestations to enforce the truth of it. My mother suffebred
a loss by them of a large brood of fine turkeys, who were every
one burnt to ashes, bones and feathers, and their dust scattered
in the air by their provident nurse and feeder to appease thosemischievous little beings, and prevent worse consequences. The
good dame credited herself very highly for this act of atonement;
but my mother did not see it quit quite in so meritorious a light.
A few days after, as my father and I were riding in the grounds,
we crossed upon the Catholic priest of the parish. My father
began a conversation with him, and expressed a wish that he
would caution his flock against this idle superstition of the
fairies; the good man assured the bishop that in the first place
he could not do it if he would, and in the next place confessed
that he himself was far from being an unbeliever in their existence. My father thereupon turned the subject, and observed to
him with concern that his steed was a very sorry one, and in
very wretched condition.'Truly, my good lord,' he replied,'the beast himself is but an ugly garron, and, whereby I have
no provender to spare him, mightily out of heart, as I may truly
say; but your lordship must think a poor priest like me has a
mighty deal of work, and very little pay.''Why, then, brother,'
said my good father, whilst benevolence beamed in his countenance,' tis fit that I, who have the advantage of you in both
respects, should mount you on a better horse, and furnish you
with provender to maintain him.' This parley with the priest
passed in the very hayfield where the bishop's people were at
work. Orders were instantly given for a stack of hay to be
made at the priest's cabin; and in a few days after a steady
horse was purchased and presented to him. Surely, they could




THOMAS O' ROURKE.                  147
not be true born Irish fairies that would spite my father, or even
his turkeys after this.
Amongst the laborers in my father's garden there were three
brothers of the name of O'Rourke, regularly descended from
the kings of Connaught, if they were exactly to be credited for
the correctness of their genealogy. There was also an elder
brother of these, Thomas O'Rourke, who filled the superior
station of hind, or headman; it was his wife that burnt the be.
witched turkeys, whilst Tom burnt his wig for joy of my victory
at the cock-match, and threw a proper parcel of oatmeal into
the air as a votive offering for my glorious success. One of the
younger brothers was upon crutches in consequence of a contusion on his hip, which he literally acquired as follows: When
my father came down- to Clonfert from Dublin, it was announced
to him that the bishop was arrived: the poor fellow was then in
the act of lopping a tree in the garden; transported at the tidings, he exclaimed:'Is my lord come?  Then I'll throw myself out of this same tree for joy.' He exactly fulfilled his
word, and laid himself up for some months..When I accompanied my mother from Clonfert to Dublin,
my father.having gone before, we passed the night at Killbeggan, where Sir Thomas Cuffee (knighted in a'frolic by Lord
Townshend) kept the inn. A certain Mr. Geoghegan was extremely drunk, noisy and brutally troublesome to Lady Cuffee
the hostess: Thomas O'Rourke was with us, and being much
scandalized with the behavior of Geoghegan, took me aside, and
in a whisper said:'Squire, will I quiet this same Mr. Geoghegan?' When I replied by all means, but how was it to be
done?-Tom produced a knife of formidable length and demanded-' Haven't I got this? And won't this do the job, and
hasn't he wounded the woman of the inn with a chopping knife,
and what is this but a knife, and wouldn't it be a good deed to
put him to death like a mad dog?  Therefore, Squire, do you
see, if it will pleasure you and my lady there above stairs, who
is ill enough, God he knows, I'll put this knife into that same
MIr. Geoghegan's ribs, and be off the next moment on the gray
mare; and isn't she in the stable?  Therefore only say the word,
and I'll do it.' This was the true and exact proposal of Thomas
O'Rourke, and, as nearly as I can remember, I have stated it in
his very words.
WVe arrived safe in Dublin, leaving Mr. Geoghegan to get
sober at his leisure, and dismissing O'Rourke to his quarters at
Clonfert. When we had passed a few days in Kildare Street, I
well remember the surprise it occasioned us one afternoon,
when, without any notice, we saw a great gigantic dirty fellow




148      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
walk into the room and march straight up to my father, for
what purpose we could not devise. My mother uttered a
scream, whilst my father with perfect composure addressed him
by the name of Stephen, demanding what he wanted with him,
and what brought him to Dublin-' Nay, my good lord,' replied
the man,'I have no other business in Dublin itself but to take
a bit of a walk up from  Clonfert to see your sweet face,
long life to it, and to beg a blessing upon me from your lordship; that is all.' So saying, he flounced down on his knees,
and, in a most piteous kind of howl, closing his hands at the
same time, cried out-'Pray, my lord, pray to God to bless
Stephen Costello.'  The scene was sufficiently ludicrous to
have spoiled the solemnity, yet my father kept his countenance, and gravely gave his blessing, saying, as he laid his
hands on his head-' God bless you, Stephen Costello, and make
you a good boy!' The giant sung out a loud amen, and arose,
declaring he should immediately set out and return to his
home. He would accept no refreshment, but with many thanks
and a thousand blessings in recompense for the one he had received, walked out of the house, and I can well believe, resumed
his pilgrimage to the westward without stop or stay. I should
not have considered this and the preceding anecdotes as worth
recording, but that they are in some degree characteristic of a
very curious and peculiar people, who are not often understood
by those who profess to mimic them, and who are too apt to
set them forth as objects for ridicule only, when oftentimes even
their oddities, if candidly examined, would entitle them to our
respect.
I will here mention a very extraordinary honor, which the
city of Dublin was pleased to confer upon my father in presenting him with his freedom in a gold box; a form of such high.
respect as they had never before observed towards any person
below the rank of their chief governor: I state this last-mentioned circumstance from authorities that oughtnot to be mistaken; if the fact is otherwise, I have been misinformed, and
the honor conferred upon the Bishop of Clonfert was not without a precedent. The motives assigned in the deed which accompanied the box, are in general for the great respectability
of his character, and in, particular for his disinterested protection
of the Irish clergy. Under this head it was supposed they
alluded to the benefice, which he had bestowed upon a most
deserving clergyman, his own particular friend and chaplain,
the Reverend Dixie Blondel, who happened also to be at that
time chaplain to the Lord Mayor of Dublin. I have the box
at this time in my possession.




INFLUENCE OF MY FATHER.               149
To the same merits, which influenced the city to bestow this
distinguished honor on my father, I must ascribe that which
I received from the University of Dublin, by the honorary grant
of the degree of Doctor of Laws. Upon this I have only to observe that to be within the sphere of my father's good name,
was to me at once a security against danger and a recommendation to favor and reward.




150       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
CHAPTER IV.
The West Indian-Garriek-Vindication of Dr. Bentley-Prid e-Duke of AlvaThe Rev. Mr. Reynolds-Neis Nill Society-Garrick-Reynolds-JohnlsonJenyns-Anecdote of Garrick —Foote-Anecdote of Thomas Mills-The Fashionable Lover-Anonymous defamation-Oliver Goldsmith-Dr. JohnsonGoldsmith's comedies-Retaliation, Goldsmith's poemls-Bishop Cumberland,
transferred to Kilmore-Death of-The choleric man —Mrs. Abington-HIenderson-Death of the Earl of Halifax-Lord George Germain-Cumberlandc's
promotion.
WHEN I returned to England I entered into an engagement
with Mr. Garrick to bring out' The WTest Indian' at his theatre.
I had received fair and honorable treatment from Mr. IIarris,
and had not the slightest cause of complaint against him, his
brother patentees or his actors. I had, however, no engagement
with him, nor had he signified to me his wish or expectation of
any such in future.  If, notwithstanding, the obligation was
honorably such, as I was not free to depart from, in which
light I am pretty sure he regarded it, my conduct was no otherwise defensible than as it was not intentionally unfair.  My acquaintance with 2Mr. Garrick had become intimacy between the
acting of the'Brothers' and the acceptance of the' WVest Indian.'
I resorted to him again and again with the manuscript of my
comedy; I availed myself of his advice, of his remarks, and I
was neither conscious of doing what was wrong in me to do,
nor did any remonstrance ever reach me to apprise me of my
error.
I was not indeed quite a novice to the theatre, but I was
clearly innocent of knowing or believing myself bound by any
rules or usage, that prevented me from offering my production
to the one or the other at my own free option. I went to Mr.
Garrick; I found in him what my inexperience, stood in need
of, an admirable judge of stage effect; at his suggestion I added
the preparatory scene in the house of Stockwell, before the arrival of Belcour, where his baggage is brought in, and the domestics of the merchant are setting things in readiness for his
coming.  This insertion- I made by his advice, and I punctually
remember the very instant when he said to me in his chariot on
our way to Hampton —' I want something more to be announced




GARRICK.                      151
of your West Indian before you bring him on the stage to give
eclat to his entrance, and rouse the. curiosity of the audience;
that they may say-Ay, here he comes, with all his colors flying.' When I asked how this was to be done, and who was
to do it, he considered awhile and then replied-' Why, that is
your look out, my friend, not mine; but if neither your merchant nor his clerk can do it, why, why send in the servants,
and let them talk about him. Never let nme see a hero step
upon the stage without his trumpeters of some sort or other.'
Upon this conversation it was that I engrafted the scene above
mentioned, and this was in truth the only alteration of any consequence that the manuscript underwent in its passage to the
stage.
After we came to Hampton, where that inimitable man was to
be seen in his highest state of animation, we began to debate
upon the cast of the play. Barry was extremely desirous to
play the part of the Trish Major, and Garrick was very doubtful
how to decide, for Moody was then an actor little known and at
a low salary. I took no part in the question, for I was entitled
to no opinion, but I remember Garrick, after long deliberation,
gave his decree for Moody with considerable repugnance, qualifying his preference of the latter with reasons that in no respect
reflected on the merits of Mr. Barry —but he did not quite see
him in the whole part of O'Flaherty; there were certain points
of humor, where he thought it likely he might fail, and in that
case his failure, like his name, would be more conspicuous than
Moody's. In short, Moody would take pains; it might make
him, it might mar the other; so Moody had it, and succeeded to
our utmost wishes. Mr. King, ever justly a favorite of the public, took the part of Belcour, and Mrs. Abington, with some few
salvos on the score of condescension, played Charlotte Rusport,
and though she would not allow it to be anything but a sketch,
yet she made a character of it by her inimitable acting.
The production of a new play was in those days an event of
much greater attraction than from its frequency it is now become, so that the house was taken to the back rows of the front
boxes for several nights in succession before that of its representation; yet in this interval I offered to give its produce to
Garrick for a picture that hung over his chimney piece in Southampton Street, and was only a copy from a Holy Family of
Andrea del Sarto; he would have closed with me upon the bargain, but that the picture had been a present to him from Lord
Baltimore. My expectations did not run very high when I made
this offer.
A rumor had gone about that the character which gave its




152       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
title to the comedy, was satirical; of course the gentlemen who
came under that description, went down to the. theatre in great
strength, very naturally disposed to chastise the author for his
malignity, and their phalanx was not a little formidable. Mrs.
Cumberland and I sat with Mr. and Mrs. Garrick in their private box.  WVhen the prologue-speaker had gone the length of
the first four lines, the tumult. was excessive, and the interruption held so long, that it seemed doubtful if the prologue would
be suffered to proceed.  Garrick was much agitated; he observed to me that the appearance of the house, particularly in
the pit, was more hostile than he had ever seen it. It so happened that I did not at that moment feel the danger, which he
seemed to apprehend, and remarked to him that the very first
word, which discovered Belcour's character to be friendly,
would turn the clamor for us, and so far I regarded the impetuosity of the audience as a symptom  in our favor. Whilst
this was passing between us, order was loudly issued for the
prologue to begin again, and in the delivery of a few lines more
than they had already heard they seemed reconciled to wait the
development of a character from  which they were told to expect-'Some emanations of a noble mind.'
Their acquiescence, however, was not set off with much applause; it was a suspicious truce, a sullen kind of civility, that
did not promise more favor than we could earn; but when the
prologue came to touch upon'the Major, and told his countrymen in the galleries, that-' His heart can never trip,'
they, honest souls, who had hitherto been treated with little else
but stage kicks and cufni  for their entertainment, sent up such a
hearty crack, as plainly told us we had not indeed little cherubs,
but lusty champions, who sat up aloft.
Of the subsequent stuccess of this lucky comedy there is no
occasion for me to speak; eight and twenty successive nights
it wetut without the buttress of an afterpiece, which was not
then the practice of attaching to a new play.1  Such was the
good fortune of an author, who happened to strike upon a
popular and taking plan, for certainly the moral of the ~West
Indinan   is not quite unexceptionable, neither is the dialogue
above the level of othlers of the same author, which have been
much less favored. T'he snarlers snapped at it, but they never
This is a mistake, which Cumberland has corrected in the supplement.
(Vide post.)




PROFITS OF MY WORKS.                153
set their teeth into the right place; I don't think I am very vain
when I say that I could have taught them better. Garrick was
extremely kind, and threw his shield before me more than once,
as the St. James's evening paper could have witnessed. My
property in the piece was reserved for me with the greatest
exactness; the charge of the house upon the author's nights
was then only sixty pounds, and when Mr. Evans the Treasurer
came to my house in Queen Ann Street in a hackney coach with
a huge bag of money, he spread it all in gold upon my table,
and seemed to contemplate it with a kind of ecstasy, that was
extremely droll; and when I tendered him his customary fee, he
peremptorily refused it, saying he had never paid an author so
much before, I had fairly earned it, and he would not lessen it a
single shilling, not even his coach-hire, and in that humor he
departed. H:Ie had no sooner left the room than one entered it,
who was not quite so scrupulous, but quite as welcome; my
beloved wife took twenty guineas from the heap, and instantly
bestowed them on the faithful servant who had attended on our
children; a tribute justly due her unwearied diligence and exemplary conduct.
I sold the copyright to Griffin in Catharine Street for 1501.,
and if he told the truth when he boasted of having vended
12,000 copies, he did not make a bad bargain; and if he made
a good one, which it is pretty clear he did, it is not quite so clear
that he deserved it: he was a sorry fellow.
I paid respectful attention to all the floating criticisms that
came within my reach, but I found no opportunities of profiting by their remarks, and very little cause to complain of their
personalities; in short,jI had more praise than I merited, and
less cavilling than I expected.' One morning when I called up.
on Mr. Garrick, I found him with the St. James's evening paper
in his hand, which he began to read with a voice and action of
surprise, most admirably counterfeited, as if he had discovered
a mine under my feet, and a train to blow me up to- destruction.'IHere, here,' he cried,'if your skin is less thick than a
rhinoceros's hide, egad, here is that will cut you to the bone.
This is a terrible fellow; I wonder who it can be.' He began
to sing out his libel in a high declamatory tone, with a most
comic countenance, and pausing at the end of the first sentence,
which seemed to favor his contrivance for a little ingenious tormenting, when he found he had hooked me, he laid down the
paper, and began to comment upon the cruelty of newspapers,' No man was more sensitive to criticism than Cumberland. Garrick once
described him as' The man without a skin.'
11




151       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
and moan over me with a great deal of malicious fun and good
humor-' Confound these fellows, they spare nobody. I dare
say this is Bickerstaff, again; but you don't mind him; no, no,
I see you don't mind him; a little galled, but not much hurt:
you may stop his mouth with a golden gag, but we'll see how
he goes on.' He then resumed his reading, cheering me all the
way as it began to soften, till winding up in the most professed
panegyric, of which he was himself the writer, I found my friend
had had his joke, and I had enjoyed his praise, seasoned and set
off in his inimitable manner, which to be comprehended must
have been seen.
It was the remark of Lord Lyttleton upon this comedy, when
speaking of it to me one evening at Mrs. Montague's, that had it
not been for the incident of O'Flaherty's hiding himself behind
the screen, when he overhears the lawyer's soliloquy, he should
have pronounced it a faultless composition. This flattery his
lordship surely added against the conviction of his better judgment merely as a sweetener to qualify his criticism, and by so
doing convinced me that he suspected me of being less amenable
to fair correction than I really am and ever have been. But be
this as it may, a criticism from Lord Lyttleton must always be
worth recording, and this especially, as it not only applies to my
comedy in particular, but is general to all.'I consider listening,' said he,'as a resource never to be
allowed in any pure drama, nor ought any good author to make
use of it.' This position being laid down by authority so high,
and audibly delivered, drew the attention of the company
assembled for conversation, and all were silent.'It is in fact,'
he added,'a violation of those rules, which original' authorities
have established for the constitution of the comic drama.' After
all due acknowledgments for the favor of his remark, I replied
that if I had trespassed against any rule laid clown by classical
authority in the case alluded to, I had done it inadvertently, for
I really did not know where any such rule was to be found.'What did Aristotle say?- Were there no rules laid down
by him for comedy?' None that I knew; Aristotle referred
to the Margites and Ilias Minor as models, but that was no rule,
and the models being lost, we had neither precept nor example
to instruct us.'Were there any precedents in the Greek or
Roman drama, which could justify the measure?' To this I
replied that no precedent could justify the measure in my
opinion, which his lordship's better judgment had condemned;
being possessed of that, I should offend no more; but as mny error
was committed when I had no such advice to guide me, I did
recollect that Aristophanes did not scruple to resort to listening,




LORD LYTTLETON S CRITICISM.              155
and drawing conclusions from what was overheard, when a man
rambled and talked broken sentences in his bed asleep and
dreaming; and as for the Roman stage, if anything could
apologize for the Major's screen, I conceived there were screens
in plenty upon that, which formed separate streets and entrances, which concealed the actors from each other, and gave
occasion to a great deal of listening and overhearing in their
comedy.'But this occurs,' said Lord Lyttleton,'from the construction
of the scene, not from the contrivance and intent of the character, as in your case; and when such an expedient is resorted to
by an officer like your Major, it is discreditable and unbecoming
of him as a man of honor.' This was decisive, and I made no
longer any struggle. What my predecessors in the drama,
who had been dealers in screens, closets and keyholes for a
century past, would have said to this doctrine of the noble critic,
I don't pretend to guess; it would have made sad havoc with
many of them, and cut deep into their property; as for me, I
had so weak a cause and so strong a majority against me (for
every lady in the room denounced listeners) that all I could do
was to insert without loss of time a few words of palliation into
the Major's part, by making him say, upon resorting to his
hiding place-'I'll step behind this screen and listen; a good
soldier must sometimes fight in ambush as well as in the open
field.'
I now leave this criticism to the consideration of those ingenious men who may in future cultivate the stage; I could name
one now living, who has made such happy use of his screen in
a comedy of the very first merit, that if Aristotle himself had
written a whole chapter professedly against screens, and Jerry
Collier had edited it with notes and illustrations, I would not
have placed Lady Teazle out of ear-shot to have saved their
ears from the pillory; but if either of these worthies could have
pointed out an expedient to have got Joseph Surface off the
stage, pending that scene, with any reasonable conformity to
nature, they would have done more good to the drama than
either of them have done harm; and that is saying a great deal.
There never have been any statute laws for comedy; there
never can be any; it is only referable to Ithe unwritten law of
the heart, and that is nature; now, though the natural child is
illegitimate, the natural comedy is, according to my conception
of it, what in other words we denominate the legitimate comedy.
If it represents men and women as they are, it pictures nature;
if it makes monsters, it goes out of nature. It has a right to
command the aid of spectacle, as far as spectacle is properly




156       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
incidental to it, but if it makes its serving-maid its mistress, it
becomes a puppet-show, and its actors ought to speak through
a comb behind the scenes, and never show their foolish faces
on the stage. If the author conceives himself at liberty to send
his characters on and off the stage exactly as he pleases, and
thrust them into gentlemen's houses and private chambers, as
if they could walk into them as easily as they can walk through
the side scenes, he does not know his business; if he gives you
the interior of a man of fashion's family, and does not speak the
language, or reflect the manners, of a well-bred person, he
undertakes to describe company he has never been admitted to,
and is an impostor; if he cannot exhibit a distressed gentleman
on the scene, without a bailiff at his heels to arrest him, nor
reform a dissipated lady without a sponging-house to read his
lectures in, I am sorry for his dearth of fancy, and lament his
want of taste; if he cannot get his Pegasus past Newgate without his restively stopping like a post horse at the end of his
stage, it is a pity he has taught him such unhandsome customs;
if he permits the actor, whom he deputes to personate the rake
of the day, to copy the dress, air, attitude, straddle, and outrageous indecorum of those caricatures in our print-shops, which
keep no terms with nature, he courts the galleries at the expense of decency, and degrades himself, his actor, and the stage,
to catch those plaudits that convey no fame, and do not elevate
him one inch above the keeper of the beasts of the Tower, who
puts his pole between the bars to make the lion roar. In short
it is much better, more justifiable, and infinitely more charitable,
to write nonsense and set it to good music, than to write
ribaldry, and impose it upon good actors. But of this more
fully and explicitly hereafter, when committing myself and my
works to the judgment of posterity, I shall take leave of my
contemporaries, and with every parting wish for their prosperity
shall bequeath to them honestly and without reserve all that my
observation and long experience can suggest for their edification
and advantage.
However, before I quite bid farewell to the West Indian, I
must mention a criticism, which I picked up in Rotten-Row
from Nugent Lord Clare, not ex cathedrc, but from the saddle on
an easy trot. His lordship was contented with the play in
general, but he could not relish the five wives of O'Flaherty;
they were four too many for an honest man, and the over-abundance of them hurt his lordship's feelings; I thought I could not
have a better criterion for the feelings of other people, and desired Moody to manage the matter as well as he could; he put
in the qualifier of en rnilitaire, and his five wives brought him




DARING FEAT.                        157
into no further trouble; all but one were left-handed, and he
had German practice for his plea. Upon the whole I must take
the world's word for the merit of'The WVest Indian,' and thankfully suppose that what they best liked was in fact best to be
liked.
A little straw  will serve to light a great fire, and after the
acting of the West Indian, I would say, if the comparison was
not too presumptuous, I was almost the'Master Betty' of the
time; but as I dare say that young gentleman is even now too
old and too wise to be spoiled by popularity, so was I then not
quite boy enough to be tickled by it, and not quite fool enough
to confide in it. In short, I took the same'course then which
he is taking now; as he keeps on acting part after part, so did
I persist in writing play after play; and this, if I am not mistaken, is the surest course we either of us could take of running
through our period of popularity, and of finding our true level
at the conclusion of it.
I recollect the fate of a young artist in Northamptonshire,
who was famous for his adroitness in pointing and repairing
the spires of church steeples; he formed his scaffoiblds with consummate ingenuity, and mounted his ladders with incredible
success.  The spire of the church of Raunds was of prodigious
height; it over-peered all its neighbors, as Shakspeare does all
his rivals; the young adventurer was employed to fix the
weather-cock; he mounted to the topmost stone, in which the
spindle was bedded; universal plaudits hailed him in his ascent;
he found himself at the very acme of his fame, but glorious ambition tempted him to quit his ladder, and occupy the place of
the weather-cock, standing upon one leg, while he sung a song
to amaze the rustic multitude below: what the song was, and
how many stanzas he lived to get through, I do not know; he
sung it in too large a theatre, and was somewhat out of hearing;
but it is in my memory to know that he came to his cadence
before his song did, and falling from his height, left the world
to draw its moral from his melancholy fate.
I now for the first time entered the lists of controversy, and
took up the gauntlet of a renowned champion to vindicate the
insulted character of my grandfather, Doctor Bentley.'  The
1' Tenacious alike of his own literary fame and that of his fa;mily connections,' say the authors of the'Cabinet Cyclopedia,''Cumberland took up the
pen in great indignation against Bishop Lowth, who, in an attack upon Warburton, had censured his maternal grandfather, Dr. Richard Bentley. The
long and angry pamphlet which he published upon this occasion met with no
reply, Lowth not choosing to enter into a controversy upon the subject. Cumberland, in yielding to resentful feelings upon so slight a cause, since every




158       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
offensive passage met me in a pamphlet written by Bishop
Lowth professedly against Warburton, acrimonious enough of
all conscience, and unepiscopally intemperate in the highest
degree, even if his lordship had not gone out of his course to
hurl this dirt upon the coffin of my ancestor. The bishop is
now dead, and I will not use his name irreverently; my grandfather was dead, yet he stepped aside to hook him in as a mere
verbal critic, who in matters of taste and elegant literature he
asserts was contemptibly deficient, and then he resorts to his
Catullus for the most disgraceful names he can give him as a
scholar or a gentleman, and says he was aut caprimulgus audtfossor,
terms that, in English, would have been downright blackguardism.
All the world knows that Warburton and, Lowth had mouthed
and mumbled each other till their very bands blushed and their
lawn-sleeves were bloody. I should have thought that the prelate, who had Warburton for his antagonist, would hardly have
found leisure from his own self-defence to have turned aside and
fixed his teeth in a by-stander.  Yet so it was, and it struck me
that the unmanly unprovoked attack not only warranted, but
demanded, a remonstrance from the descendants of Doctor Bentley.  I stood only in the second degree from my uncle Richard,
and as much below him in controversial ability as I was in
lineal descent. I appealed, therefore, in the first place to him, as
nearest in blood, and strongest in capacity.  His blood, however, was not in the temper to ferment as mine did, and with a
philosophical contempt for this sparring of pens he positively
declined having anything to do with the affair.  I well remember, but I won't describe the scene; he was very pleasant with
me, and reminded me with great kindness how utterly unequal
I ought to think myself for undertaking to hold an argument
against Bishop Lowth. He was perfectly right; it was exactly
so that a sensible Roman would have talked to Curtius before
he took his foolish leap, or a charitable European to a Bramin
widow before she devoted herself to the flames; but my obstinacy was incorrigible. At length, having warned me that I
was about to draw a complete discomfiture on my cause, he prudently conditioned with me so to mark myself out, either by name
person who gives his writings to the public is fairly obnoxious to criticism,
shows how easily he could be irritated by the strictures which his own voluminous works, of very different degrees of merit, were calculated. to provoke.
His assurance, that he bore the observations of hostile writers with perfect
equanimity, must be insufficient to produce conviction, when opposed to the
extreme sensitiveness betrayed -upon trifling occasions, a sensitiveness which
seems to justify the imputations of his associates, who represent him as writhing under the slightest infliction of the critic's lash.'-Vol. iii. p. 353.




CONTROVERSY WITH LOWTH.                 159
or description, in the title of mny pamphlet, as that he should
stand excused, and out of chance'of being mistaken for its
author. Nothing could be more reasonable, and I promised to
comply with his injunctions, and be duly careful of his safety.
This I fulfilled by describing myself under such a signature, as
all but told my name, and could not possibly, as I conceived,
be fathered upon him. With this he was content, and with
great politeness, in which no man exceeded him, gave me his
hand at parting and wished me a good deliverance.
I lost no time in addressing myself to this task; it soon
grew into the size of a pamphlet; my heart was warm in the
subject, and as soon as my appeal appeared, I was publicly
known to be the author of it. I may venture to say, that
weak as my bow was presumed to be, the arrow did not miss
its aim, and justice universally decided for me. WVarburton
had candidly apologized to Lowth for having unknowingly hurt
his feelings by some glances he had made at the person of a
deceased relation of the Bishop of Oxford, and I now claimed
from Lowth the same candor, which he had experienced in the
apology of Warburton. This was unanswerable, and though
Bishop Lowth would not condescend to offer the atonement to
me which he had exacted and received from another, still he
had the grace to keep silence, and not attempt a justification of
himself, and that which he did not do per se, he would not permit to be done per cliurm; for I have reason to know he refused
the voluntary reply tendered to him by a certain clergyman of
his diocese, acknowledging that I had just reason for retaliation, and he thought it better that the affair should pass over in
silence on his part.
In the mean time, my pamphlet went through two full editions, and I had every reason to believe the judgment of the
public was in my favor. I entitled it'A Letter to the Right
Reverend the Lord Bishop of 0    d, containing some animadversions upon a character given of the late Doctor Bentley in a
letter from a late Professor in the University of Oxford, to the
Right Reverend Author of the Divine Legation of Moses
demonstrated.' To this I subjoined, by way of motto,
Jam parce sepulto.
The following paragraph occurs in the 9th page of this
pamphlet, and is fairly pressed upon the party complained of-'Recollect, my Lord, the warmth, the piety, with which you
remonstrated  against Bishop  W's treatment of your
father in a passage of his Julian:- It is not (you therein say)
in behalf of myself that I expostulate, but of one for whom I




160        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
am much more concerned, that is-my father. These are your
lordship's words-amiable, affecting  expression! instructive
lesson of filial devotion! alas, my lord, that you, who were
thus sensible to the least speck, which fell upon the reputation
of your father, should be so inveterate against the fame of one,
at least as eminent and perhaps not less dear to his family.'
I had traced his caprimulgas aut fossor up to its source in one
of the most uncleanly samples in Catullus,l and in that same
satire I was led to the character of Suffenus, who seemed made
for the very purposes of retort. My Uncle Bentley stood clear
from  all suspicion of being guilty of the pamphlet, with the
exception of one old gentleman only, Mr. Commissary Greaves,
of Fulborne in Cambridgeshire, a man of fortune and consequence in his county, who had ever professed a great esteem
for the memory of my grandfather, with whom he had lived in
great intimacy, and to whom, I believe, he acknowledged some
important obligations.  This worthy old gentleman had made
a small mistake as to the merit of the pamphlet, and a great
one as to the author; for he complimented the writing, and sent a
handsome present to the supposed writer. When this mistake
was no longer a secret from  Mr. Greaves, and I received not
a syllable on the subject from him, I sent him the following
letter, of which I chanced upon the copy, for the better understanding of which I must premise that he had sent me notice,
through my relation, Dr. Bentley, of Nailstone, of a present of
books, which he had designed for me when I was a student at
college, amounting in value to twenty pounds, but which promise he excused himself from performing, because there had
been a wet season, and some of his fen lands had been under
water.
My letter was as follows:-'IDEAR SIR: When in the warmth of your affection for the memory of my
grandfather, you could praise a pamphlet written by me, and address your
praises to my uncle, as supposing him to be the author of it, I am more flattered by your mistake, than I will attempt to express to you. You have ever
been so good to me, that had your commendations been directed rightly, I must
have ascribed the greater share of them to your charitable interpretation of
my zeal, and the rest I should have placed to the account of your politeness.
When I was an under-graduate at Trinity College, you was so obliging as to
let me be informed of your intention to encourage and assist me in my studies,
and though circumstances at that time intervened to postpone your kind design, you have so abundantly overpaid me, that I have no greater ambition
now at heart than that I may continue so to write as to be mistaken for my
uncle, and you so to approve of what you read, as to see fresh cause of
applauding him, who is so truly deserving of every favor you can bestow.
I have the honor to be, &c.
To William Greaves, Esquire, Felbourne.'
i This Cumberland admits is a palpable error.   (Vide the supplement.)




MR. HAYLEY.                         161
Before I quite dismiss this subject, I beg leave to address a
very few words to my friend Mr. Hayley, who in his desultory
remarks, prefixed to his third volume of Cowper's Letters, has
in his mild and civil manner made merciless and uncivil sport
with Dr. Bentley's character.  I give him notice that I meditate
to wreak an exemplary vengeance upon him, for I will publish
in these memoirs a copy of his verses (very elegant in themselves,
and extremely flattering to me), which I have carefully preserved,
and from which I shall derive two very considerable advantages
-the one will be the credit of having such a sample of good
poetry in my book; the other the malicious gratification of convincing my readers that Mr. Hayley, with all his genius, does
not know where to apply it, praising the grandson, who is not
worthy of his praise, and censuring the grandfather, whom, as a
scholar of the highest class, he of all men living ought not to
have treated with flippancy and derision.
And now methinks since I have vowed this vengeance, I will
not let it rankle in my heart, neither will I longer withhold from
my readers the verses I have promised them, which, though entitled an impromptu by their elegant author, I have not suffered
to vanish out of my possession with the rapidity that they have
probably slipped out of his recollection. If he shall be angry with
me for publishing them, I desire he will believe, there is not a
man living, who would not do as I have done, when flattered
by the muse of iHayley: if the following hasty and unstudied
stanzas are not so good as others of his finished compositions,
they are still better than any one else would write, or could
write, upon so barren a subject:-' Impromptu on a Letter of Mr. Cumberland's, most liberally commending a Poem
of the Author's.'Kind nature with delight regards,
And glories to impart,
To her bold race of genuine bards
Simplicity of heart.
But gloomy spleen, who still arraigns
Whate'er we lovely call,
Hath said that all poetic veins
Are tinged with envious gall.
Each bard, she said, would strike to earth
His rival's wreath of fame,
Nor ever to inferior worth
Allow its humbler claim.
But nature with a noble pride
Maintain'd her injur'd cause0  Spleen, peruse these lines,' she cried,' Of Cumberland's applause!




162       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Enough by me hast thou been told
Of his poetic art;
Now in his generous praise behold
The genius of his heart!'
The sullen sprite with shame confess'd
Her sordid maxim vain,
And own'd the true poetic breast
Unconscious of the stain.'
WThilst I have been relating the circumstances that induced
me to appeal to the world against so great a man as Bishop
Lowth, and considering within myself how far I was justified
in that apparently presumptuous measure, some thoughts have
struck me, as I went on with my detail, which all arose out of
the subject I was upon, though they do not personally apply to
the parties I have been speaking of. And, after all, where is the
difference between man and man, so ascendant on one side, and
so depressive on the other, as should give to this an authority
to insult, and take from that the privilege of remonstrance?  It
is a truth not sufficiently enforced, and when enforced, not always admitted, though one of the most useful and important for
the government of our conduct, and this it is-that every man,
however great in station or in fortune, is mutually dependent
upon those who are dependent upon him. In a social state, no
man can be truly said to be safe who is not undcr the protection
of his fellow-creatures; no man can be called happy, who is not
possessed of their good-will and good opinion; for God never
yet endowed a human creature with sensibility to feel an insult,
but that he gave him also powers to express his feelings, and
propensity to revenge it.
The meanest and most feeble insect, that is provided with a
sting, may pierce the eye of the elephant, on whose very ordure
it subsists and feeds.
Every human being has a sting; why then does an overgrown piece of mortal clay arrogantly attempt to bestride the
narrow world, and launch his artificial thunder from a bridge
of brass upon us poor underlings in creation?  And when we
venture to lift up our heads in the crowd, and cry out to the
folks about us-'This is mere mock thunder; this is no true
Jupiter; we'll not truckle to his tyranny,'-why will some goodnatured friend be ever ready to pluck us by the sleeve, and
whisper in our ear-''What are you about?  Recollect yourself!
he is a giant, a man-mountain; you are a grub, a, worm, a beetle; he'll crush you under his foot; he'll tread you into atoms-'
not considering, or rather not caring-'That the poor beetle, which he trode upon,
In mental suff'rance felt a pang as great,
As what a monarch feels.'




PRIDE-THE DUKE OF ALVA.                163
Let no man who belongs to a community presume to say that
he is independent; there is no such condition in society. Thank
God, our virtues are our best defence; conciliation, mildness,
charity, benevolence. HIce tibi erunt artes.
Are there not spirits continually starting out from the mass of
mankind like red-hot flakes from the hammer of the blacksmith?
And are not these to be feared, who are capable of setting a
whole city, ay, even a whole kingdom, in flames, let them only
fall upon the train that is prepared for them? Who, then, will
underwrite a strutting fellow in a lofty station, puffed up with
brief authority, who won't answer a gentleman's letter, or allow
his visit when he asks admission? If he had the integrity of
Aristides, the wisdom of Solon, and the eloquence of Demosthenes, there would be the congregation of an incalculable multitude to sing' Te Deum' at his downfall. He will find himself
in the plight of the poor Arab, who made his cream-tarts without
pepper; for want of a little wholesome seasoning, he will have
marred his whole batch of pastry, and be condemned for a bad
baker to the pillory.
A man shall sin against the whole decalogue, and in this
world escape with more impunity than the proud fellow who
offends against no commandment, yet provokes you to detest
him. I know not how to liken him to anything alive except it
be to the melancholy mute recluse of the convent of La Trappe,
who has no employment in life but to dig his own grave, no
other society but to keep company with his own coffin. If I
look for his resemblance amongst the irrationals, I should compare him to a poor, disconsolate ass, whom nobody owns, and
nobody befriends. The man who has a cudgel bestows it on
his back, and when he brays out his piteous lamentations the
dissonance of his tones provoke no compassion; they jar the
ear, but never move the heart.
A certain Duke of Alva, about a century ago, was the most
popular man in Spain; the people perfectly adored him. lie
had a revolution in his power every day that he stepped without
his doors. The prime minister truckled to him; the king trembled at him. How he acquired this extraordinary degree of
influence was a mystery that seemed to puzzle all conjecture.
Not by his eloquence, or those powers of declamation which
captivate a mob; the illustrious personage could not string three
sentences together into common sense or uncommon nonsense.
Wit, he had none, and virtue he by no means abounded in; few
men in Spain were supposed to be more unprincipled. If you
conceivedl it was by his munificence and generosity, he could
have told you no man bought his popularity so cheap; for when




164      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
the secret came out, he confessed that the whole mystery consisted in his wearing out a few more hats in the year than others
sacrificed who did not take off' theirs so often.
I knew a gentleman who was the very immediate contrast to
this Spanish duke; he was a man of strict morality, who fulfilled
the duties, and observed the decorum of his profession in the
most exemplary manner. In his meditative walk one summer
morning, he was greeted by a country fellow with the customary
salutation:' Good-morning to you, sir! A fine day; a pleasant
walk to you'' I don't know you,' he replied.' Why do you
interrupt me with your familiarity? I did not speak to you.
Put your hat upon your head, and pass on.'' So I will,' cried
the fellow,' and never take it off again to such a proud puppy
whilst I have a head upon my shoulders.' There never was a
hat stirred to that man from that day, and had he fallen into a
ditch, I question if there would have been a hand stirred to have
helped him out of it.
I return to my narrative. I had a house in Queen Ann Street
West, at the corner of Wimpole Street; I lived there many years.
My friend, Mr. Fitzherbert, lived in the same street, and Mr. Burke
nearly opposite to me. I was surprised one morning, at an early
hour, by a visit from an old clergyman, the Reverend Decimus
Reynolds. I knew there was such a person in existence, and
that he was the son of Bishop Reynolds by my father's aunt,
and, of course, his first cousin; but I had never seen him to
my knowledge in my life, and he came now at an hour when I
was so particularly engaged that I should have denied myself
to him but that he had called once or twice before, and been
disappointed of seeing me. I had my office papers before me;
and my wife was making my tea that I might get down to
Whitehall in time for my business, and the coach was waiting
at the door. He was shown into the room; a more uncouth
person, habit, and address was hardly to be met with. IIHe
advanced, stopped, and stood staring, with his eyes fixed upon
me, for some time, when, putting his hand into a pocket in the
lining of the breast of his coat, he drew out an old packet of
paper, rolled up and tied with whip-cord, and very ceremoniously
desired me to peruse it. I begged to know what it was; for it
was a work of time to unravel the knots. He replied:'My
will.'' And what am I to do with your will, sir?''My heir.''W Vell, sir, and who is your heir?' I really did not understand
him.'Richard Cumberland-look at the date-left it to you
twenty years ago-my whole estate, real and personal-come to
town on purpose —brought up my little deeds-put them into




REV. DECIMUS REYNOLDS.                 165
your hands-sign a deed of gift, and make them over to you
hard and fast.'
All this while I had not looked at his will; I did not know he
had any property, or, if he had, I had no guess where it lay,
nor did I so much as know whereabouts he lived. In the mean
time, he delivered himself in so strange a style, by starts and
snatches, with long pauses and strong sentences, that I suspected
him to be deranged, and I saw by the expression of my wife's
countenance, that she was under the same suspicion also. I now
cast my eye upon the will; I found my name there as his heir
under a date of twenty years past; it was therefore no sudden
caprice, and I conjured him to tell me if he had any cause of
quarrel or displeasure with his nearer relations. Upon this he
sat down, took some time to compose himself, for he had been
greatly agitated, and having recovered his spirits, answered me
deliberately and calmly, that he had no immediate matter of
offence with his relations, but he had no obligations to them of
any sort, and had been entirely the founder of his own fortune,
which by marriage he had acquired and by economy improved.
I stated to him that my friend and cousin, Mr. Richard Reynolds,
of Paxton, in HIuntingdonshire, was his natural heir, and a man
of most unexceptionable worth and good character; he did not
deny it, but he was wealthy and childless, and he had bequeathed
it to me, as his will would testify, twenty years ago, as being
the representative of the maternal branch of his family; in fine,
he required of me to accompany himrn to my conveyancer, and
direct a positive deed of gift to be drawn up, for which purpose
he had brought his title-deeds with him, and should leave them
in my hands. He added, in further vindication of his motives,
that my father had been ever his most valued friend, that he
had constantly watched my conduct and scrutinized my character, although he had not seen occasion to establish any personal
acquaintance with me. Upon this explanation, and the evidence
of his having inherited no atom of his fortune from his paternal
line, I accepted his bounty so far as to appoint the next morning for calling on Mr. Heron, who then had chambers in Gray's
Inn, when I would state the case to himn, and refer myself to his
judgment and good counsel. The result of my conference with
the lately deceased Sir Richard Heron was the insertion of
a clause of resumption, empowering the donor to revoke his
deed at any future time when lihe should see fit, and this clause
I particularly pointed out to- my benefactor when he signed the
deed.
It was with difficulty I prevailed upon him to admit it, and




166        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
can witness to the uneasiness it gave him, whilst he prophetically said I had left him exposed to the solicitations and remonstrances of his nephews, and that the time might come, when in
the debility of age and irresolution of mind, he might be pressed
into a revocation of what he had decided upon as the most deliberate act of his life.
My kind old friend stood a long siege before he suffered his
prediction to take place; for it was not till after nearly ten
years of uninterrupted cordiality, that, weak and wearied out by
importunity, he capitulated with his besiegers, and sending his
nephew into my house in Queen Ann Street unexpectedly one
morning, surprised me with a demand that I would render back
the whole of his title deeds. I delivered them up exactly as I
had received them; his messenger put them into his hackney
coach and departed.
In consequence of this proceeding, I addressed the following
letter to the Reverend Mr. Decimus Reynolds, at Clophill, in
Bedfordshire.' Queen Ann Street, Monday, 13th Jan., 1779.
DEAR SIR: I received your letter by the conveyance of Major George Reynolds, and in obedience to your commands have resigned into his hands all
your title deeds, intrusted to my custody. I would have had a schedule taken
of them by Mr. Kipling for your better satisfaction and security, but as your
directions were peremptory, and Major Reynolds, who was ill, might have been
prejudiced by any delay, I thought it best to put them into his hands without
further form, which be assured I have done without the omission of one, for
they have lain under seal at my banker's ever since they have been committed to my care.
Whatever motives may govern you, dear sir, for recalling either your confidence, or your bounty, from me and my family, be assured you will still possess and retain my gratitude and esteem. I have only a second time lost a
father, and I am now too much in the habit of disappointment and misfortune
not to acquiesce with patience under the dispensation.
You well can recollect, that your first bounty was unexpected and nnsolicited: it would have been absolute, if I had not thought it for my reputation
to make it conditional, and subject to your revocation: perhaps I did not believe you would revoke it, but since you have been induced to wish it, believe
me, I rejoice in the reflection, that everything has been done by me for your
accommodation, and I had rather my children should inherit an honorable
poverty, than an ample patrimony, which caused the giver of it one moment
of regret.
I believe I have some few papers still at Tetworth, which I received from
you in the country. I shall shortly go down thither, and will wait upon
you with them. At the same time, if you wish to have the original conveyance of your lands, as drawn up'by Sir Richard Heron, I shall obey you by
returning it: the uses being cancelled, the form can be of little value, and I
can bear in memory your former goodness without such a remembrancer.
Mrs. Cumberland and my daughters join me in love and respects to you and
Mrs. Reynolds, whom by this occasion I beg to thank for all her kindness to
me and mine. I spoke yesterday to Sir Richard Heron' [Sir Richard Heron
was Chief Secretary in Ireland]' and pressed with more than common earnestness upon him to fulfil your wishes in favor of Mr. Decimus Reynolds in




MY HOME.                       167
Ireland. It would be much satisfaction to me to hear the deeds came safe to
hand, and I hope you will favor me with a line to say so.
I am, &c. &c.                         R. C.'
I have been the more particular in the detail of- this transaction, because' I had been unfairly represented by a relation,
whom in the former part of these memoirs I have recorded as
the friend of my youth; a man, whom I dearly loved, and towards whom I had conducted myself through the whole progress of this affair with the strictest honor and good faith, voluntarily subjecting myself, the father of six children, to be deprived
of a valuable gift, which the bestower of it wished to have been
absolute and irrevocable.
That relation is yet living, and by some few years an older
man than I am. Though I may have ceased to live in his remembrance, he has not lost his place in my affectioin and regard. I wish him health and happiness for the remainder of his
days, and, in the perfect consciousness of having merited more
kindness than I have received, bid him heartily farewell.
There was more celebrity attached to the success of a new
play in the days of which I am speaking, than in the present
time, whenPortents and prodigies are grown so frequent,
That they have lost their name.
The happy hit of The West Indian drew a considerable resort of the friends and followers of the Muses to my house. I
was superlatively blest in a wife who conducted my family
with due attention to my circumstances, yet with every elegance
and comfort that could render it a welcome and agreeable rendezvous to my guests. I had six children, whose birth-days
were comprised within the period of six years, and they were
by no means trained and educated with that laxity of discipline
which renders so many houses terrible to the visitor, and almost
justifies Foote in his professed veneration for the character of
Herod. My young ones stood like little soldiers to be reviewed
by those who wished to have them drawn up for inspection,
and were dismissed like soldiers at a word. Few parents had
more excuse for being vain than my wife a/nd I had, for I may
be allowed to say my daughters even then gave promise of that
grace and beauty, for which they afterwards became so generally
and conspicuously noticed; and my four boys were not behind
them in form or feature, though hot climates and hard duty by
sea and land, in the service of their king and country, have laid
two of them in distant graves, and rendered the survivors warworn veterans before their time. Even poor Fitzherbert, my
unhappy and lamented friend, with all his fond benignity of




168      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
soul, could not with his caresses introduce a relaxation of dis.
cipline in the ranks of our small infantry; and though Garrick
could charm a circle of them about him whilst he acted the turkey-cocks, and peacocks, and water-wagtails to their infinite and
indescribable amusement, yet at the word or even look of the
mother hi motels animorum were instantly composed, and order
re-established, whenever it became time to release their generous entertainer from the trouble of his exertions.
Ah! I would wish the world to believe, that they take but a
very short and impartial estimate of that departed character,
who only appreciate him as the best actor in the world; he was
more and better than that excellence alone could make him by
a thousand estimable qualities, and much as I enjoyed his company, I have been more gratified by the emanations of his heart
than by the sallies of his fancy and imagination. Nature had
done so much for him, that he could not help being an actor;
she gave him a frame of so manageable a proportion, and from
its flexibility so perfectly under command, that by its aptitude
and elasticity he could draw it out to fit any sizes of character,
that tragedy could offer to him, and contract it to any scale of
ridiculous diminution, that his Abel Drugger, Scrub, or Fribble,
could require of him to sink it to. His eye, in the mean time,
was so penetrating, so speaking; his brow so movable, and all
his features so plastic, and so accommodating, that wherever
his mind impelled them they would go, and before his tongue
could give the text, his countenance would express the spirit
and the passion of the part he was encharged with.
I always studied the assortment of the characters, who honored me with their company, so as never to bring uncongenial
humors into contact with each other. How often have I seen
all the objects of society frustrated by inattention to the proper
grouping of the guests! The sensibility of some men of genius
is so quick and captious, that you must first consider whom they
can be happy with, before you can promise yourself any happiness with them. A rivalry in wit and humor will oftentimes
render both parties silent, and put them on their guard: if a
chance hit, or lucky sally, on the part of a competitor, engrosses
the applause of the table, ten to one if the stricken cock ever
crows upon the pit again: a matter of fact man will make a
pleasant fellow sullen, and a sullen fellow, if provoked by raillery, will disturb the comforts of the whole society.
It is tiresome listening to the nonsense of those who can talk
inothing else, but nonsense talked by men of wit and understanding, in the hour of relaxation, is of the very finest essence of
conviviality, and a treat delicious to those who have the sense




SOAM1E JENYNS.                   169
to comprehend it. I have known, and could name many, who
understood this art in its perfection, but as it implies a trust in
the company, not always to be risked, their practice of it was
not very frequent.
Raillery is of all weapons the most dangerous and two-edged;
of course it ought never to be handled but by a gentleman, and
never should be played with but upon a gentleman; the familiarity of a low-born vulgar man is dreadful; his raillery, his
jocularity, like the shaking of a water-spaniel, can never fail to
soil you with some sprinkling of the dunghill, out of which he
sprung.
A disagreement about a name or a date will mar the best
story that was ever put together. Sir Joshua Reynolds luckily
could not hear an interrupter of this sort; Johnson would not;
hear, or if he heard him, would not heed him; Soame Jenyns
heard him, heeded him, set him right, and took up his tale,
where he had left it, without any diminution of its humor,,
adding only a few more twists to his snuff-box, a few more taps
upon the lid of it, with a preparatory grunt or two, the invariable forerunners of the amenity that was at the heels of them.
He was the man, who bore his part in all societies with the
most even temper and undisturbed hilarity of all the good companions whom I ever knew. He came into your house at the
very moment you had put upon your card; lie dressed himself
to do your party honor in all the colors of the jay; his lace indeed had long since lost its lustre, but his coat had faithfully
retained its cut since the days when gentlemen wore embroidered
figured velvets with short sleeves, boot cuffs, and buckram
skirts; as nature had cast him in the exact mould of an ill-made
pair of stiff stays, he followed her so close in the fashion of his
coat, that it was doubted if he did not wear them: because he
had a protuberant wen just under his pole, he wore a wig, that
did not cover above half his head. His eyes were protruded
like the eyes of the lobster, who wears them at the end of his
feelers, and yet there was room, between one of these and his
nose for another wen that added nothing to his beauty; yet I
heard this good man very innocently remark, when Gibbon
published his history, that he wondered anybody so ugly could
write a book.
Such was the exterior of a man, who was the charm of the
circle, and gave a zest to every company. he came into; his
pleasantry was of a sort peculiar to himself; it harmonized with
everything; it was like the bread to our dinner; you did not
perhaps make it the whole, or principal'part, of your meal, but
itwas an admirable and wholesome auxiliary to your other
12




170        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
viands. Soame Jenyns told you no long stories, engrossed not
much of your attention, and was not angry with those that
did; his thoughts were original, and were apt to have a very
whimsical affinity to the paradox in them: he wrote verses upon
dancing, and prose upon the origin of evil, yet he was a very
indifferent metaphysician and a worse dancer; ill nature and
personality, with the single exception of his lines upon Johnson, I never heard fall from his lips; those lines I have forgotten, though I believe I was the first person to whom he recited
them; they were very bad, but he had been told that Johnson
ridiculed his metaphysics, and some of us had just then been
making extemporary epitaphs upon each other: though his
wit was harmless, yet the general cast of it was ironical; there
was a terseness in his repartees that had a play of words as
well as of thought, as when speaking of the difference between
laying out money upon land, or purchasing into the funds, he
said,'One was principal without interest, and the other interest
without principal.' Certain it is he had a brevity of expression that never hung upon the ear, and you felt the point in
the very moment that he made the push.  It was rather to be
lamented that his lady, Mrs. Jenyns, had so great a respect for
his good sayings, and so imperfect a recollection of them, for
though she always prefaced her recitals of them with-a.s Mr.
Jenyns says-it was not always what Mr. Jenyns said, and
never, I am  apt to think, as Mr. Jenyns said; but she was
an excellent old lady, and twirled her fan with as much mechanical address as her ingenious husband twirled his snuffbox.2
The brilliant vivacity of Garrick was subject to be clouded;
little flying stories had too much of his attention, and more of
his credit than they should have had; and certainly there were
too many babblers who had access to his ear. There was some
A similar remark is attributed to Lord Mansfield.'The funds,' said he,'give interest without principal, and land principal without interest; but
mortgages both principal and interest.'
2 Soame Jenyns, distinguished as a wit, author, and companion, was born
in the year 1704, and died 1787. He'was possessed,' says Boswell,' of lively
talents, and a style eminently pure and easy, and could very happily play
with a light subject, either in prose or verse; but when he speculated on that
most difficult and excruciating question, the Origin of Evil, he ventured far
beyond his depth, and, accordingly, was exposed by Johnson, both with acute
argument and brilliant wit.' —ife of Johnson, vol. i. p. 294.
Jenyns submitted in silence, while Johnson lived; but after his death he
published an attack on him in the form of an epitaph, which was copied into
the leading newspapers and magazines of the time. This provoked retort
on the part of Johnson's friends and admirers, and Jenyns, himself nearly
sinking into the grave, was treated with great severity.




CONVERSATION.                           171
precaution necessary as to the company you associated with him
at your table; Fitzherbert understood that in general admirably
well, yet he told me of a certain day, when Garrick, who had
perhaps been put a little out of his way, and was missing from
the company, was found in the back yard acting a turkey-cock
to a black boy, who was capering for joy and continually crying
out —'Massa Garrick, do so make me laugh: I shall die with
laughing.' The story I have no doubt is true; but I rather think
it indicates the very contrary from a ruffled temper, and marks
good humor in its strongest light.  To give amusement to children, and to take pleasure in the act, is such a symptom of
suavity, as can never be mistaken.
I made a visit with him by his own proposal to Foote at Parson's Green; I have heard it-said he was reserved and uneasy in
his company; I never saw him more at ease and in a happier
flow of spirits than on that occasion.
Where a loud-tongued talker was in company, Edmund Burke
declined all claims upon attention,l and Samuel Johnson, whose
ears were not quick, seldom lent them to his conversation,
though he loved the man, and admired his talents; I have seen
a dull damping matter-of-fact man quell the effervescence even
of Foote's unrivalled humor.2
I Talking of conversation, on one occaSion, Johnson said,'There must, in
the first place, be knowledge, there must be materials; in the second place,
there must be command of words; in the third place, there must be imagination, to place things in such views as they are not commonly seen in; and
in the fourth place, there must be presence of mind, and a resolution that
is not to be overcome by failures; this last is an essential requisite; for want
of it many people do not excel in conversation.'-Boswell's Johnson, vol. iv.
p. 181.  He thus described Burke's conversation:'Burke's talk is the
ebullition of his mind; he does not talk from a desire of distinction, but because his mind is full. — Ibid., p. 182.' If a man,' he said, on another occasion,'were to go by chance at the same time with Burke under a shed, to
shun a shower, he would say'this is an extraordinary man.' If Burke
should go into a stable to see his horse drest, the ostler'would say,'we have
had an extraordinary man here.'.... When Burke does not descend to
be merry, his conversation is very superior indeed. There is no proportion
between the powers which he shows in serious talk, and in jocularity.'-Ibid.
Boswell differed from his great friend as to Burke's pleasantry; and in this
was supported by Mr. Windham, who thought Burke was often very happy in
his merriment.
2'For loud, obstreperous, broad-faced mirth, I know not his equal,' said
Johnson of Foote.'I have been surprised,' says Taylor,'that my old friend,
Arthur Murphy, should have entertained so high an opinion of Foote as a wit,
since there are very few proofs of such original jocularity as might be expected, considering he had acquired so high a reputation for bons mots and repartees.
I have often wished there had been some record of that facetious fecundity
which rendered Fbote's conversational powers so entertaining to people of all
ranks, for those sallies of his inexhaustible humor which have reached public
notice, by no means afford such samples of original wit as to give adequate




172        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
But I remember full well, when Garrick and I made him the
visit above mentioned, poor Foote had something worse than a
dull man to struggle with, and matter of fact brought home to
him in a way, that for a time entirely overthrew his spirits, and
most completely frighted him  from  his propriety.  We had
taken him by surprise, and of course were with him some
hours before dinner, to make sure of our own if we had missed
of his. He seemed overjoyed to see us, engaged us to stay,
walked with us in  his garden, and read to us some scenes
roughly sketched for his'Maid of Bath.'  His dinner was quite
good enough, and his wine superlative; Sir Robert Fletcher,
who had served in the East Indies, dropped in before dinner and
made the fourth of our party. When we had passed about two
hours in perfect harmony and hilarity, Garrick called for his tea,
and Sir Robert rose to depart; there was an unlucky screen in
the room, that hid the door, and behind which Sir Robert hid
himself for some purpose, whether natural or artificial I know
not; but Foote, supposing him gone, instantly began to play off
his ridicule at the expense of his departed guest. I must confess it was (in the cant phrase) a way that he had, and just now
a very unlucky way, for Sir Robert, bolting from behind the
screen, cried out:' I am not gone, Foote; spare me till I am out
of hearing; and now, with your leave, I will stay till these gentlemen depart, and then you shall amuse me at their cost, as you
have amused them at mine.'
A remonstrance of this sort was an electric shock, that could
not be parried. No wit could furnish an evasion, no explanation could suffice for an excuse.  The offended gentleman was
to the full as angry as a brave man ought to be with an unforsupport to his high reputation, and I conceive that his dramatic works
may be considered as the chief foundation of his intellectual character.'
-Records of my Lije, p. 433. Foote being mentioned on one occasion, Johnson
said:'He is not a good mimic.' One of the company added,'A merry-Andrew, a buffoon.' Johnson.r-'But he has wit, too, and is not deficient in
ideas, or in fertility and variety of imagery, and not empty of reading; he
has knowledge enough to fill up his part. One species of wit he has in an
eminent degree, that of escape. You drive him into a corner with both hands,
but he's gone, sir, when you think you have got him-like an animal that
jumps over your head. Then he has a great range for wit; he never lets
truth stand between him and a jest, and he is sometimes mighty coarse.
Garrick is under many restraints from which Foote is free.' Wilkes.-' Garrick's wit is more like Lord Chesterfield's.' Johnson. —' The first time I was
in company with Foote, was at Fitzherbert's. Having no good opinion of the
fellow, I was resolved not to be pleased; and it is very difficult to please a man
against his will. I went on eating my dinner pretty sullenly, affecting not to
mind him. But the dog was so very comical, that I was obliged to lay down
my knife and fork, throw myself back upon my chair, and fairly laugh it out.
No, sir, he was irresistible.'-Boswell's Johnson, vol. iii. pp. 70, 71.




SIR THOMAS MILLS.                  173
tunate wit, who possessed very little of that quality, which he
abounded in. This event, which deprived Foote of all presence
of mind, gave occasion to Garrick to display his genius and good
nature in their brightest lustre; I never saw him in a more amiable light; the infinite address and ingenuity that he exhibited,
in softening the enraged guest, and reconciling him to pass over
an affront, as gross as could well be put upon a man, were at once
the most comic and the most complete I ever witnessed. Why
was not James Boswell present to have recorded the dialogue
and the action of the scene? My stupid head only carried away
the effect of it. It was as if Diomed (who being the son of
Tydeus, was I conclude a great hero in a small compass) had
been shielding Thersites from the wrath of Ajax; and so wrathful was our Ajax that if I did not recollect there was a certain
actor at Delhi, who in the height of the massacre charmed away
the furious passions of Nadir Shaw, and saved a remnant of the
city, I should say this was a victory without a parallel. I hope
Foote was very grateful, but when a man has been completely
humbled, he is not very fond of recollecting it.
There was a gentleman of very general notoriety at this time,
who had the address to collect about him a considerable resort
of men of wit and learning at no other expense on his part than
of the meat and drink, which they consumed; for as he had no
predilection for reading their works, he did not put himself to
the charge of buying them. The gentleman himself was of the
Scottish nation; in that nobody could be mistaken; all beyond
that was matter of conjecture, save only that it was universally
understood that Mr. Thomas Mills was under the protection of
the great Lord Mansfield. Having been Town Major of Quebec,
he took the title of a field officer, and having been squire to a
knight, of the Bath on the ceremony of an installation, he became Sir Thomas, and a knight himself. It was chiefly through
my acquaintance with this gentleman that I became a member
of a very pleasant society (for we never had the establishment of
a club) who used to dine together upon stated days at the British
Coffee House, then kept by Mrs. Anderson, a person of great
respectability. Many of the members of this society were men
of the first eminence for their talents, and as there was no exclusion in our system of any member's friend or friends, our
parties were continually enlivened by the introduction of new
guests, who of course furnished new sources for conversation
from which politics and party seemed by general consent decidedly proscribed. Foote, Reynolds, Fitzherbert, Goldsmith,
Garrick, Macpherson, Doctors Carlisle, Robinson, Beattie, Caleb
Whitefoord, with many others, resorted there as they saw fit.




174      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
In one of these meetings it was suggested and recommended
to me to take up the character of a North Briton, as I had those
of an Irishman and West Indian. I observed, in answer to this,
that I had not the same chance for success as I had in my sketch
of O'Flaherty, for I had never resided in Scotland, and should
be perfectly to seek for the dialect of my hero.'How could
that be,' Fitzherbert observed,'when I was in the very place
to find it (alluding to the British Coffee House and the company we were in);'however,' he added,'give your Scotchman
character, and take your chance for dialect. If you bring a
Roman on the stage, you don't make him speak Latin.''No,
no,' cried Foote,'and if you don't make him wear breeches,
Garrick will be much obliged to you. When I was at Stranraer I went to the Kirk, where the Mess-John was declaiming
most furiously against luxury, and, as heaven shall judge me,
there was not a pair of shoes in the whole congregation.'
This turned the conversation from my comedy to matters
more amusing, but the suggestion had taken hold of my fancy,
and I began to frame the character of Colin Macleod upon the
model of a HIighland servant, who with scrupulous integrity,
and a great deal of nationality about him, managed all the domestic affairs of Sir Thomas Mills's household, and being a great
favorite of everybody who resorted there, became in time, as it
were, one of the company, With no other guide for the dialect
of my Macleod than what the Scotch characters of the stage
supplied me with, I endowed him with a good heart, and sent
him to seek his fortune.
~I was aware I had some little fame at stake, and bestowed
my utmost care and attention upon the writing of this comedy:
I availed myself of Mr. Garrick's judgment at all proper intervals as I advanced towards the completion of it. This I have
acknowledged in the advertisement, and though I did not form
sanguine hopes of its obtaining equal success with'The WestIndian' in representation, I confess I flattered myself that I had
outgone that drama in point of composition. When I found
that Garrick thought of it as I did, I ventured to avow my preference in the prologue. I have been reading it over with
attention, and so many years have passed since I wrote it, that
I have very little of the feeling of the author when I speak of
it. I rather think I was right in giving it the preference to the' West Indian,' though I am far from sure I was unprejudiced
in my judgment at that time. An author, who is conscious that
his new work will not'be equally popular with his preceding
one, will be very apt to imitate the dealer, who, having a pair
of horses to sell, will bestow all his praise upon the worst, and




'THE FASHIONABLE LOVER.'               175
leave the best to recommend himself. I verily believe if' The
Fashionable Lover' was not my composition, and I were called
upon to give my opinion of it (speaking only of its merits, and
reserving to myself my opinion of its faults), I should be inclined
to say it was a drama of a moral, grave, and tender cast, inasmuch as I discover in it sentiments laudably directed against
national prejudice, breach of trust, seduction, gaming, and the
general dissipation of the time then present. I could not deny
it a preference to the'West Indian' in a moral light, and, perhaps, if I were in very good humor with its author, I might be
tempted to say that, in point of diction, it approached very nearly
to what I conceived to be the true style of comedy-Joca non
in fra soccum, seria non usque cothurnuem.
At the time when this play came out, the demands of the stage
for novelty were much limited, and of course the excluded many
had full leisure to wreak their malice on the selected few. I
was silly enough to be in earnest, and make serious appeals
against cavillers and slanderers below notice: this induced my
friend Garrick to call me the man without a skin, and sure
enough I should have been without a skin, if the newspaper
beadles could have had'their will of me, for I constantly stood
out against them, and would never ask quarter. I have been
long since convinced of my folly, but I am not at all ashamed
of my principle, for I always made common cause with my contemporaries, and never separated my own particular interests
from those of literature in general, as will in part appear by the
following paragraph, extracted from the advertisement, which
I prefixed to this comedy on its publication:'Whether the
reception of this comedy,' I therein say,'may be such as shall
encourage me to future efforts, is of small consequence to the
public, but if it should chance to obtain some little credit with
the candid part of mankind, and its author once escape without
those personal and unworthy aspersions, which writers, who
hide their own names, fling on them, who publish theirs, my
success, it may be hoped, will draw forth others to the undertaking with far superior requisites; and that there are numbers
under this description, whose sensibility keeps them silent, I
am well persuaded, when I consider how general it is for men
of the finest parts to be subject to the finest feelings; and I
would submit whether this unhandsome practice of abuse is not
calculated to create in the minds of men of genius not only a
disinclination to engage in dramatic compositions, but a languid
and unanimated manner of executing them, &c. &c.'
The remark is just, but I remember Lord Mansfield on a certain occasion said to me, that if a single syllable from his pen




176        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
could at once confute an anonymous defamer, he would not
gratify him with the word.' This might be a very becoming rule
for him to follow, and yet it might by no means apply to a man of
my humble sort, and in truth there was a filthy nest of vipers at
that time in league against every name, to which any degree of
celebrity was attached, and they kept their hold upon the papers
till certain of their leaders were compelled to fly their country,
some to save their ears and some to save their necks. They
were well known, and I am sorry to say some men, whose minds
should have been superior to any terrors they could hold out,
made suit to them  for favor, nay, even combined with them  on
some occasions, and were mean enough to enroll themselves
under their despicable banners. It is to the honor of the present
time, and infinitely to the repose of the present writers for the
stage, that all these dirty doings are completely done away, and
an era of candor and human kindness has succeeded to one that
was scandalously its opposite.
At this time I did not know Oliver Goldsmith even by
person; I think our first meeting chanced to be at the British
Coffee-House; when we came together, we very speedily co-' If Lord Mansfield did not invoke the aid of the press in his own particular
case, to attack opponents or shield himself from libels, it is well known that he
was perfectly aware of the immense power of this popular engine. He once
said to the Duke of Northumberland, that the newspapers, if they went on as
they had done, would finally write the duke out of his titles and estates, and
the king out of his kingdom. His celebrated address to the public, on the
occasion of reversing the outlawry of Wilkes, exhibited a noble defiance of
lawless threats and calumnious assaults.' I pass over,' said he,' many anonymous letters I have received. Those in
print are public; and some of them have been brought judicially before the
court. Whoever the writers are, they take the wrong way. I will do my duty
unawed. What am I to fear? That mendax infamia from the press, which daily
coins false facts and motives? The lies of calumny carry no terror to me.
I trust that my temper of mind, and the color and conduct of my life have
given me a suit of armor against these arrows. If, during this king's reign, I
have ever supported his government, and assisted his measures, I have done
it without any other reward than the consciousness of doing what I thought
right. If I have ever opposed, I have done it upon the points themselves;
without mixing in party or faction, and without any collateral views. I honor
the king, and respect the people; but many things acquired by the favor of
either, are, in my account, objects not worth ambition. I wish popularity;
but it is the popularity which follows, not that which is run after; it is that
popularity which, sooner or later, never fails to do justice to the pursuit of
noble ends by noble means. I will not do that which my conscience tells me
is wrong upon this occasion, to gain the huzzas of thousands, or the daily
praise of all the papers which come from the press. I will not avoid doing
what I think is right, though it should draw on me the whole artillery of
libels; all that falsehood and malice can invent, or the credulity of a deluded
populace can swallow. I can say, with a great magistrate, upon an occasion,
and under circumstances not unlike,'Ego hoc animo semper fui, ut invidiam
virtute partam, gloriam, non invidiam putarem.''




OLIVFR GOLDSMITH.                         177
alesced, and I believe he forgave me for all the little fame I had
got by the success of my West Indian, which had put him to
some trouble, for it was not his nature to be unkind, and I had
soon an opportunity of convincing him how incapable I was of
harboring resentment, and how zealously I took my share in
what concerned his interest and reputation.  That he was fantastically and whimsically vain all the world knows, but there
was no settled and inherent malice in his heart.  He was tenacious to a ridiculous extreme of certain pretensions, that did
not, and by nature could not, belong to him, and at the same
time inexcusably careless of the fame which he had powers to
command. His table-talk was, as Garrick aptly compared it,
like that of a parrot, whilst he wrote like Apollo; he had
gleams of eloquence, and at times a majesty of thought, but in
general his tongue and his pen had two very different styles of
talking. What foibles he had he took no pains to conceal, the
good qualities of his heart were too frequently obscured by the
carelessness of his conduct, and the frivolity of his manners.l
I There is no name, perhaps, in English literature, which so naturally
attracts our affections as Oliver Goldsmith. Even his infirmities appeal to the
heart; and, exciting our sympathies and regrets, attach to him our kindliest
feelings.'The epithet so often heard,' says one of his biographers,'and in
such kindly tones, of' poor Goldsmith,' speaks volumes. Few, who consider
the rich compound of admirable and whimsical qualities which form his character, would wish to prune away its eccentricities, trim its grotesque luxuriance, and clip it down to the decent formalities of rigid virtue.'' Let not his
frailties be remembered,' said Johnson;'he was a very great man.' But for
our parts, we rather say,' Let them be remembered;' for we question whether
he himself would not feel gratified in hearing his readers, after dwelling with
admiration on the proofs of his greatness, close the volume with the kindhearted phrase, so fondly and familiarly ejaculated, of' Poor Goldsmith!'
Much must be allowed, in our estimate of Goldsmith, for the native characteristics, and unfortunate' circumstances of his life. Though it certainly is no
justification of fault or error, to say that it arose from an original bias or obliquity of moral principle; yet it may soften our judgments when we know
that while the temptation was strong, the power of resistance, though sufficient, was nevertheless weak. Boswell's sketch of Goldsmith, if not altogether charitable, is on the whole not unjust.'No man,' he says,'had the
art of displaying with more advantage as a writer, whatever literary acquisitions he made.'Nihil quod tetigit non ornavit.' His mind resembled a
fertile but thin soil. There was a quick, but not a strong vegetation, of whatever chanced to be thrown upon it. No deep root could be struck. The oak
of the forest did not grow there; but the elegant shrubbery, and the fragrant
parterre, appeared in gay succession. It has been generally circulated and
believed that he was a mere fool in conversation; but, in truth, this has been
greatly exaggerated. He had, no doubt, a more than common share of that
hurry of ideas which we often find in his countrymen, and which sometimes
produces a laughable confusion in expressing them. He was very much what
the French call un etourdi, and from vanity and an eager desire of being conspicuous wherever he was, he frequently talked carelessly, without knowledge
of the subject, or even without thought. His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting




178        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Sir Joshua Reynolds was very good to him, and would have
drilled him into better trim  and order for society, if he would
have been amenable, for Reynolds was a perfect gentleman, had
good sense, great propriety with all the social attributes, and all
the graces of' hospitality, equal to any man. He well knew how
to appreciate men of talents, and how near a kin the Muse of
poetry was to that art, of which he was so eminent a master.
From Goldsmith he caught the subject of his famous Ugolino;
what aids he got from others, if he got any, were worthily
bestowed and happily applied.
There is something in Goldsmith's prose, that to my ear is
uncommonly sweet and harmonious; it is clear, simple, easy
to be understood; we never want to read his period twice over,
except for the pleasure it bestows; obscurity never calls us
back to a repetition of it. That he was a poet thereis no doubt,
but the paucity of his verses does not allow us to rank him in
that high station, where his genius might have carried him.
There must be bulk, variety and grandeur of design to constitute a first-rate poet.   The Deserted Village, Traveller, and
Hermit are all specimens beautiful as such, but they are only
birds' eggs on a string, and eggs of small birds too. One great
magnificent whole must be accomplished before we can pronounce upon the maker to be the a,loCrs.l  Pope himself never
earned this title by a work of any magnitude but his Homer,
and that being a translation only constitutes him an accomplished
the easy gentleman. Those who were in any way distinguished, excited envy
in him to so ridiculous an excess, that the instances of it are hardly credible.
When accompanying two beautiful young ladies with their mother, on a tour
in France, he was seriously angry that more attention was paid to them than
to him; and once, at the exhibition of the Fantoccini in London, when those
who sat next him observed with what dexterity a puppet was made to toss a
pike, he could not bear that it should have such praise, and exclaimed with
some warmth:' Pshaw! I can do it better myself.'  [It is said that he made
the attempt, and broke his shin in consequence.]'He, I am afraid, had no settled system of any sort, so that his conduct
must not be strictly scrutinized; but his affections were social and generous,
and when he had money he gave it away liberally. His desire of imaginary
consequence predominated over his attention to truth. When he began to
rise into notice, he said he had a brother who was Dean of Durham' [Dr. Isaac
Goldsmith, his relative, was Dean of Cloyne,-in 1747, and he might have referred to him; and hence the tale],'a fiction so easily detected that it is
wonderful how he should have been so inconsiderate as to hazard it. He
boasted to me at this time of the power of his pen in commanding money,
which I believe was true in a certain degree, though in the instance he gave
he was by no means correct.'-Boswell's Johnson, vol. i. pp. 395, 397.
Poetic power may be evinced in few as well as in many lines. And it is
precisely the exhibition of this power that constitutes a poet; whether he
writes more or less. It is the excellence of the power, and not the extent to
which it has been exercised, that constitutes a first-rate poet.




OLIVER GOLDSMITH.                        179
versifier. Distress drove Goldsmith upon undertakings, neither
congenial with his studies, nor worthy of his talents. I remember him, when in his chamber in the Temple, he showed
me the beginning of his'Animated Nature;' it was with a sigh,
such as genius draws, when hard necessity diverts it from its
bent to drudge for bread, and talk of birds, and beasts, and creeping things, which Pidcock's show-man would have done as well.
Poor fellow, he hardly knew an ass from a mule, nor a turkey
from a goose, but when he saw it on the table.  But publishers
hate poetry, and Paternoster Row is not Parnassus, Even the
mighty Doctor Hill, who was not a very delicate feeder, could
not make a dinner out of the press till by a happy transformation into Hannah Glass, he turned himself into a cook, and sold
receipts for made dishes to all the savory readers in the kingdom. Then indeed the press acknowledged him second in fame
only to John Bunyan; his feasts kept pace in sale with Nelson's
fasts, and when his own name was fairly written out of credit,
he wrote himself into immortality under an alias. Now though
necessity, or I should rather say the desire of finding money for
a masquerade, drove Oliver Goldsmith upon abridging histories
and turning Buffon into English, ye't I much doubt if without
that spur he would ever have put his Pegasus into action; no,
if he" had been rich, the world would have been poorer than it
is by the loss of all the treasures of his genius and the contributions of his pen.'
Who will say that Johnson himself would have been such a
champion in literature, such a front-rank soldier in the fields of
fame, if he had not been pressed into the service, and driven on
to glory with the bayonet of sharp necessity pointed at his
back?   If fortune had turned him  into a field of clover, he
Speaking of a dinner at General Oglethorpe's (April 10, 1772), where he
met Goldsmith, Boswell, after detailing the conversation of the host and his
guests, thus proceeds:' Goldsmith told us that he was now busy in writing
a natural history; and that he might have full leisure for it, he had taken
lodgings at a farmer's house, near to the six milestone, on the Edgeware road,
and had carried down his books in two returned postchaises. He said, he believed the farmer's family thought him an odd character, similar to that in
which the Spectator appeared to his landlady and her children: he was the
gentleman.  Mr. Mickle, the translator of'The Lusiad,' and I, went to visit
him at this place, a few days afterwards. He was not at home,; but having a
curiosity to see his apartments, we went in, and found curious scraps of descriptions of animals, scrawled upon the wall with a black lead pencil.'-Life
of Johnson, vol. ii. p. 186.'Goldsmith,' said Johnson,'was a man, who,
whatever he wrote, did it better than any other man could do.' The same
authority emphatically said, that he would make his' Animated Nature,''as
entertaining as a Persian tale.' The result justified his judgment; for notwithstanding the defects of knowledge, observable in the work, the charm of
its style has preserved its popularity.




180      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
would have laid down and rolled in it. The mere manual
labor of writing would not have allowed his lassitude and love
of ease to have taken the pen out of the inkhorn, unless the
cravings of hunger had reminded him that he must fill the sheet
before he saw the table cloth. He might indeed have knocked
down Osbourne for a blockhead, but he would not have knocked
him down with a folio of his own writing. He would perhaps
have been the dictator of a club, and wherever he sat down to
conversation, there must have been that splash of strong bold
thought ab ut him, that we might still have had a collectanea
after his death; but of prose I guess not much, of works of
labor none, of fancy perhaps something more, especially of
poetry, which under favor I conceive was not his tower of
strength. I think we should have had his Rasselas at all events,
for he was likely enough to have written at Voltaire, and
brought the question to the test, if infidelity is any aid to wit.
An orator he must have been; not improbably a parliamentarian, and, if such, certainly an oppositionist, for he preferred
to talk against the tide. He would indubitably have been no
member of the Whig Club, no partisan of Wilkes, no friend of
Humne, no believer in Macpherson; he would have put up
prayers for early rising, and laid in bed all day, and with the
most active resolutions possible, been the most indolent mortal
living. He was a good man by nature, a great man by genius;
we are now to inquire what he was by compulsion.
Johnson's first style was naturally energetic, his middle style
was turgid to a fault, his latter style was softened down and harmonized into periods, more tuneful and more intelligible. His
execution was rapid, yet his mind was not easily provoked into
exertion; the variety we find in his writings was not the variety
of choice arising from the impulse of his proper genius, but
tasks imposed upon him by the dealers in ink, and contracts on
his part submitted to in satisfaction of the pressing calls of
hungry want; for, painful as it is to relate, I have heard that
illustrious scholar assert (and he never varied from the truth of
fact) that he subsisted himself for a considerable space of time
upon the scanty pittance of four-pence half-penny per day.
How melancholy to reflect that his vast trunk and stimulating
appetite were to be supported by what will barely feed the
weaned infant! Less, much less, than Master Betty has earned
in one night, would have cheered the mighty mind, and maintained the athletic body of Samuel Johnson in comfort and.
abundance for a twelvemonth. Alas! I am not fit to paint his
character; nor is there need of it; Etiam mortuus loquitur:
every man who can buy a book, has bought a Boswell; Johnson




DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.                181
is known to all the reading world. I also knew him well, respected him highly, loved him sincerely: it was never my
chance to see him in those moments of moroseness and ill humor,
which are imputed to him, perhaps with truth, for who would
slander him? But I am not warranted by any experience of
those humors to speak of him otherwise than of a friend, who
always met me with kindness, and from whom I never separated
without regret. When I sought his company, he had no capricious excuses for withholding it, but lent himself to every invitation with cordiality, and\ brought good humor with him, that
gave life to the circle he was in. He presented himself always
in his fashion of apparel; a brown coat with metal buttons,
black waistcoat and worsted stockings, with a flowing bob wig,
was the style of his wardrobe, but they were in perfectly good
trim, and with the ladies, which he generally met, he had nothing of the slovenly philosopher about him; he fed heartily, but
not voraciously, and was extremely courteous in his coinmendations of any dish that pleased his palate; he suffered his next
neighbor to squeeze the China oranges into his wineglass after
dinner, which else perchance had gone aside, and trickled into
his shoes, for the good man had neither straight sight nor steady
nerves.
At the tea-table he had considerable demands upon his favorite beverage, and I remember when Sir Joshua Reynolds at
my house reminded him thathe had drank eleven cups, he replied:'Sir, I did not count your glasses of wine, why should
you number up my Cups of tea?' And then laughing in perfect good humor he added:'Sir, I should have released the
lady from any further trouble, if it had not been for your remark; but you have reminded me that I want one of the dozen,
and I must request Mrs. Cumberland to round up my number.'
When he saw the readiness and complacency with which
my wife obeyed his call,- he turned a kind and cheerful look
upon her, and said:'Madam, I must tell you for your comfort,
you have escaped much better than a certain lady did awhile ago,
upon whose patience I intruded greatly more than I have done
on yours; but the lady asked me for no other purpose but to
make a Zany of me, and set me gabbling to a parcel of people
I knew nothing of; so, madam, I had my revenge of her; for I
swallowed five and twenty cups of her tea, and did not treat her
with as many words.' I can only say my wife would have
made tea for him as long as the New River could have supplied
her with water.
It was on such occasions he was to be seen in his happiest
moments, when animated by the cheering attention of friends




182      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
whom he liked, he would give full scope to those talents for
narration, in which I verily think he was unrivalled both in the
brilliancy of his wit, the flow of his humor, and the energy of
his language. Anecdotes of times past, scenes of his own life,
and characters of humorists, enthusiasts, crack-brained projectors and a variety of strange beings, that he had chanced upon,
when detailed by him at length, and garnished with those episodical remarks, sometimes comic, sometimes grave, which he
would throw in with infinite fertility of fancy, were a treat,
which, though not always to be purchased by five and twenty
cups of tea, I have often had the happiness to enjoy for less
than half the number. He was easily led into topics; it was not
easy to turn him from them; but who would wish it? If a
man wanted to show himself off by getting up and riding upon
him, he was sure to run restive and kick him off: you might
as safely have backed Bucephalus, before Alexander had lunged
him. Neither did he always like to be over-fondled; when a
certain gentleman out-acted his part in this way, he is said to
have demanded of him:'What provokes your risibility, sir?
Have I said anything that you understand?-Then I ask pardon of the rest of the company.' But this is Henderson's
anecdote of him, and I won't swear he did not make it himself.
The following apology, however, I myself drew from him, when
speaking of his tour I observed to him upon some passages as
rather too sharp upon a country and people who had entertained
him so handsomely:'Do you think so, Curnbey?' he replied.'Then I give you leave to say, and you may quote me for it,
that there are more gentlemen in Scotland than there are
shoes.'
But I don't relish'these sayings, and I am to blame for retailing them; we can no more judge of men by these droppings
from their lips, than we can guess at the contents of the river
Nile by a pitcher of its water. If we were to estimate the
wise men of Greece by Laertius's scraps of their sayings, what
a parcel of old women should we account them to have been!
The expanse of matter which Johnson had found room for
in his intellectual storehouse, the correctness with which he had
assorted it, and the readiness with which he could turn to any
article that he wanted to make present use of, were the properties in him, which I contemplated with the most admiration.
Some have called him a savage; they were only so far right in
the resemblance, as that, like the savage, he never came into
suspicious company without his spear in his hand and his bow
and quiver at his back. In quickness of intellect few ever
equalled him, in profundity of erudition many have surpassed




DR. SAMUEL JOENSON.                   183
him. I do not think he had a pure and classical taste, nor was
apt to be best pleased with the best authors, but as a general
scholar he ranks very high. When I would have consulted
him upon certain points of literature, whilst I was making my
collections from the Greek dramatists for my essays in'The
Observer,' he candidly acknowledged that his studies had not
lain amongst them, and certain it is there is very little show of
literature in his' Ramblers,' and in the paqssage where he quotes
Aristotle, he has not correctly given the meaning of the original.
But this was merely the result of haste and inattention, neither
is he so to be measured, for he had so many parts and properties of scholarship about him, that you can only fairly review
him as a man of general knowledge. As a poet, his translations
of Juvenal gave him a name in the world, and gained him the
applause of Pope. He was a writer of tragedy, but his' Irene'
gives him  no conspicuous rank in that department. As an
essayist he merits more consideration; his'Ramblers' are in
everybody's hands; about them  opinions vary, and I rather
believe the style of these essays is not now considered as a good
model; this he corrected in his more advanced age, as may be
seen in his' Lives of the Poets,' where his diction, though occasionally elaborate and highly metaphorical, is not nearly so
inflated and ponderous as in the' Ramblers.' He was an acute
and able critic; the enthusiastic admirers of Milton and the
friends of Gray will have something to complain of, but criticism is a task which no man executes to all men's satisfaction.
His selection of e certain passage in the'Mourning Bride of
Congreve,' which he extols so rapturously, is certainly a most
unfortunate sample; but unless the oversights of a critic are
less pardonable than those of other men, we may pass this over
in a work of merit, which abounds in beauties far more prominent than its defects, and much more pleasing to contemplate.
In works professedly of fancy he is not very copious; yet in
his' Rasselas' we have much to admire, and enough to make us
wish for more. It is the work of an illuminated mind, and
offers many wise and deep reflections, clothed in beautiful and
harmonious diction. We are not, indeed, familiar with such
personages as Johnson has imagined for the characters of his
fable, but if we are not exceedingly interested in their story,
we are infinitely gratified with their conversation and remarks.
In conclusion, Johnson's era was not wanting in men to be distinguished for their talents, yet, if one was to be selected out as
the first great.literary character of the time, I believe'all voices
would concur in naming him. Let me here insert the following




184         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
lines, descriptive of his character, though not long since written by me and to be found in a public print:-' On Samuel Johnson.
Herculean strength and a Stentorian voice,
Of wit a fund, of words a countless choice:
In learning rather various than profound,
In truth intrepid, in religion sound:
A trembling form and a distorted sight,
But firm in jwudgment and in genius bright:
In controversy seldom known to spare,
But humble as the Publican in prayer;
To more, than merited his kindness, kind,
And, though in manners harsh, of friendly mind;
Deep ting'd with melancholy's blackest shade,
And, though prepar'd to die, of death afraidSuch Johnson was; of him with justice vain,
When will this nation see his like again?"' Those who were brought into intimate relations with Johnson, and under
his rugged exterior, striking, and occasionally repulsive peculiarities of
manner, discovered his large heart, strong will, penetrating judgment, and
giant intellectual powers, came to regard him with a feeling little short of
idolatry. On the other hand, courtiers, and men of the world, those who
had long indulged in the frivolities of life, until, at last, all earnestness and
zeal were obliterated from their hearts, until they were literally without God
in the world, had no sympathy with that strong, earnest being; but regarded
him as little better than a rude boor. Of this class was Walpole.'With a
lumber of learning and some strong parts,' thus does he describe the author
of'Rasselas,''Johnson was an odious and mean character. By principle a,
Jacobite, arrogant, self-sufficient, and overbearing by nature, ungrateful through
pride, and of feminine bigotry, he had prostituted his pen to party, even in a
dictionary, and had afterwards, for a pension, contradicted his own definitions.
His manners were sordid, supercilious, and brutal; his style ridiculously
bombastic and vicious; and, in one word, with all the pedantry he had all
the gigantic littleness of a country schoolmaster.'-Z-lemoirs of the Reign of
George 11L, vol. ii. p. 323.
To this uncharitable and unjust characterization of Johnson, I am happy to
oppose the authority of a mild but truthful and discriminating delineator of
men and manners, whose pen has not often nor intentionally been led astray by
misconception and prejudice. I refer to Lord Mahon. Referring to the prevalence of scepticism, in the days of Chesterfield, of Hume and Gibbon, he thus
proceeds:-'If, then, it be asked, who first, in England, at this period, breasted the
waves, and stemmed the tide of infidelity-who, enlisting wit and eloquence
together with argument and learning on the side of revealed religion, first
turned the literary current in its favor, and mainly prepared the reaction
which succeeded: that praise seems most justly to belong to Dr. Samuel
Johnson. Religion was to him no mere lip-service, nor cold formality; he was
mindful of it in his social hours as much as in his graver lucubrations; and
he brought to it, not merely erudition such as few indeed possessed, but the
weight of the highest character, and the respect which even his enemies could
not deny him. It mray be said of him that, though not in orders, he did the
Church of England better service than most of those who at that listless era
ate her bread......  Besides the gratitude due to Dr. Johnson, as the
steadfast and able champion of the Christian Church, there is another point
of view P which his character most justly claims respect. No man at any




OLIVER GOLDSMITH.                          185
Oliver Goldsmith began at this time to write for the stage,
and it is to be lamented that he did not begin at an earlier
period of life to turn his genius to dramatic compositions, and
much more to be lamented, that, after he had begun, the succeeding period of his life was so soon cut off.  There is no
doubt but his genius, when more familiarized to the business,
would have inspired him to accomplish.great things.  His first
comedy of'The Good-natured Man' was read and applauded in
its manuscript by Edmund Burke, and the circle in which he
then lived and moved: under such patronage it came with those
testimonials to the director of Covent Garden theatre, as could
not fail to open all the avenues to the stage, and bespeak all
the favor and attention from the performers and the public,
that the applauding voice of him, whose applause was fame
itself, could give it. This comedy has enough to justify the
good opinion  of its literary  patron, and  secure  its  author
against any loss of reputation, for it has the stamp of a man of
talents upon it, though its popularity with the audience did not
quite keep pace with the expectations that were grounded on
the fiat it had antecedently been honored with. It was a first
effort, however, and did not discourage its ingenious author
period has more worthily upheld the dignity of literature. When first he
began to write, he had to struggle with all the bitterness of poverty. There
were nights when he had no resting-place to lay his head. There were days
when he had no money to buy food. Several of his early notes to Mr. Cave,
the bookseller, have appended to his name the mournful word impransus.
Once when Mr. Harte, the biographer of Gustavus Adolphus, was the guest of
Mr. Cave, he observedl that a plateful of the dinner was sent behind a screen;
this, it selems, was for Johnson, who had been ashamed to join the company in
his threadbare clothes. Yet through all these difficulties the'retirecl and
uncourtly scholar'-for thus he describes himself-never swerved from the
path of principle, nor was once betrayed into any mean or dishonorable action.
Still did he hold fast his opposition politics. Still did he assert his manly independence. His worst enemies might accuse him of churlishness and rudeness, but certainly never of flattery or fawning. His letter to Lord Chesterfield,
in 1755, proves how sternly, upon the smallest provocation, real or imagined,
he would thrust aside the hand of patronage. When, at last, by no hand besides his own, he had secured both bread and fame-when he found his
society courted, and his ascendency acknowledged-when the bounty of the
crown, unsought and unexpected, had raised him into affluence —he showed
the remembrance of his past condition by the most generous relief of other
men's distress.' He loved the poor,' says his friend, Mrs. Thrale,'as I never
yet saw any one else love them, with an earnest desire to make them happy.
In pursuance of these principles,' continues the same lady,' he nursed whole
nests of people in his house, where the lame, the blind, the sick, and the
sorrowful found a sure retreat.' And when in those days Johnson communed
with the.great, he did not indeed omit that civil deference of manner which
he deemed their due, but he felt that now he met them at least on equal, if
not on superior terms; and made them respect in him both the inborn pride
of genius, and the well-earned dignity of learning.'-flistorly of England, vol.
vi. pp. 313, 314.
13




186        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
from invoking his Muse a second time.l It was now, whilst his
labors were in projection, that I first met him at the British
Coffee-House, as I have already related somewhat out of place.
I-e dined with us as a visitor, introduced, as I think, by Sir
Joshua Reynolds, and we held a consultation upon the naming
of his comedy, which some of the company had read, and which
he detailed to the rest after his manner with a great deal of good
humor. Somebody suggested'She Stoops to Conquer,' and
that title was agreed upon.  When I perceived an embarrassment in his manner towards me, which I could readily account
for, I lost no time to put him at his ease, and I flatter myself I
was successful. As my heart was ever warm towards my contemporaries, I did not counterfeit, but really felt a cordial
interest in his behalf, and I had soon the pleasure to perceive
that he credited me for my sincerity.'You and I,' said he,'have very different motives for resorting to the stage. I write
for money, and care little about fame.'  I was touched by this
melancholy confession, and from that moment busied myself
assiduously  amongst all my  connections in his cause.  The
whole company pledged themselves to the support of the ingenuous poet, and faithfully kept their promise to him. In fact,
he needed all that could be done for him, as Mr. Colman, then
manager of Covent Garden theatre, protested against the
comedy, when, as yet, he had not struck upon a name for it.
Johnson at length stood forth in all his terrors as champion for
the piece, and backed by us, his clients and retainers, demanded
a fair trial. Colman again protested, but, with that salvo for his
own reputation, liberally lent his stage to one of the most eccentric productions that ever found its way to it, and' She Stoops
to Conquer' was put into rehearsal.
WVe were not over-sanguine of success, but perfectly deter-'This comedy,' says one of Goldsmith's biographers,'was offered to Garrick, to be brought out at his theatre of Drury Lane; but after much fluctuation between doubt and encouragement, with his customary hesitation and uncertainty, he at length declined it. The conduct of Garrick in this instance
was the more surprising, as the piece had been read and applauded in manuscript by most of the author's literary friends, and had not only the sanction of
Burke's critical judgment, but Johnson himself had engaged to write the prologue. Colman, the manager of Covent Garden theatre, was, however, not so
scrupulons, especially when he found it presented under such patronage. It
was, therefore, agreed that it should be produced at his theatre; and it was
represented there for the first time, on the 29th of January, 1768. Contrary to
the expectations of the author and his friends, it did not meet with unqualified
applause; and though it kept possession of the stage nine nights, it was
finally withdrawn. The peculiar genius of its author was apparent in the ease
and elegance of the dialogue, and throughout the whole there were many keen
remarks on men and manners; but the piece was deficient in stage effect.'Workcs of Goldsmith, edited by Washington Irving.




OLIVER GOLDSMITH.                  187
mined to struggle hard for our author: we accordingly assembled our strength at the Shakspeare Tavern in a considerable
body for an early dinner, where Samuel Johnson took the
chair at the head of a long table, and was the life and soul of
the corps: the poet took post silently by his side,' with the
Burkes, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Fitzherbert, Caleb Whitefoord,
and a phalanx of North British predetermined applauders,
under the banner of Major Mills, all good men and true. Our
illustrious president was in inimitable glee, and poor Goldsmith
that day took all his raillery as patiently and complacently as
my friend Boswell would have done any day, or every day of
his life. In the mean time, we did not forget our duty, and
though we had a better comedy going, in which Johnson was
chief actor, we betook ourselves in good time to our separate
and allotted posts, and waited the awful drawing up of the curtain. As our stations were preconcerted, so were our signals
for plaudits arranged and determined upon in a manner that
gave every one his cue where to look for them, and how to follow them up.
We had amongst us a very worthy and efficientpmember, long
since lost to his friends and the world at large, Adam Drummond, of amiable memory, who was gifted by nature with the
most sonorous, and at the same time the most contagious, laugh
that ever echoed from the human lungs. The neighing of the
forse of the son of Hystaspes was a whisper to it; the whole
thunder of the theatre could not drown it. This kind and ingenuous friend fairly forewarned us that he knew no more when
to give his fire than the cannon did that was planted on a battery. He desired, therefore, to have a flapper at his elbow, and
I had the honor to be deputed to that office. I planted him in
an upper box, pretty nearly over the stage, in full view of the
pit and galleries, and perfectly well situated to give the echo all
its play through the hollows and recesses of the theatre. The
success of our manceuvres was complete. All eyes were upon
Johnson, who sat in a front row of a side box, and when he
laughed everybody thought themselves warranted to roar. In
the mean time, my friend followed signals with a rattle so'rre.
sistibly comic, that, when he had repeated it several times, the
attention of the spectators was so engrossed by his person and
performances, that the progress of the play seemed likely to
become a secondary object, and I found it prudent to insinuate
to him that he might halt his music without any prejudice to the
author; but alas, it was now too late to rein him in; he had
laughed upon my signal where he found no joke, and now unluckily he fancied that he found a joke in almost everything that was




188       IMEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
said; so that nothing  in nature could be more mal-apzropos
than some of his bursts every now and then were. These were
dangerous moments, for the pit began to take umbrage; but we
carried our play through, and triumphed not only over Colman's
judgment, but our own.'
As the life of poor Oliver Goldsmith was now fast approaching to its period, I conclude my account of him with gratitude
for the epitaph he bestowed on me in his poem called' Retaliation.' It was upon a proposal started by Edmund Burke, that
a party of friends who had dined together at Sir Joshua Reynolds' and my house, should meet at the St. James's CoffeeHouse, which accordingly took  place, and was occasionally
repeated with much festivity and good fellowship. Dr. Bernard,
Dean of Derry, a very amiable and old friend  of mine, Dr.
Douglas, since Bishop of Salisbury, Johnson, David Garrick,
Sir Joshua Reynolds, Oliver Goldsmith, Edmund and Richard
Burke, Hickey, with two or three others, constituted our party.
At one of these meetings an idea was suggested of extemporary
epitaphs upon the parties present; pen and ink were called for,
and  Garrick off hand wrote an epitaph with a good deal of
humor upon poor Goldstnith, who was the first in jest, as he
proved to be in reality, that we committed to the grave. The
dean also gave him an epitaph, and Sir Joshua illuminated the
I If the end of comedy is to make an audience merry, then,' She Stoops to
Conquer' deserves high commendation. The objection to it, however, is that,
notwithstanding the purity and elegance of the language, the wit and humor
with which it abounds, are too nearly allied to farce.' The chief diversion,'
says Johnson, in a letter to Boswell,' arises from a stratagem, by which a lover
is made to mistake his future father-in-law's house for an inn. This, you see,
borders upon farce. The dialogue is quick and gay, and the incidents are so
prepared as not to seem improbable.'
It is related of Goldsmith, that on the first night of performance he did not
come to the house till towards the close of the representation, having rambled
into St. James's Park, to ruminate on the probable fate of his piece; and such
were his anxiety and apprehension that he was with much difficulty prevailed
on to repair to the theatre, on the suggestion of a friend, who pointed out the
necessity of his presence, in order to mark any objectionable passages, for the
purpose of omission or alteration in the repetition of the performance. With expectation suspended between hope and fear, he had scarcely entered the passage that leads to the stage, when his ears were shocked with a hiss, which
came from the audience as a token of their disapprobation of the farcical supposition of Mrs. Hardcastle being so deluded as to suppose herself at a distance of fifty miles from home, while she was actually not distant fifty yards.
Such was our poor author's tremor and agitation on this unwelcome salute,
that running up to the manager, he exclaimed:'What's that? what's that?''Pshaw, doctor,' replied Colman, in a sarcastic tone,'don't be terrified at
squibs, when we have been setting these two hours upon a barrel of gunpowder.'
The pride of Goldsmith was so mortified by this remark, that the friendship
which had subsisted between him and the manager was from that moment
dissolved.-Life of Goldsmith.




OLIVER GOLDSMITEH.                       189
dean's verses with a sketch of his bust in pen and ink, inimitably caricatured.  Neither Johnson nor Burke wrote anything,
and when I perceived Oliver was rather sore, and seemed to
watch me with that kind of attention which indicated his expectation of something in the same kind of burlesque with
theirs, I thought it time to press the joke no further, and wrote
a few couplets at a side-table, which, when I had finished and
was called upon by the company to exhibit, Goldsmith with
much agitation besought me to spare him, and I was about to
tear them, when Johnson wrested them out of my hand, and in
a loud voice read them at the table. I have now lost all recollection of them, and in fact they were little worth remembering,
but as they were serious and complimentary, the effect they had
upon Goldsmith was the more pleasing for being so entirely unexpected. The concluding line, which is the only one I can call
to mind, was-'All mourn the poet, I lament the man.'
This I recollect, because he repeated it several times, and
seemed much gratified by it. At our next meeting he produced
his epitaphs as they stand in the little posthumous poem above
mentioned, and this was the last time he ever enjoyed the company of his friends.'
As he had served up the company under the similitude of
various sorts of meat, 1 had in the mean time figured them under that of liquors, which little poem I rather think was printed,
but of this I am  not sure.  Goldsmith sickened and died, and
we had one concluding meeting at my house, when it was decided to publish his'Retaliation,' and Johnson at the same time
The following is the epitaph on Cumberland:-'Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
The Terence of England, the mender of hearts;
A flattering painter, who made it his care
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.
His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,
And Comedy wonders at being so fine;
Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out,
Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.
His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd
Of virtues and feeling, that folly grows proud;
And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone,
Adopting his portraits, are pleased with their own;
Say, where has our poet this malady caught,
Or, wherefore his characters thus without fault?
Say, was it that vainly directing his view
To find out men's virtues, and finding them few,
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?'




190       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
undertook to write an epitaph for our lamented friend, to whom
we proposed to erect a monument by subscription in Westminster
Abbey.  This epitaph Johnson executed; but in the criticism,
that was attempted against it, and in the Round-Robin signed
at Mr. Beauclerc's house I had no part.  I had no acquaintance
with that gentleman, and was never in his house in my life.
Thus died Oliver Goldsmith, in his chambers in the Temple,
at a period of life when his genius was yet in its vigor, and
fortune seemed disposed to smile upon him.  I have heard Dr.
Johnson relate with infinite humor the circumstance of his
rescuing him from a ridiculous dilemma by the purchase-money
of his' Vicar of Wakefield,' which he sold on his behalf to Dodsley, and, as I think, for the sum of ten pounds only. He had
run up a debt with his landlady for board and lodging of some
few pounds, and was at his wit's-end how to wipe off the score
and keep a roof over his head, except by closing with a very
staggering proposal on her part, and taking his creditor to wife,
whose charms were very far from alluring, whilst her demands
were extremely urgent. In this crisis of his fate he was found
by Johnson in the act of meditating on the melancholy alternative before him. He showed Johnson his manuscript of'The
Vicar of WVakefield,' but seemed to be without any plan, or even
hope, of raising money upon the disposal of it; when Johnson
cast his eye upon ithe discovered something that gave him hope,
and immediately took it to Dodsley, who paid down the price
above mentioned in ready money, and added an eventual condition upon its future sale. Johnson described the precautions he
took in concealing the amount of the sum  he had in hand,
which he prudently administered to him by a guinea at a time.
In the event he paid off the landlady's score, and redeemed the
person of his friend from her embraces. Goldsmith had the
joy of finding his ingenious work succeed beyond his hopes,
and from  that time began to place a confidence in the resources
of: his talents, which thenceforward enabled him  to keep his
station in society, and cultivate the friendship of many eminent
persons, who, whilst they smiled at his eccentricities, esteemed
him for his genius and good qualities.l
Goldsmith's situation on the occasion referred to in the text, has been
variously and erroneously described. Cumberland is among the number of
those who have either misstated it from defective recollection, or embellished
it from design. Boswell gives an authentic detail of it as narrated by Johnson
himself.'I received one morning,' says the doctor,'a message from poor Goldsmith
that he was in great distress, and as it was not in his power to come to me,
begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea,
and promised to come to him directly. I accordingly went as soon as I was
dressed, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which




DEATH OF MY FATHER AND MOTHER.                  191
lMy father had been translated to the see of Kilmore, which
placed him in a more civilized country, and lodged him  in a
more comfortable house. I continued my yearly visits, and
again went over to Ireland with part of my family, and passed
my whole summer recess at Kilmore. I had with unspeakable
regret perceived some symptoms of an alarming nature about
him, which seemed to indicate the breaking up of a most excellent constitution, which, nursed by temperance and regularity, had hitherto been blest with such an uninterrupted course
of health, that he had never through his whole life been confined a single day to his bed, except when he had the smallpox
in his childhood. In all his appetites and passions he was the
most moderate of men: ever cheerful in his family and with
his friends, but never yielding to the slightest excess.  My
mother, in the mean time, had been gradually sinking into a
state of extreme debility and loss of health, and I plainly saw
that my father's ceaseless agitation and anxiety on her account
had deeply affected his constitution.  He had flattered me with
the hope that he would attempt a journey to England with her,
and in that expectation, when my time was expired, I painfully took leave of him-and, alas! never saw  him, or my
mother, more.
In the winter of that same year, whilst I was at Bath by advice for my own health, I received the first afflicting intelligence of his death from Primate Robinson, who loved him truly
and lamented him most sincerely.  This sad event was speedily
succeeded by the death of my mother, whose weak and exhausted
frame sunk under the blow: those senses so acute, and that
mind so richly endowed, were in an instant taken from her, and,
after languishing in that melancholy state for a short but distressful period, she followed him to the grave.
Thus was I bereft of father and mother without the consolation
of having paid them the last mournful duties of a son. One
surviving sister,-the best and most benevolent of human beings,
attended them  in their last moments, and performed those
duties which my hard fortune would not suffer me to share.
In a small patch of ground, inclosed with stone walls, adhe was in a violent passion: I perceived that he had already changed my
guinea% and had a bottle of Madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork
into the bottle, desiring he would be calm, and'began to talk to him of the
means by which he might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel
ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it, and saw its
merit; told the landlady I should soon return; and hurrying to a bookseller,
sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged
his rent, not without rating his landlady in a high tone for having used him
so ill.'-Boswzell's Johnson, vol. i. p. 398.




192       MEMOIRS OF. RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
joining to the churchyard of Kilmore, but not within the pale
of the consecrated ground, my father's corpse was interred beside the grave of the venerable and exemplary Bishop Bedel.
This little spot, as containing the remains of that good and
great man, my father had fenced and guarded with particular
devotion, and he had more than once pointed it out to me as
his destined grave, saying to me, as I well remember, in the
words of the Old Prophet of Bethel,'When I am dead, then
bury me in this sepulchre, wherein the man of God is buried;
lay my bones beside his bones.' This injunction was exactly
fulfilled, and the Protestant Bishop of Kilmore, the mild friend
of mankind, the impartial benefactor and unprejudiced protector
of his Catholic poor, who almost adored him whilst living, was
not permitted to deposit his remains within the precincts of his
own churchyard, though they howled over his grave, and rent
the air with their savage lamentations.
Thus, whilst their carcasses monopolize the consecrated ground,
his bones, and the bones of Bedel, make sacred the unblest soil
in which they moulder; but whilst I believe and am persuaded
that his incorruptible is received into bliss eternal, what concerns it me where his corruptible is laid? The corpse of my
lamented mother, the instructress of my youth, the friend and
charm of my maturer years, is deposited by his side.
WMy father's patronage at Kilmore was very considerable, and
this he strictly bestowed upon the clergy of his diocese, promoting the curates to the smaller livings, as vacancies occurred,
and exacting from every man, whom he put into a living, where
there was no parsonage-house, a solemn promise to build; but
I am sorry to say that in no single instance was that promise
fulfilled; which breach of faith gave him great concern, and in
the cases of some particular friends, whom he had promoted in
full persuasion of their keeping faith with him, afflicted him
very sensibly, as I had occasion to know and lament. The opportunities he had of benefiting his fortune and family by
fines, and the lapse of leases, which might have been considerable, he honorably declined to avail himself of, for when he had
tendered his renewals upon the most moderate terms, and these
had been delayed or rejected in his days of health, he peremptorily withstood their offers, when he found his life was hastening to its period, esteeming it, according to his high sense of
honor, not perfectly fair to his successor to take what he called
the packing-penny, and sweep clean before his departure. lIe
left his see, therefore, much more valuable than he found it by
this liberal and disinterested conduct, by which it was natural
to hope he had secured to his executors the good offices and as



ILLIBERAL CRITICISM.                     193
sistance of his successor in recovering the outstanding arrears
due, to his survivors-but in that hope we were shamefully disappointed; neither these arrears, nor even his legal demands for
moneys expended on improvements, beneficial to; the demesne,
and regularly certified by his diocesan, could be recovered by
me for my sister's use, till the Lord Primate took the cause in
hand, and enforced the sluggish and unwilling satisfaction from
the bishop who succeeded him.
Previous to these unhappy events I had written my fourth
comedy of' The Choleric Man,' and left it with Mr. Garrick for
representation. Whilst I was at Bath the rehearsals were going
on, and the play was brought upon the stage during  my
absence. It succeeded to the utmost of my wishes, but when I
perceived that the malevolence of the public prints suffered no
abatement, and saw myself charged with having vented contemptuous and illiberal speeches in the theatre, where I could
not have been, against productions of my contemporaries,
which I had neither heard nor seen, galled with such false and
cruel aspersions, which, under the pressure of my recent losses
and misfortunes, fell on me with accumulated asperity, I was
induced to retort upon my defamers, and accordingly prefixed
to the printed copy of my comedy'A Dedication to Detraction,'
in which I observe that'ill health and other melancholy attentions, which I need not explain, kept me at a distance from the
scene of its decision.' The chief object of this dedication was
directed to a certain tract then in some degree of circulation,
entitled'An Essay on the Theatre,' in which the writer professes to draw'a comparison between laughing and sentimental
comedy,' and under the latter description particularly points his
observations at' The Fashionable Lover.' There is no occasion
for me to speak further of this dedication, as it is attached to
the comedy, which is y6t in print, except to observe that I can
still repeat with truth what I there assert to my imaginary patron, that' I can take my conscience to witness I have paid him
no sacrifice, devoted no time or study to his service, nor amn a
man in any respect qualified to repay his favors.'
Garrick wrote the epilogue to this comedy, as he also did
that to the  West Indian,' and Mrs. Abington spoke it.l  That
I'As an actress,' says Taylor,'Mrs. Abington was distinguished for spirit
and humor, rather than for high-breeding and elegance. She excelled in the
delivery of sarcastic humor, to which the shrewdness of her mind, and the
tartness of her tone gave the most effective piquancy. Her manners were not
sufficiently graceful and well-bred for Congreve's'Millimont,' altogether, but
in those passages where she taunts Murwood, there was a stinging severity in
her delivery that would have fully satisfied the author. Beatrice has more wit
and pertness than good-breeding, and in that part she was excellent; and also




194        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
charming actress was now at the height of her fame, and performed the part of Lsetitia in a style that gave great support
to the representation.'The Two Brothers,' formed upon the
plan of'Terrence's Adelpli,' were well cast between Mr. King
and  Mr. Aickin, and Western personated  Jack  Nightshade
with inimitable humor. The chief effect in this play is produced by the  strong contrast of character between  Manlove
and the Choleric Man, and again, with more comic force,
between  Charles, the courtly gentleman, and Jack, the rustic booby, who, at the first meeting with his brother, exclaims,'Who would think you and I were whelps of the same breed?
You are as sleek as my lady's lapdog, I am rough as a waterspaniel, bedaggled and bemired, as if I had come out of the
fens with wild fowl; why, I have brought off as much soil upon
my boots only, as would set up a Norfolk farmer 1'
It was observed of this comedy that the spirit of the first
two acts was not kept up through the concluding three, and the
general sense of the public was said to confirmthis remark,
therefore I presume it is true. It was a successful play in its
time, though it has not been so often before the public as any
of the three which preceded it, and since Weston's decease it
has been consigned to the shelf. If ever there shall be found
an editor of my dramatic works as an entire collection, this
comedy will stand forward as one of the most prominent
amongst them. The plot, indeed, is not original, but the characters are humorously contrasted, and there is point and spirit
in the dialogue. Such as it is, it was the fourth produced in
four succeeding seasons, and if I acquired any small share of
credit by those which preceded it, I did not forfeit it by the
publication of this. To this comedy I appositely affixed the
following motto from Plautus:Jam istsec insipientia est
Sic irarm in promptu gerere.
In the autumn of this year I made a tour in company with
my friend, the Earl of Warwick, to the lakes in Cumberland.
in Estifania, another character that demands vivacity and humor, not elegance.
She was the first Lady Teazle, and that character was admirably suited to her
talents. It was understood that she was well acquainted with the French
authors, and could converse in Italian. She was received in many good families as an admired companion. When or why she married I know not. Her
husband, I understood, was a musician. They had been separated many years,
and it was reported that she allowed him an annuity not to molest her.' —Records of mny Life, p. 230, et seq. Mrs. Abington's origin was obscure, and her
morals profligate. Her maiden name was Barton; but little is known of her,
and that little not at all to her credit, until she appeared on the boards
of the Metropolitan theatres as a first-rate comlic actress. She was born in
1735, and died in 1815.




ODE TO THE SUN.                         195
He took with him Mr. Smith, well known to the public for his
elegant designs after nature in Switzerland, Italy, and elsewhere: my noble friend himself is-a master in the art of drawing and designing landscapes in a bold and striking character,
of which our tour afforded a vast variety.  Whilst we passed
a few  days at Keswick, I hastily composed an irregular ode,'which was literally struck out on the spot, and is addressed to
the sun; for as the season was advancing towards winter, we
had frequent temptations to invoke that luminary, who was
never very gracious to our suit, except whilst we were viewing
the lake of Keswick and its accompaniments.'
With this invocation my ode commences:-'Soul of the world, refulgent Sun,
Oh, take not from my ravish'cl sight
Those golden beams of living light,
_Nor, ere thy daily course be run,
Precipitate the night.
Lo, where the ruffian clouds arise,
Usurp the abdicated skies,
And seize th' ethereal throne:
Sullen sad the scene appears,
Huge Helvellyn streams with tears;
Hark!'tis giant Skiddaw's groan;
I hear terrific Lawdoor roar;
The sabbath of' thy reign is o'er,
The anarchy's begun.
Father of light, return; break forth refulgent Sun!'
&c. &c.
This ode, with one addressed to Doctor James, was  published and sold by Mr. Robson, in New Bond Street, in the year
1776, and is, I believe, to be found in' The Tour to the Lakes.'
The ode to Doctor Robert James was suggested by the recovery
of my second son from a dangerous fever, effected, under Providence, by his celebrated powders. I am tempted to insert
the following short extract, descriptive of the person of Death:-'On his pale steed erect the monarch stands,
His dirk and javelin glittering in his hands:
This from a distance deals th' ignoble blow,
And that despatches the resisting foe:
Whilst all beneath him, as he flies,
Dire are the tossings, deep the cries,
The landscape darkens and the season dies.'
&c. &c.
These odes I addressed to Mr. George Romney, then lately
returned from pursuing his studies at Rome.'
1 On Romney's return from Italy he met with extraordinary success-in one
year painting portraits to the value of ~3,635. He was born in Lancashire, in
1734, and died in 1802.'There are not many things in biography more striking,' says Lord Mahon,




196        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
The next piece that I presented to the stage under the management of Mr. Garrick was'Timon of Athens,' altered from
Shakspeare, to which I prefixed the following advertisement,
when it was published by Becket:-'I wish I could have brought this play upon the stage with
less violence to its author, and not so much responsibility on
my own part. New characters of necessity require some display.  Many original passages of the first merit are still retained, and in the contemplation of them, my errors, I hope, will
be overlooked or forgiven. In examining the brilliancy of a
diamond, few people throw away any remarks upon the dulness
of the foil.' Barry played the part of Timon, and Mrs. Barry
that of Evanthe, which was engrafted on the original for the
purpose of writing up the character of Alcibiades, in which a
young actor of the name of Crofts made his first appearance on
the stage.  As the entire part of Evanthe, and with very few
exceptions the whole of Alcibiades are new, the author of this
alteration has much to answer for, and much it behoved him
to make his new matter harmonize with the old; with what
degree of success this is done it scarce becomes me to say; the
public approbation seemed to sanction the attempt at the first
production of the play, the neglect with which the stage has
passed it over since disposes us to draw conclusions less in
favor of its merit.
As few, who read these memoirs, have ever met, or probably
ever will meet with this altered play, which is now out of print,'than the tale how, at the age of twenty-seven, he forsook his young wife at
Kendal, and went forth to seek his fortune in London; how, after seven-andthirty years of desertion, he returned to her, rich, indeed, and famous, but
worn out in body and in mind; and how, with patient forgiveness, she nursed
him during his remaining span of decay, and, at last, of imbecility. When in
full possession of his powers he had been deemed a rival to Sir Joshua himself,
and it is by no means to the credit of the president, that Romney never was
elected even an associate of the Royal Academy.  Indeed, whenever Reynolds had occasion to refer to him, he would call him only " the man in Cavendish Square." In those days Lord Thurlow had said: " There are two factions
in art, and for my part I am of the Romney faction." But, as Mr. Southey
observes, time has reversed the chancellor's decision.'-History of England, vol.
vi. p. 325.
Cumberland, like Thurlow, was also of the Romney faction. Garrick, one
day, speaking of Cumberland to the President, said:' He hates you, Sir Joshua,
because you do not admire the painter whom he considers as a second Corregio.'' Who is that,' replied Reynolds.' Why, his Corregio,' answered Garrick,'is
Romney.' Except the desertion of his wife, whom he visited but twice in
thirty years, and which will remain forever a fatal blot on his character, there
is but little in the life of Romney which can be condemned. He was amiable,
kind, upright, and liberal. His heart and purse were ever open to the calls
of distress,




'TIMON  OF ATHENS.'                        197
I trust that such at least will forgive me if I extract a short
specimen from my own new matter in the second act-'ACT 2. SCENE 3.
LUCULLUS AND LUCIUS.
Lucul.-lHow now, my lord; in private?
Luc.-Yes, I thought so,
Till an unwelcome intermeddling lord
Stept in and ask'd the question.
Lucul. —What, in anger I
By heav'ns I'll gall him I for he stands before me,
In the broad sunshine of Lord Timon's bounty,
And throws my better merits into shade.         [Aside.
Luc.-Now would I kill him if I durst.                 [Aside.
Lucul. —Methinks
You look but coldly. What has cross'd your suit?
Alas, poor Lucius! but I read your fate
In that unkind one's frown.
Luc.-No doubt, my lord,
You, that receive them ever, are well vers'd
In the unkind one's frowns: as the clear stream
Reflects your person, so may you espy
In the sure mirror of her scornful brow
The clouded picture of your own despair.
Lucul.-Come, you presume too far; talk not thus idly
To me, who know you.
Luc.-Know me?
Lucul.-Ay, who know you.
For one that courses up and down on errands,
A stale retainer at Lord Timon's table;
A man grown great by making legs and cringes,
By winding round a wanton spendthrift's heart,
And gulling him at pleasure. Now do I know you?
Luc.-Gods, must I bear this? bear it from Lucullus?
I who first brought thee to Lord Timon's stirrup,
Set thee in sight and breath'd into thine ear
The breath of hope? What hadst thou been,- ingrateful,
But that I took up Jove's imperfect work,
Gave thee a shape and made thee into man?
Alcibiades to them.
Alcib. —What, wrangling, lords, like hungry curs for crusts?
Away with this unmanly war of words!
Pluck forth your shining rapiers from their shells,
And level boldly at each other's hearts.
Hearts did I say? Your hearts are gone from home,
And hid in Timon's coffers. Fie upon it I
Luc.-My Lord Lucullus, I shall find a time.
Alcib.-Ha I find a time! the brave make time and place.
Gods, gods, what things are men! You'll find a time?
A time for what? To murder him in's sleep?
The man who wrongs me, at the altar's foot
I'll seize, yea, drag him from the sheltering aegis
Of stern Minerva.
Luc. —Ay;'tis your profession.
Alcib. —Down on your knees and thank the gods for that,
Or woe for Athens, were it left to such




198       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
As you are to defend. Do ye not hate
Each other heartily? Yet neither dares
To bear his trembling falchion to the sun.
How tame they dangle on your coward thighs!
L/tcul. —We are no soldiers, sir.
Alcib.-No, ye are lords:
A lazy, proud, unprofitable crew:
The vermin gender'd from the rank corruption
Of a luxurious state. No soldiers, say you?
And wherefore are ye none? Have ye not life,
Friends, honor, freedom, country to defend?
He, that hath these, by nature is a soldier,
And, when he wields his sword in their defence,
Instinctively fulfils the end he lives for.'
&c. &c.
When Moody, from the excellence of his acting in the part
of Major O'Flaherty, became the established performer of Irish
characters, I wrote in compliance with his wishes another HIibernian upon a smaller scale, and composed the entertainment
of'The Note of HIand, or, Trip to Newmarket,' which was the last
piece of my writing, which Mr. Garrick produced upon his stage
before he disposed of his property in Drury Lane Theatre, and
withdrew from business.
During my residence at Bath I had been greatly pleased with
the performance of the part of Shylock by Mr. Henderson, and,
upon conversing with him, found that his wishes strongly
pointed to an engagement, if that could be obtained, at Drury
Lane, then under the direction of Mr. Garrick.  When I had
seen him in different characters, and became confirmed in my
opinion of his merit, I warmly recommended him to Mr. Garrick, and was empowered to contract for his engagement upon
terms that, to my judgment, and that of other intermediate
friends, appeared to be extremely reasonable.  At first I conceived the negotiation as good as concluded, but some reports,
that rather clashed with mine, rendered Mr. Garrick cool in the
business, and disposed to consult other opinions as to Mr. Henderson's abilities; and amongst these he seemed greatly to
depend upon his brother George's judgment, whose report was
by no means of the same sanguine complexion with mine. Poor
George had come to Bath in a lamentable state of health, and
must have seen Henderson with distempered eyes to err so
egregiously as he did in his account of him. It proved, however, in the upshot, decisive against my advice, and after a languishing negotiation, which got at length into other hands than
mine, Garrick made the transfer of his property in the theatre
without the name of Henderson upon the roll of his performers.
Truth obliges me to say that the negotiation in all its parts and
passages was not creditable to Mr. Garrick, and left impressions
on the mind of Henderson, that time did not speedily wear out.




MR. HENDERSON.                           199
He had wit, infinite pleasantry and inimitable powers of mimicry, which he felt himself privileged to employ, and employed only too successfully.  The season of the winter theatres
passed over, and when the iaymarket house opened, Henderson
came from Bath with all the powers of his genius on the alert,
and upon the summer stage fully justified everything that I and
others had said of him through the winter, and established himself completely in the public favor.l A great resort of men of
talents now flocked around him; the town considered him as a
man injuriously rejected, and though, when they imputed it to
envy, I am sure they were mistaken, yet when Garrick found
that by lending his ear to foolish opinions, and quibbling about
terms, he had missed the credit of engaging the best actor of the
time, himself excepted, it is not to be wondered at if the praise
bestowed on Henderson's performances was not the most agreeable topic that could be chosen for his entertainment.   He
could not indeed always avoid hearing these applauses, but he
did not hold himself obliged to second them, and when curiosity
drew him to the summer theatre to see Henderson in the part
of Shylock, he said nothing in his dispraise, but he discovered
great merit in'Tubal,' which of course had been the cast of some
second-rate performer.
Henderson, in the mean time, was transferred from the Haymarket Theatre  to  Drury Lane, under the direction of Mr.'On a subsequent page, Cumberland has given his estimate of Henderson's
character and talents more at length. That he was an actor of uncommon and
versatile powers, is generally conceded. Comedy, however, was his forte.
Unlike Garrick, he had many disadvantages to overcome, in order to. obtain,
as he did, the first honors of his profession. His person,' says the' Biographia
Dramatica,'was not striking, nor were his features interesting. He had nothing in his appearance to create, at first sight, that surprise and admiration
which conciliate favor and prejudice judgment.'' On the other hand,' says
the same authority,'his excellences were of the most solid kind; they
depended on a mind gifted with wonderful powers of feeling, and with powers
of expression equally wonderful.  Of the great compass of his talents, the
proof is easy: he was the lineal successor of almost all the first performers in
the preceding age; of Quin, in Falstaff; Woodward, in Bobadil; Macklin, in
Shylock; Mossop, in Zanga; Digges, in Wolsey; Barry, in Evander; and Garrick, in Richard, Lear, Benedick, Sir John Brute, and almost all his other characters; but the greatest triumph of the comic muse, perhaps, was Henderson's
representation of the fat knight, Falstaff; it is probable,' We ne'er shall look
upon its like again!"  Vol. i. p. 42, Introduc.
In this high praise the critics are not unanimous.'His defects are said to
have been an occasional sawing of the air, and latterly a habit of impregnating
every character with a tinge of Falstaff.'-Life of HeWnderson, Modern British
Biographfy, vol. iv. p. 380.' Henderson's face and person,' says Taylor,' were
not fitted for tragedy, but he was an excellent comedian; and though his Falstaff was the most facetious I ever saw, yet it always struck me that it was a
mixture of the old woman with the old man.' —Records of my Life, p. 213.
As a man, Henderson is said to have been estimable. His failings were an
inordinate love of money, and inordinate vanity.




200       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Sheridan, where I brought out my tragedy of'The Battle of
Hastings,' in which he played the part of Edgar Atheling, not
indeed with the happiest effect, for he did not possess the graces
of person or deportment, and as that character demanded both,
an actor might have been found, who, with inferior abilities,
would have been a fitter representative of it. As for the play
itself, it was published, and is to be found in more collections
than one; its readers will probably be of opinion, that it is
better written than planned; a judgment to which I shall most
readily submit, not only in this instance but in several others.
About this time died the Earl of Halifax. He had filled the
high stations of First Lord of Trade and Plantations, Lord
Lieutenant of Ireland, Principal Secretary of State, First Lord
of the Admiralty, Lord Lieutenant of the county of Northampton, and Knight of the Garter. He had no son, and his title
is extinct. IHis fine mansion and estate of Stansted, left to him
by Mr. Lumley, was sold after his decease. I saw him in his
last illness, when his constitution was an absolute wreck; I was
subpoenaed to give evidence on this point before the Lord Chief
Justice Mansfield, and according to my conscience deposed what
was my opinion of his hopeless state; his physician, Sir Noah
Thomas, whose professional judgment had justly more authority
and influence than mine, by his deposition superseded mine, and
the death of his patient very shortly after contradicted his. I
never knew that man, whose life, if circumstantially detailed,
would furnish a more striking moral and a more tragical catastrophe. Nature endowed him liberally with her gifts, Fortune
showered her favors profusely upon him, Providence repeatedly
held forth the most extraordinary vouchsafements-what a
mournful retrospection! I am not bound to dwell upon it. I
turn from it with horror.'
A brighter scene now meets me, for whilst I was yet a subaltern in the Board of Trade, uncomfortably executing the office
of clerk of the reports, by the accession of Lord George Germain to the seals for the colonial department I had a new principal to look up to. I had never been in a room with him in
my life, except during his trial at the Horse Guards for the affair
of Minden, which I attended through the whole of its progress,
and regularly reported what occurred to Mr. Dodington, who
was then out of town; some of his letters I preserved, but of
rmy own, according to custom, I took, no copies. When Lord
George had taken the seals, I asked my friend Colonel James
Cunningham to take me with him to Pall Mall, which he did,
Halifax had abilities; but lacked cautious, prudent self-control. He fell a
victim to intemperance.




LORD GEORGE GERMAIN.                 201
and the ceremony of paying my respects was soon dismissed. I
confess I thought my new chief was quite as cold in his manner
as a minister need be, and rather more so than my intermediate
friend had given me reason to expect. I was now living in
great intimacy with the Duke of Dorset, and asked him to do
me that grace with his uncle, which the honor of being acknowledged by him as his friend would naturally have obtained,for
me. This I am confident he would readily have done but for
reasons which precluded all desire on my part to say another
word upon the business. I was therefore left to make my own
way with a perfect stranger, whilst I was in actual negotiation
with Mr. Pownall for the secretaryship, and had understood
Lord Clare to be friendly to our treaty, in the very moment
when he ceased to be our first lord, and the power of accommodating us in our wishes was shifted from his hands into those of
Lord George. I considered it, therefore, as an opportunity gone
by, and entertained no further hopes of succeeding. A very
short time sufficed to confirm the idea I had entertained of Lord
George's character fbr decision and dispatch in business; there
was at once an end to all our circumlocutory reports and inefficient forms, that had only impeded business, and substituted
ambiguity for precision; there was (as William Gerard Hamilton,
speaking of Lord George, truly observed to me), no trash in his
mind; he studied no choice phrases, no superfluous words, nor
ever suffered the clearness of his conceptions to be clouded by
the obscurity of his expressions, for these were the simplest and
most unequivocal that could be made use of for explaining his
opinions, or dictating his instructions. In the mean while, he
was so momentarily punctual to his time, so religiously observant of his engagements, that we, who served under him in office,
felt the sweets of the exchange we had so lately made in the person of our chief.
I had now no other prospect but that of serving in my subordinate situation under an easy master with security and comfort, for as I was not flattered with the show of any notices from
him but such as I might reasonably expect, I built no hopes
upon his favor, nor allowed myself to think I was in any train
of succeeding in my treaty with our secretary for his office; and
as I had reason to believe he was equally happy with myself in
serving under such a principal, I took for granted he would
move no further in the business.
One day, as Lord George was leaving the office, he stopped
me on the outside of the door, at the head of the stairs, and
invited me to pass some days with him and his family at Stoneland, near Tunbridge Wells. It was on my part so unexpected,
14




202      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
that I doubted if I had rightly understood him, as he had
spoken in a low and submitted voice, as his manner was, and
I consulted his confidential secretary, Mr. Doyley, whether he
would advise me to the journey. He told me that he knew the
house was filled from top to bottom with a large party, that
he was sure there would be no room for me, and dissuaded
me from the undertaking. I did not quite follow his advice by
neglecting to present myself, but I resolved to secure my retreat to Tunbridge Wells, and kept my chaise in waiting to
make good my quarters. WVhen I arrived at Stoneland I was
met at the door by Lord George, who soon discovered the precaution I had taken, and himself conducting me to my bedchamber, told me it had been reserved for me, and ever after
would be set apart as mine, where he hoped I would consent to
find myself at home. This was the man I had esteemed so cold,
and thus was I at once introduced to the commencement of a
friendship, which day by day improved, and which no one word
or action of his life to come ever for an instant interrupted or
diminished.
Shortly after this it came to his knowledge that there had
been a treaty between Mr. Pownall and me for his resignation
of the place of Secretary, and he asked me what had passed;
I told him how it stood, and what the conditions were, that my
superior in office expected for the accommodation. I had not
yet mentioned this to him, and probably never should. He said
he would take it into his own hands, and in a few days signified
the king's pleasure that Mr. Pownall's resignation was accepted,
and that I should succeed him as Secretary in clear and full
enjoyment of the place, without any compensation whatsoever.
Thus was I, beyond all hope and without a word said to me that
could lead me to expect a favor of that sort, promoted by surprise to a very advantageous and desirable situation. I caine to
my office at the hour appointed, not dreaming of such an event,
and took my seat at the adjoining table, when Mr. Pownall being called out of the room, Lord George turned round to me
and bade me take his chair at the bottom of the table, announcing to the Board his majesty's commands as above recited, with
a positive prohibition of all stipulations.  WVhen I had endeavored to express myself as properly on the occasion, as my
agitated state of spirits would allowi of, I remember Lord George
made answer,'That if I was as well pleased upon receiving his
majesty's commands as he was in being the bearer of them, I
was indeed very happy.' If I served him truly, honestly, and
ardently ever after, till I followed him to the grave, where is
my merit? How could I do otherwise?




THE AMERICAN CONTEST.                  203
CHAPTER V.
The American contest-Services to Lord George Sackville-His childrenOpera of Calypso —' The Widow of Delphi'-Lady Frances Burgoyne-Robert
Perreau-Dr. Dodd-Rodney-Anecdote of Germain-Anecdote of RodneyCharacter of-His nautical manceuvre-Lines to Lord Mansfield.
THEE conflict in America was now raging at its height; that
was a business out of my office to be concerned in, and I willingly pass it over; but it was in my way to know the effects it
had upon the anxious spirit of my friend, and very much it was
both my wish and my endeavor by every means in my capacity
to be helpful at those hours, which were necessary for his relaxation, and take to my share as many of those burdensome
and vexatious concerns, as without intrusion upon other people's offices I could relieve him from. All that I could I did,
and as I was daily with him, and never out of call, I reflect
with comfort, that there were occasions when my zeal was not
unprofitably exerted for his alleviation' and- repose. I might
say more, for those were trying and unquiet times. It is not a
very safe or enviable predicament to be marked out for a known
attachment to an unpopular character, and be continually under
arms to turn out and encounter the prejudices of mankind.
There is a middle kind of way, which some men can hit off; between doing all and doing nothing, which saves appearances
and satisfies easy consciences; but some consciences are not so
easily satisfied.
I had'now four sons at Westminster school boarding at one
house, and my two daughters coming into the world, so that
the accession to my circumstances, which my promotion in
office gave me, put me greatly at my ease, and enabled me to
press their education with advantage. My eldest son Richard
went through Westminster with the reputation of an excellent
school-scholar, and I admitted him of Trinity College, but in
one of his vacations having prevailed with me to let him volunteer a cruise with Sir Charles Hardy, then commander of the
home fleet, the rage of service seized him, and by.his importunity I may say, in the words of Polonius, he'wrung from me
my slow leave' to let him enter himself an ensign in the first




204        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
regiment of foot-guards.  This at once gave fire to the train, and
the three remaining heroes breathed nothing but war: my second
boy, George, took to the sea, and sailed for America; my third,
Charles, enrolled himself an ensign in the tenth, and my youngest,
William, disposed of himself as my second had done, and also
took his departure for America under the command of the late
Sir Richard Hughes.
I had been dispossessed of my delightful residence at Tyringham, near to which Mr. Praed, the present possessor, has now
built a splendid mansion, and I had taken a house at Tetworth
in Bedfordshire to be near my kind and ever honored friend
Lady Frances Burgoyne, sister to Lord Halifax.  Here I passed
the summer recesses, and in one of these I wrote the Opera of'Calypso,' for the purpose of introducing to the public the. compositions of Mr. Butler, then a young man, newly returned from
Italy, where he had studied under Piccini, and given early proofs
of his genius.  He passed the summer with me at Tetworth,
and there he wrote the music for'Calypso' in the style of a serious opera.'Calypso' was brought out at Covent Garden, but
that theatre was not by any means possessed of such a strength
of vocal performers, as have of late years belonged to it.'  Mrs.
Kennedy, in the part of Telemachus, and Leoni in that of Proteus, were neither of them very eminently qualified to grace
the action of an opera, yet as that was a consideration subordinate to the music, it was to them that Mr. Butler addressed his
chief attention, and looked up for his support.  I believe I may
venture to say that more beautiful and original compositions
were never presented to the English stage by a native master,
though I am  not unmindful of the fame of Artaxerxes; but'Calypso,' supported only by Leoni and Mrs. Kennedy, did not
meet success proportioned to its merit, and I should humbly
conceive upon the same stage, which has since been so powerI'Calypso' was performed only a few nights. Cumberland had adopted the
readiest means to procure its condemnation, by imprudently attacking newspaper editors, in his prelude, as a set of unprincipled fellows.'Mr. Cumberland,' wrote Walpole,'has given the town a masque, called Calypso, which is
a prodigy of dulness. Would you believe that such a sentimental writer
would be so gross as to make cantharides one of the ingredients of a love-potion for enamoring Telemachus? If you think I exaggerate, here are the
lines:-'To these, the hot Hispanian fly,
Shall bid his languid pulse beat high.'
Proteus and Antiope are Minerva's missioners for securing the prince's virtue,
and in recompense they are married and crowned king and queen.'-To the
Rev. Mr. Cole, March 28, 1779.




'THE WIDOW  OF DELPHI.'                205
fully mounted by Braham, Incledon and Storace, it.might have
been revived with brilliant effect. Why Mr. Butler did not
publish his music, or a selection at least of those airs which
were most applauded, I cannot tell; but so it was, and the score
now remains in the depot of Covent Garden, whilst a few only
of the songs, and those in manuscript, are in the possession of
my second daughter Sophia, whom he instructed in singing,
and with the aid of great natural talents on her part, accomplished her very highly.'Calypso' as a drama has been published, therefore of my share in it as an opera I need not say
much; it is before the reader, but I confess I lament that music,
which I conceive to be so exquisitely beautiful, should be buried
in oblivion. Mr. Butler has been long since settled at Edinburgh as a teacher and writer of music, and is well known to
the professors and admirers of that art.
That I may not again recur to my dramatic connections with
this ingenious composer, I will here observe that in the- following season I wrote a comic opera, which I entitled'The Widow
of Delphi, or The Descent of the Deities,' the songs of which he
set to music. Mr. Butler published a selection of songs, &c.
from this opera, but as I was going out of England I did not
send my copy to the press, and having now had it many years
in my hands, by the frequent revisions and corrections which I
have had opportunities of giving to this manuscript, I am encouraged to believe that if I, or any after me, shall send it into
the world, this drama will be considered as one of my most
classical and creditable productions.
Having. adverted to the happiness and honor which I enjoyed
in the friendship of Lady Frances Burgoyne, it occurs to me to
relate the part which, at her request, I undertook in the behalf
of the unfortunate Robert Perreau, when under trial for his
life. The defence, which he read at the bar, was to a word
drawn up by me, under the revision of his counsel Mr. Dunning,
who did not change a syllable. I dined with Garrick on the
very day when Robert Perreau had delivered it in court; there
was a large company, and he was expatiating upon the effect of
it, for he had been present; he even detailed the heads of it
with considerable accuracy, and was so rapturous in his praises
of it, that he predicted confidently, though not truly, that the
man who drew up that defence had saved the prisoner's life,
and what would he not give to know who it was? I confess
my vanity was strongly moved to tell him; but he shortly after
found it out, and perhaps repented of his hyperboles, for it was
not good policy in him to over-praise a writer for the stage.
When poor Dodd fell under the like misfortune, he applied to




206        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
me in the first instance for the like good offices, but as soon as
I understood that application had been made to Doctor Johnson, and that he was about to be taken under his shield, I did
what every other friend to the unhappy would have done, consigned him  to the stronger advocate, convinced that if the
powers of Johnson could not move mercy to reach his lamentable case, there was no further hope in man; his penitence alone
could save him.
I had known Sir George Brydges Rodney in early life, and
whilst he was residing in France, pending the uneasy state of
his affairs at home, had spared no pains to serve his interest and
pave the way for his return to his own country, where I was not
without hopes, by the recommendation of Lord George Germain,
to procure him an employment worthy of his talents and high
station in the navy.' I drew up from his minutes a memorial
of his services, and petitioned for employ: he came home at the
risk of his liberty to refute some malicious imputations that
had been glanced at his character: this he effectually and
honorably accomplished, and I was furnished with testimonials
very creditable to him as an officer; his situation in the mean
while was very uncomfortable, and his exertions circumscribed,
yet in this pressure of his affairs, to mark his readiness and zeal
for service, he addressed a letter to the king, tendering himself
to serve as volunteer under an admiral, then going out, who, if
I (do not mistake, was his junior on the list.  In this forlorn,
unfriended state, with nothing but exclusion and despair before
his eyes, when not a ray of hope beamed upon him  from  the
admiralty, and he dared not set a foot beyond the limits of his
privilege, I had the happy fortune to put in train that statement
of his claim for service and employ, which, through the immediate application of Lord George, taking all the responsibility on
himself, obtained for that adventurous and gallant admiral the
command of that squadron, which on its passage to the West
In the elections for 1768, Rodney was returned to the House of Commons
for Northampton; but so great was his expenditure, that he was subsequently
obliged to retire to France, in order to avoid his creditors. Here, he was offered, through the Duke de Biron, high rank in the French Navy. He thus
replied:'It is true, Monsieur le Due, that my distresses have driven me from
my country, but no temptation can estrange me from her service; had this
offer been voluntary on your part, I should have considered it an insult; but
I am glad it proceeds from a source that can do no wrong.' It is said that this
spirited and patriotic reply, on reaching the admiralty, obtained for Rodney
the rank of Admiral.
Rodney had fine qualities of heart, and distinguished talents as a commander. For his great services, it has been thought, his country bestowed on
him an inadequate reward. The greater portion of his life was embittered by
pecuniary difficulties. He died in 1792, at the advanced age of seventy-four.




ANECDOTE OF GERMAIN.                  207
Indies made capture. of the Spanish fleet fitted out for the Caraccas. The degree of gratification, which I then experienced, is
not easily to be described. It was not only that of a triumph
gained, but of a terror dismissed, for the West India merchants
had been alarmed, and clamored against the appointment so
generally and so decidedly as to occasion no small uneasiness to
my friend and patron, and drew from him something that resembled a remonstrance for the risk I had exposed him to. But
in the brilliancy of this exploit all was done away, and past
alarms were only recollected to contrast the joy which this success diffused.
Here I hope to be forgiven if I record an answer of Lord
George Germain's to an officious gentleman, who upon some
reference to me in his concerns expressed himself with surprise
at the degree of influence which I appeared to have-' You are
very right,' replied my friend,'that gentleman has a great
deal to do with me and my affairs, and if you can find any other
to take his place as disinterestedly attached to me and as capable
of serving me, I am confident he will hold himself very highly
obliged to you for relieving him from a burden that brings him
neither profit nor advantage, and only subjects him to such
remarks as you have now been making.'
It happened to me to be present, and sitting next to Admiral
Rodney at table, when the thought seemed first to occur to him
of breaking the French line by passing through it in the heat
of action. It was at Lord George Germain's house at Stoneland
after dinner, when having asked a number of questions about
the manceuvring of columns, and the effect of charging with
them on a line of infantry, he proceeded to arrange a parcel of
cherry stones, which he had collected from the table, and forming them as two fleets drawn up in line and opposed to each
other, he at once arrested our attention, which had not been
very generally engaged by his preparatory inquiries, by declaring he was determined so to pierce the enemy's line of battle,
(arranging his manoeuvre at the same time on the table) if ever
it was his fortune to bring them into action. I dare say this
passed with some as mere rhapsody, and all seemed to regard it
as a very perilous and doubtful experiment, but landsmen's
doubts and difficulties made no impression on the admiral, who
having seized the idea held it fast, and in his eager, animated
way went on manceuvring his cherry stones, and throwing his
enemy's representatives into such utter confusion, that, already
possessed of that victory in imagination, which in reality he
lived to gain, he concluded his process by swearing he would
lay the French admiral's flag at his sovereign's feet; a promise




208       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
which he actually pledged to his majesty in his closet, and faithfully and gloriously performed.1
He was a singular and extraordinary man; there were some
prominent and striking eccentricities about him, which on a first
acquaintance might dismiss a cursory observer with inadequate
and false impressions of his real character; for he would very
commonly indulge himself in a loose and heedless style of talking, which for a time might intercept and screen from observation the sound, good sense that he possessed, and the strength
and dignity of mind that were natural to him. Neither ought
it to be forgotten that the sea was his element, and it was there,
and not on land, that the standard ought to be planted by which
his merits should be measured.  WVe are apt to set that man
down as vain-glorious and unwise, who fights battles over the
table, and in the ardor of his conversation, though amongst
enviers and enemies, keeps no watch upon his words, confiding
in their candor and believing them  his friends.  Such a man
was Admiral Lord Rodney, whom history will record amongst the
foremost of our naval heroes, and whoever doubts his courage
might as well dispute against the light of the sun at noon-day.
That he carried this projected manoeuvre into operation, and
that the effect of it was successfully decisive all the world knows.
My friend, Sir Charles Douglas, captain of the fleet, confessed to
me that he himself had been adverse to the experiment, and in
discussing it with the admiral had stated his objections; to these
he got no other answer but that'his counsel was not called for;
he required obedience only, lie did not want advice.' Sir Charles
also told me that whilst the project was in operation (the battle
then raging), his own attention being occupied by the gallant
defence made by the French Glorieux against the ships that were
pouring their fire into her, upon his crying out,'Behold, Sir
George, the Greeks and Trojans contending for the body of
Patroclus!' The admiral, then pacing the quarter deck in great
agitation pending the experiment of his manoeuvre (which in the
instance of one ship had unavoidably miscarried), peevishly exclaimed:' Damn the Greeks and damn the Trojans; I have other
things to think of.' When, in a few minutes after, his supporting'ship having led through theFrench line in a gallant style,
I This plan of breaking through the centre of the enermy's line, was not, it
seems, original with Rodney. (Vide the Supplement, Chap. XIII.) Its author
is said to be John Clerk, who wrote a work on Naval Tactics. It is asserted,
that Rodney once observed to Mr. Dundas:' A countryman of yours, Clerk, has
taught us how to fight; and if ever I meet the French fleet, I will try his
way;' and during his last illness, in a conversation with Lord Haddington,
relative to the action with the Count De Grasse, Rodney is reported to have
waved his hand, and shouted,'Clerk, of Elgin, forever!'




LINES TO LORD MANSFIELD.                     209
turning with a smile of joy to Sir Charles Douglas, he cried out:'Now, my dear friend, I am at the service of your Greeks and
Trojans, and the whole of HIomer's Iliad, or as much of it as you
please, for the enemy is in confusion, and our victory is secure.'
This anecdote, correctly as I relate it, I had from the gallant
officer, untimely lost to his country, whose candor scorned to
rob his admiral of one leaf of his laurels, and who, disclaiming
all share in the manceuvre, nay, confessing he had objected to it,
did in the most pointed and decided terms again and again repeat
his honorable attestations of the courage and conduct of his commanding officer on that memorable day.
In a short time after, when, upon a change of the administration, this victorious admiral was superseded and called home,1
he confirmed by his practice that maxim, which he took every
opportunity to inculcate (and a very wise one and well worthy
of being recorded it is),. viz:'That our naval officers have
nothing to do with parties and politics, being simply bound to
carry their instructions into execution to the best of their abilities, without deliberating about men and measures, which forms
no part of their duty, and for which they are in no degree
responsible.' It was to this transaction I alluded in the following lines, which  I wrote and inclosed to Lord Mansfield
about this time. I had the honor and happiness of enjoying his
society frequently, but the immediate reason for my addressing
him in this style has no connection with the subject here referred to:TO THE EARL OF MANSFIELD.
Shall merit find no shelter but the grave,
And envy still pursue the wise and brave?
Sticks the leech close to life, and only drops
When its food fails and the heart's current stops?
Though sculptur'd laurels grace the hero's bust,
And tears are mingled with the poet's dust,
Review their sad memorials, you will find
This fell by faction, that in misery pin'd.
l'The party prejudice against him,' says Mahon,' may be forgiven in a
landsman like Burke; less readily in that experienced Admiral to whom the
naval administration was intrusted. Lord Keppel, whom we have seen so
keenly sensitive to any supposed slight or disparagement to himself, appears
to have acted with the coldest disdain, with the most unjustifiable severity
towards an officer, it may be said without offence, greatly his superior in professional renown. Not only did he decide on recalling Rodney from the post
he so ably filled, but he did so without an expression of kindness or concern;
he did so, not even in his own hand or name, but in a dry official letter from
his secretary, Mr. Stephens. That letter of revocation bears date the lst of
May. But even before that date, Rodney, by the blessing of Providence, had
secured to all ages his country's glory and his own, and turned the Rockingham minister, however unwillingly, from his contemptuous recall to his pro,
motion and his praise.'-History of England, vol. vii. p. 172.




210         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
When France and Spain the subject ocean swept,
Whilst Briton's tame inglorious lion slept,
Or lashing up his courage now and then,
Turn'd out and growl'd, and then turn'd in again,
Rodney in that ill-omen'd hour arose,
Crush'd his own first and next his country's foes;
Though all that fate allow'd was nobly won,
Envy could squint at something still undone;
Injurious faction stript him of command,
And snatch'd the helm from his victorious hand,
Sunmon'd) the nation's brave defender home,
Prejudg'd his cause and warn'd him to his doom;
Whilst hydra-headed malice open'd wide
Her thousand mouths, and bay'd him till he died.
The poet's cause comes next-and you my lord,
The muse's friend, will take a poet's word.;
Trust me our province is replete with pain;
They say we're irritable, envious, vain:
They say-and Time has varnish'd o'er the lie
Till it assumes Truth's venerable dye —
That wits, like falcons soaring for their prey,
Pounce every wing that flutters in their way,
Plunder each rival songster's tuneful breast
To deck with others' plumes their own dear nest;
They say-but'tis an office I disclaim
To brush their cobwebs from the roll of fame,
There let the spider hang and work his worst,
And spin his flimsy venom till he burst;
Reptiles beneath the holiest shrine may dwell,
And toads engender in the purest well.
Genius must pay its tax like other wares
According to the value which it bears;
On sterling worth detraction's stamp is laid,
As gold before'tis current is assay'd.
Fame is a debt time present never pays,
But leaves it on the score to future days;
And why is restitution thus deferr'd
Of long arrears from year to year incurr'd?
Why to posterity this labor given
To search out frauds and set defaulters even?
If our sons hear our praise'tis well, and yet
Praise in the father's ear had sounded sweet.
Still there is one exception we must own,
Whom all conspire to praise, and one alone;
One on whose living brow we plant the wreath,
And almost deify on this side death:
He in the plaudits of the present age
Already reads his own historic page,
And, though pre-eminence is under heav'n
The last of crimes by man to be forgiv'n,
Justice her own vicegerent will defend,
The orphan's father and the widow's friend;
Truth, virtue, genius mingle beams so bright,
Envy is dazzl'd with excess of light:
Detraction's tongue scarce stammers out a fault,
And faction blushes for its own assault.




LINES TO LORD' MANSFIELD.                       211
His is the happy gift, the nameless grace,
That shapes and fits the man to every place,
The gay companion at the social board,
The guide of councils, or the senate's lord,
Now regulates the law's discordant strife,
Now balances the. scale of death or life,
Sees guilt engendering in the human heart,
And strips from falsehood's face the mask of art.
Whether, assembled with the wise and great,
He stands the pride and pillar of the State,
With well-weigh'd argument distinct and clear
Confirms the judgment and delights the ear,
Or in the festive circle deigns to sit
Attempering wisdom with the charms of witBlest talent, form'd to profit and to please,
To clothe Instruction in the garb of Ease,
Sublime to rise, or graceful to descend,
Now save-an empire and now cheer a friend.
More I could add, but you, perhaps, complain,
And call it mere creation of the braih;
Poets you say will flatter-true, they will;
But I nor inclination have nor skillWhere is your model, you will ask me, where?
Search your own breast, my lord, you'll find it there.




212       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
CH:APTER VI.
Mission to Spain-Occasion and incidents of-Storm at sea-Sea fight-Mr.
Lucas —A prize-Sea song-Arrival at Lisbon —Letters to Hillsborough-Visit
to Cintra-Sets out for Spain —Incidents of the journey-Appearance of the
country-Arrival at Madrid.
IT is in this period of my life's history, that by accepting a
commission which took me into Spain, I was subjected to events
that have very strongly contrasted and changed the complexion
of my latter days from that of the preceding ones.
I will relate no other circumstances of this negotiation than
I am in honor and strict conscience warranted to make public.
For more than twenty years I have been silent, making no appeals at any time but to my official employers, who were
pledged to do me justice. What I gained by those appeals, and
how far that justice was administered to me, will appear from the
detail, which I am now about to give; and though I hope to
render this narrative not unentertaining to my readers, yet I do
most faithfully assure them that no tittle of the truth shall be
sacrificed to description, being resolved to give no color to facts
and events, but such as they can strictly bear, nor ever knowingly
permit a word to stand in these pages inconsistent with that
veracity, to which I am so solemnly engaged.
In the year 1780, and about the time of Rodney's capture of
the Caracca fleet, I had opportunities of discovering through a
secret channel of intelligence many things passing, and some
concerting between the confidential agents of France and Spain
(particularly the latter), resident in this country, and in private
correspondence with the enemies of it. Of these communications I made that use which my duty dictated, and to my judgment seemed advisable. By these, in the couVrse of their progress,
a prospect was opened of a secret negotiation with the Minister
Florida Blanca, to which I was personally committed, and of
course could not decline the undertaking it. My destination
was to repair to the neutral port of Lisbon, there to abide
whilst the Abbe Hussey, chaplain to his Catholic Majesty, proceeded to Aranjuez, and' by the advice, which he should send
me, I was to be governed in the alternative of either going into




MISSION TO SPAIN.                  213
Spain for the purpose of carrying my instructions into execution, or of returning home by the same ship that conveyed me
thither, which was ordered to wait my determination for the
space of three weeks, unless dismissed or employed by me within
that period.
I was to take my wife and two daughters Elizabeth and Sophia
with me on the pretence of travelling into Italy upon a passport
through the Spanish dominions, and having received my instructions and letters of accreditation from the Earl of Hillsborough,
Secretary of State, on the 17th day of April, 1780, I took my
departure for Portsmouth, there to embark on board his majesty's frigate Milford, which I had particularly asked for, as knowing her character to be that of a remarkable swift sailer. On
my arrival at Portsmouth, I found she had gone out upon a short
cruise after a French privateer, but was expected every hour.
On the 21st she came in from her cruise, and I delivered to her
captain, Sir William Burnaby, two letters from the Admiralty,
one directing him to receive me and my family on board, the
other to be opened when he came off the Start-point.
This frigate, being from long and constant service in a weak
and leaky state, on which account Sir William  had lately
brought her into port, and undergone a court martial in consequence of it, I found him and his officers under some alarm as
to the unknown extent of my destination, suspecting that I
might be bound to the West Indies, and justly doubting the seaworthiness of the ship for any distant voyage. On this point I
could give them no satisfaction, but on the day following her
arrival (viz: April 22d), went on board to assist in adjusting the
accommodations for the females of my family.
In consequence of strong and adverse winds we remained at
Spithead till the 28th, when at eight o'clock in the morning we
weighed anchor with the wind at south, and brought to at
Cowes. Here I fixed three double-headed shot to the box that
contained my papers and instructions, and the wind still hanging in the southwest, foul and unfavorable, it was not till the
2d of May, when, upon its veering to the northeast, we took our
departure in the forenoon from Cowes, and upon its dying
away, anchored in mid-channel for the night in 20 fathom water,
Needle-rocks S. W. by W., Yarmouth S. E. by S.
Being off the Start-point on the 3d instant, Sir William Burnaby opened his orders, and with great satisfaction found his
destination to be to Lisbon; we saw a large fleet to westward at
the Start-point, which proved to be the Quebec trade outwardbound under convoy. On the 6th, having passed the Land'send, we found the foremast sprung below the trussel-trees, and




214       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
by the next day the carpenter had moulded a fish on it, when
the gale having freshened with rain and squalls, we struck topgallants, handed the foresail, and hove to under the mainsail;
on the 9th the gale increased, and having reefed and furled the
mainsail, we laid to under the main-stay-sail and mizzen-staysail; Lat. 49~ 4'; Long. 1~ 45', Land's-end.
Our situation now became very uncomfortable, and our safety
suspicious, for the sea was truly mountainous, and broke over
our low and leaky frigate in a tremendous style, which in the
mean while occasionally received such hard and heavy shocks,
as causedl serious apprehensions even in those to whom danger
was familiar. I had, in my passages to Ireland, been in angry
seas and blowing weather, but nothing I had seen bore any
resemblance to the fury of this gale, nor could anything but
the confidence I had reason to place in British seamen, and the
exertions which I witnessed on their part, have stood between
me and absolute despair. The dreadful sight and deafening
uproar of those tremendous seas, that by turns'whelmed us
under a canopy of water, making darkness at mid-day, and rendering every voice inaudible, were as much as my nerves could
bear, and whilst the ship was quivering and settling, as I conceived, upon the point of going down, I thought it high time to
set out in search of those beloved objects, who had embarked
themselves with me, and were as I supposed suffering the extreme of terror and alarm. How greatly was I mistaken in the
calculation of their fortitude! I found my wife, then far gone
with child, in her cot within the cabin, the water flowing through
it like a sluice, so perfectly collected and composed, that I forbore to speak of the situation we were in, and did not hint at
the purpose which brought me to her; but she, who knew too
well what was passing, to be deceived as to the motive of my
coming to her, said to me:'You are alarmed, I believe; so am
not I. We are in a British ship of war, manned with British
seamen, and, if we are in danger, which I conclude we are,
I don't doubt but they know how to carry us through it.'
Thus divested of my alarm by the intrepidity of the very person
who had so great a share in causing it, I made my way with
some difficulty to the ward-roomn, where my daughters had
-taken shelter, whilst Mr. Lucas the purser was serenading them
with what would have been a country dance, if the ship had not
danced so violently out of all time and tune. In this moment
the Abb6 iEussey, who had followed me, upon a sudden pitch
of the ship, burst head foremost into the ward-room, and with
the momentum of a gun broken loose from its lashings, over



STORM AT SEA.                    215
turned poor Lucas, demolishing his violin, the table, and everything frangible that his colossal figure came in contact with.
Such was our situation on the 9th of May, and when, upon
the morning following, the gale moderated, we set the mizzen
and foretop-mast staysail, and swaying the top-gallant-mast up,
set mainsail and foresail, working the pumps to keep the ship
free, whilst the sea ran very lofty with a heavy swell. This
was the last time the Milford frigate ever went to sea, for by
the time we anchored in the Tagus her main-deck exhibited
sufficient proofs how completely she was broken-backed by
straining in the gale.
I will here relate an incident no otherwise interesting or
curious but as a mere matter of chance, which tends in some
degree to show the credulity of our seafaring countrymen. I
had been in the habit of wearing in my pocket a broad silver
piece given me as a keep-sake by my son George, who received
his death at-the siege Of Charleston in South Carolina the very
day after he had taken command of an armed vessel, to which
he was appointed. This piece had been beaten out from a dollar by a marine belonging to the Milford, then on the American
station, and presented by him to my son, then a midshipman
serving on board: on this piece the artist had engraved the
Milford in full sail, and on (the reverse my coat of arms, and
upon my discovering that this same ingenious marine, now
become a sergeant, was on the same quarter-deck with me, I had
been talking with him upon the incident, and showing him that
I had carefully preserved his present, which to this hour I have
done, and am now wearing it in my pocket. This man, though a
brave and orderly soldier, had so completely yielded himself up
to a kind of religious enthusiasm as to be plunged in the profoundest apathy and indifference towards life; still he exhibited
on this occasion some small show of sensibility at the sight of
his own work, and the recollection of an amiable youth, now
untimely lost. The wind was adverse to our course, our ship
still laboring in a heavy sea, whilst strong and sudden squalls,
which every now and then annoyed us, together with the incessant labor of the pumps, denied our people that repose which
their past toils demanded; in this gloomy moment the fancy
struck me to make trial of the superstition of the man at the
helm by laying this silver piece on the face of the compass, as a
charm to turn the wind a point or two in our favor, which I
boldly promised it would do.  I found my, gallan.-lt shipmate
eagerly disposed to confide in the experiment, wh'ich he put out
of all doubt by clinching his belief in it with a: rldeposition upon
oath,' quite sufficient to convince me of his sillceily, and some



216      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
thing more than necessary for the occasion. Accordingly I laid
my charm upon the glass of the compass with all the solemnity
I could assume, whilst my friend kept his eyes alternately employed upon that and the dog-vane, till in a few minutes with a
second oath, much more ornamented and embroidered than the
former, he announced to the conviction of all present a considerable shift of wind in our favor. Credulity now began to circulate most rapidly through the ship; even the officers seemed to
have caught some touches of its influence, and my friend the
meditative sergeant raised his eyes with some astonishment from
his book, where they had been riveted to a few dirty pages, loose
and torn, as it seemed, out of Sherlock's volume upon death.
My first prediction having succeeded so luckily, I boldly promised them a prize in view, and whimsical as the incident is,
yet it so chanced that in a very short time the man at the masthead sung out two ships bearing north standing to the southward; this happened at one o'clock; at half an hour past the
sternmost tacked and made sail to the northward; we found our
ship gaining fast upon her, and at four hoisted Dutch colors;
at three-quarters after hoisted St. George's ensign, and fired a
shot at her; at five she hoisted French colors and fired a broadside into us, and at six she struck, and proved to be the Duc de
Coigny, private frigate, of 28 guns, Mignionet commander, belonging to Granville; this gallant Frenchman had scarcely pronounced his anathema against the man that should offer to
strike his colors, when his head was blown to atoms by one of
our cannon balls; the prize lost her second captain also and had
50 of her men killed and wounded; we had two seamen and
one marine killed, and four seamen and one marine wounded.
This was a new and striking spectacle to a landsman like me,
and though I am dwelling on an incident which to a naval
reader may seem trifling, yet as it was my good fortune to be
present at an animating scene, which does not occur to every
man, who occasionally passes the seas in my situation, I presume
I am excusable for my description of it.
When I witnessed the dispatch with which a, ship is cleared
for action, the silence and good order so strictly observed, and
the commands so distinctly given upon going into action, I was
impressed with the greatest respect for the discipline and precision
observed on board our ships of war. Such coolness and preparatory arrangement seemed to me a security for success and conquest.
Our spirited purser, Mr. Lucas, performed better with his musket
than his violin, and whilst standing by him on the quarter-deck
I plainly saw him pick off a French officer in a green coat,
whom he jocularly called the parrot, the last of three whom he




EFFECTS OF THE ACTION.                217
had dismissed to their watery graves. My melancholy friend
the engraver had his arm shattered by the first fire of the enemy,
which he received with the most stoical indifference, and would
not be persuaded to leave the quarter-deck till the action was
over, when, going down to be dressed as my eldest daughter
(now Lady Edward Bentinck) was coming up from below, he
gallantly presented that very arm to assist her, and when observing him shrink upon her touching it, she said to him-' Sergeant, I am afraid you are wounded,' he calmly replied-' To be
sure I am, Madam, else I should not have been so bold to have
crossed you on the stairs.'  This was a strain of chivalry
worthy of the days of old, and something more than Tom Jones's
gallantry to Sophia Western, who only offered her his serviceable arm, and kept the broken one unemployed. One other
incident, though of a very different sort, occurred as I was
handing her along the main-deck from the bread-room, when,
slipping in the blood and brains of a poor fellow who lay
dead beside his gun, an insensible brat who was boasting and
rejoicing at his own escape, cried out:'Have a care, Miss, how
you tread. Look at this fellow; I stood close by him when he
got this knock: the shot went clear over me, and this damn'd
fool put his head in the way of it. WVasn't that a droll affair?'
The shifting the prisoners was a task of danger, as the sea
ran very high, and they were beastly drunk. In this our people were employed all night: when they had refitted the rigging
shot away in the action, and hoisted in the boats, we made sail
with the prize in company. The carpenters were employed in
repairing the boats, which were stove in shifting the prisoners,
of which we took on board 155 French and Americans: Lat.
490 6'; Long. 1~ 45'.
Our surgeon and his assistants being exhausted with their
duty on board both ships, my anxiety kept me sleepless through
a turbulent night, and I went about the ship to the wounded
men, one of whom (James Eaton by name) a quarter-master, and
one of the finest fellows I ever saw, expired as I stood by him
without any external hurt, having been struck in the side by a
splinter. I read the burial service over him the next morning,
whilst Abbe Ilussey performed that office for the other two,
who were Irish and of his communion.
On the 11th we took the prize in tow; we had fresh breezes
with dark cloudy weather, and at midnight we wore ship, and
in veering having broken the hawser we shortened sail for the
prize, but soon after made signal for her to stand about and go
into port, which she safely effected. In the course of this day
15




218        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
I wrote a song for my amusement, descriptive of our action,
and adapted it to the tune ofW'hilst here at Deal we're lying, boys,
With the noble Commodore.
Our crew were very musically inclined, and we had some
passably good singers amongst them, which suggested to me the
idea of writing this sea song; we frequently sung it at Lisbon
in lusty chorus, but their delicacy would not allow them to let
it be once heard till their prisoners were removed; and this
was the  answer made to me by a common seaman, when I
asked why they would not sing it during the voyage: an objection which had escaped me, but which I felt the full force of
when stated by him.
The song was as follows, and the circumstances under which
it was hastily written must be my apology for inserting it:"Twas up the wind three leagues or more
We spied a lofty sail;
Set your topgallant sails, my boys,
And closely hug the gale.
Nine knots the nimble Milford ran,'Thus, thus, the master cried;
Hull up we brought the chase in view,
And soon were side by side.
Dowse your Dutch ensign, up Saint George I
To quarters now, all hands;
With lighted match beside his gun
Each British hero stallds.
Give fire, our gallant captain cries,'Tis done, the cannons roar;
Stand clear, Mounseers, digest these pills,
And soon we'll send you more.
Our chain-shot whistles in the wind,
Our grape descends like hail —
Hurrah, my souls! three cheering shouts,
French hearts begin to quail.
Rak'd fore and aft her shatter'd hull
Lets in the briny flood,
Her decks are carnag'd with the slain,
Her scuppers stream with blood.
Her French jack shivers in the wind,
Its lilies all look pale;
Down it must come, it must come down,
For Blitons will prevail.
And see l'tis done: she strikes, she yields;
Down, haughty flag of France:
Now board her, boys, and on her staff
The English cross advance!




CHASED BY A LINE-OF-BATTLE.              219
There, there triumphantly it flies,
It conquers and it saves7 —
So gayly toss the can about,
For Britons rule the waves.'
During the 12th, 13th, and 14th, we had fresh gales and
squally, till on the night of the latter, being then in latitude
440 2', longitude 3~ 16', we had light airs and fair weather,
when, descrying a frigate under English colors to the southward, standing to the northward, we cleared ship for action,
but soon after lost sight of her. The next day, viz: the 15th,
we saw a fleet of the enemy to the southward, standing to the
westward, forty-five in number, of which were eight sail of the
line and three or four frigates. They proved to be the French
squadron under the command of Tournay, and having brought
to on the starboard tack, dispatched a line-of-battle ship in
chase of us; coming down in a slanting course she appeared at
first to gain upon us, till half past eight in the evening (our
rate being then better than at twelve knots), she left off chase,
having given us her lower guns, whilst the prisoners, expecting
us to be captured, became so unruly that our men were obliged
to drive them down with the hand-spikes.
On the 16th we brought to and took a Portuguese pilot on
board, passed the Burlings, and the next day at six in the evening anchored with the best bower in eight fathom water, Belem Castle N. E. Abbe Hussey and I with the second lieutenant landed at the castle, and at eight at night we obtained pratique. WVe found riding here his majesty's ship Romney, Captain Home, with the Cormorant sloop, Captain John Payne,
under the command of Commodore Johnstone.
One of my first employments was to purchase a large stock
of oranges for the refreshment of the ship's company, especially
the wounded, and of these my friend, the sergeant, condescended
to partake, though he had been so extremely occupied with his
meditations upon death, as hardly to be persuaded to let his
arm be dressed, answering all the kind inquiries of his comrades in the most sullen and oftentimes abusive terms.'They
were wicked wretches, and deserved damnation for presuming
to condole with him. It was God's good pleasure to exercise
his spirit with pain, and he had supreme satisfaction in bearing
it. What business was it of theirs to be troubling him with
their impertinent inquiries?' This was in the style of his civilest replies; to some his answers were very short and extremely
gross.
The day after our arrival, we weighed and dropped further up
the river; at night we discharged the prisoners, and the commno



220        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
dore visited us in his barge.  Mr. HIussey prepared for his journey into Spain, and I provided apartments for my family at Mrs.
Duer's hotel, at Buenos Ayres. The next day the commodore
entertained us at Belem, and the day ensuing he, with Captains
IIome and Payne, dined with us on board.
My orders were to wait at Lisbon till Mifr. Hussey wrote to me
from Aranjeuz, and according to the tenor of his report I was
to use my discretion as to proceeding onwards, or returning
home; and this being a point decisive as to my credit or discredit
in the management of the business I was intrusted with, I was
most urgent and precise with Mr. Hussey in conjuring him to be
extremely careful and correct in his report, by which I was to
guide myself, and this he solemnly promised me that he would
observe.  On the 19th and 20th I prepared my dispatches, and
on the 21st delivered them  to the packet master, who took his
departure that very day.
In the mean time, I understood from Mr. Hussey, that in applying to the Spanish ambassador Count Fernan Nunez for his
passport, he had committed himself to a conversation, from
which he drew very promising expectations; of this I informed
my proper minister Lord Hillsborough, as will appear by the
following extract of my letter dated the 19th of May, 1780.' MY LORD: When Mr. Hussey waited on Count Fernan Nunez yesterday for
his passport, he would have made his commission for the exchange of prisoners
the pretence for his journey into Spain, but the ambassador gave him plainly
to understand he was confidential with Count Florida Blanca in the business
upon which we are come. This being the case, Mr. Hussey thought it by no
means necessary to decline a conversation with the ambassador under proper
reserve. IHe was soon told that his arrival was anxiously expected at Aranjuez.
No expression of good will to him, to me, and to the commission I am entrusted
with was omitted. It was proposed by the ambassador to pay me the honor
of a visit, if acceptable, in any way I liked best; but this Mr. Hussey, without
referring to me, very properly and readily prevented.
He entered into many pertinent inquiries as to the state of the ministry,
and the manner in which Lord North had been pressed in the House of Commons; he would have stirred the question of an accommodation with France,
but was plainly answered by Mr. Hussey that he had no one word to say upon
that subject; the channel was open, he observed, but ours was not that channel. * *
The conversation then closed with such assurances of a sincere pacific disposition on the part of Spain, that if Count Fernan Nunez reports fairly and is
not imposed on, our business seems to be in an auspicious train.' * * 
My gratitude to Sir William 13urnaby and his officers induced
me to address the following letter and request to Lord Hillsborough, which I made separate, and sent under cover to the same
dispatch.'To the Earl of Hillsborough.
llilford firigate, off Belem, May the 20th, 1780.
MY LORD: I cannot let this opportunity go by without expressing to your




BUENOS AYRES.                          221
Lordship, and through you to Lord Sandwich, my most thankful acknowledgments for indulging my wishes by putting me on board the Milford, under the
care and command of Sir WTilliamr Burnaby, whose unrenitted kindness and
attention to me and my family, I can neither duly relate nor repay. Throughout a long and an eventful passage, whether' we were struggling with a gale, or
clearing ship for action, both he and his officers uniformly conducted themselves with that harmony, temper and precision, as seemed to put them in
assured possession of success; the men themselves have been so long attached
to their officers, and all of them to the ship itself, that the severest duty is here
directed without an oath, and obeyed without a murmur. Though we have
been encumbered with such a crowd of prisoners, many of whom seemed to
possess the spirit of mutiny in full force, our discipline has kept all in perfect
quiet, and such humane attention has been paid to their health, that not a
single prisoner has sickened or complained.
I take the liberty of intruding upon your lordship with these particulars to
introduce a suit to you, which I have most anxiously at heart, and in which I am
joined with equal anxiety by my friend Mr. Hussey: it is, my lord, to beseech
you to promote the application made by Sir William Burnaby to Lord Sandwich
in behalf of his first lieutenant, Mr. William Grosvenor, to be made master
and commander; an officer of ten years' standing, well known in the navy and
distinguished for activity, sobriety, and professional skill and ability: he went
round the world with Admiral Byron, and is highly respected by him; he has
been in this ship during the whole war, and assisted in the capture of near
fourscore prizes, by which he has acquired very little more than the approbation of his captains, and the love and reverence of the men.
Had our prize been a king's ship, Mr. Grosvenor would have come home in
her, and his promotion would most probably have followed in train; however,
as she is a very fine new frigate, and will, I dare say, be reported fit for the
king's use, the opportunity is judged favorable for recommending Mr. Grosvenor's pretensions, and as the Milford may be said to be now acting under your
lordship's orders, I flatter myself you will take her under youi protection by
granting your good offices with Lord Sandwich in Mr. Grosvenor's behalf; an
obligation that I shall ever gratefully carry in remembrance.
I have the honor to be, &c. &c.
R. C.'
This letter produced no advantage to Mr. Grosvenor, nor any
other gratification to me except the recollection that I had done
my best to serve a meritorious officer.
At Buenos Ayres I was visited by our minister, Mr. Walpole,
Commodore Johnstone, Sir John  Hort, the consul, Captain
Payne, and several gentlemen of the factory.  On the 25th instant, the ceremony of the Corpus Christi took place in a day
excessively sultry; when the king and prince walked with the
patriarch of Lisbon, the religious orders, knights of Christ and
nobility of Portugal, in procession through the streets, of which
even the ruins were decorated with rich tapestries, silk and
velvets, forming at once a splendid and a melancholy scene. I
was with my daughters at a house, from which we had a very
good view of what was passing, and as they presented themselves at an open window  in their English dresses (and I may
add, without vanity, in all their native charms), they most evidently arrested the attention of the holy brotherhood in a man



222       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
ner that by no means harmonized with the solemnity of their
office; imore perfect wolves in sheep's clothing never were beheld. The haughtiness and ill-breeding of the Portuguese
nobles is notorious to a proverb. One of these, the son of the
minister Pombal, came into the room where I was waiting for
the procession above mentioned; turning to me with an air of
supercilious protection, very awkwardly assumed, and making
a motion with his hand towards a chair, he was pleased to
tell me that I might sit down. There was an insolence in the
manner of it irresistibly provoking, and I am not ashamed to
say my answer was at least as contemptuous as his address was
insolent.
Early in the morning of the 30th I went with my daughters
and some of our naval friends to Cintra, visiting the palace of
Queluz in the way; the terrors of an earthquake are evidently
expressed in the construction of this palace, which is nothing
more than a long range of pavilions in the Moorish character,
very richly furnished and profusely gilt; the heat was quite
oppressive, but the shady walks and delicious odor of the orange
groves, the refreshing sight of the fountains and exquisite beauty of the flowers in high bloom and boundless abundance recompensed all we suffered by the rmid-day violence of the burning
sun. In the romantic and more temperate retreat of Cintra,
we enjoyed the most charming and enchanting scenes and prospects nature can display. The rock, the cork convent, and the
ancient palace of Cintra, are objects that surpass description;
from the latter of these the rock and town of Cintra, with all
the country about it as far as to the palace of Mafra, till where
it is bounded by the sea, form a most superb and interesting
scene; the interior of the castle is unfurnished, though the
painted tiles, gilded ceilings and arrangement of the apartments,
opening to parterres, cut out of the rock in stories and terraces
one above the other, is singularly grand and striking. Ill one of
the great chambers the ceiling is ornamented with the scutcheons of all the noble families of Portugal affixed to the necks of
stags, of no ordinary painting or design, and, though very ancient, their remarkable freshness bespeaks the extreme softness
and dryness of the climate; in this collection the bearings and
titles of the noble family of D'Aveiro had a conspicuous station,
from which they are now dislodged and their very name expunged.
0 n our return to Lisbon we passed the remarkable aqueduct
of Alcantara so often described, and on the 5th of June, at early
morning, I received the expected dispatch from Mr. Hussey, with




LETTER FROM  MR. HUSSEY.                       223
letters inclosed for the Earl of Iillsborough and Lord George
Germain.  htis letter to me was as follows:-' Aranjuez, 31st May, 1780.
MY DEAR FRIEND: I arrived here three days ago, conversed with the minister
of state upon the subject of your journey, and do find that the delays which
this business met with, and the different turn which matters have taken, render
this negotiation every day exceedingly arduous and difficult.  However, as
the minister is so very desirous of finding some means to bring it to a happy
conclusion, and as you are already so far advanced on your journey, I think it
by all means advisable that yoea come (giving out that you mean to pass
through Spain for the benefit of your health), and so give the negotiation a
fair trial. You know me too well to suspect that I shall be wanting to cultivate the good wishes of the minister of state, and to incline him towards an
accommodation. My servant Daly carries a memorandum of the road and the
different places where the relays of carriages are to meet you.
Do not forget to mention to Mrs. Cumberland and the young ladies, theirs
and          Your affectionate friend,               THOMAS HUSSEY.
P. S. His Catholic Majesty's orders are gone to Badajoz, the frontier town,
not to examine your baggage.'
Embarrassed by this letter, and doubtful of the part I ought
to take, I obeyed my instructions by resorting to our minister
Mr. Walpole, and delivered to him  a letter from  Lord Hillsborough, the contents of which I was privy to, and by which I
was directed to be confidential and explicit with him. As there
was but one point upon which he hesitated, and which I had
good reason to know would not be made a stipulation obstructive to my measures, I was disposed, according to Mr. Hussey's
advice, to give the negotiation a trial, though his letter was by
no means such as I expected from him, nor so explicit as to give
me a safe rule to go by. Nevertheless,, upon full consideration
of all circumstances, and under the persuasion that delay (which
was the utmost that Mr. Walpole suggested) would in effect be
tantamount to absolute abandonment, I determined for the journey, and gave my reasons for pursuing the advice of Mr. Hussey,
and meeting the advances of the Spanish minister, exemplified
by his preparations for receiving me, in the following dispatch,
which I transmitted to Lord Hillsborough by Sir WVilliam Burnaby, then upon his departure for England:To the iEarl of Ilillsborough.
Lisbon, June 6th, 1780.
MY LonRD: In my letter No. 1, I informed your lordship of my arrival here
on the 17th of last month, at six in the afternoon, and of Mr. Hussey's departure from Aranjuez on the 19th following, at eleven o'clock in the forenoon. I
have now the honor of transmitting to you a letter which I received yesterday
morning by express from Aranjuez, addressed to your lordship, and I inclose
one also, which I had from Mr. Hussey, of the 31st of last month, by the same
conveyance.
The letter of my instructions is explicit for my returning to England, or ad



224          MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
vancing to Spain, as that Court shall make or not make the cession of Gibraltar the basis of a negotiation.' The simple resolution of this question formed
the whole purport of Mr. Hussey's journey, and as I well knew it was clearly
understood on his part, I expected a reply in the same style of precision with
these instructions: the case is now unexpectedly become exceedingly embarrassing and delicate.  As lie does not say that Spain stipulates for the cession
aforesaid, I do not consider myself under orders to return; on the other hand,
as he does not tell me that she will treat without it, I am doubtful whether I am
warranted to advance.  He says the minister is very desirous of finding means
of bringing things to a happy conclusion, and I have not only his authority,
but good grounds from private information, to give credit to his assertion.  I
am also furnished with the necessary passports froml the Minister of Spain, and
from her ambassador at this court.  It remains, therefore, a question with me,
and a very difficult one I feel it, whether I should wait at Lisbon, and require
a further explanation, or proceed without it.
If I take the first part of this alternative, I must expect it will create offence
to the punctilio of the Spanish court, who have given me their passport for
myself and family, have not only provided me with every convenience of
coaches and relays through Spain, but have directed their ambassador here to
give me every furtherance from hence that can accommodate me to Badajoz,
and I have this day received Count Fernan Nunez's passport, with a letter of
recommendation to the Marquis de Ustariz, intendant of Badajoz. By the terms
in which Count Florida Bianca has couched my passport, it is set forth that I
am travelling through Spain, towards Italy, for the establishment of my health.
Under this pretext it is in my power to take my route as a private traveller,
and by no means deliver to the minister your lordship's letter, until I have explicit satisfaction in the leading points of my instructions.  Should I find the
court of Spain acquiescent under these particulars, success will justify a doubtful measure; whereas if I withstand the invitation and advice of Mr. Hussey,
sent, no doubt, with the privity of the minister, and expressive of his good
wishes and desires for an accommodation, I shall throw everything into heat
and ferment, ruin all Mr. Hussey's influence, from which I have so much to
expect, and at once blast all his operations, now in so fair a train for success,
and which probably have been much advanced since Daly's departure.  In
short, my lord, I regard this dilemma as a case in which personal caution points
to one side, and public service to the other.  In this light I view it, and although Mr. Hussey's letter to your lordship (for it was under a flying seal), is
as silent on the same material point, as that to me is, I have, after full deliberation, thought it for his majesty's service that I should no longer hesitate to
pursue the advice of Mr. Hussey, but resolve to set out upon my journey for
Spain.
The high opinion I entertain of Mr. Hussey's understancling weighs strongly
with me for this measure, because I know he has intuition to penetrate chicanery, and discretion enough not to expose me to it; and though he does not
expressly say there is no obstacle in mny way, yet this, I am persuaded, must
be his firm assurance and belief before he would commit me to the journey. The
verbal message he has sent me by his servant Daly that all is well, is to me a
very encouraging circumstance, because it is a concerted token and password
between us, agreed upon when we were together in the frigate. The underlined
expressions in the memorandum for my journey have not escaped my observation, and I inclose you the original for your inspection.  He says, I am impatient to tell you a thousand things which I do not write. This marks to me an
embarrassment and reserve in liis letter which probably arose fromn the necessity of his communicating it to the sub-minister Campo, or to the minister himself.  The letters to your lordship and me were couched nearly in the same' The express condition of Cumberland's advance into Spain, it will be seen, was not observed
by him. Spain did not make the cession of Gibraltar the basis of a negotiation; and by thus
proceeding against the letter of his instructions, he gave Lord North a pretext for withholding
his salary.




LETTER TO IIILLSBOROUGI.                        225
words, and these so much out of his style of expression, that they seem either
shaped to meet another man's thoughts, or to be of another man's dictating.
He tells me in the same memorandum, that at Aranjuez everything else, as
well as his heart, will be ready to receive me. These expressions from Mr.
Hussey I know to be no trivial indications of his thoughts, and though I am
sensible my duty instructs me to take clearer lights for my guidance than sideway hints and insinuations can supply, yet such circumstances may come as
aids, though not as principals, in the formation of an opinion.
I think it material to add that I have reason to believe the dispatch, which
the Spanish ambassador received from the minister by the hands of Daly, Mr.
Hussey's servant, is expressive of the same disposition to a separate accommodation with Great Britain, and accords with what is stated by Mr. Hussey in
his letter to your lordship.
Through the same intelligence I have discovered the channel, by which the
propositions fabricated in this place were conveyed to the Spanish minister, and
am to the bottom made acquainted with that whole intrigue. I can only by
this opportunity inform your lordship that it is a discovery of much importance to me in my future proceedings, gives me power over, and possession of,
an agent in trust and confidence with the minister of Spain, as well as with the
ambassador here, and that the deductions I draw from it strongly operate to
incline my judgment to the resolution I have now taken of entering Spain.
I have the honor, &c. &c.                         R. C.
Having hired carriages and provided myself with things necessary for my journey to Badajoz, I wrote on the next morning
the following letter to the Secretary of State, separate and distinct from the dispatch, inserted as above:-' To the Earl of Iillsboroeuyh.
Lisbon, June 7th, 1780. Wednesday morning, 5 o'clock.
MY LORD: I am sensible I have taken a step which exposes me to censure
upon failure of success, unless the reasons on which I have acted shall be
weighed with candor and even with indulgence. In the decision I have taken
for entering Spain, I have had no other object but to keep alive a negotiation,
to which any backwardness or evasion on my part in the present crisis would,
I am persuaded, be immediate extinction. I know where my danger lies, but
as my endeavors for the public service and the honor of tyour administration
are sincere, I have no doubt but I shall obtain your protection.
Though I dare not rest my public argument so much on private opinion as I
am disposed to confess to you, yet you will plainly see how far I am swayed by
my confidence in Mr. Hussey, and this will be the more evident when I must
fairly own that Mr. Walpole's opinion is not with me for my immediate journey
into Spain. I owe this justice to him, that, if I fail, it may be known he is
free from all participation in my error. I have delivered your letter, and in
general opened the business to him as I was directed to do, but I have disclosed
to him no other instruction, except that on which Mr. Hussey's errand turns.
He appears to me totally to discredit the sincerity of Spain towards any accommodation with Great Britain, and this opinion certainly colored his whole argument upon the subject. Had we agreed in this principal position, it is not
likely we should have differed in deductions from it.
I have written to Mr. Hussey, and beg leave to send you a copy of my letter.
I had fully purposed, in conformity to what I said to your lordship, that my
family should not accompany me upon my journey, but the nature of the passport, and the circumstances that have arisen, make it indispensible for me to
take them with me, not only as an excuse for my delay upon the road till Mr.
Hussey shall meet me, but also as a cover for my pretence of health, should I
find it necessary to pass through Spain without an explanation with the
minister, &c. &c.                                             R. C.'




226      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
At three o'clock in the afternoon of the 8th instant, I took my
departure from Lisbon, embarking in one of the queen's barges
for Aldea Gallega, whilst my wife and daughters accompanied
me in the Milford's cutter with the first lieutenant and master.
The passage to Aldea Gallega is about nine miles up the river,
which here forms a magnificent sheet of water. At the wretched
Posada in this place we had our first sample of that dirt and
loathsomeness, which admit of no description, and which every
baiting place throughout Portugal and Spain with little variation
presented to us. Men may endure such scenes; to women of
delicacy they are, and must be nauseous in the extreme. The
policy of these courts agrees in prohibiting the publican from
furnishing anything to the traveller but firing: provisions must
be purchased by the way, and the kid, whose carcass has dangled
on your carriage in the sun and dust, half fried by the one, and
more than half basted by the other, must be roasted for your
meal by the fagot, that you purchase of your host, which in the
mean while if you do not manfully defend, the muleteer and wayfaring carrier will take a share of, and incense your poor carrion
kid with the execrable fumes of his rank mess of oil and garlic. This rarely fails to stir up strife and fierce contention,
which the host takes little or no pains to allay, sometimes fer.
ments, till, if your people cannot drive off the intelopers with a
high hand, you call in the peace-officer of the village or town to
adjust your rights, which he is in no haste to do till you quicken
his tardy sense of justice with a portion of your roast meat. I
was once driven to this reference, when my people were outnumbered, and then my defender gave me gravely to understand
that his spouse was extremely partial to cold turkey, that alluring object having been incautiously exposed to his eager ken.
I tried if he would compound for a leg, but his spouse had a
decided preference for the wing, and nothing short of half could
move him to give sentence for my right. I had purchased at
Lisbon two gray mules for the saddle at a high price; they were
beautiful creatures, very fast trotters and perfectly sure-footed,
so that I rode occasionally and could make short excursions,
when there was anything better than a dreary wilderness to
tempt me out of the road.
On the 9th, at three o'clock in the morning, Captain Payne
arrived, having been all night on the water; we breakfasted,
and having taken leave of our friends, departed from Aldea Gallega, our road lying over a sandy country, interspersed, however,
with the olive and cork-tree, and almost covered with myrtle
bushes in full bloom. We passed by Vendas Novas, an unfurnished palace of the Queen's, and put up our beds for the




ELVAS.                       227
night at a lone house near Silveira. On the 10th we passed
Montemor, situated on a beautiful eminence, and further on
Arrayolas, where there are the remains of a stately castle of
Moorish construction, as it should seem, and concluded our day's
journeyat a lone house, called Venda do Duque. On the llth,
passing through Estremos we came:to Elvas, the frontier town
of Portugal, within sight of Badajoz, in the plain at three leagues
distance. The works erected by Count la Lippe on the hill,
which commands the town, and the fortifications of the town
itself seemed very extensive and in perfect repair, and the troops
well accoutred and in good order, but the more striking sight
to me was that of the aqueduct: it is raised on four lofty arches
of stone one over the other, and enters the town in a very grand
style. The suburbs are finely planted and laid out into walks
by Count la Lippe, the projector, to whom Elvas is indebted for
those public works, that constitute at once both her ornament
and her defence. As our minister at Lisbon had not furnished
me with any letter to the governor of Elvas, I was not only put
to trouble about my baggage, but evidently became an object of
suspicion. The former of these difficulties I got over by a bribe,
but the latter subjected me to restraint, for upon attempting to
walk out of my inn I found a guard of soldiers with fixed
bayonets at the gate, who prevented me from stirring out, and
mounted on me through the remainder of the day and the whole
night, which I passed there. The next morning, whilst my carriages were in waiting for me, an Irish Benedictine walked into
my room, and in a very authoritative and unceremonious style
insisted on my staying there all day, and even was proceeding
to countermand my carriages. He believed, or pretended to
believe, that I was an American agent or negotiator, travelling
into Spain, and began to inveigh most virulently against the
king and country, of which he was a subject born: if he was
employed to sound me (which is not improbable) he executed
his office very clumsily, yet his insolent importunity was a considerable interruption and extremely troublesome. His language,
in the mean time, was intolerably offensive, and his action worse,
for as I reached out my hand to take my pistols from the table,
the saucy fellow caught at them, with an action so suspicious,
that I was obliged to put him from me, and sending my ladies
out of the room before me to the carriages, got in last myself
and ordered the postilions to proceed. The pertinacious monk
still continued to oppose my going, and even vented his anathemas on the drivers, if they presumed to move. When I saw at
the same time that there was a party of dragoons mounted and
parading at the gate with drawn swords before the heads of my




228       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMIBERLAND.
mules, I doubted whether they were in fact an escort of honor
or arrest, but in a few minutes my leading carriage moved, and
thus guarded I passed the barriers, whilst the monk, keeping his
hand upon my carriage, and vociferating without intermission,
never left me till we had passed through all the out-posts, and
fairly entered the plain in sight of Badajoz.
It was not pleasant, and I did not think that the proper precautions had been taken for me. When I had got rid of my
monk (the guard having taken no notice of his insolent behavior), in about a league and a half's driving a foot's pace we
came to a small stream, which divides the territories of Portugal
from Spain. He we watered the mules, whilst on the opposite
bank I perceived a party of Spanish infantry, waiting, as it
seemed, to receive and escort me. My Portuguese dragoons in
perfect silence wheeled about and departed, and no sooner had
I touched the Spanish soil than the party presented arms, and
a messenger in the livery of the king, with his badge of office on
his sleeve, signified to me that coaches were in waiting for me
at Badajoz, and that he had his Catholic majesty's commands to
attend upon me through my journey. During this, my Portuguese
postilions, finding themselves in my power, and apprehending,
no doubt, that their hesitation in obeying me against the denunciations of the aforesaid Benedictine, might justly have offended
me, fell on their knees in the most abject manner, kissing the
skirts of my coat, and imploring pardon and forgiveness. IHaving ordered them to mount and proceed, we soon reached Badajoz, and were received into the garrison with all the honors
they could show us. As a town, Badajoz has nothing to engage
the traveller, and as a fortified place stands in no degree of comparison with Elvas. The troops, being mostly invalids, made a
very indifferent appearance, but the windows and balconies were
thronged with spectators, who bestowed every mark of favor
and good-will upon us as we passed the streets.
Here I found a coach and six mules in waiting, and after
soime stay set forward at midnight, the gates being opened for
me, and a guard turned out by order of the governor, and we
proceeded to Miajada, where a fresh relay was in readiness. The
province of Estremadura is miserably barren, producing nothing
to relieve the eye but cork-trees thinly scattered, and here and
there a few distorted olive-trees. The like disconsolate aspect
of a country, where neither cattle nor habitations were to be
seen, prevailed through the whole of our next stage to Truxillo,
where we halted on the night of the 14th instant..
In this stage we were warned by our attendant messenger to
be upon our guard against robbers, and in truth the country




A DANGEROUS ROAD.                  229
furnished most appropriate scenes and inviting opportunities for
such adventurers. I had three English servants and two men
hired in Lisbon, besides the messenger above mentioned, and
my English servants and myself in particular were excellently
armed and ammunitioned. My Englishmen consisted of Mr.
Hussey's man Daly, a London hair-dresser of the name of Legge,
whom I took for the convenience of my wife and daughters, and
my own faithful servant Thomas Camis, of tried courage and
attachment, who had lived with me from the age of ten years. In
the middle of the night, when we were in the depth of the forest,
or rather wilderness, the Spaniard rode up to my coach window, and telling me we were then in the most suspicious part
of our road, recommended it to me to collect my people about
me and keep them together. Daly indeed was not far behind,
but in a state of absolute intoxication, and sleeping on his mule;
my hair-dresser pretty much in the same state, but totally disabled from excess of cowardice, of which he had given some
unequivocal and most ridiculous tokens before and during our
action in the frigate; I had not much reliance on my Portuguese, one of whom was a black fellow, and in the mean time
my brave and trusty servant Camis was not to be found, nor
did he answer to any call. Distressed with apprehension lest
some fatal accident had befallen this most valuable man, I got
out of my coach determined not to move from the spot without
him, and sent the Spanish messenger and two other men in
search of him. During their absence I heard a trampling of
horses, and soon discovered through the dusk of night two
men armed with guns, which they carried under the thigh, who
rode smartly up to the carriage and proved to be archers on the
patrole. This confirmed the report that the road was infested
by robbers, and whilst this was passing I had fhe satisfaction to
be joined by my servant Thomas Camis on foot, his mule having sunk under him, exhausted with fatigue. He now mounted
behind the coach, and the men dispatched in search for him
having come in, we pursued our route and arrived in safety at
Truxillo.
From Truxillo we passed a very rugged and mountainous
tract of country to Yenta del Lugar Nuevo on the banks of the
Tagus. This is a very romantic station, and the bridge a curious and most striking object, passing from one rock to another
upon two very lofty Roman arches, the river flowing underneath at a prodigious depth.
On the 16th we passed through La Calzada to Talavera la
Reina, a town in New Castile of considerable population and
extent. A silk fabric is here established under the king's espe



230         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
cial patronage.  Here the following letter from  Mr. Iussey
met me:From Mr. Hussey to me.'Aranjuez, Wednesday morning, 14th June, 1780.
MY DEAREST FRIEND: How could you suspect that I would send for you if I
found the obstacle in my way, which makes you so uneasy? But it was always
my intention to go part of the way from Aranjuez to meet you, to indulge my
affection by personally attending you and your family as soon as possible; but
as you do not mention what delay you intended to make in Badajoz, I cannot
precisely guess the day of your arrival here, and therefore I dispatch this letter
to meet you at Talavera la Reina, that I may know it more exactly, which will
be by returning a line to me, informing me of the day, and whether you think
it will be in the morning or evening. As the distance between Talavera and
Aranjuez is too great for one day's journey with the same mules, I have ordered
a fresh set to be posted for you seven leagues from this place, at La Venta de
Olias, two leagues and a half from that part of the Tagus called Las Barcas de
Azecar, where you cross the water, and probably you will meet me; otherwise
you will come on and meet me on the road. This fresh set of mules was absolutely necessary, because you could find no place to sleep in between Talavera
and Aranjuez. You do not come through Toledo. I long to embrace you and
my amiable friends, and open my mind to your satisfaction, as well as my
pleasure.             Adieu!                                  T. H.'
To this letter I answered as follows:
To Mr. Hussey.
Talavera la Reina, Friday, 16th June, half past 5, evening.
MY DEAREST FRIEND: Your consolatory letter meets me at the end of a long
and laborious journey, and like a magical charm puts all my cares to rest at
once. Say not, however, how could I suspect. Had that been the case, how
could I advance? Yet I am come at every risk upon the reliance, which I
am fixed to repose in your honor and friendship upon all occasions.
I have entered on an arduous service without any conditions, and, I fear,
without securing to myself that sure support, which they, by whom and for
whom I am employed, ought to hold forth to me; but you know full well who
is, and who is not, my corresponding minister, and if success does not bear me
through in this step, which I have taken, my good intentions will not stand me
in much stead. Still, when I saw that my reluctance would affect your situation, dash every measure you had laid, and annihilate all chance of rendering
service to my country in this trying crisis, I did not hesitate to risk this
journey, even against the advice of Mr. W.
We are not long since arrived, after a most sultry stage, and have been
travelling all night without a halt. I dare not but give Mrs. Cumberland an
hour or two's repose, and shall not take my departure from hence till midnight.
I shall stop at La Venta de Olias, to relieve my party from a few hot hours,
and shall be there to-morrow morning about ten or eleven. I shall set out from
thence at seven o'clock in the evening, at latest, and reach the ferry at Las
Barcas de Azecar at nine that evening. There, if we meet, or whenever else
more convenient to yourself, it will, I trust in God, be remembered as one of
the happy moments that here and there have sparingly checkered the past life
of your               Affectionate                            R. C.'
From  Talavera on the 17th instant we came to the little village of Olias, about half way, where we took the necessary
relief of rest, and as the weather was now intolerably hot, my
wife and daughters being almost exhausted with fatigue, we lay




TAL AVERA-ARANJUEZ.                 231
by for the whole of the day. Here the Alcayde of the village
very hospitably sent me refreshments, and called on me at my
inn, offering his house and whatever it afforded. I returned
his visit, and found the good old man surrounded by his children and grand-children, a numerous family, grouped in their
degrees, and sitting in their best apartment ready to receive
me. After chocolate had been served, the guitar was introduced, and the younger parties danced their sequedillas. When
they had animated themselves with this dance, the player on
the guitar began to sound the notes of the fandango: I had
seated myself by the old grandfather, a feeble, nerveless creature, and observed, with some concern, a paralytic motion
vibrating in all his limbs and muscles, when at once, unable to
keep his seat, he started up in a kind of ecstasy, and began
snapping his fingers like castanets, and dancing the fandango
to my surprise and amusement. This was the first time I had
seen it performed, and I ceased to wonder at the extravagant
attachment which the Spaniards show for that national tune
and dance.
On Sunday the 18th of June, at five o'clock in the morning,
we arrived at Aranjuez, and were most affectionately welcomed
by Mr. Hussey. He delivered a paper to me dictated by the
minister, and first appearances argued favorably for my negotiation. The day following I was visited by the subminister
Campo, Anduaga and Escarano (belonging to the minister's
department), also by the Due d'Almodovar, Abbe Curtis, and
others, and in the evening of that day I had my first interview
with the Count Florida Blanca.




232       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
CHAPTE IR    II.
News of Lord George Gordon's riots-Influence of on the court of Spain —Progress of negotiations-Count D'Estaing-Florida Blanca-Galvezz-Uncomfortable situation-Mr. Hussey-Departure of D'Estaing-Character of Hussey
-Thrown from his mule-His surgeons-Anecdote-Patrick Curtis-Letter
from Del Campo-Return of Hussey to England-Letters of Brutus-Visit to
the Escurial-Paintings-Interview with the king.
I SHALL not enter upon local descriptions; it is neither to my
purpose, nor can it edify the reader, who will find all this done
so much better by writers who have travelled into Spain, and
been more at leisure for looking about them than I ever was.
My thoughts were soon distressfully occupied by the account,
which met me, of the riots and disturbances in London by
what was called Lord George Gordon's mob, which all but
quite extinguished my hopes of success in the very outset of my
business.  I had repeated interviews with the minister, whom I
visited by night, ushered by his confidential valet through a
suit of five rooms, the door of every one of which was constantly locked as soon as I had passed it. The description of
those dreadful tumults was given to the Spanish court by their
ambassador at Paris, Count d'Aranda, and faithfully given without exaggeration.  The effect it had upon the King of Spain
was great indeed, and for me most unfortunate, for I had no
advices from my court to qualify or oppose it. How this intelligence operated on the mind of his Catholic Majesty can only
be conceived by such as were acquainted with his character,
and knew to what degree he remained affected by the insurrection, then not long passed, in his own capital of Madrid. I will
only say that my treaty was in shape, and such as my instructions would have warranted me to transmit and recommend.
Spain had received a recent check from Admiral Rodney, Gibraltar had been relieved with a high hand, she was also upon
very delicate and dubious terms with France. The crisis was
decidedly in my favor; my reception flattering in the extreme;
the Spanish nation was anxious for peace, and both court, ecclesiastics and military, professedly anti-gallican.  The minister
did not lose an hour after my arrival, but with much apparent




BAD NEWS FROM HOME.                  233
alacrity in the cause- immediately proceeded to business. I
never had any reason, upon reflection, to doubt the sincerity of
Count Florida Blanca at this moment, and verily believe we
should have advanced the business of the preliminaries, if the
fatal news of the riots had not most critically come to hand that
very day, on which, by the minister's own appointment, we
were to meet for fair discussion of the terms, while nothing
seemed to threaten serious difficulty or disagreement between us.
According to appointment I came to him, perfectly ignorant
of what had come to pass in my own country: I had prepared
myself to the best of my capacity for a meeting and discussion
which it behooved me to manage with discretion and address,
and which, according to my view of it, promised to crown my
mission with success. WVe were to write, and Campo was to
be present, so that when I entered the minister's inner chainber, and saw only a small table with a single candle, no Campo
present and no materials for writing, I own my mind misgave
me. I did not wait more than two minutes before Florida
Blanca came out of his closet, and in a lamentable tone sung
out the downfall of London; king, ministers, and government
whelmed in ruin, the rebellion of America transplanted to England, and heartily as he condoled with me, how could he, under
such circumstances, commit his court to treat with me?  I did
not take the whole for truth, and was too much on my guard to
betray any astonishment or alarm, but left him to lament the
unhappy state of my wretched country, and affected to treat the
narrative as a French exaggeration of the transitory tumults of
a London mob. In the mean time, I could not fail to see that
nothing was to be done on my part, but to yield to the moment
and wait for information upon which I might rely. All that I
did in the interim was to address a letter to the minister, and
confidently risk a prediction that the tumult would be quashed
so speedily and completely, as to add dignity to the king's
government and stability to his ministers. He gave for answer
that both his Catholic Majesty and himself trembled for the
king, but of the extermination of the ministry no question
could be made. I renewed my assertions in terms more confident than before, not so much upon conviction as from desperation, well knowing that if I was undone by the event, it was
of little importance that I was disgraced by my over-confidence
and presumption.
In the course of a very few days my prediction was happily
verified, for on the 24th I was informed by Escarano, that the
rioters were quelled, Lord George Gordon committed to the
Tower, and indemnification ordered to the sufferers in the tu16




234       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
mult, and on the day following the minister sent me the letter
he had received from Count d'Aranda, to explain why he had
delayed to inform me of the news from London. I availed
myself of this happy change, by every means in my power for
bringing back the negotiation to that state of forwardness, in
which it stood before it was interrupted; but the minds and
understandings of those with whom I had to deal, were not
easy to be cured of alarms once given, or prejudices once
received. It is not necessary for me to discuss the characters
with whom it was my lot to treat; it is enough to say that
during more than a year's abode in Spain, I believe no moment
occurred so favorable to the business I had in hand, as that
of which ill fortune had deprived me in the very outset of my
undertaking. There was a gloomy being, out of sight and inaccessible, whose command as Confessor over the royal mind
was absolute, and whose bigotry was disposed to represent
everything in the darkest colors against a nation of heretics,
whose late enormities afforded too good a subject for his spleen
to descant upon; and in the mind, where no illumination, no
elasticity resides, impressions will strike strongly and sink
deep.
On the 26th I had completed my dispatches, in which I gave
a full and circumstantial detail of my proceeding, the hopes I
had entertained and the interruption I had met with, the conferences and correspondences I had held with the minister, and
the measures I had pursued for reviving the negotiation, and
reconducting it according to the tenor of my instructions. In
this dispatch I observe to the Secretary of State,' that although
I relied upon his lordship's kind interpretation of my motives
for leaving Lisbon, yet it was no inconsiderable anxiety that I
suffered till my doubts were satisfied upon the points which Mr.
HIussey's letter had not sufficiently explained. As it appeared
to me a case where I might use my discretion, and in which the
inconveniences incidental to my disappointment, bore no proportion to the good that might result from my success, I decided for the journey, which I had now performed, and flattered myself his lordship would see no cause to regret the step
I had taken.''Had I not made ready use of my passports and relays, I
had good reason to believe my hesitation would have proved
decisive against any treaty; whereas, now I had the satisfaction of seeing many things point to a favorable and friendly
issue.
Speaking of a probability of detaching Spain, antecedent to
the news of the disturbances in London, I tell the Secretary of




REMOVAL TO MADRID.                  235
State —' That the moment for detaching Spain is now peculiarly
favorable. She is upon the worst terms with France; not only
the King of Naples, but the Queen of Portugal have written
pressingly to his Catholic Majesty to make peace with England,
and since my arrival a further influence is set to work to aid the
friends of peace, and this is, the Duc de Losada, who, on behalf
of his nephew, the Duc d'Almodovar, has actually solicited the
embassy to England, and been favorably received. These and
many other circumstances conspire to press the scale for peace;
in the opposite one we may place their unretrieved disgrace in
the relief of Gibraltar, their hopes in the grand armament from
Cadiz, of the 28th of April, their overrated successes in WYest
Florida, and their belief that your expeditions to the South
American continent are dropped, and that Sir Edward Hughes's
condition disables him from attempting any enterprise against
the Manillas.' I then recite the circumstance that gave a check
to my negotiation, state the measures I had since taken for
resuming it, and transmit a summary of such points in requisition as require answers and instructions, and conclude with
suggesting such a mode of accommodating these to the punctilio of the Spanish court, as in my opinion cannot fail to bring the
treaty to a successful issue.' If this is conveyed,' I observe,'in mild and friendly terms towards Spain, who submits the
mode to the free discretion of Great Britain, and requests it
only as a salvo, I think I have strong grounds to say her family
compact will no longer hold her from a separate peace with
Great Britain.'
On the 27th I removed with my family to Madrid, where I
took a commodious house in an airy situation, and on the 1st
of July the king and royal family arrived from  Aranjuez.
Though I had frequent communications with Count Florida
Blanca through the subminister Campo, which occasioned me
to dispatch letters on the 6th instant, yet I had no appointed interview till the 15th;- our treaty paused for the expected answer
to my transmission before mentioned, and it was clear to me that
the Spanish minister, under the pretence of sounding the sincerity of the British cabinet, was in effect manceuvring upon the
suspicion of their stability. Nevertheless, in this conversation,
which he held on the 15th instant, he expressly declares,' that
if Great Britain sends back any answer, which shall be couched
in mild and moderate terms towards Spain, he will then proceed
upon the treaty with all possible good-will, and give me his ideas
without reserve, endeavoring to adjust some expedient satisfactory to both parties; but he fears that our ministry is so con.




236       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
stituted as to deceive my hopes in the temper and quality of
their reply.'
During this interval, whilst I remained without an answer to
my dispatch, the court removed to San Ildefonso, where Count
D'Estaing arrived, specially commissioned to traverse my negotiation, and detach the Spanish court from their projected treaty
with Great Britain. France, in the mean time, sacrificed her
whole naval campaign in the harbor of Cadiz, where a combined
force of sixty line-of-battle ships was assembled, whilst the British fleet, under the successive commands of Geary and Derby,
did worse than nothing, and the capture of our great East and
West Indian convoy by the Spanish squadron completed their
triumph and our discomfiture.
A mind so fluctuating and feeble as that of the Spanish minister was not formed to preserve equanimity in success, or to
persist in its resolutions against the counter-action of opinions.
He was at this period' absolutely intoxicated, not only by the
capture of our trading ships, but by the alluring promises of
D'Estaing, and surrendered himself to the self-interested counsels of Galvez, minister of the Indies, for the continuance of the
war. That minister (the creature of France to all intents and
purposes), had, like himself, been raised to high office from the
humble occupation of a petty advocate, and by early habits of
intimacy, as likewise by superiority of intellect, acquired a
power over his understanding little short of absolute ascendency.
Through the influence of this fian and by the intrigues of
Count D'Estaing, my situation at this period became as critical
as possible; my house was beset with spies, who made report of
everything they could collect or impute; I was proscribed from
all my accustomed friends and visitors, whilst no one ventured
publicly to enter my doors but the empress's ambassador, Count
Kaunitz, whom no circumstances ever separated from me, and
a few religious, whose visits to me were more than suspicious.
The most insidious means were practised to break Mr. Hussey
from me, but though they had their effect for a short time, his
good sense soon discovered the contrivance and prevented its
effects.
Finding myself thus beset, I attached to my service certain
confidential agents, who were extremely useful to me, and
amongst these, a gentleman in the employ of one of the northern
courts, the ablest in that capacity, and of the most consummate
address I ever became acquainted with; by his means I possessed
i The summer of 1780.




ANSWER TO MY DISPATCH.                 237
myself of authentic papers and documents, and was enabled to
expose and effectually to traverse some very insidious and
highly important manoeuvres much to my own credit and to the
satisfaction of the cabinet, before whom they were laid by my
corresponding minister.
I now received the long expected answer to my first dispatch.
It served little more than to cover a letter to Count Florida
Blanca, and that letter found him now in the hands of D'Estaing,
and more than half persuaded that the co-operation of France
would put him in' possession of Gibraltar, that coveted fortress,
-which I would not suffer him even to name,.and for which
Spain would almost have laid the map of her islands, and the
keys of her treasury at my feet. I must confess this letter,
which I had looked to with such hope, was more suited to
gratify his purposes than mine, for if quibble and evasion were
what he wished to avail himself of at this moment, he certainly
found no want of opportunity for the accomplishment of his
wish.
But if the inclosed letter was-not altogether what I hoped for,
the covering letter was most decidedly what I had not deserved,
for it conveyed a more than half implied reproof for my having
written to the Spanish Minister on the matter of the riots, and at
the same time acknowledges that my paper was cautiously
worded, and that I had most certainly succeeded in my argument.
Why I was not to write to the minister, who had first written
to me, especially when I wrote so cautiously and argued so successfully, I could never comprehend. When I was surprised by
a very alarming and unpleasant piece of intelligence, conveyed to
my knowledge through the channel of my country's enemy, not
of my country's minister, what could I do more conformable to
my duty than attempt to soften the impressions it had created?
I had not been five minutes arrived before the minister's letter
and proposals were put into my hands. What could occur to
me so natural both in policy and politeness as to write to him,
especially on a subject so deeply interesting, so imperiously demanding of me an appeal, that to have sunk under it in silence
would have been disgraceful in the extreme?
In the same letter I am reminded: That I was instructed not
even to converse upon any particular proposition, until I was
satisfied of the willingness of the Court of Spain to treat at all.
Of this willingness his lordship professes to doubt, and grounds
that doubt upon what he gathers from myvreport of the change
which seemed to have been wrought in the disposition of the
minister by the intelligence of the disturbances in London;
whereas, the conversation which he alludes to was held before




238       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
that intelligence arrived, when the willingness to treat was put
out of all doubt by the very progress made in that treaty, and
which was only not completed by the check which that intelligence gave to it. If when the premier of Spain assured himself
of the total overthrow of our ministry he hesitated to proceed
in treating with the agent of that ministry, it is nothing wonderful; but it would have been wonderful, if, when I had such
proofs of his willingness, I had not been satisfied with them,
because something totally unforeseen might come to pass to
thwart the business we were then engaged in. By parity of
reason I might as well have been made responsible for the riots
themselves, as for the consequences that resulted from them.
It is a pity that his lordship did not advert to the order of time
laid down in my dispatch by which, he could not have failed to
discover, that in one part of it I was reporting conversation
held when all was well, and in the other part, remarking upon
embarrassments naturally produced by unforeseen events of the
most alarming nature.
That I had been careful enough to have satisfactory proofs of
a willingness to treat before I committed myself to conversation
is sufficiently clear from the circumstance above mentioned of
the overtures presented to me in the very instant of my arrival,
before I had seen the minister, or he had seen my letter of accreditation. Willingness more unequivocal hardly can be conceived, and when I did present that letter upon my first interview; I reported to my secretary of state the sum total of my
conversation, which, consisting only of the following words,
copied verbatim from the transcript of my letter to Lord Hillsborough, could not much edify his excellency, or divulge any
secrets I was instructed to be reserved upon. I tell his lordship,
in my letter of the 26th of June, 1780:'That after the first
civilities, I put into the minister's hands his lordship's letter,
which I desired he would consider a conveying.in the language
of sincerity the mind of a most just and upright king, who in
his love of peace rejoices to meet similar sentiments in the
breast of his Catholic Majesty, and who has been graciously
pleased to send me to confer with his excellency, not from my
experience in negotiation, but as one confidential to the business in all its stages, and zealously devoted to conduct it to an
issue.' I proceed to say: That'as this visit passed wholly in
expressions of civility, I shall observe no further to your lordship upon it, than that I was perfectly wll pleased with my
reception.'
If in any one part of my conduct or conversation I had advanced a step beyond the line of my instructions, or varied from




CONFERENCE WITH FLORIDA BLANCA.              239
them in a single instance, I should not have sought to shelter
myself under the peculiar difficulties of my situation, I must
have met the reproof I merited, and was certain to receive;
but when I was arraigned for giving credit to sincerity, when it
did exist, and being doubtful of it, when it wavered, as I was
not conscious of an error, I was not moved by a reproof; but
without entering into any argumentation, unprofitable and extraneous, applied my utmost diligence to the business I was
upon, and continued to dictate to Mr. lIussey my dispatches for
England, when I was disabled from writing them by a fractured,
arm.
The instant I was able to endure the motion of my coach, I
attended upon the minister Florida Blanca at San Ildefonso;
D'Estaing was there, in high favor and much caressed; IIussey
was not permitted to accompany me; I was alone, and closely
watched. It -was the most unfavorable moment that I passed
during my whole residence in Spain. Florida Blanca, instead
of taking up his negotiation where he left it, gave little credit
or attention to the letter- of Lord Hillsborough, but evasively
adverted to certain propositions which he had made before I
came into Spain and transmitted through the hands of Mr. Hussey, to which propositions he observed our ministry had returned no answer.'I admitted that no answer had been given
to the propositions he alluded to, because they were formed
upon the suggestions of Commodore Johnstone, at Lisbon, without any authority; it was a matter I had in charge to disavow
those overtures in the most direct terms; they neither originated
with the cabinet nor were ever before it; but if he could stand
in need of any proof to satisfy his doubts as to the disposition
of my court towards peace, I desired him to recollect that I had
been sent into Spain for that express purpose, without any interchange on his part, and against the formal practice of states in
actual war.' He acknowledged that my observation was fair,
and that he admitted it, but he again reverted to Commodore
Johnstone, observing,'That although he might take on himself
to make unauthorized propositions (which, by the way, he must
think was strange presumption, and still more strange that it
was passed over with impunity), yet he said that he answered
with authority; his propositions had the sanction of his court,
and as such he hoped they merited an answer from mine.' It
was now clear to me, when he was driven to allude to these unaccreditated propositions, that evasion was his only object.'Did he now refer to them,' I asked,'as the actual basis of a
treaty?'
Hle saw no reason to the contrary.




240       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.'They contained,' I said,'an article for the cession of
Gibraltar.'
They did.'How then did such a stipulation accord with his word given,
that I should be subjected to no requisition on that point?'
He was now evidently embarrassed, and turning aside to the
subminister Campo, held some conversation with him apart:
he then resumed his discourse, but in a desultory way, and
being one of the most irritable men living, was so entirely off
his guard, as to let out nearly the whole of Count D'Estaing's
intrigue, and plainly intimated that Gibraltar was an object, for
which the king, his master, would break the Family Pact and
every other engagement with France, which he exemplified
by stamping the very paper itself.under his feet upon the
marble floor; when, recollecting himself after awhile, and cornposing his countenance, that had been distorted with agitation,
he said,' That if I would bind him to his word it must be so.
However, if the article for Gibraltar was inadmissible, what
prevented our taking the remaining propositions into consideration'?'
I told him, and with truth, that I had seen his propositions,
but was not in possession of them.'Would he put them down
afresh, and join me in discussing them?''The Abb6 Hussey had his original, and he had taken no
copy.'
As I recollected enough of these propositions to know myself
restrained from treating upon them, it occurred to me, as the
only expedient left to keep the treaty alive, to consent to his
sending them over by Mr. Hussey, who was now become heartily sick of his situation, and catching at every possible plea for
his returning home. Still I was resolved that the proposal of
sending over propositions of that sort by Mr. Hussey, should
not originate with me, though I was perfectly willing to acquiesce in it, as giving my ministers the chance of getting out of a
war, which I thought good policy would rather have sought to
narrow in its extent than to widen, and which, ever since I had
been in Spain, presented nothing but a succession of disasters.
This expedient of getting Mr. Hussey to be sent home by the
minister with propositions, which, though upon a broader scale
of treaty than my instructions allowed me to embrace, were yet,
in my opinion of them, by no means inadmissible, appeared to
me the best I could resort to in the present moment.'With this
idea in my thoughts, I asked Count Florida Blanca if he knew
the mind of France, and whether he was prepared with any
overtures on her part, which could be transmitted? I put this




ARRIVAL OF HUSSEY.                  241
question experimentally, for I had obtained pretty full information of what D'Estaing had been about.
He had by this time recovered his serenity, and with great
deliberation made answer to me, as nearly as it can be rendered,
(for he always spoke in his own mother tongue), to this effect:' We have no overtures to make on the part of France; France,
as well as all the other courts which have representatives here
resident, has been very inquisitive touching your business in
this place; the only answer given on our part has been, that
the Catholic King is an honorable monarch, and will faithfully
observe all his engagements; on the faith of this single assertion the whole matter rests. If your court is sincere for peace,
let'her now set to work upon that business, which, sooner or
later, must be the, business of all' parties. We will honestly
and ardently second her endeavors; we do not put her to anything which may revolt her dignity; we acknowledge and
conceive the degree of sensibility (call it, if you please, indignation) which she must harbor against a state in actual alliance
with the rebel subjects of her empire; let her act with that dignity which is her due constantly in sight; but let her meet his
Catholic Majesty in his disposition for finishing a war which
can only exhaust all parties; and as she best knows what her
own interests will admit, let' her suggest such terms as she
would receive were France the proponent, and let her couple
them with terms for Spain, and if these be fair and reasonable
on both sides, and such as Spain in her particular can possibly
accede to, the Catholic King will close with her on his own
behalf, and exert all his influence with his ally to make the
peace general. This is an arduous and delicate business; let
us cordially unite our endeavors to bring itforward. I shall
be at all times ready to confer with you freely and without disguise, and let no difference of opinion affect our personal good
understanding.'
The day following this conference Mr. Iussey arrived at San
Ildefonso, and having communicated to him what had passed
and my wish for his going to England with the minister's propositions, he readily agreed to it, and before that day passed the
subminister Campo came to my house to sound me on this very
expedient, managing, as he conceived, with great finesse to induce me to consent to what in fact I much desired, and expressing, as from the minister, his earnest hope that I would not
quit Spain in the interim. Unpleasant as my situation was now
become, still I was unwilling to abandon the negotiations, as I
knew that D'Estaing was on his departure for Cadiz, where I
had good reason to believe he would lose his influence and for



242      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
feit his popularity. I then availed myself of his informers, and
through their channel gave out what I knew would come to his
ears, and induce him to think that my negotiation was totally
desperate: accordingly I departed from San Ildefonso, leaving
Mr. Hussey to settle propositions with the minister, and the day
following my return to Madrid, D'Estaing set out for his command at Cadiz. Florida Blanca offered to communicate to me
copies of what he transmitted by Mr. Hussey, but for obvious
reasons I declined his offer.
D'Estaing at Cadiz soon lost all the interest he had gained at
Court. He put to sea with his fleet against the protest of the
Spanish admiral, and with circumstances that rendered him
completely unpopular. The British fleet under Admiral Darby
was at sea in his track; the French ships were in the worst condition imaginable, but our fleet did not avail itself of the opportunity for bringing them to action, and they reached their port
without exchanging a shot. How justifiable this was on our
part I will not doubt, how disappointing even to Spain, whose
wishes had by this time turned about, and how derogatory in
her opinion to the credit of our arms, I can truly witness.
I had now inanoeuvred the Abbe iHussey into a mission, the
most acceptable to him that could be devised, as it took him out
of Spain, and liberated him from the necessity of acting a part,
which he could not longer have sustained with any credit to
himself; for it was only whilst the treaty was in train with the
sincere good-will of Spain that he could be truly cordial in the
cause; when unforeseen events occurred to check and interrupt
the progress of it, his sagacity did not fail to discover that he
could no longer preserve a middle interest with both parties,
but must be hooked into a dilemma of choosing his side; which
that would have been when duplicity must have been thrown
off; was a decision he did not wish to come to, though I perhaps
can conjecture where it would have led him. He had no great
prejudices for England; Ireland was his native country, but
even that and the whole world had been renounced by him,
when he threw himself into the oblivious' convent of La Trappe,
and was only dragged from out his cell by fo-rce and the emancipating authority of the Pope himself. Whilst he was here
digging his own grave, and consigning himself to perpetual
taciturnity, he was a very young man, high in blood, of athletic
strength, and built as if to see a century to its end. It was not
the enthusiasm of devotion, no holy raptures, that inspired him
with this desperate resolution: it was the splenetic effect of disappointed passion; and such was the change, which a short time
had wrought in him, that Father Robinson, the worthy priest




CHARACTER OF HUSSEY.                 243
with whom he afterwards cohabited, told me that when he attended the order for his deliverance, he could hardly ascertain
his person, especially as he persisted to asseverate in the strongest
terms that he was not the man they were in search of.
When he came forth again into the world, with passions
rather suspended than subdued, I am inclined to think he considered himself as forced upon a scene of action, where he was
to play his part with as much finesse and dissimulation as suited
his interest, or furthered his ambition; and this he probably reconciled to his conscience by a commodious kind of casuistry, in
which he was a true adept.'He wore upon his countenance a smile sufficiently seductive
for common purposes and cursory acquaintance: his address was
smooth, obsequious, studiously obliging, and at times glowingly
heightened into an impassioned show of friendship and affection.
He was quick enough in finding out the characters of men, and,
the openings through which they were assailable to flattery; but
he was not equally successful in his mode of tempering and applying it; for he was vain of showing his triumph over inferior
understandings, and could not help coloring his attentions oftentimes with such a florid hue as gave an air of irony and ridicule,
that did not always escape detection; and thus it came to pass
that he was little credited (and perhaps even less than he deserved to be) for sincerity in his warmest professions, or politeness in his best attempts to please.
As I am persuaded that he left behind him in his coffin at La
Trappe no one passion, native or engrafted, that belonged to
him when he entered it, ambition lost no hold upon his hbrt,
and of course I must believe that the station which he filled in
Spain, and the high-sounding titles and dignities which the favor
of his Catholic Majesty might so readily endow him with, were
to him such lures, as, though but feathers, outweighed English
guineas in his balance: for of these I must do him the justice to
say he was indignantly regardless; but to the honors that his
church'could give, to the mitre of Waterford, though merely
titular, it is clear to demonstration he had no repugnance.
He made profession of a candor and liberality of sentiment,
bordering almost upon downright Protestantism, whilst in heart
he was as high a priest as Thomas A Becket, and as stiff a
Catholic, though he ridiculed their mummeries, as ever kissed
the cross. He did not exactly want to stir up petty insurrections in his native country of Ireland, but to head a revolution
that should overturn the church established, and enthrone himself primate in the cathedral of Armagh, would have been his
brightest glory and supreme felicity: and in truth he was a




244      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
man, by talents, nerves, ambition, intrepidity, fitted for the
boldest enterprise.
After he had negotiated my introduction into Spain, and set
the treaty on foot, the very first check, which it received by the
disturbances in London, left me very little hope of further help
from him; but when the prospect was darkened by accumulated
clouds, and he discovered nothing through the gloom of my
embarrassed situation but a tottering ministry, a discontented
people, an unquiet capital, our trading fleets captured, and our
fighting fleets no longer worthy of the name; when lie saw
Spain assume a proud and conquering attitude, and (buoyed
up by the promises of Fiance) blockading Gibraltar and preparing for the actual siege of it, he began to perceive he had
engaged himself in a most unpromising intrigue, and readily
lent his ear to those that were at hand and ready to intrigue
him out of it. He was assiduous in his homage to the Archbishop of Toledo, and in the closest intimacy and communication with the minister of the Elector of Treves, and all at once,
without the smallest cause of offence, or any reason that I could
possibly divine, changed his behavior as an inmate of my
family, and from the warmest and most unreserved attachment,
that man ever professed to man, took up a character of the
severest gloom and sullenness, for which he would assign no
cause, but to all my inquiries, all my remonstrances, was either
obstinately silent, or evasively uncommunicative. He would
stay no longer, he was resolved to demand his passports, and
actually wrote to Del Campo to that purpose. To this demand
an-answer was returned, refusing him the passports until he had
leave from Lord HIillsborough for quitting Spain, which it was
at the same time observed to him could not be for his reputation to do in the depending state of the business on which he
came. Upon this he proceeded to write a short letter to Lord
Hillsborough, demanding leave to return: he was not hardy
enough to dispatch this letter without communicating it to me
for my opinion: I gave it peremptorily against his sending it:
I stated to him my reasons why I thought both the measure
and the mode decidedly improper and dishonorable; he grew
extremely warm, and so intemperate, that I found it necessary
to tell him, if he persisted in demanding his return of the secretary of state in those terms, that it would oblige me to write
home in my own justification, and also to enter upon explanations with the Spanish minister, who might else impute his
conduct to a cabal with me, though it was so directly against
my judgment and my wishes. I declared to him that I had
not written a line, or taken a step without his privity, and
that no one word had ever passed my lips, but what was die



AN ACCIDENT.                    245
tated by sincere regard and consideration for him, and this was
solemnly and strictly true: I said that I observed he had
altered his behavior towards me and my family, which he could
not deny, and I added that this proceeding must not only ruin
him with the minister of Spain, but was such as might be highly
prejudicial to my business, unless I took every prudent precaution to explain and avert the mischief it was pregnant with. The
consequence of this conversation was, that he did not send his
letter to Lord Hillsborough, but as he was not explicit on that
point, I prepared myself with a letter to Lord Hillsborough, and
another to Del Campo, explanatory of his conduct, which, upon
his assuring me on our next meeting that he would not write
to England, I also forbore to send. Upon the following day,
without any cause assigned or explanation given, my late sullen associate met me with a smiling countenance, and was as
perfectly an altered man, as if he had come a second time out
of the cloisters of La Trappe. He was in fact a most profound
casuist, and a confessor of the highest celebrity.
I cannot say this caprice of Mr. Hussey gave me much concern, or created in me any extraordinary surprise, though  I
could never thoroughly develop the cause of it; yet at that
very time my life was brought into imminent danger by the
unskilfuluess of the surgeons, who attended upon me in consequence of my having received a very serious injury by a fall
from one of my Portuguese mules. I was riding on the Pardo road,
when the animal took fright, and in the act of stopping him the
bit broke asunder in his mouth. In this state, being under no
command, he ran with violence against an equipage drawn by
six mules that was passing along the road in a train with many
others. In the concussion I came to the ground; the carriage
fortunately stopped short, and I was lifted into it stunned with
the shock, and for a time insensible. I was bleeding at the
elbow, where the skin was torn, and upon recovering my senses
I found myself supported by my wife in her chariot, and probably indebted to her drivers for my life. Though I had cause
to tremble for the consequences of the violent alarm I had given
her, as she was now very near her time, yet in other respects it
was a fortunate and extraordinary chance, that my accident
should have thrown me immediately into her protection, who
lost not an instant of time in conveying me home. Two surgeons, such as Madrid could furnish, were called in and speedily
arrived, but for no other purpose, as it seemed, except to dispute and wrangle with each other upon the question if the arm
was Tractured at the shoulder or at the elbow, whilst each alternately twisted and tortured it as best suited him in support of




246       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
his opinion. In the height of their controversy' a third personage made his appearance in the uniform of the Guardes de
Corps, being chief surgeon of that corps, and sent to me by
authority.  This gentleman silenced both, but agreed with
neither, for he pronounced the bone to be split longitudinally
from the shoulder to the elbow, and finding it by this time
extremely swelled and inflamed, very properly observed that
no operation could be performed upon it in that state. He proceeded, therefore, to bathe it liberally with an embrocation,
which he affirmed was sovereign for the purpose, but if his
object was to reduce the swelling and assuage the inflammation,
the learned gentleman was most egregiously mistaken, for the
fiery spirit of the rum, with which he fomented it, soon increased
both to so violent a degree with such a raging erysipelas as in
a few days had every symptom of a mortification actually commencing, when the case being pressing, my wife, whose presence
of mind never deserted her in danger, took the prudent measure
of dismissing the whole trio of ignoramuses, and calling to her
assistance a modest, rational practitioner in our near neighborhood, who, under the sign of a brass basin, professed the sister
arts of shaving and surgery conjointly, by reversing the practice so injhurious and applying the bark, rescued me from their
hands, and, under Providence preserved, my life.
Here I must take leave to digress a little from the tenor of
my tale, whilst I record an anecdote, in itself of no other material interest except as it enables me to state one amongst the
many reasons which I have to love and revere the memory of
a deceased friend, who devoted to me the evening of every day
without the exception of one, which I passed during my residence in Madrid. This excellent old man, Patrick Curtis by
name, and by birth an Irishman, had been above half a century
settled in Spain, domestic priest and occasionally preceptor to
three successive dukes of Osuna. In this situation he had been
expressly the founder of the fortunes of the Premier Florida
Blanca, by recommending him as advocate to the employ and
patronage of that rich and noble house. The Abbe Don Patricio Curtis was of course looked up to as a person of no small
consideration; he was also not less conspicuous and universally
respected, for his virtues, for his high sense of honor, his bold
sincerity of speech, and generous benignity of soul; but this
good man at the same time had such an over-abundant portion
of the amor patrice about him, was so marked a devotee to the
British interest, and so unreserved an opponent to that of
France, that it seemed to demand more circumspection than he
was disposed to bestow for guarding himself against the resent



ANECDOTE OF PATRICK CURTIS.              247
ment of a party; whose principles he arraigned without mitigation, and whose power he set at open defiance without caution
or reserve. Though considerably past eighty, his affections were
as ardent and his feelings as quick as if he had not reached his
twentieth year. When I was supposed to be out of chance of
recovery, this affectionate creature came to me in an agony of
grief to take his last farewell. He told me he had been engaged
in fervent prayer and intercession on my behalf, and had pledged
before the altar, his most earnest and devoted services for the
consolation and protection of my beloved wife and daughters,
if it should please Heaven to remove me from them, and reject
his humble supplications for my life: he lamented that I had no
spiritual assistant of my own church to resort to; he did not
mean to obtrude his forms, to which I was not accustomed, but
on the contrary, came purposely to tender me his services according to my own; and was ready, if I would furnish him with
my prayer-book, and allow him to secure the doors from any
that might intrude or overhear to the peril of his life, to administer the sacrament to me exactly as it is ordained by our
church, requesting only that I would reach the cup with my
own hand, and not employ his to tender it to me. All this he
fulfilled, omitting none of the prayers appointed, and officiating
in the most devout impressive manner (though at times interrupted and overcome by extreme sensibility), to my very great
comfort and satisfaction. Had the office of Inquisition, whose
terrific mansion stood within a few paces of my gates, had report
of this which passed in my heretical chamber, my poor friend
would have breathed out the short remnant of his days between
two walls, never to be heard of more. From six o'clock in the
afternoon till ten at night, he never failed to occupy the chair
next to me in my evening circle, and though I saw with infinite
concern, that his constitution was rapidly breaking up for the
last six or seven weeks of my stay, no persuasion could keep
him from coming to me and exposing his declining health to
the night air; at last, when I was recalled and had fixed the
day for my departure, dreading the effect which the act of
parting forever might have upon his exhausted frame, I endeavored to impose upon him a later hour of the morning than
I meant to take for my setting out, and enjoined strict secrecy
to all my party; but these precautions were in vain; at three
o'clock in the morning, when I entered the receiving room, I
found my poor old friend alone and waiting, with his arms extended to embrace me and bathed in tears, scarcely able to support himself on his tottering legs, now miserably tumefied, a
spectacle that cut my heart to the quick, and perfectly unmanned




248        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
me.  lHe had purchased a number of masses of some pious mendicants, which he hoped would be efficacious and avail for our
well-doing; he had no great faith in amulets, he told me, yet he
had brought me a ring of Mexican workmanship and materials,
very ancient, and consecrated and blessed by a venerable patriarch of the Indies, since canonized for his miracles; which
ring had been highly prized by the late Duchess of Osuna for
its efficacy in preserving her from  thunder and lightning, and
though he did not presume to think that I would place the
slightest confidence in its virtue, yet he hoped I would let him
bestow it on the person of the infant daughter, which was born
to me in Spain, whom I then gave into his arms, whilst he invoked a thousand blessings upon her.  He brought a very fine
crucifix cut in ivory; he said he had put up his last prayers before it, and had  nothing more to do but lie down upon his
bed and die, which as soon as I departed he was prepared to do,
sensible that his last hour was near at hand, and that he should
survive our separation a very few days. I prevailed with him to
retain his crucifix, but I accepted an exquisite Ecce IHomo by
El Divino Morales, and exchanged a token of remembrance with
him; I saw him led out of my house to that of the Duke of Osuna near at hand, and whilst I was yet on my journey the intelligence reached me of his death, and may the God of mercy receive
him into bliss!
WVhen I had so far advanced in my recovery as to be able to
wear my arm in a sling, and endure the motion of a carriage, I
dispatched my servant Camis to San Ildefonso, and proposed to
the minister a conference with him there upon the supposed
mediation of Russia, on which he had thought fit to sound me.
My servant returned, bringing a letter from  the subminister
Campo, in which he signifies the minister's wish that I would
consent to defer my visit, but adds that' if I think otherwise I
shall always be welcome.' I well knew to whom and to what I
was indebted for this letter, and naturally was not pleased with
it, yet I thought it best and most prudent to answer it as follows:-'To Senor Don Bernardo Del Campo.
DEAR SIR: My servant returned with your letter of this day in time to prevent my setting out for San Ildefonso.
When I tell you that it is with pleasure I accommodate myself to the wishes
of Count Florida Blanca, I not only consult my own disposition, but I am persuaded I conform to that of my court, and of the minister under whose immediate instructions I am acting. The reconciliation of our respective nations is
an object which I look to with such cordial devotion, that I would on no account interpose myself in a moment unacceptable to your court, for any consideration short of my immediate duty. I am persuaded there is that honor
and good faith in the councils of Spain, and in the minister who directs them,




THE ESCURIAL.                       249
that I shall not suffer in his esteem by this proof of my acquiescence, and I
know too well the sincerity of my own court to apprehend for the part I have
taken.
At the same time that I signify to you my acquiescence as above stated, I
think my predicament thereby becomes such as to require an immediate report
to my court, and I desire you Will request of his excellency Count Florida
Blanca to send me a blank passport, to be filled up by me with the name of
such person as I may find convenient to dispatch to England by the way of
Lisbon.      I am, &c. &c.                               R. C.'
This letter produced a most courteous invitation, and thence
ensued those conferences already described, which separated Mr.
HIussey from me, and sent him home with propositions, which
my instructions did not allow me to discuss.  By this chasm  in
the business I was upon, I found myself so far at leisure, that I
was tempted to indulge my curiosity by a visit to the Escurial,
and accordingly set out for that singular place with a letter from
the minister to the Prior, signifying the king's pleasure that I
should have free access to the manuscripts, and every facility,
that could be given to my researches of whatever description. I
had been informed by Sir John Dalrymple of a curious manuscript, purporting to be letters of Brutus, to which he could not
get access; these letters are written in Greek, and are referred
to by Doctor Bentley in his controversy with Boyle as notoriously
spurious, fabricated by the sophists, of which there can be no
doubt.. I obtained a sight of the manuscript, and the fathers
favored me with a copy of the Greek original, and also of the
Latin translation by Petrarch.' I have them by me, but they
are good for nothing, and bear decided evidence of an imposture.
This the worthy father, who introduced himself to me as librarian and professor of the learned languages, discovered by a very
curious process, observing to me that these could not be the true
letters of Brutus, forasmuch as they profess to have been written
after the death of Julius Caesar, which he had found out to be a
flagrant anachronism, assuring me that Brutus, having died before Caesar, could not be feigned to have written letters after the
decease of the man who survived him.  When I apologized for
my hesitation in admitting his chronology, and asked him if
Brutus was not suspected of having a hand in the murder of
Caesar, he owned that he had heard of it, but that it was a mere
fable, and, hastening to his cell, brought me down a huge folio of
chronology, following me into the court, and pointing out the
page, where I might read my own conviction.  I thanked him
for his solicitude, and assured him that his authority was quite
sufficient for the fact, and recollecting how few enjoyments he
probably had in that lugubrious mansion, left him in possession
of his victory and triumph.
17




250      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
I took nobody with me to the Escurial but my servants and a
Milanese traiteur, who opened an empty hotel, and provided me
with a chamber and my food. There were indeed myriads of
annoying insects, who had kept uninterrupted possession of their
quarters, against whom I had no way of guarding myself but
by Iplanting my portable crib in the middle of the room, with
its legs immersed in pails of water. The court was expected,
but not yet arrived, and the place was a perfect solitude, so that
I had the best possible opportunity of viewing this immense
edifice at my ease and leisure. I am not about to describe it;
assuredly it is one of the most wonderous monuments that bigotry
has ever dedicated to the fulfilment of a vow. Yet there is no
grace in the external, which owes its power of striking to the
immensity of its mass: the architect has been obliged to sacrifice
beauty and proportion to security against the incredible hurricanes of wind, which at times sweep down from the mountains
that surround it; of a scenery more savage, nature hardly has a
sample to produce upon the habitable globe: yet within this
gloomy and enormous receptacle, there is abundant food for
curiosity in paintings, books, and consecrated treasures exceeding all description. There is a vast and inestimable collection
of pictures, and the great masters, whose works were in my poor
judgment decidedly the most prominent and attractive, are Raphael, Titian, Rubens, Velasquez and Coello, of which the two
last were natives of Spain and by no means unworthy to be
classed with the three former. Of Raphael there are but four
pre-eminent specimens, of which the famous Perla is one, but
hung very disadvantageously; of Titian there is a splendid
abundance; of Rubens not many, but some that show him to
have been a mighty master of the passions, and speak to the
heart with incredible effect; they throw the gauntlet to the
proudest of the Italian schools, and seem to leave Vandyke behind him almost out of sight; of Velasquez, if there was none
other than his composition of Jacob, when his sons are showing
him the coat of Joseph, it would be enough to rank him with
the highest in his art; Coello's fame may safely rest upon his
inimitable altar-piece in the private chapel. Were it put to me
to single out for my choice two compositions, and only two,
from out the whole inestimable collection, I would take Titian's
Last Supper in the refectory for my first prize, and this altar-piece
of Coello's for my second, leaving the Perla and Madona del pesce
of Raphael, the Dead Christ of Rubens, and the Joseph of Velasquez with longing and regret, bu't leaving them notwithstanding.
The Court removed from San Ildefonso to the Escurial in a




THE ESCURIAL.                    251
few days after I had been there, and I was invited to bring my
family thither, which accordingly I did. My reception here was
very different from what I had experienced at San Ildefonso.
The king, one of the best tempered men living, was particularly
gracious; in walking through his apartments in the Escurial, I
surprised him in -his bed-chamber; the good man had been on
his knees before his private altar, and upon the opening of the
door, rose; when seeing me in the act of retiring, he bade me
stay, and condescended to show me some very curious South
American deer, extremely small and elegantly formed, which he
kept under a netting; and amongst others a little green monkey,
the most diminutive and most beautiful of its species I had ever
seen. He also showed me the game he had shot that morning
of various sorts from the bocafica to the vulture. He was alone,
and seemed to take peculiar pleasure in gratifying our curiosity.
No monarch could well be more humbly lodged, for his state
consisted in a small camp-bed, miserably equipped with curtains
of faded old damask, that had once been crimson, and a cushion
of the same by his bedside, with a table, that held his crucifix
and prayer-book, and over that a three-quarters picture of the
Mater-dolorosa by Titian, which he always carried with him for
his private altar-piece; of which picture I was fortunate enough
to procure a very perfect copy by an old Spanish master (Coello
as I suspect) upon the same sized cloth, and very hardly to be
distinguished from the original. This picture I brought home
with me, and it is now in my possession. His majesty's dress
was, like his person, plain and homely; a buff leather waistcoat,
breeches of the same, and old-fashioned boots (made in Pall
Mall), with a plain drab coat, covered with snuff and dust, a bad
wig and a worse hat, constituted his wardrobe for the chase, and
there were very few days in the year when he denied himself
that recreation.




252       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
CHAPTE R  VIII.
The Prince of Asturias-lHis pavilion-Present of horses-Anecdote of Cumberland's daughter —Honors to the English monarch-The Princess Asturias
-Mode of life at Madrid-Count Kaunitz-Giusti-Pallavicini-Foreign
ambassador —Ilis visitors-Tiranna-The Duke of Osuna-Anthony SmithRecalled-Generous offer of the Spanish king-Bills dishonored-Bad treatment-M-emoirs —Official letters.
THE Prince of Asturias, now the reigning sovereign, was
always so good as to notice the respect I duly paid him, with
the most flattering and marked attention. -Ie spoke of me and
to me with distinguished kindness, and caused it to be signified
to me, that he was sorry circumstances of etiquette did not allow
him to show me those more pointed proofs of his regard, by
which it was his wish to make appear the good opinion he was
pleased to entertain of me. Such a testimony from a prince,
of his reserved and distant cast of character, was to be valued
for its sincerity. On my way from San Ildefonso to Segovia,
one morning at an early hour, as I was mounting a hill, that
opened that extensive plain to my view, I discovered a party
of horsemen and the prince considerably advanced before them,
at the full speed of his horse; I had just time to order my
chariot out of the road, and halt it under some cork-trees by
the way-side, and, according to my custom, I got out to pay
him  my respects. The prince stopped his horse upon the instant, and with his hat in his hand, wheeled him about to come
up to me, when the high-spirited animal, either resenting the
manoeuvre, or taking fright, as it seemed, at the gleamny reflection of my gray mules, half covered with the cork branches,
reared and wheeled upon his hinder legs, in a most alarming
manner. The prince appeared to me in such imminent danger, that I was about to seize the bit of his bridle, but he was
much too complete a cavalier to accept of assistance, and after
a short but pretty severe contest, brought his horse up to me
in perfect discipline, and with many handsome acknowledgments for the anxiety I had shown, on his account, in a very
gracious manner took his leave, and pursued his road to San
Ildefonso.  HTe was a man of vast bodily strength, and a severe
rider: the fine animal, one of the most beautiful I had seen in




FLORIDA BLANCA.                   253
Spain, showed the wounds of the spur, streaming with blood
down his glossy-white sides, from the shoulder to the flank.
This prince had a small but elegant pavilion, at a short distance from the Escurial, which in point of furniture and pictures was a perfect gem. He did me and my family the honor
to invite us to see it; at the appointed hour we found it prepared for our reception, with a table set out and provided with
refreshments; some of the officers of his household were in
waiting; the Dukes of Alva,, Granada, Almodovar, and others
of high rank, accompanied us through the apartments, and
when I returned to my hotel, at the Escurial, the prince's secretary called on me, by command, to know my opinion of it.
There could be no difficulty in delivering that, for it really
merited all the praise that I bestowed upon it. In a very short
time after, the same gentleman returned and signified the
prince's express desire to know if there was anything in the
style of furniture that struck me as defective, or anything I
could suggest for its improvement. W\ith the like sincerity I
made answer, that in my humble opinion the fitting of the principal room in the Chinese style, though sufficiently splendid,
was not in character with the rest of the apartments, that were
hung round with some of the finest pictures of the Spanish and
Italian masters, where a chaster style, in point of ornament, had
been preserved.
I heard no more of my critique for some days, and began to
suspect that I had made my court very ill by risking it, when
another message called me to review the complete change which
that apartment had undergone, to the exclusion of every atom
of Japan work, in consequence of my remark.
It was on this occasion that the minister, Florida Blanca, in
the moment of that favor and popularity which I then enjoyed, addressed me in a very different style from any he had
ever used, and with an air of mock solemnity, charged me with
having practised upon the heir apparent of the crown of Spain
by some secret charm, or love-powder, to the engagement of his
affections,'which,' said he,'I perceive you are so exclusively
possessed of, that I must throw myself on your protection, and
request you to preserve to me some place in his regard.' As I
had found his excellency, for the first time, in the humor for
raillery, I endeavored to keep up the spirit of it by owning to
the love-powder; in virtue of which I had gained that power
over the prince, as to seize the bridle of his horse, and arrest
him on the road, which led me to relate the anecdote of our
rencounter on the way to Segovia above described. He listened to me with great good humor, appearing to enjoy my nar



254       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
rative of the adventure, and at the conclusion observed to me,
that my life was forfeited by the laws of Spain; but as he supposed I had no evil design against the prince himself, but only
wanted to possess myself of so fine a charger, as an offering
to my excellent and royal master, whose virtues made his life
and safety dear to all the world, he would, in confidence, disclose to me, that order was given out by his Catholic Majesty,
to select from  his stud, in the Mancha, ten, the noblest horses
that could be chosen, and out of those, upon trial of their steadiness and temper, to select two, which I might tender as my
offering to the acceptance of my sovereign; and this, he observed, was a present never before made to any crowned head
in Europe, but of his majesty's own immediate family, alluding
to the King of Naples.
A few days after my return to Madrid this gracious promise
was fulfilled, and two horses of the royal stud, led by the king's
grooms, and covered by cloths on which the royal arms, &c.,
were embroidered, were brought into the inner court of my
house, and there delivered to me. I flatter myself they were
such horses as had not been brought out of Spain for a century before, and not altogether unworthy of the acceptance of
the illustrious personage who condescended to receive them.
I was at dinner when they arrived, and Count Kaunitz, the imperial ambassador, was at the table with me. I had not spoken
to him, or any other person, of this expected present, and his
astonishment at seeing that which had been the great desideratum of many ambassadors, and himself amongst the number,
thus voluntarily and liberally bestowed upon me (the secret
and untitled agent of a court at war with Spain), surprised him
into some comments, which had the only tincture of jealousy
that I ever discovered in him. A crowd had followed these
horses to the gates which inclosed my courts; one of these
opened to the Plazuela de los Affligidos, and the other to the
street of the Inquisition; I caused these gates to be thrown
open, and when the people saw the horses with their royal
coverings upon them led into my stable, they gave a shout expressive of their pleasure and applause. If my very amiable
friend Kaunitz was not quite so highly gratified by these occurrences as I was, he was perfectly excusable.
I kept these horses in my stables at Madrid, and should not
have used them but at the special requisition of the royal donor;
when that was signified to me, my daughters and myself rode
them, as occasion suited, and as a proof how noble they were by
nature, the following instance will suffice. As my eldest daughter was passing a small convent, not a mile from the gate of San




MY DAUGHTER'S PERIL.                 255
Bernandino, a large Spanish mastiff of the wolf-dog kind rushed
out of the convent, and seizing her horse by the breast, hung
there by his teeth, whilst the tortured animal rushed onwards at
full speed, showing no manner of vice, and only eager to shake
off his troublesome encumbrance. In this situation she was perceived and rescued by a Spanish officer on foot, who presenting
himself in the very line of the horse's course, gave him the
word and signal to stop, when, to my equal joy and astonishment (for I saw the action), the generous animal obeyed, the
dog dropped his hold, and the lady, still firm and unshaken
in her seat, though alarmed and almost breathless, was seasonably set free by the happy presence of mind of her deliverer,
and the very singular obedience of her royal steed, whose generous breast long retained the marks of his ignoble and ferocious
assault.
When I had received my recall, I sent these horses before me
under the care of two Spaniards, father and son, of the name of
Valasco, who led them from Madrid through Paris to Ostend,
walking on foot, and sleeping by them in their stables every
night; and taking their passage from Ostend to Margate, arrived
with them at my door in Portland Place, and delivered them
without spot or blemish in perfect order and condition to his
majesty's grooms at the royal Mews.
If my gratitude to the memory of the late benevolent sovereign, who was pleased by this and many other favors graciously
to mark the sincere, though ineffectual efforts of an humble individual, defeated in his hopes by unforeseen events, which he
could not control, and afterwards abandoned to distress and ruin
by his employers for want of that success, which he could not
command; if my gratitude (I repeat it) to the deceased King of
Spain causes me to be too particular, or prolix, in recording his
goodness to me, it is because I naturally must feel it with the
greater sensibility from the contrast, which I painfully experienced, when I returned bankrupt, broket-hearted and scarce
alive to my native country. But of this more at large in its
proper place.
I have hinted at the surprise which my friend Count Kaunitz
expressed upon the present of the royal horses; it was again his
chance to experience something of the like nature, when he (lid
me the honor to dine with me upon the 4th of June, when, with
a few cordial friends, I was celebrating my beloved sovereign's
birth-day, in the best manner my obscurity and humble means
allowed of. On this occasion I confess my surprise was as great
as his, when the music of every regiment in garrison at Madrid,
not excepting the Spanish guards, filed into my court-yard, and




256       MEMOIRS OF IRICHARD CUMBERLAND.
afforded me the exquisite delight of hearing those who were in
arms against my country, unite in celebrating the return of that
day which gave its monarch birth.
I frequently visited the superb collection of paintings in the
palace at Madrid; the king was so good as to give orders for any
pictures to be taken down and placed upon the easel, which I
might wish to have a nearer view of; he also gave direction for
a catalogue to be made out at my request, which I have published and attached to my account of the Spanish painters; he
authorized me to say, that if the king, my master, thought fit to
send over English artists to copy any of the pictures in his collection, either for engravings or otherwise, he would give them
all possible facility, and maintain them at free cost, whilst they
were so employed; this I made known on my return. He gave
direction to his architect, Sabbatini, to supply from the quarries
in Spain any blocks or slabs of marble, according to the samples
which I brought over to the amount of above a hundred, whenever any such should be required for the building or ornamenting the royal palaces in England.
I bear in my remembrance many other favors, which, after
what I have related, are not necessary to enumerate. They
were articles to which his grace and goodness gave a value, and
exactly such as I could with perfect consistency of character
accept. The present of Viguna cloth from the royal manufactory,
which he had given to the ambassador, Lord Grantharn, in the
same proportion was bestowed upon me. The superior properties of the Spanish pointer are well known, and dogs of the true
breed are greatly coveted; the king understood I was searching
after some of this sort, and was pleased to offer me the choice of
any I might wish to have from out his whole collection; but I
had already possessed myself of two very fine ones, which his
majesty saw, and thought them at least equal to any of his own;
I therefore, thankfully acknowledged his kind offer, but did not
avail myself of it.
The Princess of Asturias, now reigning Queen of Spain, had
taken an early opportunity of giving a private audience to my
wife and daughters, and gratifying their curiosity with a sight of
her jewels, most of which she described to be of English setting.
She condescended to take a pattern of their riding habits, though
they were copied from the uniform of our guards, and, when
apprised of this, replied that it was a further motive with her for
adopting the fashion of it; I remember, however, that she caused
a broad gold lace to be carried round the bottom of the skirt.
She also condescended to send for several other articles of their
dress, as samples, whilst they were conforming to the costume




MY MODE OF LIFE.                    257
of Spain to the minutest particular, and wearing nothing but
silks of Spanish fabric, rejecting all the finery of Lyons, and
every present or purchase, however tempting, of all French
manufactures whatever. This lure for popularity succeeded to
such a degree, that when these young Englishwomen, habited in
their Spanish dresses (and attractive, as I- may presume to say
they were by the bloom and beauty of their persons), passed the
streets of Madrid, their coach was brought to frequent stops,
and hardly found its passage through the crowd. A Spanish
lady, when she rides, occupies both sides of her palfrey, and is
attended by her lacqueys on foot, her horse, in the mean time,
movens, sed non promovens, brandishing his legs, but advancing
only by inches. When my wife and daughters, on the contrary,
who were all admirable riders, according to the English style
and spirit, put their horses to their speed, it was a spectacle of
such novelty, and oftentimes drew such acclamations, particularly from the Spanish guards whilst we were at the Escurial,
as might have given rise to some sensations, if persisted in,
which in good policy made it prudent for me to remand them
to Madrid.
Here I considered myself bound in duty to adapt my mode
of life to the circumstances of my situation, and the undefined
character in which I stood. I was not restricted from receiving
my friends, but I made no visits whatsoever, and the journal of
any one day may serve for a description of the whole. The
same circle assembled every afternoon at the same minute, and
with the same regularity broke up. The ladies had a round
table of low Pope-Joan, and I had a party of sitters-by. My
house was extremely spacious, and that space by no means
choked up with furniture; I had fourteen rooms on the principal floor, and but one fireplace; in this, during the winter
months, I burnt pieces of wood, purchased of a coach maker,
many of them carved and gilt, the relics of old carriages, and it
was no uncommon thing to discover fragments of arms and
breasts of Careatides, who had worn themselves out in the service of some departed Grandee, who had left them, like the wreck
of Pharaoh's chariots, to their disgraceful fate. I found my mansion in the naked dignity of brick floors and white walls; upon
the former I spread some mats, and on the other I pasted some
paper. I farmed my dinners from a Milanese traiteur, exorbitantly dear and unpardonably bad; but I had no resource:
they came ready cooked to my house, and were heated up afresh
in my stoves. The lacqueys, that I hired, had two shillings per
day, and dieted themselves; my expense in eqluipage was very
great, for the mules appropriate to my town use could not go




258       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
upon the road; others were to be hired for posting, and less
than six had been against all rule. I had a stable full of capital
Spanish horses, exclusive of the king's, three of which were lent
to me for the use of the ladies, and two given to me by Count
KIaunitz; one. of these, a most beautiful creature of the undersize, and a favorite of my wife's, I brought to England: the
other was an aged horse, milk-white, the victor over nine bulls,
and covered in his flanks and sides with honorable scars; he
had been devoted to the amphitheatre under suspicion of having the glanders, but he outlived the imputation, and, in the
true character of the Spanish horse, carried himself in the
proudest style of any I ever saw, possessing the sweetest temper
with the noblest spirit, and when in the possession of the great
Grandee Altamira, had been prized and admired above all other
horses of his day. My eldest daughter seldom failed to prefer
him, but, thinking him too old to undergo any great fatigue, I
did not risk the bringing him to England, but returned him to
the noble donor.
This amiable personage, son to the Imperial Minister, Count
Kaunitz, had been ambassador to Russia, and was now filling
that distinguished station at the court of Spain. When I had'
been but a few days in Madrid, whilst I was in my box at the
comedy, with my wife and daughters, he asked leave to enter,
and placed himself in a back seat: the drama, as far as I could
understand it, seemed to be grounded on the story of Richardson's Pamela, and amongst the characters of the piece there was
one who meant to personate a British sea-captain. When this
representative of my countryman made his entrance on the
stage, Kaunitz, who perhaps discovered something in my countenance, which the ridiculous dress and appearance of the actor
very possibly excited, leaning forwards and addressing himself
to me for the first time, said:'I hope, sir, you will overlook a
small mistake in point of costume, which this gentleman has
very naturally fallen into, as I am convinced he would have
been proud of presenting himself to you in his proper uniform,
could he have found, amongst all his naval acquaintance, any
one, who could have furnished him with a sample of it.' This
apology, at once so complimentary and ingenious, set off by his
elegant manner of address, led us into conversation, and from
that evening I can hardly call to mind one, in which he failed
to honor me with his company. In his features he bore a
striking resemblance to the portrait, which he gave me of his
father; in his manners, which were those of a perfect gentleman, he was correctly fitted to the situation that he filled, and
for that situation his talents, though not pre-eminently brilliant,




COUNT PALLAVICINI.                  259
were doubtless all-sufficient. lHe was not unconscious of those
high pretensions to which his birth and station entitled him,
but it was very rarely indeed that I could discover any symptoms in his behavior, that betokened other than a proper and
becomingo, sensibility towards his honor and his office. With
a constitution rather delicate, he possessed a heart extremely
tender, and how truly and entirely that heart was devoted to
the elder of my daughters, I doubt not but he severely felt,
when, frustrated in his honorable and ardent wishes to be united
to her, he saw her depart out of Spain, and after one day's
journey in our company took his melancholy leave forever;
for after the revolution of a few months, when it may be presumed'he had conquered his attachment, and reconciled himself to his disappointment, this amiable young man, being then
upon his departure for his native country, sickened and died at
Barcelona.
There were two other gentlemen of the imperial party, who
very constantly were pleased to grace my evening circle; the
one Signor Giusti, an Italian, secretary of the embassy; the
other, General Count Pallavicini, a man not more ennobled by the
splendor of his birth, than by the services he had performed,
and the fame he had acquired. In the short war between Austria
and Prussia, this gallant officer, by a very brilliant coup-de-main,
had surprised a fortress and made prisoners the garrison, which
covered him with glory and the favors of his sovereign; he was
now making a military tour by command and at the charge of
the Empress Queen, and came into Spain, consigned (as I may
say) to Count Kaunitz, for the purpose of being passed into the
Spanish lines, then investing Gibraltar. Into this fortress he
was anxiously solicitous to obtain admission, and when no accommodation could be granted to his wishes through the influence of Count Kaunitz, I gave him letters to Mr. Walpole,
which he carried to him at Lisbon, and by a route which that
minister pointed out, assisted by' his and my introduction to
General Elliot, succeeded in his wishes, and I believe no man
entertained a higher respect for the brave defenders of that
fortress, or a warmer sense of the gratifying indulgence, which
they granted to him in so liberal a manner. Count Pallavicini
was in the prime of life, of a noble air and bigh-born countenance;
tall, finely formed, gay, natural, open-hearted; his spirit was
alive in every feature; it did not need the,aid of suscitation; no
dress could hide the soldier, or disguise the gentleman. Hie
had a happy flow of comic humor at command, unobtrusive,
however,.and only resorted to at times and seasons; of the
suavity and pomposity of the Castilian character, he seemed to




260       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
have taken up a very contemptible impression, and would no
otherwise fall in with any of their habits and customs, than for
the purpose of ridiculing them by imitations designedly caricatured. There are twenty ways of arranging the Spanish Capa;
he never would be taught any oine of them, thou'gh he underwent a lecture every night at parting, but in an one-and-twentieth way of his own hung it on his shoulders, and marched off
most amusingly ridiculous. I think it never was my lot to
make acquaintance with a man, for whom  my heart more
rapidly warmed into friendship, than it did towards this engaging
gallant hero; he continued to me his affectionate correspondence, till, turning out against the Turks, and ever foremost in
the field of glory, his head was sabred from his body at a stroke,
and he died, as he had lived, in the very arms of victory; his
ardent courage, though it turned the battle, did not serve him
to ward off the blow.
From this lamented friend, whose memory will be ever dear
to me, I have now in my possession letters, written from Prague,
where he had a separate command of eight thousand men, by
which letters, though he could not prevail with either of my
daughters (for he successively addressed himself to each) to
change their country and forsake their parents and connections,
yet I trust he was assured and satisfied from the answers he
received, that it was because they could not detach themselves
from ties like these, and not because they were insensible to his
merits, when in their humble station they felt themselves compelled to reject those offers, that would have conferred honor on
them, had they ranked amongst the highest.
The Nuncio Colonna, cardinal elect, paid me some attentions,
and the Venetian ambassador favored me with his visits. The
Saxon minister, Count Gerstoff, was frequently at our evening
parties, and the Danish minister, Count Reventlau, seldom failed.
The former of these was an animated lively man, and a most
agreeable companion; Reventlau had been in a diplomatic
character at the court of London, and had brought with him the
language, manners, and habitudes of an Englishman of the first
fashion.  HIis partiality to our native country created in me
and my family a reciprocal partiality for him, and so interesting
was this elegant young Dane in person, countenance, and address,
that the eye which could have contemplated him with indifference, must have held no correspondence with the heart.  We
passed the whole evening before our departure with this engaginc
and affectionate friend; the parting was to all most painful, but
by one in particular more acutely felt- than I will attempt to
describe.  Reventlau was olle, and not the eldest of a very




COUNT PIETRA SANTA.                 261
numerous and noble family; his father had been minister, but
his hereditary property was by no means large, and the purity
of his principle disdained the accumulation of any other advantages or rewards, than those which attached themselves to his
reputation, and were rigidly consistent with the character of a
patriot.
Colonel O'Moore, of the Walloons, a very worthy and respectable man, and Signor Nicolas Marchetti, of the corps of Engineers, a Sicilian, were constant parties in our friendly circle.
There were other Irish officers in the Spanish service, some
religious also of that nation, and some in the commercial line,
who frequently resorted to me; but to the generous and benevolent Marchetti in particular, who accompanied me through
the whole of my disastrous journey from Madrid, by the way of
Paris, I am beholden for the means that enabled me to reach
my native country, as will appear hereafter.
Count Pietra Santa, lieutenant-colonel of the Italian band of
body guards, was my most dear and intimate friend; by that
name in its truest and most appropriate sense I must ever remember him (for he is now no more), and though the days that
I passed with him in Spain did not outnumber those of a single
year, yet in every one of these I had the happiness to enjoy so
many hours of his society, that in his case, as in that of the good
old Abb6 Curtis, whilst we were but young in acquaintance, we
might be fairly said to be old in friendship. It is ever matter
of delight to me, when I can see' the world disposed to pay
tribute to those modest unassuming characters, who exact no
tribute, but in plain and pure simplicity of heart recommend
themselves to our affections, and borrowing nothing from the
charms of wit, or the display of genius, exhibit virtue-in itself
how lovely. Such was my deceased friend, a man whom everybody, with unanimous assent, denominated the good Pietra Santa,
whom everybody loved, for he that ran could read him, and who,
together with the truest courage of a soldier, and the highest
principles of honor, combined such moral virtues with such
gentle manners and so sweet a temper, that he seemed destined
to give the rare example of a human creature, in whom no fault
could be discovered.
In this society I could not fail to pass my hours of relaxation
very much to my satisfaction without resorting to public places
or assemblies, in which species of amusement Madrid was very
scantily provided, for there was but one theatre for plays, no
opera, and a most unsocial gloomy style of living seemed to
characterize the whole body of the nobles and grandees. I was
not often tempted to the theatre, which was small, dark, ill



262       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
furnished, and ill-attended, yet when the celebrated tragic actress,
known by the title of the Tiranna, played, it was a treat which
I should suppose no other stage then in Europe could compare
with. That extraordinary woman, whose real name I do not
remember, and whose real origin cannot be traced, till it is
settled from what particular nation or people we are to derive
the outcast race of gypsies, was not less formed to strike beholders with the beauty and commanding majesty of her person,
than to astonish all that heard her, by the powers that nature
and art had combined to give her. My friend Count Pietra
Santa, who had honorable access to this great stage heroine, intimated to her the very high expectation I had formed of her
performances, and the eager desire I had to see her in one of
her capital characters, telling her at the same time that I had been a
writer for the stage in my own country; in consequence of this
intimation she sent me word that I should have notice from her,
when she wished me to come to the theatre, till when, she desired I would not present myself in my box upon any night,
though her name might be in the bill, for it was only when she
liked her part, and was in the humor to play well, that she
wished me to be present.
In obedience to her message I waited several days, and at last
received the looked-for summons; I had not been many minutes
in the theatre before she sent a mandate to me to go home, for
that she was in no disposition that evening for playing well, and
should neither do justice to her own talents, nor to my expectations. I instantly obeyed this whimsical injunction, knowing it
to be so perfectly in character with the capricious humor of her
tribe. When something more than a week had passed, I was
again invited to the theatre, and permitted to sit out the whole
representation. I had not then enough of the language to understand much more than the incidents and action of the play,
which was of the deepest cast of tragedy, for in the course of the
plot she murdered her infant children, and exhibited them dead
on the stage lying on each side of her, whilst she, sitting on the
bare floor between them (her attitude, action, features, tones,
defying all description), presented such a high-wrought picture
of hysteric frenzy,'laughing wild amidst severest woe,' as placed
her in my judgment at the very summit of her art; in fact I
have no conception that the powers of acting can be carried
higher, and such was the effect upon the audience, that whilst
the spectators in the pit, having caught a kind of sympathetic
frenzy from the scene, were rising up in a tumultuous manner,
the word was given out by authority for letting fall the curtain,




INTERVIEW WITH THE TIRANNA.              263
and a catastrophe, probably too strong for exhibition, was not
allowed to be completed.
A few minutes had passed, when this wonderful creature, led
in by Pietra Santa, entered my box; the artificial paleness of
her cheeks, her eyes, which she had dyed of a bright vermilion
round the edges of the lids, her fine arms bare to the shoulders,
the wild magnificence of her attire, and the profusion of her
dishevelled locks, glossy black as the plumage of the raven, gave
her the appearance of something so more than human, such a
Sibyl, such an imaginary being, so awful, so impressive, that my
blood chilled as she approached me not to ask but to claim my
applause, demanding of me if I had ever seen any actress that
could be compared with her, in my own or any other country.' I was determined,' she said,'to exert myself for you this night;
and if the sensibility of the audience would have suffered rme to
have concluded the scene, I should have convinced you that I
do not boast of my own performances without reason.'
The allowances which the Spanish theatre could afford to
make to its performers, were so very moderate, that I should
doubt if the whole year's salary of the Tiranna would have more
than paid for the magnificent dress in which she then appeared;
but this and all other charges appertaining to her establishment
were defrayed from the coffers of the Duke of Osuna, a grandee
of the first class and commander of the Spanish Guards. This
noble person found it indispensably necessary for his honor to
have the finest woman in Spain upon his pension, but by no
means necessary to be acquainted with her, and at the very time
of which I am now speaking, Pietra Santa seriously assured me,
that his excellency had indeed paid large sums to her order, but
had-never once visited, or even seen her. He told me at the
same time that he had very lately taken upon himself to remonstrate upon this want of curiosity, and having suggested to
his excellency how possible it was for him to order his equipage
to the door, and permit him to introduce him to this fair creature, whom he knew only by report and the bills she had drawn
upon his treasurer, the duke graciously consented to my friend's
proposal, and actually set out with himrn for the gallant purpose
of taking a cup of chocolate with his hitherto invisible mistress,
who had notice given her of the intended visit. The distance
from the house of the grandee to the apartments of the gypsy
was not great, but the lulling motion of the huge stage-coach,
and the softness of the velvet cushions had rocked his excellency
into so sound a nap, that when his equipage stopped at the
lady's door, there was not one of his retinue bold enough to undertake the invidious task of troubling his repose. The conse



264       AMEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
quence was, that after a proper time was passed upon the halt
for this brave commander to have waked, had nature so ordained
it, the coach wheeled round, and his excellency having slept
away his curiosity, had not, at the time when I left Madrid, ever
cast his eyes upon the person of the incomparable Tiranna. I
take for granted my friend Pietra Santa drank the chocolate,
and his excellency enjoyed the nap. I will only add, in confirmation of my anecdote, that the good Abb4 Curtis, who had the
honor of having educated this illustrious sleeper, verified the fact.
When Count Pallavicini left Madrid and went to Lisbon in
the hope of getting into Gibraltar through the introduction
that I gave him to the minister, Mr. Walpole, and others of my
correspondents in that city, I availed myself of that opportunity
for conveying my dispatches of the 12th of December, 1780,
to the Secretary of State, Lord Hillsborough. They embraced
much matter and very many particulars, interesting at that time,
but now so long since gone by, that the insertion of them here
could answer no purpose but to set forth my own unwearied
assiduity and good fortune in procuring intelligence, which, in
the event, proved perfectly correct. On the 3d of the month
following, viz: January, 1781, I inform Lord Hillsborough that,'having found means to obtain copies of some state papers, the
authenticity of which may be relied upon, I have the honor
to transmit them to your lordship by express to Lisbon.'
These were all actual dispatches of the minister, Florida Blanca,
secret and confidential, to the Spanish envoy at the court of
Petersburg, and developed an intrigue, of which it was highly
important that my court should be apprised. This project it
was my happy chance to lay open and defeat by the acquisition
of these papers, through the agency of one of the ablest and
most efficient men that ever was concerned in business of a
secret nature. Had my corresponding minister listened to the
recommendation I gave of this gentlemen, I could have taken
him  entirely into the pay and service of my court, and the
advantages to be derived from a person of his talents and address were incalculable. HIe served me faithfully and effectually on this and some other occasions, and it was not without
the most sensible regret I found myself constrained to leave
him behind me.
When I had sent my faithful servant, Camis, express with
this important dispatch, I received the following letter from the
Earl of Hillsborough:-' St. James's, 9th December, 1780.
SIR: I have duly received your letters from No. 7 to No. 12 inclusive, and
laid them before the king. The last number was delivered to me by Mr. iussey.




CORRESPONDENCE WITH HILLSBOROUGH.                    265
That gentleman has communicated to me the purport of Count Florida Blanca's
conversation with him, for which purpose alone he appears to me to have returned to London. The introduction of Gibraltar, and the American rebellion
into that conversation, convinces me that there is no intention in the court of
Spain to make a separate treaty of peace with us. I do not, however, as yet
signify to you the king's command for your return, though I see little utility in
your remaining at Madrid.
If you should obtain any further intelligence concerning the mediation,
which you informed me you understood had been proposed by the Empress of
Russia, I desire you will acquaint me with it.
Mr. Hussey undertakes to deliver this letter to you. I have nothing further
to add, but to repeat to you, that the king expects from you the strictest adherence to your instructions, without any deviation whatsoever, during the remainder of the time you shall continue at Madrid.
I am, with great truth and regard, sir,
Your most obedient humble servant,
MR. CUMBERLAND,                  (Signed)     HILLSBOROUGH.'
This was sufficient authority for me to believe that my mission was fast approaching to its conclusion, and I prepared
myself accordingly.  In the mean time, Mr. Hussey, who undertook to deliver this letter to me, was stopped at Lisbon and not
permitted to continue his journey into Spain; for, in fact, the
train which my minister had now contrived to throw the negotiation into, was not acceptable to the Spanish court, and the
rigor with which I was enjoined to adhere to my instructions,
operated so effectually against the several overtures which were
repeatedly made to me on the part of Florida Blanca, that I
must ever believe the negotiation was lost on our part by transferring it to one with whom Spain was not inclined to treat,
and tying up my hands with whom there seemed every disposition to agree.  In fact, we parted merely on a punctilio, which
might have been qualified between us with the most consummate
ease; they wanted only to talk about Gibraltar, and I was not
permitted to hear it named; the most nugatory article would
have satisfied them; and if I had dared to have given in writing
to the Spanish minister the salvo that I suggested in conversation, after my receiving the letter above referred to, I have
every reason to be confident that the business would have been
concluded, and the object of a separate treaty accomplished
without any other sacrifice than that of a little address and
accommodation in the matter of a mere punctilio.
When some conferences had passed, in which, fettered as I
was by my instructions, I found it impossible to put life into
our expiring negotiation, favored, though I was, by the court
and minister to the last moment of my stay, I wrote to Lord
Hillsborough as follows:-' Aladrid, January 18th, 1781.
No. 19. MY LORD: In consequence of a letter which Mr. Hussey will receive by this conveyance from Count Florida Blanea, I am to conclude that he
18




266        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
will immediately return to England, without coming to this court. In the copy
of this letter which his excellency has communicated to me, he remarks that,
in case the negotiation shall break off upon the answer now given, my longer
residence at Madrid will become unnecessary; and as I am persuaded that
your lordship and the cabinet will agree with the minister of Spain in this observation, I shall put myself in readiness to obey his majesty's recall. In the
mean time, I beg leave to repeat to your lordship that I shall strictly adhere to
his majesty's commands, trusting that you will have the goodness to represent
to his majesty my faithful zeal and devotion, how ineffectual soever they may
have been, in the fairest light.
Understanding that the king had been pleased to accept from the late Prince
Masserano, a Spanish horse, which was in great favor, and hoping that it might
be acceptable to his majesty, if occasion offered of supplying his stables with
another of the like quality, I desired permission of the minister to take out of
Spain a horse, which I had in my eye, and his excellency having reported this
my desire to the King of Spain, his Catholic Majesty was so good as to give
immediate direction for twelve of the best horses in Andalusia, of his breed of
royal Caribaneers, to be drafted out, and from these two of the noblest and
steadiest to be selected, and given to me for the above purpose. I have accordingly received them, and, as they fully answer my expectations both in
shape and quality, and are superior to any I have seen in this kingdom, I hope
they will be approved of by his majesty, if they are fortunate in a safe passage, and shall arrive in London without any accident.
Don Miguel Louis de Portugal, ambassador from her most faithful majesty to
this court, died a few days ago of a tedious and painful decay. The Infanta
of Spain is sufficiently recovered to remove from Madrid to the Pardo, where
the court now resides.
I have the honor to be, &c;. &c.    R. C.'
Whilst the court was at the Pardo, a complaint, founded on
the grossest misrepresentations, was started and enforced upon
me by the minister respecting the alleged ill treatment of the
Spanish prisoners of war in England. I traced this complaint
to the reports of a certain Captain Nunez, then on his parole
and lately come from England; with this gentleman there came
a nephew of my friend the Abb6 Curtis, who had been chaplain
on board Captain Nunez's frigate, when she was taken, and who
was now liberated, having brought over with him a complete
copy of the minutes of Parliament, in which the matter in complaint was fully and completely inquired into, and the allegations in question confuted upon the clearest evidence, Captain
Nunez himself being present at the examination, and testifying
his satisfaction and entire conviction upon the result of it.
These documents the worthy nephew of my friend very honorably put into my hands, and, armed with these, I proved
to the court of Spain that, upon a sickness breaking out amongst
the Spanish prisoners from their own uncleanliness and neglect,
our government, with a benevolence peculiar to the British
character, had made exertions wholly out of course, furnishing
them with entire new bedding at a great expense, supplying
them with medicines and all things needful, whilst in attendance
on the deceased more than twenty surgeons (I speak from




ANTHONY SMITH.                   267
memory, and I believe I am correct) had sacrificed their lives.
If, in the refutation of a charge so grossly unjust and injurious
as this, I lost my patience, and for a short time forgot the management befitting my peculiar situation, I can truly say it was
the only error I committed of that sort, though it was by no
means the only instance that occurred to provoke me to it, as
the following anecdote will demonstrate.
There was a young man, by name Anthony Smith, a native
of London, living at Madrid upon a small allowance, paid to
him upon the decease of his father, who had been watchmaker
to the King of Spain. I took this young man into my family
upon the recommendation of the Abbd Curtis, and employed him
in transcribing papers, arranging accounts, and other small affairs,
in which his knowledge of the language rendered him  very
useful. One day, about noon, the criminal judge with his attendants walked into my house, and seizing the person of this
young man' took him to prison, and shut him up in a solitary
cell without assigning any cause for the proceeding, or stating
any crime, of which he was suspected. I took the course natural for me to take, and from the effect which iny remonstrance
and appeal to the minister instantly produced, I had no reason
to think him privy to the transaction, for late in the evening of
the next day Anthony Smith was brought to my gates by the
officers of justice, from whom Iwould not receive him, but sent
him back till the day following, when I required him to be
delivered to me at the same hour and: in the same public manner as they had chosen to take him from me, and further insisted
that the same criminal judge with his attendants should be
present at the surrender of their prisoner. All this was exactly
complied with, and the foolish magistrate was hooted at by the
populace in the most contemptuous manner. It seemed that
this wise judge was in search of an assassin, who was described
as an old, black-complexioned fellow with a lame foot, whereas
Smith was a very fair young -man, with red hair, and perfectly
sound and active on his legs. What were the motives for this
wanton act of cruelty I never could discover; I brought him
with me to England, but the terrors he had suffered during his
short but dismal confinement haunted him through every stage
of his journey, till we passed the frontiers of Spain. When we
arrived in London, I recommended him to my friend Lord Rodney, as Spanish clerk on board his flag ship, but poor Smith's
spirit was so broken, that he declined the service, and found a
more peaceful occupation in a merchant's counting-house.
I was now in daily expectation of my recall, and as my own
immediate negotiation was shifted, for a time, into other hands,




268       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
I availed myself of those means which, by my particular connections I was possessed of, for collecting such a body of useful
information as might safely be depended upon, and this I transmitted to my corresponding minister in my dispatches No. 20
of the 31st of January, and No. 21 of the 3d of February, 1781.
I had now no longer any hope of bringing Spain into a separate treaty, whilst my court continued to receive overtures, and
return answers, through the channel of Mr. Hussey, then at
Lisbon, and Florida Blanca having imparted to me a dispatch,
which he affected to call his ultimatum, I plainly saw extinction
to the treaty upon the face of that paper, for he would still persist in the delusive notion that he could insinuate articles and
stipulations for Gibraltar in his communications through Mr.
iussey, though I by my instructions could not pass a single
proposition in which it might be named. NVhen he had written
this letter, which he called his ultimatum, it seems to have
occurred to him to communicate it to me rather too late for any
good purpose, inasmuch as he had taken his Catholic Majesty's
pleasure upon it, and made it a state paper, before he put it into
my hands.  He, nevertheless, was earnest with me to give
him my opinion of it, and I did not hold myself in any respect
bound to disguise from him what I thought of it, neither did I
scruple to suggest to him the idea, which I had formed in my
mind, of an expedient, that might have conciliated both parties,
and would at all events have obviated those consequences, to
which his unqualified requisition could not fail to lead. It will
suffice to say that he candidly declared his readiness to adopt
my idea, and form his letter anew in conformity to it, if he had
not, by laying it before the king, made it a state paper, and put
it out of his power to alter and new-model it, without a second
reference to the royal pleasure. This, however, he was perfectly
disposed to do, provided I would give him my suggestions in
writing, as a producible authority for reconsidering the question. Here my instructions stood so irremovably in my way,
that, although he tendered me his honor that my interference
should be kept secret, I did not venture to commit myself, nor
could he be brought to consider conversation as authority.
Upon the failure of this, my last effort, I regarded the negotiation as lost, and, reflecting upon what had passed in the conference above referred to, when I had finished my letter No.
20, of the 31st of January, 1781, I attached to it the following
paragraph, viz:-'Since Count Florida Blanca dispatched his express to Lisbon, I have not heard from Mr. Hussey, neither do I know any
thing of his commission, but what Count Florida Blanca's an



CORRESPONDENCE WITH HILLSBOROUGH.    269
swer opens to me, and as I must, believe that in great part, a
finesse, I cannot but lament that it had not been prepared by
discussion.'
As the court of Spain was now become the centre of some
very interesting and important intrigues, by which she was
attempting to impose the project of a general pacification, under the pretended mediation of Russia only, and to substitute
this project in the place of the separate and exclusive treaty,
now on the point of dissolution, I felt myself justified in taking
every measure which my judgment dictated, and my connections gave me opportunity to pursue, for bringing that event
to pass, of which I apprise Lord IHillsborough in the following
paragraph of my letter No. 20, viz:-'An express from Vienna, brought to Count Kaunitz, in the
evening of the 27th instant, the important particulars, relative
to- the mediation of his imperial majesty, jointly with the Empress of Russia. This court being at the Pardo, the Ambassador Kaunitz took the next day for communicating with Count
Florida Blanca, and yesterday a courier arrived from  Paris,
with the instructions of that court, to Count Montmorin, on the
subject.' When the minister of Spain shall deliver the sentiments of
his Catholic Majesty to the imperial ambassador, which will
take place on the day after to-morrow, they will probably be
found conformable to those of France, of which I find Count
Kaunitz is already possessed. I shall think it my duty to apprise
your lordship of any particulars that may come to my knowledge, proper for your information.'
Ill my letter No. 21, of the 8d of February, I acquaint Lord
Hillsborough that'the answer of Spain to the proposition of
the emperor's mediation was made on the day mentioned in my
letter No. 20, and as I then believed it would conform to that
of France, so in effect it happened, with this further circumstance, that in future reference:is to be made to the Spanish ambassador, at Paris, who, in concert with the minister of France,
is to speak for his court, being instructed in all cases for that
purpose.'                                 /
Upon this arrangement, I observe that it is made,'as well
to soothe the jealousy of the French court, who, in their answer,
glanced at the separate negotiation here carrying on with Great
Britain, as for other obvious reasons.' In speaking of the
emperor's proposed mediation, I explain the reason that prevailed with me for expressing my wishes in a letter, No. 8, of
the 4th of August.'That the good offices of the imperial court
might maintain their precedency, before those of any other, and




270        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
that I am well assured it was owing to the knowledge Russia
had of these overtures, made by the imperial court, that she
put her propositions to the belligerent powers in terms so
guarded and so general, as should not awaken any jealousy in
the first proponent,' and I add,'that I know the instructions of
Monsieur de ZinowieW, the Russian ambassador, to have been
so precise, on this head, so far removed from  all idea of the
formal overture, pretended by the Spanish minister, that I think
he would hardly have been induced to deliver, in any writing,
as Monsieur Simolin did in London, although it had been so
desired.'
I shall obtrude upon my readers only one more extract from
this letter, in which,'I beg leave to add a word, in explanlation of what I observe, at the conclusion of my letter No. 20,
touching the answer made to Mr. Hussey, viz: that it were to
be wished it had been preceded by a discussion; this, I said, my
lord, because the answer was no sooner settled, and given to the
king, than a disposition evidently took place, to have reconsidered and modified the stipulation for Gibraltar, now so glaringly inadmissible; but this, and every  other observation
touching our negotiation, traversed by so many unforeseen
events, will, for the future, as I hope, find its course in a more
general and successful channel.'
I make no other comment upon the good or ill policy of laying me under those restrictions, but that I could else have prevented the transmission of that article, which gave the deathblow to my negotiation.
For this I was prepared, and after the revolution of a few'days received his majesty's recall, communicated to me in the
following letter:-'St. James's, 14th February, 1781.
SIR: I am sorry to find from your last letter, No. 19, and from that written
from Count de Florida Blanca to Mr. Hussey, which the latter received at Lisbon, that an entire stop is put to the pleasing expectation, which had been
formed from your residence in Spain. Had I been as well informed of the intentions of the Court of Madrid, when you went abroad, as I now am, you would
certainly not have had the trouble and fatigue of so long a voyage and journey.
There remains nothing now for me but to acquaint you that I am commlanded
by the king to signify to you his majesty's pleasure, that you do imllmediately
return to England: when I say immediately, it is not intended that your departure should have the appearance of resentment, or that you should be deprived
of the opportunity of expressing a just sense of the marks of civility and attention which Mr. Cumberland has received since his arrival in Madrid.
I am, with great truth and regard, sir,
Your most obedient humble servant,
(Signed)     HILLSBOROUGH.'
I had now his majesty's commands, signified to me as above,
for my return to England, and his lordship's interpretation of




RECALL FROM SPAIN.                  271
them to direct my behavior in avoiding all appearance of resentment which I did not feel, and expressing that sense of
gratitude which I did feel, for the many marks of civility and
attention which I had received in the person of Mr. Cumberland,
since his arrival in Madrid. To these excellent rules of conduct I was prepared to pay the most correct and cheerful obedience.
For the favor of his lordship's information, that he would
have spared me the trouble and fatigue of my long journey, if
he had been aware that there was no occasion for my taking it,
I could not but be duly thankful, and I am mqst sincerely sorry
that nobody could be found with prescience to inform his lordship what the intentions of the court of Madrid would be for a
whole year to come, nor to apprise me what my recompense
would be upon the expiration of it. If such inspiration had
been vouchsafed to both, I think I can guess who would have
been the greater gainer of the two.
itad any kind, good-natured incendiary been so confidential
as to have told me that it was his intention to set fire to London
as soon as I was well out of it; or had Count Florida Blanca
had the candor to have premised that his invitation of me into
Spain had no other object in view but to give me the amusement of a tour, and himself the pleasure of my company, it
would, perhaps, have been very flattering to my vanity, but I
don't think it would have suited my principle to have passed
it off for a negotiation, and I am quite convinced it would not
have suited my finances to have paid his excellency the visit,
and sacrificed my fortune to the amusement of it.
It certainly would be extremely convenient if we could always see to the end of an experiment before we undertake it.
I could not see to the end of the riots in London when they
were reported to be so terrible, yet I predicted as truly as if I
had foreseen it, and was reprimanded notwithstanding; if then
I acted wrong by guessing right at the only favorable occurrence that happened whilst I was in Spain, how should I have
escaped a severer reproof if I had been as successful in foretelling the many evil occurrences of that disastrous year, during the
whole course of which I kept alive a treaty, which was never
lost till it was'taken out of my hands?
If here I seem to speak too vainly of my unsuccessful services, I have to appeal to the testimony of that great and able
minister, Prince Kaunitz, who, together with his tender of the
mediation of the imperial court, communicated to the British
cabinet, suggests a wish that I may be included in the commission, if such shall be appointed, at the general congress;




272      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
and is pleased to give for his reason the favorable impressions
which his correspondence with Spain had given him. of my conduct there in carrying on a very arduous business, which many
circumstances contributed to embarrass. This I should never
have had the gratification to know had it not been communicated to me by a friend after my return to England, who, concluding I had been informed of it, was complimenting me upon
it. Thus I went abroad to find friendship and protection, and
came home to meet injustice and oppression.
If the following fact, which is correctly true, and which I
now for the first time make public, shall prove that those
whom I could not put at peace with my country, were yet at
perfect peace with me, I hope I shall not be suspected of having
overstrained the privilege allowed me by my letter of recall, and
carried my complaisance too far upon my farewell visit to the
Spanish minister at the Pardo. I certainly harbored no resentment in my heart, and having free leave to avoid the appearance of it, had no object but to express, as well as I was
able, the grateful sense I entertained of the many favors which
the king and court of Spain had condescended to bestow upon
me and mine. In replying to these acknowledgments, so justly
due, Count Florida Blanca, assuming an air of more than ordinary gravity, and delivering himself slowly and distinctly, as
one who wishes that a word should not be lost, addressed the
following speech to me, which, according to my invariable practice, I wrote down and rendered into English in my entry book,
whilst it was yet fresh in my memory; and from that record I
have transcribed not only this; but every other speech that I
have given as authentic in these Memoirs:-'Sir, the king my sovereign has been entirely satisfied with
every part of your conduct during the time you have resided
amongst us. His majesty is convinced that you have (lone your
duty to your own court, and exerted yourself with sincere good
will to promote that pacification, which circumstances out of
your reach to foresee, or to control, seem for the present to
have suspended. And now, sir, you will be pleased to take in
good part what I have to say to you with regard to your claims
for indemnification on the score of your expenses, in which I
have reason to apprehend you will find yourself abandoned and
deceived by your employers. I have it therefore in command
to tell you, that the kinc my sovereign has taken this into his
gracious consideration, and tenders to you through rme full and
ample compensation for all expenses which you have incurred
by your coming into Spain; being unwilling that a gentleman,
who has resorted to his court, and put himself under his im



KINDNESS OF BLANCA.                 273
mediate protection, without a public character, honestly endeavoring to promote the mutual good and benefit of both
countries, should suffer, as you surely will do, if you withstand the offer, which I have now the honor to make known to
you.'
What I said in answer to this generous, but inadmissible offer,
I shall make no parade of; it is enough to say that I did not
accept a single dollar from the King of Spain, or any in authority under him, which, as far as a negative can be proved, was
made clear, when upon my journey homewards my bills were
stopped, and my credit so completely bankrupt, that I might
have gone to prison at Bayonne, if I had not borrowed five hundred pounds of my friendly fellow-traveller Marchetti, which
enabled me to pay my way through France and reach my own
country.
IHow it came to pass that my circumstances should be so
well known to Count Florida Blanca is easily accounted for,
when the dishonoring of my bills by Mr. Devisme at Lisbon,
through whose hands the Spanish banker passed them, was notorious to more than half Madrid, and could not be unknown
to the minister. The fact is, that I had come into Spain without any other security than the good faith of government, upon
promise, pledged to me through Mr. Robinson, secretary of the
treasury, that all bills drawn by me upon my banker in Pall
Mall, should be instantly replaced to my credit, upon my accompanying them with a letter of advice to the said secretary
Robinson. This letter of advice I regularly attached to every
draft I made upon Messrs. Crofts, Devaynes and Co., but from
the day that I left London to the day that I returned to it, including a period of fourteen months, not a single shilling was
replaced to my —account with my bankers, who persisted in advancing to my occasions with a liberality and confidence in my
honor, that I must ever reflect upon with the warmest gratitude. If I was improvident in relying upon these assurances,
they who made them were inexcusable in breaking them, and
betraying me into unmerited distress. I solemnly aver that I
had the positive pledge of treasury through Mr. Robinson for
replacing every draft I should make upon my banker, and a very
large sum was named, as applicable at my discretion, if the service should require it. I could explain this further, but I forbear. I had one thousand pounds advanced to me upon setting
out; my private credit supplied every farthing beyond that;
for the truth of which I need only to refer the reader to tihe foa
lowing letter:



274         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
To John Robinson, Esquire, Sac.
Madrid, 8th of March, 1781.
SIR: My banker informs me of a difficulty which has arisen in replacing the
bills which I have had occasion to draw upon him for the expenses of my commission at this court.
As I have not had the honor of hearing from you on this subject, and as it
does not appear that he had seen you, when he wrote to me, the alarm which
such an event would else have given me, is mitigated by this consideration, as
I am sure there can be no intention in government to disgrace me at this court
in a commission, undertaken on my part without any other stipulation than
that of defraying my expenses. I flatter myself, therefore, that you have before this clone what is needful in conformity to what was settled on our parting.
Suffer me to add, that by the partition I have made of my office with the gentlemlan who executes it, by the expenses preparatory to my journey, all which
I took on myself, and by many others since my departure, which I have not
thought proper to put to the public account, I have greatly burdened my private affairs during my attendance on the business I am engaged in.
That I have regulated my family here for the space of near a twelvemonth,
with all possible economy upon a scale in every respect as private, and void of
ostentation as possible, is notorious to all who know me here; but a man must
also know this court and country to judge what the current charges of my
situation must inevitably be; what the occasional ones have been can only be
explained by myself; and as I can clearly make it appear that I have neither
misapplied the money nor abused the trust of government in any instance, I
cannot merit, and I am persuaded I shall not experience any misulderstanding
or unkindness.
I have the honor to be, &c. &c.                 R. C.'
I might have spared myself the trouble of this humiliating
appeal. It produced just what it should produce-nothing; for
it was addressed to the feelings of those who had no feelings;
and called for justice, where no justice was, no mercy, no compassion, honor or good faith.
I wearied the door of Lord North till his very servants drove
me from  it.  I withstood the offer of a benevolent monarch,
whose munificence would have rescued me; and I embraced
ruin in my own country to preserve my honor as a subject of
it; selling every acre of my hereditary estate, jointured on my
wife by marriage settlement, who generously concurred in the
sacrifice, which  my improvident reliance  upon  the faith  of
government compelled me to make.
But I ought to speak of these things with more moderation,
so many years havingl passed, and so many of the parties having
died, since they took place.  In prudence and propriety these
pages ought not to have seen the light, till the writer of them
was no more; neither would they, could I have persisted in
my  resolution for withholding them, till that event. had consigned them into other hands; but there is something paramount to prudence and propriety, which wrests them  from
meMy poverty, but not my will, consents.




CORRESPONDENCE.                          275
The copyright of these Memoirs produced to me the sum of
five hundred pounds, and if, through the candor and protection
of a generous public, they shall turn out no bad bargain to the
purchaser, I shall be most sincerely thankful, and my conscience
will be at rest-but I look back, and find myself still at Madrid,
though on the point of my departure. On the 15th of March I
write to the Earl of Hillsborough as follows, viz:-'MY LoRD: On the 11th instant I had the honor of your lordship's letter,
dated the 14th of February, and in obedience to his majesty's commands,
therein signified, I took occasion on the same day of demanding my passports
of the minister of Spain. Agreeably to the indulgence granted me by His
Majesty, I yesterday took leave of Count Florida Blanca, at the Pardo, and
this day my family presented themselves to the Princess of Asturias, at the
convent of Santo Domingo el Real, who received their parting acknowledgments
with many expressions of kindness and condescension. I am to see the King
of Spain on Sunday, and expect to leave Madrid on Tuesday or Wednesday
next.
The ambassador of France having in the most obliging manner given me a
passport, and your lordship's letter containing no directions to the contrary, I
propose to return by Bayonne and Bourdeaux, to which route I am compelled
by the state of my health, and that of part of my family.
I have the honor to be, &c.'&e.                    R. C.
I hope your lordship has received my letter No. 18, also those numbered 20
and 21, which conclude what I have written.'
To the sub-minister Campo, who had been confidential
throughout, and present at almost every conference I had held
with the Premier, I wrote as follows:-'Madrid, March 20th, 1781.
You have done all things, my dear sir, with the greatest kindness and the
politest attention. I have your passports, and as my baggage is now ready to
be inspected, I wait the directions of the Minister Musquiz, which I pray you
now to dispatch. To-morrow, in the forenoon, at 11 o'clock, or any other hour
more convenient to the officers of the customs, will suit me to attend upon
them.
You tell me that no more could be done for me, were I an ambassador. I
am persuaded of it, for being,, as I am, a dependant on your protection, and intrusted to you by my country, how can I doubt but that the Spanish point of
honor will concede to me not less (and I should not wonder if it granted more),
than any ambassador can claim by privilege.
I have never ceased to feel a perfect confidence in my situation, nor ever
wished for any other title to all the rights of hospitality and protection than
what I derive from the trust, which my court has consigned to me, and that
which I repose in yours.
I bring this letter in my pocket to the Pardo, lest you should not be visible
at the hour I shall arrive. I beg to recommend to you the cause of the English prisoners, who have undersigned the inclosed paper.
I hope to set out on Friday: be assured I shall carry with me a lasting remembrance of your obliging favors, and I shall ardently seize every occasion
in my future life of expressing a due sense of them.
If your leisure serves to favor us with another visit at Madrid, we shall be
happy to see you, and I shall be glad to confer with you on the subject of the
Spanish prisoners, and apprise you of the language I shall hold on that topic
upon my return home.




276         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
On all occasions, and in every place I shall conscientiously adhere to truth.
Let me say, for the last time I shall speak of myself, that no man ever entered
Spain with a more conciliating disposition, and I hope I leave behind me some
proof of patience.
Farewell! ever faithfully yours,                       R. C."
I In perusing Cumberland's narrative of his mission to Spain, the reader
cannot fail to be struck with his evident anxiety to have it redound to the
benefit of his country. His great mistake was in advancing into Spain at all,
inasmuch as, under the circumstances, it was a violation of the letter of his
instructions. He acted, however, as he conceived, for the advantage of his
country. IIis error was of the head; and the ministry's refusal of payment
for his services was a harsh and cruel return for all his sacrifices and endeavors. The mission to Spain, honorable in itself, was disastrous in its consequences, and embittered the remainder of Cumberland's life.
In addition to the causes which he assigns for its failure, the disturbances
in London, and other untoward circumstances, it must not be forgotten that,
amid all the tortuosities of Spanish diplomacy, and notwithstanding all its
protestations and propositions, there was a strong desire to see British power
humbled, and British supremacy overthrown. At the same time, the opinion
prevailed that the American Revolution was a bad example to the Spanish
colonies, and dangerous to Spain, as the United States, if they should become
ambitious, and be seized with the spirit of conquest, might aim at Mexico and
Peru.  The court of Spain seem to have acted on the principle, either to
make no treaty with the United States, until they had accomplished their independence, or to make important concessions to them the conditio sine qua non
of a treaty, and consequent aid.
WVhen Cumberland arrived at Madrid, he found there, as minister from the
United States, John Jay, who had resigned his post of President of Congress,
to accept this mission. The disclosures of Jay and Cumberland exhibit in a
very striking light the craft and duplicity of Florida Blanca, and, indeed, of
all the Spanish officials connected with the foreign office. While Cumberland
was received and caressed in the manner he has described,'it was given out,
and Jay was officially informed, that Cumberland and his family were desirous
of passing through Spain, to Italy; that the journey was undertaken on account of the ill health of a daughter, to whom the Duke of Dorset was much
attached; that the opposition made by his friends to the marriage had affected
her health, &c. The minister assured Jay that whatever proposals Mr. Cumberland might make, should be candidly communicated to him. It is needless,
perhaps, to add that no such communication was made..       The people,
said Mr. Jay, supposed Cumberland's errand to be secret overtures for peace,
and, as far as he could judge, were very glad of it. In truth, the war with
England was very unpopular with the Spaniards.'They appear to me,' wrote
Jay,'to like the English, hate the French, and to have prejudices against us.'
— Flandlers' Lives and Times of the Chief Justices, p. 298.
Whatever the sentiments of the Spanish people, the Spanish court had
different objects to accomplish. They cajoled and deceived Cumberland, and
their conduct towards Jay was marked by treachery and duplicity. With the
desire to curtail British power, was associated the fear that the independence
of America might be prejudicial to Spain. But whatever might betide, the
Spanish ministry were anxious so to shape their conduct that Spain should
profit from whatever turn affairs might take,




DEPARTURE FROM SPAIN.                  277
CHAPTER IX.
Leaves Spain-Madrid-Progress and incidents of his homeward journey.
ON the 24th of March, 1781, having taken a last painful leave
of the worthy Abbe Curtis and the rest of my friends, at half
past ten in the forenoon I set out upon my journey. My party
consisted of my wife, my two eldest daughters, and my infant
daughter, born in Spain, at the breast of a Spanish nurse, a wild
but affectionate creature, native of San Andero; the good Marchetti and the poor redeemed prisoner Anthony Smith accompanied us, and we had three English servants, two of which
(Thomas Cainis and Mary Sampson) had been in my family
from their earliest years, and have never since served any other
master. Two Spanish coaches, drawn by six mules each, with
mules for our out-riders, constituted our travelling equipage,
and I contracted for their attending upon us to Bayonne. They
are heavy clumsy carriages, but they carry a'great deal of
baggage, and if the traveller has patience to put up with their
very early hours and slow pace, there is nothing else to complain of.
Madrid, which may be considered as the capital of Spain,
though it is not a city, disappoints you if you expect to find
suburbs, or villas, or even gardens when you have passed the
gates, being almost as closely environed with a desert as Palmyra is in its present state of ruin. The Spaniar:ds themselves
have no great taste for cultivation, and the attachment to the
chase, which seems to be the reigning passion of the Spanish
sovereigns, conspires with the indolence of the people in suffering every royal residence to be surrounded by a savage and
unseemly wilderness. The lands, which should contribute to
supply the markets, being thus delivered over to waste and
barrenness, are considered only as preserves for game of various
sorts, which includes everything the gun can slay, and these are
as much res sacrce as the altars, or the monks, who serve them.
This solitudo. ante ostiurm did not contribute to support our
spirits, neither did the incessant jingling of the mules' bells
relieve the tedium of the road to Guadarama, where we were




278      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
agreeably surprised by the Counts Kaunitz and Pietra Santa,
who passed that night in our company, and next morning with
many friendly adieus departed for Madrid, never to meet again —
Animas queis candidiores
Nusquam terra tulit.
The next day we passed the mountains of Guadarama by a
magnificent causeway, and entered Old Castile. Here the
country began to change for the better; the town of Villa
Castin presents a very agreeable spectacle, being new and flourishing, with a handsome house belonging to the Marchioness of
Torre-Manzanares, who is in part proprietor of the town. This
illustrious lady was just now under a temporary cloud for having
been party in a frolic with the young and animated Duchess of
Alva, who had ventured to exhibit her fair person on the public
parade in the character of postilion to her own equipage, whilst
Torre-Manzanares, mounted the box as coachman, and other
gallant spirits took their stations behind as footmen, all habited
in the splendid blue and silver liveries of the house of Alva. In
some countries a whim like this would have passed off with
eclat, in many with impunity, but in Spain, under the government of a moral and decorous monarch, it was regarded in so
grave a light, that, although the great lady postilion escaped
with a reprimand, the lady coachman was sent to her castle at a
distance from the capital, and doomed to do penance in solitude
and obscurity.
We were now in the country for the Spanish wool, and this
place being a considerable mart for that valuable article, is
furnished with a very large and commodious shearing-house.
WVe slept at a poor little village called San Chidrian, and being
obliged to change our quarters on account of other travellers,
who had been beforehand with us, we were fain to put up with
the wretched accommodations of a very wretched posada.
The third day's journey presented to us a fine champaign
country, abounding in corn, and well peopled. Leaving the
town of Arebalo, which made a respectable appearance, on our
right, we proceeded to Almedo, a very remarkable place, being
surrounded with a Moorish wall and towers in very tolerable
preservation; Almedo also has a fine convent and a-handsome
church.
The fourth day's journey, being March the 27th, still led us
through a fair country, rich in corn and wine. The river Adaga
runs through a grove of pines in a deep channel very romantic,
wandering through a vast tract of vineyards without fences.
The weather was serene and fresh, and gave us spirits to enjoy




VALLADOLID.                     279
the scenery, which was new and striking. We dined at Valdestillas, a mean little town, and in the evening reached Valladolid, where bigotry may be said to have established its headquarters. The gate of the city, which is of modern construction,
consists of three arches of equal span, and that very narrow;
the centre of these is elevated with a tribune, and upon that is
placed a pedestrian statue of Carlos III. This gate delivers you
into a spacious square, surrounded by convents and churches,
and passing this, which offers nothing attractive to delay you,,
you enter the old gate of the city, newly painted in bad fresco,
and ornamented with an equestrian statue of the reigning king
with a Latin inscription, very just to his virtues, but very little
to the honor of the writer of it. You now find yourself in one
of the most gloomy, desolate and dirty towns, that can be conceived, the great square much resembling that of the Plazamayor in Madrid, the houses painted in grotesque fresco, despicably executed, and the whole in miserable condition. I was
informed that the convents amount to between thirty and forty.
There is both an English and a Scottish college; the former
under the government of Doctor Shepherd, a man of very
agreeable, cheerful, natural manners; I became acquainted with
him at Madrid through the introduction of my friend Doctor
Geddes, late Principal of the latter college, but since Bishop of
Mancecos, Missionary and Vicar General at Aberdeen. I had
an introductory letter to the Intendant, but my stay was too
short to avail myself of it; and I visited no church but the
great cathedral of the Benedictines, where mass was celebrating,
and the altars and whole edifice were arrayed in all their splendor. The fathers were extremely polite, and allowed me to
enter the sacristy, where I saw some valuable old paintings of
the early Spanish masters, some of a later date, and a series of
Benedictine Saints, who, if they are not the most rigid, are indisputably the richest, order of Religious in Spain.
Our next day's journey advanced us only six short leagues,
and set us down in the ruinous town of Duenas, which, like
Olmedo, is surrounded by a Moorish fortification, the gate of
which is entire. The Calasseros, obstinate as their mules, accord
to you in nothing, but in admitting indiscriminately a load of
baggage, that would almost revolt a wagon, and this is indispensible, as you must carry beds, provisions, cooking vessels, and
every article for rest and sustenance, not excepting bread, for in
this country an inn means a hovel, in which you may light a
fire, if you can defend your right to it, and find a dunghill called
a bed, if you can submit to lie down in it.
Our sixth day's stage brought us to the banks of the Douro,




280       IEMIOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
which we skirted and kept in sight during the whole day from
Duenas through Torrequemara to Villa Rodrigo. The stonebridge at Torrequemara is a noble edifice of eight and twenty
arches. The windings of this beautiful river and its rocky banks,
of which one side is always very steep, are romantic, and present
fine shapes of nature, to which nothing is wanting but trees,
and they not always. The vale through' which it flows, inclosed
within these rocky cliffs, is luxuriant in corn and wine; the soil
in general of a fine loam mixed with gravel, and the fallows remarkably clean; they deposit their wine in caves hollowed out
of the rocks. In the mean time, it is to the bounty of nature
rather tban to the care and industry of man, that the inhabitant,
squalid and loathsome in his person, is beholden for that produce, which invites exertions that he never makes, and points to
comforts that he never tastes. In the midst of all these scenes
of plenty you encounter human misery in its worst attire, and
ruined villages amongst luxuriant vineyards. Such a bountiful
provider is God, and so improvident a steward is his vicegerent
in this realm.
It should seem, that in this valley, on the banks of the fertilizing Douro, would be the proper site for the capital of Spain;
whereas, Madrid is seated on a barren soil, beside a meagre
stream, which scarce suffices to supply the washer-women, who
make their troughs in the shallow current, which only has the
appearance of a river when the snow melts upon the mountains,
and turns the petty Manzanares, that just trickles through the
sand, into a roaring and impetuous torrent. Of the environs
of Madrid I have already spoken, and the climate on the
northern side of the Guadaramas is of a much superior and
more salubrious quality, being not so subject to the dangerous
extremes of heat and cold, and much oftener refreshed with
showers, the great desideratum, for which the monks of Madrid
so frequently importune their poor helpless saint Isidore, and
make him feel their vengeance, whilst for months together
the unrelenting clouds will not credit him with a single drop of
rain.
Upon our road this day we purchased three lambs at the price
of two pisettes (shillings) a piece, and, little as it was, we hardly
could be said to have had value for our money. Our worthy
Marchetti, being an excellent engineer, roasted them whole, with
surprising expedition and address, in a kitchen and at a fire,
which would have puzzled all the resources of a French cook,
and which no English scullion would have approached in her
very worst apparel. A crew of Catalunian carriers at Torrequemara disputed our exclusive title to the fire, and with their




TRAVELLING IN SPAIN.                   281
arroz a la Valenciana, would soon have ruined our roast, if our
gallant proveedor had not put aside his capa, and displayed his
two epaulets, to which military insignia the sturdy interlopers
instantly deferred.
There is excellent morality to be learned in a journey of this
sort.. A supper at Valla Rodrigo is a better corrective for fastidiousness and false delicacy than all that Seneca and Epictetus
can administer, and if a traveller in Spain will carry justice and
fortitude about him, the Calasseros will teach him patience, and
the Posadas will enure him to temperance; having these four
cardinal virtues in possession, he has the whole; all Tully's
offices can't find a fifth.
On the seventh day of our travel we kept the pleasant Douro
still in sight. Surely this river plays his natural sovereign a
slippery trick; rises in Galicia, is nourished and maintained in
his course through Spain, and as soon as he is become mature
in depth and size for trade and navigation, deserts and throws
himself into the service of Portugal. This is the case with the
Tagus also: this river affords the Catholic King a little angling
for small fry at Aranjuez, and at Lisbon becomes a magnificent
harbor to give wealth and splendor to a kingdom. The Oporto
wines, that grow upon the banks of the Douro in its renegado
course, find a ready and most profitable vent in England, whilst
the vineyards of Castile languish from want of a purchaser, and
in some years are absolutely cast away, as not paying for the
labor of making them into wine.
The city and castle of Burgos are well situated on the banks
of the river Relancon. Two fine stone bridges are thrown over
that stream, and several plantations of young trees line the roads
as you approach it. The country is well watered, and the heights
furnish excellent pasture for sheep, being of a light downy soil.
The cathedral church of Burgos deserves the notice and admiration of every traveller, and it was with sincere regret I found
myself at leisure to devote no more than one hour to an edifice
that requires a day to examine it within side and without. It
is of that order of Gothic which is most profusely ornamented
and enriched; the towers are crowned with spires of pierced
stone-work, raised upon arches, and laced all through with openwork like filligree: the windows and doors are embellished
with innumerable figures, admirably carved in stone, and in
perfect preservation; the dome over the nave is superb, and
behind the grand altar there is a spacious and beautiful chapel,
erected by a Duke of Frejas, who lies entombed with his duchess, with a stately monument recumbent with their heads resting
upon cushions, in their robes and coronets, well sculptured in
19




282      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
most exquisite marble of the purest white. The bass-reliefs at
the back of the grand altar, representing passages in the life
and actions of our Saviour, are -wonderful samples of sculpture,
and the carrying of the cross in particular is expressed with all
the delicacy of Raphael's famous Pasma de Sicilia. The stalls
of the choir in brown oak are finely executed, and exhibit an
innumerable group of figures: whilst the seats are ludicrously
inlaid with grotesque representations of fauns and satyrs, unaccountably contrasted with the sacred history of the carved
work that incloses them.  The altars, chapels, sacristy and
cloisters are equally to be admired, nor are there wanting some
fine paintings, though not profusely bestowed. The priests
conducted me through every part of the cathedral with the
kindest attention and politeness, though mass was then in high
celebration.
When I was on my departure, and my carriages were in waiting, a parcel of British seamen, who had been prisoners of war,
most importunately besought me that I would ask their liberation of the Bishop of Burgos, and allow them to make their
way out of the country under my protection. This good bishop,
in his zeal for making converts, had taken these fellows upon
their word into his list of pensioners, as true proselytes, and
allowed them to establish themselves in various occupations and
callings, which they now professed themselves most heartily
disposed to abandon, and doubted not but I should find him as
willing to release them, as they were to be set free. Though I
gave little credit to their assertions, I did not refuse to make
the experiment, and wrote to the bishop in their behalf, promising to obtain the release of the like number of Spanish prisoners
if he would allow me to take these men away with me. To my
great surprise, I instantly received his free consent and permit
under his hand and seal to dispose of them as I saw fit. This I
accordingly did, and by occasional reliefs upon the braces of
my carriages marched my party of renegadoes entire into Bayonne, where I got leave, upon certain conditions, to embark them
on board a neutral ship bound to Lisbon, and consigned them
to Commodore Johnstone, or the commanding officer for the
time being, to be put on board, and exchanged for the like number of Spanish prisoners, which accordingly was done with the
exception of one or two, who turned aside by the way. I have
reason to believe the good bishop was thoroughly sick of his
converts, and I encountered no opposition from the ladies, whom
two or three of them had taken to wife.
We pursued our eighth day's journey over a deep rich soil,




VITTORIA.                     283
with mountains in sight covered with snow, which had fallen
two clays before. There was now a scene of more wood, and
the face of the country much resembled parts of England.'We
advanced but seven leagues, the river Belancon accompanying
us for the last three, where our road was cut out of the side. of
a steep cliff, very narrow, and so ill defended, that in many
places the precipice, considering the mode in which the Spanish
Calasseros drive, was seriously alarming. The wild woman of
San Andero, who nursed my infant, during this day's journey
was at high words with the witches, who twice pulled off her
redecilla, and otherwise annoyed her in a very provoking manner till we arrived at Breviesca, a tolerable good Spanish town,
where they allowed her to repose, and we heard no more of
them.
From  Breviesca we travelled through a fine picturesque
country, of a rich soil, to Pancorvo, at the foot of a steep range
of rocky mountains, and passing through a most romantic fissure
in the rock, a work of great art and labor, we reached the river
Ebro, which forms the boundary of Old Castile. Upon this river
stands the town of Miranda, which is approached over a new
bridge of seven stone arches, and we lodged ourselves for the
night in the posada at the foot of it: a house of the worst reception we had met in Spain, which is giving it as ill a name as
I can well bestow upon any house whatever.
A short stage brought us from Breviesca to the town of Vittoria, the capital of Alaba, which is one portion of the delightful province of Biscay. We were now for the first time lodged
with some degree of comfort. We showed our passport at the
custom-house, and the administrator of the post-office having
desired to have immediate notice of our arrival, I requested my
friend Marchetti to go to him, and in the mean time poor Smith
passed a very anxious interval of suspense, fearing that he might
be stopped by order of government in this place (a suspicion I
confess not out of the range of probabilities), but it proved to be
only a punctilio of the subminister Campo, who had written to
this gentleman to be particular in his attentions to us, inclosing
his card, as if in person present to take leave; this mark of
politeness on his part produced a present from the administrator of some fine asparagus, and excellent sweetmeats, the produce of the country, with the further favor of a visit from the
donor, a gentleman of great good manners and much respectability.
The Marquis Legarda, Governor of Vittoria, to whom I had
a letter from Count D'Yranda, the Marquis D'Allamada, and
other gentlemen of the place, did us the honor to visit us, and




284       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
were extremely polite. We were invited by the Dominicans to
their convent, and saw some very exquisite paintings of Ribeira
and Murillo. At noon we took our departure for Mondragone,
passing through a country of indescribable beauty. The scale
is vast, the heights are lofty without being tremendous, the cultivation is of various sorts, and to be traced in every spot, where
the hand of industry can reach; a profusion of fruit trees in
blossom colored the landscape with such vivid and luxuriant
tints, that we had new charms to admire upon every shift and
winding of the road. The people are laborious, and the fields
being full of men and women at their work (for here both sexes
make common task), nothing could be more animated than the
scenery;'twas not in human nature to present a stronger contrast to the gloomy character and squalid indolence of the Castilians. And what is it, which constitutes this marked distinction
between such near neighbors, subjects of the same king, and
separated from each other only by a narrow stream? It is because the regal power, which in Castile is arbitrary, is limited
by local laws in Catalunia, and gives passage for one ray of
liberty to visit that happier and more enlightened country.
From Mondragone we went to Villa Franca, where we dined,
and finished our twelfth day's journey at Tolosa; the country
still presented a succession of the most enchanting scenery, but
I was now become insensible to its beauties, being so extremely
ill that it was not without much difficulty, so excruciating were
my pains, that I reached Tolosa. Here I stayed three days, and
when I found my fever would not yield to James's powder, I resolved to attempt getting to Bayonne, where I might hope to
find medical assistance, and better accommodation.
On the seventeenth day, after suffering tortures from the
roughness of the roads, I reached Bayonne, and immediately put
myself under the care of Doctor Vidal, a Huguenot physician.
Here I passed three miserable weeks, and though in a state of
almost continued delirium throughout the whole of this time, I
can yet recollect that, under Providence, it is only owing to the
unwearied care and tender attentions of my ever-watchful wife
(assisted by her faithful servant Mary Samson) that I was kept
alive; from her hands I consented to receive sustenance and
medicine, and to her alone, in the disorder of my senses, I was
uniformly obedient.
It was at this period of time that the aggravating news arrived of my bills being stopped, and my person subjected to
arrest. I was not sensible to the extent of my danger, for death
hung over me, and threatened to supersede all arrests but of a
lifeless corpse; the kind heart, however, of Marchetti had com



AN INCIDENT.                    285
passion for my disconsolate condition, and he found means to
supply me with five hundred pounds, as I have already related.
It pleased God to preserve my life, and this seasonable act of
friendship preserved my liberty. The early fruits of the season,
and the balmy temperature of the air in that delicious climate,
aided the exertions of my physician, and I was at length enabled
to resume my journey, taking a day's rest in the magnificent
town of Bourdeaux, from whence, through Tours, Blois and
Orleans, I proceeded to Paris, which, however, I entered in a
state as yet but doubtfully convalescent, emaciated to a skeleton,
the bones of my back and elbows still bare and staring through
mny skin.
I had both Florida Blanca's and Count Montmorin's passports,
but my applications for post-horses were in vain, and here I
should in all probability have ended my career, as I felt myself
relapsing apace, had I not at length obtained the long-withheld
permission to pass onwards. They had pounded the King of
Spain's horses also for the space of a whole month, but these
were liberated When I got my freedom, and I embarked them at
Ostend, from whence I took my passage to Margate, and arrived
at my house in Portland Place, destined to experience treatment
which I had not merited, and encounter losses I have never
overcome.
I will here simply relate an incident without attempting to
draw any conjectures from it, which is, that whilst I lay ill at
Bayonne, insensible, and, as it was supposed, at the point of death,
the very monk, who had been so troublesome to me at Elvas,
found his way into my chamber, and upon the alarm given by my
wife, who perfectly recognized his person, was only driven out
of it by force. Again when I was in Paris, and about to sit down
to dinner, a salad was brought to me by the lacquey who waited
on me, which was given to him for me by a red-haired Dominican, whose person, according to his description, exactly tallied
with that of the aforesaid monk; I dispatched my servant Camis
in pursuit of him, but he had escaped, and my suspicion of the
salad being poisoned was confirmed by experiment on a dog.
/I shall only add that somewhere in Castile, I forget the place,
but it was between Valladolid and Burgos, as I was sitting on a
bench at the door of a house, where my calasseros were giving
water to the mules, I tendered my snuff-box to a grave elderly
man, who seemed of the better sort of Castilians, and who appeared to have thrown himself in my way, sitting down beside
me as one who invited conversation.  The stranger looked
steadily in my face, and after a pause, put his fingers into my
box, and taking a very small portion of my snuff between them,




286      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
said to me:'I am not afraid, sir, of trusting myself to you,
whom  I know to be an Englishman, and a person in whose
honor I may perfectly repose. But there is death concealed in
many a man's snuff-box, and I would seriously advise you on
no account to take a single pinch from the box of any stranger,
who may offer it to you; and if you have done that already, I
sincerely hope no such consequences as I allude to will result
from your want of caution.' I continued in conversation with
this stranger for some time; I told him I had never before been
apprised of the practices he had spoken of, and being perfectly
without suspicion, I might, or might not, have exposed myself
to the danger he was now so kind as to apprise me of, but I
observed to him, that however prudent it might be to guard myself against such evil practices in other countries, I should not
expect to meet them in Castile, where the Spanish point of honor most decidedly prevailed.'Ah! Senor,' he replied,'they
may not all be Spaniards, whom you have chanced upon, or
shall hereafter chance upon, in Castile.' When I asked him
how this snuff operated on those who took it, his answer was,
as I expected,'-on the brain.' I was not curious to inquire
who this stranger was, as I paid little attention to his information at the time, though I confess it occurred to me, when after
a few days I was seized with such agonies in my head as deprived me of my senses; I merely give this anecdote as it
occurred; I draw no inferences from it.
I have now done with Spain, and if the detail, which I have
truly given of my proceedings, whilst I was there in trust, may
serve to justify me in the opinion of those who read these Memoirs, I will not tire their patience with a dull recital of my,
unprofitable efforts to obtain a just and equitable indemnification for my expenses, according to agreement. The evidences,
indeed, are in my hands, and the production of them would be
highly discreditable to the memory of some, who are now no
more; but redress is out of my reach; the time for that is long
since gone by, and has carried me on so far towards the hour
which must extinguish all human feelings, that there can be
little left for me to do but to employ the remaining pages of this
history in the best manner I can devise, consistently with strict
veracity, for the satisfaction of those who may condescend to
peruse them, and to whom I should be above measure sorry to
appear in the character of a querulous, discontented, and resentful old man; I rather hope that when I shall have laid before them a detail of literary labors, such as few have executed
within a period of the like extent, they will credit me for my
industry, at least, and allow me to possess some claim upon the




MEMORIAL.                            287
favor of posterity as a man, who, in honest pride of conscience,
has not let his spirit sink under oppression and neglect, nor suffered his good-will to mankind, or his zeal for his country's
service and the honor of his God, to experience intermission or
abatement, nor made old age a plea for insolence, or an apology
for ill humor.
Nevertheless, as I have charged my employers with a direct
breach of faith, it seems necessary for my more perfect vindication, to support that charge by an official document, and this
consideration will, I trust, be my sufficient apology for inserting
the following statement of my claim:To the Right Honorable Lord North, tic. &c. &c.
The humble memorial of Richard Cumberland sheweth:
That you memorialist in April, 1780, received his majesty's most secret and
confidential orders and instructions to set out for the court of Spain, in company with the Abb6 Hussey, one of His Catholic Majesty's chaplains, for the
purpose of negotiating a separate peace with that court.
That to render the object of this commission more secret, your memorialist
was directed to take his family with him to Lisbon, under the pretence of recovering the health of one of his daughters, which he accordingly did, and
having sent the Abb6 Hussey before him to the court of Spain, agreeably to
the king's instructions, your memorialist and his family soon after repaired to
Aranjuez, where his Catholic Majesty then kept his court.
That your memorialist, upon setting out on this important undertaking, received by the hands of John Robinson, Esquire, one of the secretaries of the
treasury, the sum of one thousand pounds on account, with directions how he
should draw, through the channel of Portugal, upon his banker in England, for
such further sums as might be necessary (particularly for a large discretionary
sum to be employed as occasion might require in secret services), and your memorialist was directed to accompany his drafts by a separate letter to Mr.
Secretary Robinson, advising him what sum or sums he had given order for,
that the same might be replaced to your memorialist's credit with the bank
of -Messieurs Crofts & Co., in Pall Mall.
That your memorialist, in the execution of this commission, for the space of
nearly fourteenth months, defrayed the expenses of the Abb6 Hussey's separate
journey into Spain, paid all charges incurred by him during four months' residence there, and supplied him with money for his return to England, no part
of which has been repaid to your memorialist.
That your memorialist, with his family, took two very long and expensive
journeys (the one by way of Lisbon and the other through France), no consideration for which has been granted to him.
That your memorialist, during his residence in Spain, was obliged to follow
the removals of the court to Aranjuez, San Ildefonso, the Escurial, and Madrid,
besides frequent visits to the Pardo; in all which places, except the Pardo, he
was obliged to lodge himself, the expense of which can only be known to those
who, in the service of their court, have incurred it.,That every article of necessary expense, being inordinately high in Madrid,
your memorialist, without assuming any vain appearance of a minister, and
with as much domestic frugality as possible, incurred a very heavy charge.
That your memorialist, having no courier with him, nor any cypher, was
obliged to employ his own servant in that trust, and the servant of Abb6 Hussey, at his own proper cost, no part of which has been repaid to him.
That your memorialist did at considerable charge obtain papers and docu



288        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
ments containing information of a very important nature, which need not here
be enumerated, of which charge so incurred no part has been repaid.
That upon the capture of the East and West India ships by the enemy, your
memorialist was addressed by many of the British prisoners, some of whom he
relieved with money, and in all cases obtained the prayer of their memorials.
Your memorialist also, through the favor of the Bishop of Burgos, took with
him out of Spain some valuable British seamen, and restored themto his majesty's fleet; and this, also, he did at his own cost.
That your memorialist, during his residence in Spain, was indispensably
obliged to cover these, his unavoidable expenses, by several drafts upon his
banker to the amount of ~4,500, of which not one single bill has been replaced,
nor one farthing issued to his support during fourteen months' expensive and
laborious duty in the king's immediate and most confidential service; the consequence of which unparalleled treatment was, that your memorialist was
stopped and arrested at Bayonne by order from his remittancers at Madrid;
in this agonizing situation your memorialist, being then in the height of a
most violent fever, surrounded by a family of helpless women in an enemy's
country, and abandoned by his employers, on whose faith he had relied, found
himself incapable of proceeding on his journey, and destitute of means for
subsisting where he was; under this accumulated distress he must have sunk
and expired, had not the generosity of an officer in the Spanish service, who
had accompanied him into France, supplied his necessities with the loan of
five hundred pounds, and passed the King of Great Britain's bankrupt servant
into his own country, for which humane action this friendly officer (MLcrehetti
by name) was arrested at Paris, and by the Count D'Aranda remanded back
to Madrid, there to take his chance for what the influence of France may find
occasion to devise against him.
Your memorialist, since his return to England, having, after innumerable attempts, gained one only admittance to your lordship's person, for the space of
more than ten months, and not one answer to the frequent and humble suit he
has made to you by letter, presumes now, for the last time, to solicit your consideration of his case, and as he is persuaded it is not, and cannot be, in your
lordship's heart to devote and abandon to unmerited ruin an old and faithful
servant of the crown, who has been the father of four sons (one of whom  has
lately died, and three are now carrying arms in the service of their king), your
memorialist humbly prays that you will give order for him to be relieved in
such manner as to your lordship's wisdom shall seem meet.
All which is humbly submitted by
Your lordship's most obedient
And most humble servant,
RICHARD CUMBERLAND.'
This memorial, which is perhaps too long and loaded, I am
persuaded Lord North never took the pains to read, for I am
unwilling to suppose that, if he had, he would have treated it
with absolute neglect. HIe was upon the  point of quitting
office when I gave it in, and being my last effort, I was desirous
of summing up the circumstances of my case so, that if he had
thought fit to grant me a compensation, this statement might
have been a justification to his successor for the issue; but it
produced no compensation, though I should presume it proved
enough to have touched the feelings of one of the best tempered men living, if he would have devoted a very few minutes
to the perusal of it.




SECRETARY ROBINSON.                     289
CHAPTER X.
Secretary Robinson-Lord North —Lord George Germain —Sir Edward Sackville
-Duelling-Loses his situation at the Board of Trade-Removes to Tunbridge Wells-The men of Kent-Description of his house-Merciful to animals His children-His books-' The Observer'-' Anecdotes of eminent
painters in Spain'-Offence to Sir Joshua Reynolds-' The Walloons'-' The
Mysterious Husband'-Henderson-' The Observer'-Habits of composition-'The Clouds'-Anecdote of Henderson-' The Arab'-Garrick-Anecdote of
Dr. Johnson-Reynolds-Romney-Lines to.
IT is not possible for me to call to mind a character in all
essential points so amiable as that of this departed minister, and
not wish to find some palliation for his oversights; but if I
were now to say that I acquit him of injustice to me, it would
be affectation and hypocrisy; at the same time I must think,
that Mr. Secretary Robinson, who was the vehicle of the promise, was more immediately bound to solicit and obtain the
fulfilment of it, and this I am persuaded was completely in his
powerto do: to him, therefore, I addressed such remonstrances,
and enforced them in such terms, as no manly spirit'ought to
have put up with; but anger and high words make all things
worse; and language, which a man has not courage to resent,
he never will have candor to forgive.
When in process of time I saw and knew Lord North in his
retirement from all public affairs, patient, collected, resigned to
an afflicting visitation of the severest sort, when all but his illuminated mind was dark around him, I contemplated an affecting
and an edifying object, that claimed my admiration and esteem;
a man, who, when divested of that incidental greatness, which
high office for a time can give, self-dignified and independent,
rose to real greatness of his own creating, which no time can
take away; whose genius gave a grace to everything he said,
and whose benignity shed a lustre upon everything he did; so
richly was his memory stored, and so lively was his imagination
in applying what he remembered, that after the great source of
information was shut against himself, he still possessed a boundless fund of information for the instruction and delight of others.
Some hours (and those not few) of his society he was kind in




290         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
bestowing upon me; I eagerly courted, and very highly apprized them.'
1 The unbroken good humor, the conciliating and amiable qualities, the extensive information, excellent sense, unflinching courage, ready and powerful
talents of Lord North, have been alike applauded by those who approved and
those who condemned his public conduct. He incurred great odium in America
from being the responsible advocate of the ill-starred policy towards the colonies; and the American war, as Lord Brougham justly observes, is the great
blot upon his fame. It is now well known that he perceived the folly of the
American contest, and was only kept at the helm, advocating a line of conduct
which he disapproved, I by constant entreaties, by monthly expostulations, by
the most vehement protestations of the misguided prince.... But although
we may thus explain, we are not the better enabled to excuse the minister's
conduct. When he found that he could no longer approve the policy which he
was required to pursue, and of course to defend, he was bound to quit the
councils of his obstinate and unreasonable sovereign.' —lord Broughlm's
Sketches.
Lord North was the eldest son of the Earl of Guilford, and born in 1733. He
was educated at Eton and Oxford, and then proceeded to the Continent, where
he remained three years. In addition to his classical knowledge, which was
extensive and accurate, he had made himself master of French, German, and
Italian. On coming of age he was,returned to Parliament, and soon became the
recipient of ministerial favors. Lord of the Treasury, joint paymaster of the
forces, and chancellor of the exchequer; these were the posts bestowed on him
before he ihad attained his thirty-fifth year. But through all these promotions,
says Lord Mahon,'it may be said with truth, that he did not seek honors; it
was rather that honors sought him. He was by no means of an eager and aspiring temper, nor ever feeling tempted to deviate from principle in quest of
popularity..... Of outward advantages,' says the samte authority,' Lord
North was altogether destitute. His figure was overgrown and ungraceful, and
his countenance gave little promise of ability. He was extremely near-sighted;
a great obstacle in the way of Parliamentary eminence, which has never, perhaps, been wholly overcome, except by himself, and in our own time by Lord
Derby. A few days only before he became prime minister, one of his keenest
opponents, Mr. Burke, thus described him in the House of Commons:'The
noble lord who spoke last, after extending his right leg a full yard before his
left, rolling his flaming eyes, and moving his ponderous frame, has at length
opened his mouth.' But Mr. Burke might have added, though he did not,
that no sooner was that mouth opened, than it made ample amends for every
defect of form or gesture. Out there came, fresh at each emergency, a flow of
good sense and sterling information, enlivened by never-failing pleasantry and
wit. During his long and, for the most part, disastrous- administration, it was
frequently his fate to maintain almost alone, a contest with some of the ablest
orators whom the world had ever seen. Yet by his natural and acquired gifts
of mind, conjoined with high character and with sturdy courage, he was enabled to stand firm, during so many years, against all the efforts of Fox and
Burke, of Dunning, Savile, and Barr6, and at last the younger Pitt. Unequal
as he might be to some, at least, of these in powers of eloquence, he far surpassed them, and indeed all men of his time, in his admirable mildness and'
placidity of temper. So cheerful was ever his mien, and so unruffled his composure, that it seemed scarcely an effort to him to wage the warfare of debate
even against such adversaries. Indeed, his great difficulty during the violent
volleys of attacks that were often poured upon him as he sat upon the treasury
bench, was to keep himself awake! Many a keen opponent, charging him to his
face with the heaviest crimes and misdemeanors, must have felt not a little disconcerted at seeing opposite the object of all his vehemence dropping by de



LORD GEORGE GERMAIN.                        291
I experienced no abatement in the friendship of Lord George
Germain; on the contrary, it was from this time chiefly to the
day of his death, that I lived in the greatest intimacy with him.
W~hilst he held the seals I continued to attend  upon him  both
in public and in private, rendering him all the voluntary service in my power, particularly on his levee days, which he held
in my apartment in the Plantation office, though he had ceased
to preside at the Board of Trade, and here great numbers of
American loyalists, who had taken refuge in England, were in
the habit of resorting to him: it was an ardous and delicate
business to conduct: I may add it was also a business of some
personal risk and danger, as it engaged me in  very serious
explanations upon  more occasions  than  one.   Upon  Lord
George's putting into my hands a letter he had received from a
certain naval officer, very disrespectful towards him, and most
unjustifiably so to me, for having brought him an answer to an
application, which he was pleased to consider as private and
confidential, I felt myself obliged to take the letter with me to
that gentleman, and require him to write and sign an apology
of my own dictating: whatever was his motive for doing what
I peremptorily required, so it was, that to my very great surprise he submitted  to  transcribe  and  sign  it, and  when I
exhibited it to Lord George, he acknowledged it to be the most
complete revocation and apology he had ever met with.
There were other situations still more delicate, in which I
occasionally became involved, but which I forbear to mention;
but in those unpleasant times men's passions were inflamed, and
in every case, when reasoning would not serve to allay intemgrees into a gentle doze, and only roused by his neighbor's elbows into starts
of watchfulness.....  This sweetness of temper in Lord North was by no
means confined to public life; it was no less manifest, and no less delightful in
his domestic circle....  As an upright public servant, the character of Lord
North stands above all suspicion or reproach; indeed, but for the wardenship
of the Cinque Ports, which the king's spontaneous act bestowed upon him, as
afterwards upon Mr. Pitt, he would have left offico a poorer man than he had
entered it. On all occasions his- feelings as his manners were those of an
honorable and high-bred gentleman. He had great sagacity in unravelling,
and great quickness in maturing the most intricate details of public business.
But in conducting that business it cannot be denied that he lacked something
of energy, of firmness, of fixed and resolute will. These qualities —needful to
a statesman at all times, but doubly needful at a period so fraught with difficulties as the-American contest-never certainly shone forth in this too amiable,
too complying prime minister. It is his main reproach, as he stands before the
tribunal of history, nor can history absolve him from the charge, that he frequently yielded his own deliberate judgment to the persuasion of his sovereign
or friends.' —History of England, vol. v. p. 255, et seq. Vide, also, the supplement to this volume.




292        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
perance, and explanation was lost upon them, I never scrupled
to abide the consequence.
WVhen Lord George Germain resigned the seals, the king was
graciously pleased, in reward fbr his services, to call him to the
House of Lords by the title of Viscount Sackville. The wellknown circumstance,' that occurred upon the event of his elevation to the peerage, made a deep and painful impression on his
feeling mind, and if his seeming patience under the infliction of
it should appear to merit in a moral sense the name of virtue,
I must candidly acknowledge it as a virtue that he had no title
to be credited for, inasmuch as it was entirely owing to the influence of some, who overruled his propensities, and made
themselves responsible for his honor, that he did not betake
himself to the same abrupt, unwarrantable mode of dismissing
this insult, as he had resorted to in a former instance.  No
man can speak from a more intimate knowledge of his feelings
upon this occasion than I can, and if I was not on the side of
those who no doubt spoke well and wisely when they spoke for
peace, it is amongst the many errors and offences which I have
yet to repent of.
There was once a certain Sir Edward Sackville, whom the
world has heard of, who probably would not have possessed
himself with so much calmness and forbearance as did a late
noble head of his family, whilst the question I allude to was in
agitation, and he present in his place. It was by the medium
of this noble personage that the Lord Viscount Sackville meditated to send that invitation he had prepared, when the interposition and well-considered remonstrances of some of his nearest friends (in particular of Lord Amherst) put him by from
his resolve, and dictated a conduct more conformable to prudence, but much less suited to his inclination.
The law that is sufficient for the redress of injuries does not
always reach to the redress of insults; thus it comes to pass
that many men, in other respects wise, and just, and temperate,
not having resolution to be right in their own consciences, have
t Lord George Germain had been convicted by a court martial of disobedience
of orders at the battle of Minden, and when it was reported that he had been
created Viscount Sackville, the Marquis of Caermarthen moved in the Peers
that to recommend to the crown, for such a dignity, any person laboring under
so heavy a sentence of a court martial, was derogatory to the honor of the
House of Lords. And the same motion was renewed when he took his seat.
This is the'well-known circumstance' to which Cumberland refers. The attack of Caermarthen was deemed disgustful, and without justification.'Lord
Caermarthen made himself odious; and Lord George found at least that mankind were not so abandoned as to enjoy such wanton malevolence.'-Memoirs
of the Reign of George II, vol. ii. p. 296, note.




TUNBRIDGE WELLS.                        293
set aside both reason and religion, and, in compliance with the
evil practice of the world about them, performed their bloody
sacrifices, and immolated human victims to the idol of false
honor. Truth obliges me to confess that the friend, of whom I
am speaking, though possessing one of the k1indest hearts that
ever beat within a human breast, was with difficulty diverted
from resorting a second time to that desperate remedy, which
modern empirics have prescribed for wounds of a peculiar sort,
oftentimes imaginary, and always to be cured by patience.
When Lord North's administration was overturned, and the
Board of Trade, of which I was Secretary, dismissed under the
regulations of what is commonly called Mr. Burke's Bill,' I
found myself set adrift upon a compensation, which, though
much nearer to an equivalent than what I had received upon my
Spanish claims, was yet in value scarce a moiety of what I was
deprived of. By the operation of this reform, after I had sacrificed the patrimony I was born to, a very considerable reduction
was made even of the remnant that was left to me; I lost no
time in putting my family upon such an establishment as prudence dictated, and fixed myself at Tunbridge Wells.
This place, of which I had made choice, and in which I have
continued to reside for more than twenty years, had much to
recommend it, and very little that in any degree made against
it. It is not altogether a public place, yet it is at no period of
the year a solitude. A reading man may command his hours
of study, and a social man will find full gratification for his
philanthropy. Its vicinity to the capital brings quick intelligence of all that passes there; the morning papers reach us before the hour of dinner, and the evening ones before breakfast
the next day; whilst between the arrival of the general post and
its departure there is an interval of twelve hours; an accommodation in'point of correspondence that even London cannot
boast of.  The produce of the neighboring farms and gardens,
and the supplies of all sorts for the table are excellent in their
J The laudable spirit manifested by Burke in his celebrated bill, has been
the subject of much and deserved praise. Unlike most reformers, he did
not press forward to his object-with undiscriminating zeal. His speech, when
bringing forward his motion, was pronounced by Lord North one of the
ablest he had ever heard,'a speech,' he said,' such as no other member could
have made.' It has been said, indeed, that his ideas of reform were too extensive, and not sufficiently matured; that subsequently, when invested with
the responsibilities of office, he seceded from a large portion of his scheme.
But,'the high statesmanlike ability with which Burke, in his speech, pleads
for all the wise and temperate-wise, because temperate-principles on which
he argues, is such as to claim the most careful perusal, and the most
respectful mention, so long as the British Parliament or the British people
may endure.'-Lord Mahon, History of England, vol. vii. p. 5.




291-     MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
quality; the country is on all sides beautiful, and the climate
pre-eminently healthy, and in a most peculiar degree restorative
to enfeebled constitutions. For myself, I can say that through
the whole of my long residence at Tunbridge Wells I never
experienced a single hour's indisposition that confined me to
my bed, though I believe I may say with truth, that till then I
had encountered as many fevers, and had as many serious struggles for my life, as have fallen to most men's lots in the like
terms of years.
Some people can sit down in a place, and live so entirely to
themselves and the small circle of their acquaintance, as to have
little or no concern about the people amongst whom they reside. The contrary to this has ever been my habit, and wheresoever my lot in life has cast me, something more than curiosity
has always induced me to mix with the mass, and interest myself in the concerns of my neighbors and fellow subjects, however humble in degree; and fromi the contemplation: of their
characters, from my acquaintance with their hearts and my
assured possession of their affections, I can truly declare that I
have derived, and still enjoy, some of the most gratifying sensations that reflection can bestow. The Men of Kent, properly
so called, are a peculiar race, well worthy of the attention and
study of the philanthropist. There is not only a distinguishing
cast of humor, but a dignity of mind and principle about them,
which is the very clue that will lead you into their hearts,
if rightly understood; but, if mistaken or misused, you will
find them quick enough to conceive, and more than forward
enough to express their proud contempt and resolute defiance of
you. I have said in my first volume of'Arundel,' page 220,
that they are'a race distinguishable above all their fellow subjects for the beauty of their persons, the dignity of their sentiments, the courage of their hearts, and the elegance of their
manner.' Many years have passed since I gave this testimony,
and the full experience I have now had of the men of Kent,
ever my kind friends, and now become my comrades and fellow
soldiers, confirms every word that I have said, or can say, expressive of their worthiness, or my esteem.
The house which I rented of Mr. John Fry, at that time master of the Sussex Tavern, was partly new and partly attached
to an old foundation; it was sufficient for my family, and when
I had fitted it up with part of my furniture, and all my pictures
from Portland Place, it had more the air of comfort and less the
appearance of a lodging-house than most in the place; it was
by no means the least of its recommendations, that it was well
appointed with offices and accommodations for those old and




ILL HEALTH OF MY WIFE.                295
faithful domestics, who continued in my service. There was a
square patch of ground in front, of about half an acre, fenced
and planted round with trees, which I converted into a flower
garden and encircled with a sand walk; it had now become the
only lot of English terra firma over which I had a legal right,
and I treated it with a lover-like attention; it soon produced
me excellent wall-fruit of my own rearing, and at last I found
a little friendly spot, the only one as yet discovered, in which
my laurels flourished. Mly true and trusty servant, Thomas
Camis (more than ever attached, because more than ever necessary to me), had a passion for a flower-garden, and he quickly
made it a bed of sweets, and a display of beauty. It was now,
unhappily for me, too evident that the once excellent constitution of my beloved wife, my best friend, and, under Providence,
the preserver of my life, was sinking under the effects which
her late sufferings and exertions in attending upon me had entailed upon her; I had tried the sea-coast, and other places before I settled here, but in this climate only could she breathe
with freedom and experience repose; the boundary of our little
garden was in general the boundary of her walk, and beyond it
her strength but rarely suffered her to expatiate; so long as she
could have recourse to her horse, she made a struggle for fresh
air and exercise, but when she had the misfortune to lose her
favorite Spaniard, so invaluable and so wonderfully attached to
her, she despaired of replacing him, and I can well believe there
was not in all England an animal that could. He had belonged
to the King of Spain, and came, by what means I have forgot,
into the possession of Count Joseph I(aunitz, who gave him to
Mrs. Cumberland; he was a most perfect war-horse, though upon
the scale of a galloway, and whilst his eyes menaced everything
that was fiery and rebellious, nothing living was more sweet and
gentle in his nature; he could not speak, for he had not the
organs of speech, but he had dog-like sagacity, and understood
the words that were addressed to him, and the caresses that were
bestowed upon him. Being entire, and of course prohibited from
passing out of Spain, I am persuaded some villanous measures
were practised on the frontiers towards him in his journey, for
he died in agonies under so inveterate a strangury, that though
I applied all the remedies that an excellent surgeon could suggest for his relief, nothing could save him, and he expired, whilst
resting his head on my shoulder, his eyes being fixed upon me
with that intelligent and piteous expression, which seemed to
say: Can you do nothing to assuage my pain? I thank God I
never angrily and unjustifiably chastised but one horse to my
remembrance, and that creature (a barb given to me by Lord




296        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Halifax), never whilst it had life forgave me, or would be reconciled to let me ride it in any peace, though it carried my wife
with all imaginable gentleness.  I disdain to make any apology
for this prattle, nor am willing to suppose it can be uninteresting to a benevolent reader; for those who are not such, I have
no concern. The man who is cruel to his beast is odious, and I
am inclined to think there may be cruelty expressed even in the
treatment of things inanimate; in short, I believe that I am destined to die, as I have lived, with all that family weakness about
me, which will hardly suffer me to chastise offence, or tell a fellow creature he is a rascal, for fear the intimation should give
him pain. I have been wrongfully and hardly dealt with; I
have had my feelings wounded without mercy; I declare to God
I never knowingly wronged a fellow creature, or designedly
offended; if, whilst I am giving my own history, I am to give
my own character, this in a few words is the truth; I am too old,
too conscientious, too well persuaded and too fearful of a judgment to come, to dare to go to death with a lie in my mouth;
let the censors of my actions, and the scrutinizers of my thoughts
confute me if they can.'
The children, who were inmate with me, when I settled at
Tunbridge Wells, were my second daughter Sophia, and the
infant Marianne, born to me in Spain; my three surviving sons,
Richard, Charles, and William, were serving in the 1st regiment
of guards, the 10th foot, and the royal navy. My eldest daughter, Elizabeth, had married the Lord Edward Bentinck, brother to
the Duke of Portland, and at that time member for the county
of Nottingham; of him were I to attempt at saying what my experience of his character and my affection for his person would
suggest, I should only punish his sensibility, and fall far short
of doing justice to my own. He is too well esteemed and beloved to need my praise, and how truly and entirely I love him
is, I trust, too well known to require professions.2
We do not always see ourselves as others see us. And while we may give
Cumberland credit for sincerity, in this general exculpation of his character, it
is proper to mention that while he was esteemed both for his honorable and
benevolent principles, it was known that he was apt to be detractive; a reputation by no means desirable, and under which Cumberland was very restive.
2 It is said to have been one of Cumberland's weaknesses, and who is without them, to regard the higher ranks with overweening veneration. Sir Walter
Scott, it is well known, and lamented by the most eminent admirers of his
literary labors, unlike Johnson, who always asserted his own dignity, as a man
and scholar, but, like Cumberland, evinced something more than proper deference to blood and rank.'The first time that I was in company with Mr.
Cumberland,' says Taylor,'was at the Chaplain's table, in St. James's Palace.
Among the party was Dr. or Mr. Jackson, one of his'majesty's chaplains.
Jackson, whose character resembled that of Mr. Cumberland in veneration for




LITERARY PURSUITS.                      297
I was now within an hour's ride of Stonelands, where Lord
Sackville resided for part of the year, and as this was amongst
the motives that led me to locate myself at Tunbridge Wells, so
it was always one of my chief gratifications to avail myself of
my vicinity to so true and dear a friend.
Being now dismissed from  office, I was at leisure to devote
myself to that passion which, from my earliest youth, had never
wholly left me, and I resorted to my books and my pen, as to
friends who had animated me in the morning of my day, and
were now to occupy and uphold me in the evening of it. I had
happily a collection of books, excellent in their kind, and perfectly adapted to my various and discursive course of reading.
In almost every margin I recognized the hand-writing of my
grandfather, Bentley, and wherever I traced his remains, they
were sure guides to direct and gratify me in my fondness for
philological researches. -,My mind had been harassed in a variety of ways, but the spirit that, from  resources within itself,
can find a never-failing fund of occupation, will -not easily be
broken by events that do not touch the conscience. That portion of mental energy which nature  had endowed me with,
was not impaired; on the contrary, I took a larger and more
various range of study than I had ever done before, and collaterally, with other compositions, began to collect materials for
those essays, which I afterwards completed and made public
under the title of'The Observer.' I sought no other dissipation
than the indulgence of my literary faculties could afford me,
and, in the mean time, I kept silence from  complaint, sensible
how ill such topics recommend a man to society in general, and
how very nearly most men's show of pity is connected with
contempt.
I had already published, in two volumes, my'Anecdotes of
Eminent Painters in Spain.' I am flattered to believe it was an
interesting and curious work, to readers of a certain sort, for
there had been no such regular history of the Spanish school
the higher ranks, began with asking how Lord Edward Bentinck was, that nobleman having married a daughter of Mr. Cumberland.; Mr. Cumberland expatiated upon the health of his lordship, and nothing was heard but about his
lordship for some time, his lordship's title adorning every inquiry, and closing
every answer. At length, when his lordship had sufficiently wearied the company, Lady Edward was introduced in turn, and engrossed nearly as much of
the conversation as his lordship, with as much repetition of her ladyship's title.
When these subjects were exhausted, it became Mr. Cumberland's turn to inquire; and as Jackson was patronized by the Duke of Leeds, Mr. Cumberland, of
course, thought it his duty to inquire after his grace. His grace then was
echoed over the table as frequently as had been his lordship and her ladyship,'
-Records of my Life, p. 327.
20




298       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
in our language, and when I added to it the authentic catalogue
of the paintings in the royal palace at Madrid, I gave the world
what it had not seen before, as that catalogue was the first that
had been made, and was by permission of the King of Spain,
undertaken at my request, and transmitted to me after my return
to England.
When these' Anecdotes' had been for some short time before
the public, I was surprised to find myself arraigned for having
introduced a passage, in my second volume, grossly injurious to
the reputation of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and, I am sorry to add,
that I had reason to believe that the misconception of my motives for the insertion of that passage was adopted by Sir
Joshua himself. The charge consists in my having quoted a
passage from a publication of Azara's, which, but for my noticing it, might have never met the observation of the English
reader. I own I thought this charge too ridiculous to merit
any answer, for I had not gone out of my way to seek Azara's
publication; it was in the shops at London, and there I chanced
upon it and purchased it. Azara was the friend of Mengs, and
treats professedly of his character and compositions. A work
of this sort was in no degree likely to preserve its incognito,
neither had it so done before it came into my hands.
The following extract from  my 2d vol. p. 206, comprises
every word that has any reference to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and
I am persuaded it cannot fail to acquit me in the judgment of
every one, who reads it, most clearly and completely-this it
is —' Whether Mengs really thought with contempt of art,
which was inferior to his own, I will not pretend to decide;
but that he was apt to speak contemptuously of artists superior
to himself, I-am inclined to believe. Azara tells us that he pronounced of the academical lectures of our Reynolds, that they
were calculated to mislead young students into error, teaching
nothing but those superficial principles, which he plainly avers
are all that the author himself knows of the art he professesDel libro moderno del Sr Reynold, Ingles, decia que es una obra,
que puede conducir los Juvenes al error; posque se queda en los
12rncipios suiperficiales, que conoce solamente a quel autor. Azara
immediately proceeds to say that Mengs was of a temperament
colerico y, adusto, and that his bitter and satirical turn created
him  infinitos agraviados y quejosos. When his historian and
friend says this, there is no occasion for me to -repeat the remark. If the genius of Mengs had been capable of producing
a composition equal to that of the tragic and pathetic Ugolino,
I am persuaded such a sentence as the above would never have
passed his lips; but flattery made him vain, and sickness ren



MENGS.                       299
dered him peevish; he found himself at Madrid in a country
without rivals, and, because the arts had travelled out of his
sight, he was disposed to think they existed nowhere but on his
own pallet.'
If this be not sufficient for my justification, I could wish any
of my readers, who has my book within his reach, would refer
himself to the page in question, and read onwards till I dismiss
the subject of Mengs'with the following strictures on his talents,
dictated no doubt, in that spirit of resentment, which Azara's
anecdote above recorded had -most evidently inspired: for what
more highly tinctured with asperity could be said of lMengs,
than-' that he was an artist, who had seen much, and invented
little; that he dispenses neither life nor death to his figures, excites no terror, rouses no passions, and risks no flights; that
by studying to avoid particular defects, he incurs general ones,
and paints with tameness and servility; that the contracted
scale and idea of a painter of miniatures (as which he was
brought up) is to be traced in all or most of his compositions,
in which a finished delicacy of pencil exhibits the hand of the
artist,.but gives no emanations'of the soul of the master? If it
is beauty, it does not warm; if it is sorrow, it excites no pity:
that when the angel announces the salutation to Mary, it is a
messenger, that has neither used dispatch in his errand, nor grace
in his delivery of it; that although Rubens was by one of his
oracular sayings condemned to the ignominious dulness of a
Dutch translator, Mengs was as capable of painting'Rubens'
Adoration,' as he was of creating the star in the east, that ushered
the Magi. But these are questions above my capacity; I resign Mengs to abler critics and Reynolds to better defenders;
well contented that posterity should admire them both, and well
assured that the fame of our countryman is established beyond
the reach of envy or detraction.'
If I had been aiming to employ the authority of Mengs against
the reputation of Reynolds, I think it would not have been my
part to take such pains for lessening the importance of it, and
disappointing nay own purpose. I cannot doubt but I am fairly
open to reproach for these invectives against the fame of Mengs,
but if there is any edge in the weapon I have wielded, I may
say to his shade- Pallas te hoc vullere, Pallas
Imrmolat.
In the second volume, p. 8, where I am speaking of the great
luminary of the Spanish school, Velasquez, I observe that,
amongst other studies more immediately attached to his art, he




300      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
perfected himself in the propositions of Euclid-' Elements that
prepare the mind in every art and every science, to which the
human faculties can be applied; which give a rule and measure for everything in life, dignify things familiar and familiarize things abstruse; invigorate the reason, restrain the licentiousness of fancy, open all the avenues of truth, and give a
charm even to controversy and dispute.' I insert this extract
because it is in proof to show that my opinion with respect to
the importance of an academical education was at this period
of life altogether as strong in favor of the mathematical studies, as I have expressed it to be in the former part of these
Memoirs.
If it were not a ridiculous thing for an author to give his own
works a good word, I should be tempted to risk it in the instance of these two volumes of anecdotes; forasmuch as I bear
them in grateful remembrance, as having cheered some of my
heaviest hours, and as being the first production sent by me
into the world after my return out of Spain; from. which period
to the present hour, when I review the mass of those many and
various works which my literary labors have struck out, I will
venture to say, that if I have merited any chance of living in
the remembrance of posterity, it is in these my latter years I
am to look for it.
Before I settled myself at Tunbridge Wells, I had written my
comedy of'The Walloons,' brought out at Covent Garden
Theatre, where my friend Henderson exhibited a most inimitable
specimen of his powers in the character of Father Sullivan. If
some people were ingenious enough to discover any likeness of
the Abb6 Hussey in that sketch, they imputed to me a design
that was never in my thoughts. It was Henderson, with whom
I was living in the greatest intimacy, who put me upon the project of writing a character for him in the cast of Congreve's Double
Dealer.' Make me a fine bold-faced villain,' he said,'the direst
and the deepest in nature I care not, so you do but give me
motives strong enough to bear me out, and such a prominence
of natural character, as shall secure me from the contempt of my
audience; whatever other passions I can inspire them with will
never sink me in their esteem.' Upon the same principle I conceived the character of Lord Davenant for him in'The Mysterious
Husband,' and in that he was not less conspicuously excellent.
He was an actor of uncommon powers, and a man of the
brightest intellect, formed to be the delight of society, and few
indeed are those men of distinguished talents, who have been
more prematurely lost to the world, or more lastingly regretted.
What he was on the stage, those who recollect his Falstaff, Shy



ANECDOTE OF HENDERSON.                 301
lock, Sir Giles Overreach, and many other parts of the strong
cast, can fully testify; what he was' at his own fireside and in his
social hours, all, who were within the circle of his intimates, will
not easily forget. He had an unceasing flow of spirits, and a
boundless fund of humor, irresistibly amusing; he also had wit,
properly so distinguished, and from the specimens which I have
seen of his sallies in verse, levelled at a certain editor of a public print, who had annoyed him  with his paragraphs, I am
satisfied he had the talents at his command to have established
a very high reputation as a poet. I was with him one morning
when he was indisposed, and his physician, Sir John Elliot, paid
him. a visit. The doctor, as is well known, was a merry little
being, who talked pretty much at random, and oftentimes with
no great reverence for the subjects which he talked upon; upon
the present occasion, however, he came professionally to inquire
how his medicines had succeeded, and in his northern accent
demanded of his patient-'Had he taken the rpalls that he sent
him.''He had.''Well, and how did they agree? What had
they done?'' Wonders,'. replied Henderson;'I survived them.''To be sure you did,' said the doctor,' and you must take more
of'em, and live for ever; I make all my patients immortal.''That is exactly what I am afraid of, doctor,' rejoined the patient.'I.met a lady of my acquaintance yesterday; you know her very
well; she was in bitter affliction, crying and bewailing herself in
a most piteous fashion; I asked her what had happened; a melancholy event; her dearest friend was at death's door.''What
is her disease?' cried the doctor.'That is the very question I
asked,' replied Henderson;' but she was in no danger from her
disease;'twas very slight; a mere excuse for calling in a physician.''Why, what the devil are you talking about,' rejoined the
doctor,' if she had called in a physician, and there was no danger
in the disease, how could she' be said to be at death's door?''Because,' said Henderson,'she had called in you; everybody
calls you in; you dispatch a world of business, and, if you come
but once to each, your practice must have made you very rich.''Nay, nay,' quoth Sir John,'I am not rich in this world; I lay
up my treasure in heaven.''Then you may take leave of it for
ever,' rejoined the other,'for you have laid it up where you will
never find it.'
Henderson's-memory was so prodigious, that I dare not risk
the instance which I could give of it, not thinking myself entitled
to. demand more credit than I should probably be disposed to
give. In his private character many good and amiable qualities
might be traced, particularly in his conduct towards an aged
mother, to whom he bore a truly filial attachment; and in lay



302       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
ing up a provision for his wife and daughter he was at least sufficiently careful and economical. He was concerned with the
elder Sheridan in a course of public readings; there could not
be a higher treat than to hear his recitations, from parts and
passages in Tristram Shandy; let him broil his dish of sprats,
seasoned with the sauce of his pleasantry, and succeeded by a
dessert of Trim and my Uncle Toby, it was an entertainment
worthy to be enrolled amongst the noctes ccenasque Divuin. I
once heard him read part of a tragedy, and but once; it was in
his own parlor, and he ranted most outrageously; he was conscious how ill he did it, and laid it aside before he had finished
it. It was clear he had not studied that most excellent property
of pitching his voice to the size of the room he was in; an art,
which so few readers have, but which Lord Mansfield was allowed
to possess in perfection. I-Ie was an admirable mimic, and in
his sallies of this sort he invented speeches and dialogues, so
perfectly appropriate to the characters he was displaying, that I
don't doubt but many good sayings have been given to the persons he made free with, which, being fastened on them by him
in a frolic, have stuck to them ever since, and perhaps gone
down to posterity amongst their memorabilia. If there was any
body now qualified to draw a parallel between the characters of
Foote and Henderson, I don't pretend to say how the men of
wit and humor might divide the laurel between them, but in
this all men would agree that poor Foote attached to himself
very few true friends, and Henderson very many, and those
highly respectable, men virtuous in their lives, and enlightened
in their understandings. Foote, vain, extravagant, embarrassed,
led a wild! and thoughtless course of life, yet when death approached him, he shrunk back into himself, saw and confessed
his errors, and I have reason to believe was truly penitent.'Henderson's conduct through life was uniformly decorous, and
in the concluding stage of it exemplarily devout.'
I have said he played the part of Lord Davenant in my drama
of'The Mysterious Husband.' I believe it was upon the last
night of its representation, the king and lqueen being present,
when Henderson's exertions in the concluding scene, where he
dies upon the stage, occasioned certain agitations, which have
thenceforward rendered spectacles of that sort very properly
ineligible. The late Mrs. Pope was very successful and impressive in the character of Lady Davenant, which I am inclined
to consider as the best female part which I have ever tendered to
l See ante, pp. 198, 199, for a notice of Henderson.




'THE OBSERVER.'                  303
the stage; but as the play is printed, and before the public, the
public judgment will decide upon it.
Though I continued to amuse my fancy with dramatic composition, my chief attention was bestowed upon that body of
original essays which compose the volumes of'The Observer.'
I first printed two octavos experimentally at our press in Tunbridge Wells; the execution was so incorrect that I stopped
the impression as soon as I engaged my friend, Mr. Charles
Dilly, to undertake the reprinting of it. He gave it a form and
shape fit to meet the public eye; and the sale was encouraging.
I added to the collection very largely, and it appeared in a new
edition of five volumes; when these were out of print, I made
a fresh arrangement of the essays, and, incorporating my entire
translation of'The Clouds,' we edited the work, thus modelled,
in six volumes, and these being now attached to the great edition of the British Essayists, I consider the' Observer' as fairly
enrolled amongst the standard classics of our native language.
This work, therefore, has obtained for itself an inheritance;
it is fairly off my hands, and what I have to say about it will
be confined to a few simple facts. I had no acknowledgments
to make in my concluding essay, for I had received no aid or
assistance from any man living; every page and paragraph,
except what is avowed quotation, I am singly responsible for.
My much esteemed friend, Richard Sharp, Esquire, now of Mark
Lane, had the kindness, during my absence from town, to correct the sheets as they came from the press. Hadcl that judicious
friend corrected them before they went to the press, they would
have been profited by the reform of many more than typographicaI errors; but the approbation he was pleased to bestow
upon that portion of the work which passed under his inspection
was a very sensible support to me in the prosecution of it, for
though I was aware what allowances I had to make for his
candid disposition to commend, I had too much confidence in
his sincerity to suppose him capable of complimenting me against
his judgment or his conscience.
I have been suspected of taking stories out of Spanish authors, and weaving them into some of these essays as my own,
without acknowledging the plagiarism. One of my reviewers
instances the story of'Nicolas Pedrosa,' and roundly asserts
that, from internal evidence, it must be of Spanish construction,
and from these assumed premises leaves me to abide the odium
of the inference; to this, I answer, with the most solemn appeal
to truth and honor, that I am indebted to no author whatever,
Spanish or other, for a single hint, idea, or suggestion of an
incident in the story of Pedrosa, nor in that of the Misanthrope,




304      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
nor in any other which the work contains. In the narrative of
the Portuguese, who was brought before the Inquisition, what
I say of it, as being matter of tradition, which I collected on the
spot, is a mere fiction to give an air of credibility and horror to
the tale; the whole, without exception of a syllable, is absolute
and entire invention.
I take credit to myself for the character of Abraham Abrahams. I wrote it upon principle, thinking it high time that
something should be done for a persecuted race. I seconded
my appeal to the charity of mankind by the character of Sheva,
which I copied from this of Abrahams. The public prints gave
the Jews credit for their sensibility in acknowledging my wellintended services; my friends gave me joy of honorary presents,
and some even accused me of ingratitude for not making public
my thanks for their munificence. I will speak plainly on this
point. I do most heartily wish they had flattered me with some
token, however small, of which I might have said, This is a
tribute to may philanthropy, and delivered it down to my children,
as my beloved father did to me his badge of favor from the
citizens of Dublin; but not a word from the lips, not a line did
I ever receive from the pen of any Jew, though I have found
myself in company with many of their nation, and in this perhaps the gentlemen are quite right, whilst I had formed expectations that were quite wrong, for if I have said for them only
what they deserve, why should I be thanked for it?  But if I
have said more, much more than they deserve, can they do a
wiser thing than hold their tongues?
It is reported of me, and very generally believed, that I compose with great rapidity. I must own the mass of my writings
(of which the world has not seen more than half) might seem
to warrant that report; but it is only true in some particular
instances, not in the general-if it were, I should not be disinclined
to avail myself of so good an apology for my many errors and
inaccuracies, or of so good a proof of the fertility and vivacity
of my fancy. The fact is, that every hour in the day is my
hour for study, and that a minute rarely passes in which I am
absolutely idle; in short, I never do nothing. Nature has given
me the hereditary blessing of a constitutional and habitual
temperance, that revolts against excess of any sort, and never
suffers appetite to load the frame; I am accordingly as fit to
resume my book or my pen the instant after my meal as'I
was in the freshest hours of the morning. I never have been
accustomed to retire to my study for silence and meditation;
in fact, my book-room  at Tunbridge Wells was occupied
as a bed-room, and what books I had occasion to consult, I




MY LITERARY LABORS.                   305
brought down to the common sitting-room, where, in company
with my wife and family (neither interrupting them, nor interrupted by them, I wrote'The Observer,' or whatever else I had
on hand.
I think it cannot be supposed but that the composition of
those essays must have been a work of time and labor; I trust
there is internal evidence of that, particularly in that portion of
it which professes to review the literary age of Greece, and
gives a history of the Athenian stage. That series of papers
will, I hope, remain as a monument of my industry in collecting
materials, and of my correctness in disposing them; and when
I lay to my heart the consolation I derive from the honors now
bestowed upon me, at the close of my career, by one who is only
in the first outset of his, what have I not to augur for myself,
when he who starts with such auspicious promise has been
pleased to take my fame in hand, and link it to his own? If
any of my readers are yet to seek for the author to whom I
allude, the Comicorum  Graecorurz fragmenta quaedam will lead
them to his name, and him to their respect.
If I cannot resist the gratification of inserting the paragraph
(page 7) which places my dim lamp between those brilliant stars
of classic lustre, Richard Bentley and Richard Porson, arn I to
be set down as a conceited vain old man?  Let it be so! I can't
help it, and in truth I don't much care about it. Though the
following extract may be the weakest thing that Mr. Robert
Walpole, of Trinity College, Cambridge, ever has written, or
ever shall write, it will outlive the strongest thing that can be
said against it, and I will therefore arrest and incorporate it as
follows: Aliunde quoque hactud exiguum ornamentum huic volumini
accessit, siquidem Cumberlandius nostras amicO benevoblque permissit, ut versiones suas quorundam fracgmnentorun, exquisitas sacne
illas, mirdque elegentia conditas et commendatas hue transferrem.
If there is any man, who has reached my age, and written as
much as I have with as little recompense for it, who can seriously condemn me, to his sentence I submit; as for the sneerers
and subcritics, who can neither write themselves, nor feel for
those who do, they are welcome to make the most of it.
My publisher informs me that inquiries are made of him, if I
have it in design to translate more comedies of Aristophanes,
and that these inquiries are accompanied by wishes for my undertaking it. I am flattered by the honor which these gentlemen confer upon me, but the version of'The Clouds' cost me
much time and trouble; I have no right to reckon upon much
more time for anything, and it is very greatly my wish to collect and revise the whole of my unpublished, and above all of




306        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
my unacted dramas, which are very numerous; I have also a
work far advanced, though put aside during the writing of these
Memoirs, which, if life is granted to me, I shall be anxious to
complete. I must further observe that there is but one more
comedy in our volume of Aristophanes, viz:'The Plutus,' which
I could be tempted to translate.
As I hope I have already given a sufficient answer to those
who were offended with my treatment of Socrates, I have nothing more to say of'The Observer,' or its author.
Henderson  acted in one other play of my writing for his
benefit, and took the part of the Arab, which gave its title to
the tragedy. I have now in my mind's eye the look he gave
me, so comically conscious of taking what his judgment told
him he ought to refuse, when I put into his hand my tributary
guineas for the few places I had taken in his theatre-' If I were
not the most covetous dog in creation,' he cried,'I should not
take your money; but I cannot help it.' I gave my tragedy to
his use for one night only, and have never put it to any use since.
His death soon followed, and he was hurried to the grave in the
vigor of his talents, and the meridian of his fame.
The late Mrs. Pope, then Miss Young, performed a part in' The Arab,' and I find an epilogue, which I presume she spoke,
though of this I am not certain. I discovered it amongst my
papers, and as I flatter myself there are some points in it not
amiss, I take the liberty of inserting it.' Epilogtle to the Arab.
MIss YOUNG.
Yes'tis as I predicted. There you sit
Expecting some smart relisher of wit.
WVhy,'tis a delicacy out of seasonSirs, have some conscience! ladies, hear some reason!
WVith your accustom'd grace you come to share
Your humble actor's annual bill of fare;
But for wit, take it how he will, I tell you,
All have not Falstaff's brains that have his belly.
Wit is not all men's money; when you've bought it,
Look at your lot. You're trick'd. Who could have thought it?
Reacl it,'tis folly; court it, a coquette;
Wed it, a libertine you're fairly met.
No sex, age, country, character, nor clime,
No rank commands it; it obeys no time;
Fear'd, lov'd, and hated; prais'd, ador'cl, and curs'd,
The very best of all things, and the worst;
From this extreme to that forever hurl'd,
The idol and the outlaw of the world,
In France, Spain, England, Italy, and Greece,
The joy, plague, pride, and foot-ball of caprice.
Is it in that man's face, who looks so wise
With lips half-opened, and with half-shut eyes?




DEATH  OF GARRICG.                          307
Silent grimace!-Flows it from this man's tongue,
With quaint conceits and punning quibbles hung?
A nauseous counterfeit!-Hark! now I hear itRank infidelity!-I cannot bear it.
See where her tea-table Vanessa spreads!
A motley group of heterogeneous heads
Gathers around; the goddess in a cloud
Of incense, sits amidst the adoring crowd,
So many smiles, nods, simpers she dispenses
Instead of five, you'd think she'd fifteen senses;
Alike impatient all at once to shine,
Eager they plunge in wit's unfathom'd mine:
Deep underneath the stubborn ore remains,
The paltry tin breaks up, and mocks their pains.
Ask wit of me! O monstrous, I declare
You might as well ask it ofi my Lord Mayor:
Require it in an epilogue! a road
As track'd and trodden as a birth-day ode;
Oh, rather turn to those malicious elves,
Who see it in no mortal but themselves;
Our gratitude is all we have to give,
And that we trust your candor will receive.'
Garrick died also, and was followed to the Abbey by a long
extended train of friends, illustrious for their rank and genius,
who truly mourned a man, so perfect in his art, that nature
hath not yet produced an actor worthy to be called his second.'
I saw old Samuel Johnson standing beside his grave, at the foot
of Shakspeare's monument, and bathed in tears: a few succeeding years laid him in the earth, and though the marble shall
preserve for ages the exact resemblance of his form  and features, his own strong pen has pictured out a transcript of his
Garrick died on the 20th of January, 1779. Goldsmith's delineation of
his character, in his poem called'Retaliation,' is deemed a masterly summary
of his mingled faults and virtues:-'Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can,
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man;
As an actor, confest without rival to shine;
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line;
Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart,
The man had his failings, a dupe to his art.
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colors he spread,
And'beplastered with rouge his own natural red.
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting;'Twas only that when he was off he was acting.
With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day:
Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick,
If they were not his own by finessing and trick:
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,
For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back,
Of praise a mere glutton, he swallowed what came,
And the puff of a dunce, he mistook it for fame,'
&c. &c.




308        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
mind, that shall outlive that and the very language, which he
labored to perpetuate. Johnson's best days were dark, and
only when his life was far in the decline, he enjoyed a gleam of
fortune long withheld. Compare him with his countryman and
contemporary last mentioned, and it will be one instance
amongst many, that the man who only brings the Muse's bantlings into the world has better lot in it than he who has the
credit of begetting them.
Reynolds, the friend of both these worthies, had a measure
of prosperity amply dealt out to him; he sunned himself in an
unclouded sky, and his Muse, that gave him a pallet dressed by
all the graces, brought him also a cornucopia rich and full as
Flora, Ceres, and Bacchus, could conspire to make it.  His
hearse was also followed by a noble cavalcade of mourners,
many of whom, I dare believe, left better faces hanging by the
wall, than those they carried with them to his funeral.  When
he was lost to the world, his death was the dispersion of a bright
and luminous circle of ingenious friends, whom the elegance of
his manners, the equability of his temper, and the attraction of
his talents, had caused to assemble round him  as the centre of
their society.  In all the most engaging graces of his heart; in
disposition, attitude, employment, character of his figures, and
above all in giving mind and meaning to his portraits, if I were
to say Sir Joshua never was excelled, I am inclined to believe
so many better opinions would be with me, that I should not
be found to have said too much.l
Romney, in the mean time, shy, private, studious and contemplative; conscious of all the disadvantages and privations of a
very stinted education; of a habit naturally hypochondriac,
with aspen nerves, that every breath could ruffle, was at once
in art the rival, and in nature the very contrast of Sir Joshua.
A man of few wants, strict economy, and with no dislike to
money, he had opportunities enough to enrich him  even to satiety, but he was at once so eager to begin, and so slow in' In painting portraits,' Burke finely observes,' he appeared not to be raised
upon that platform, but to descend to it from a higher sphere. * His paintings
illustrated his lessons, and his lessons seemed to be derived from his paintings.'
In person, Reynolds is described as rather under the middle size, with a
florid complexion, round, blunt features, and altogether a pleasing countenance.
All accounts concur as to his manners; they were those of the polished gentleman.
As an artist, he achieved. an enduring fame. His portraits, his historical
painting, and lectures, are the legacies he bequeathed to posterity, as monuments of his power and taste.  As a portrait painter he is said, by his admirers, to have combined the mellowness of Titian, the simplicity and delicacy
of Vandyke, and the force and. splendor of Rembrandlt.




DEATH OF ROMNEY.                     309
finishing his portraits, that he was forever disappointed of receiving payment for them by the casualties and revolutions in
the families they were designed for, so many of his sitters were
killed off, so many favorite ladies were dismissed, so miany fond
wives divorced, before he would bestow half an hour's pains
upon their petticoats, that his unsalable stock was immense,
whilst with a little more regularity and decision, he would
have more than doubled his fortune, and escaped an, infinitude
of petty troubles that disturbed his temper. At length, exhausted rather by the languor than by the labor of his mind,
this admirable artist retired to his native country in the North
of England, and- there, after hovering between life and death,
neither wholly deprived of the one, nor completely rescued by
the other, he continued to decline, till at last he sunk into a
distant and inglorious grave, fortunate alone in this, that his
fame is consigned to the protection of Mr. IIayley, from whom
the world expects his history; there, if he says no more of him,
than that he was at least as good a painter as Mr. Cowper was
a poet, be will say enough; and if his readers see the parallel in
the light that I do, they will not think that he shall have said
too much.
When I first knew Romney, he was poorly lodged in Newport Street, and painted at the small price of eight guineas for a
three-quarters portrait: I sat to him, and was the first who
encouraged him to advance his terms, by paying him ten guineas
for his performance. I brought Garrick to see his pictures,
hoping to interest him in his favor; a large family piece un.
luckily arrested his attention; a gentleman in a close-buckled
bob-wig and a scarlet waistcoat laced with gold, with his wife
and children (some sitting, some standing), had taken possession
of some yards of canvas very much, as it appeared, to their
own satisfaction, for they were perfectly amused in a contented
abstinence from all thought or action. Upon this unfortunate
group when Garrick had fixed his lynx's eyes, he began to put
himself into the attitude of the gentleman, and turning to Mr.
Romney-'Upon my word, sir,' said he,'this is a very regular
well-ordered family, and that is a very bright well-rubbed mahogany table, at which that motherly good lady is sitting, and
this worthy gentleman in the scarlet waistcoat is doubtless a
very excellent subject to the state (I mean if all these are his
children), but not for your art, Mr. Romney, if you mean to
pursue it with that success which I hope will attend you.'
The modest artist took the hint, as it was meant, in good part,
and turned his family with their faces to the wall. When Romney produced my portrait, not yet finished-It was very well,




310         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Garrick observed:' That is very like my friend, and that blue
coat with a red cape is very like the coat he has on, but you
must give him something to do; put a pen in his hand, a paper
on his table, and make him  a poet; if you can once set him
down well to his writing, who knows but in time he may write
something in your praise?'  These words were not absolutely
unprophetical: I maintained a friendship  for Romney to his
death; he was uniformly kind and affectionate to me, and certainly I was zealous in my services to him. After his death I
wrote a short account of him, which was published in a magazine; I did my best, but must confess I should not have undertaken it, but at the desire of my excellent friend Mr. Green, of
Bedford Square, and being further urged to it by the wishes of
two other valuable friends, Mr. Long, of Lincoln's Inn Fields,
and Mr. Daniel Braythwaite, whom  I sincerely esteem, it was
not for me to hesitate, especially as I was not then informed of
Mr. Hayley's purpose to take that work upon himself.
I-Iere I am tempted to insert a few lines, which about this time
I put together, more perhaps for the purpose of speaking civilly
of Mr. Romney than for any other use that I could put them to;
but as I find there is honorable mention made of Sir Joshua
Reynolds also, I give the whole copy as a further proof, that
neither in verse or prose did I ever fail to speak of that celebrated painter but with respect so justly due.' When Gothic rage had put the arts to flight
And wrapt the world in universal night,;Vhen the dire northern swarml with seas of blood
Had drowned creation in a second flood,
WVhen all was void, disconsolate, and dark,
Rome in her ashes found one latent spark,
She, not uLnmindful of her ancient name,
Nurs'dcl her last hope and fed the secret flame;
Still as it grew, new streams of orient light
Beamed on the world and cheered the fainting sight;
Rous'd from the tombs of the illustrious deadl
Immortal science rear'di her mournful head 
Andt mourn she shall to time's extrenmest hour
The dire effects of Omar's savage power,
WVhen rigid Amrou's too obedient hand
Made Alexandria blaze at his command;
Six months he fed the sacrilegious flame
With the stor'cl volumes of recorded fame:
There died all memory of the great and good,
Then Geece alnd Rome were finally subdu'd.
Yet monkish ignorance had not quite effac'c
All that the chisel wr(ulght, the pencil trac'd;
Some precious relics of the ancient hoard
Or happy chance; or curions search restor'dc
The wvonerilng artist klindled as he gaz'd,
And caught perfection from the work he prais'd.




TRIBUTE TO ROMNEY.                           311
Of painters then the celebrated race
Rose into fame with each attendant grace;
Still, as it spread, the wonder-dealing art
Improv'd the manners and reform'd the heart;
Darkness dispers'd, and Italy became
Once more the seat of elegance and fame.
Late, very late, on this sequester'd isle
The heaven-descended art was seen to smile;
Seldom she came to this storm-beaten coast,
And short her stay, just seen, adclmir'd and lost;
Reynolds at length, her favorite suitor, bore
The blushing stranger to his native shore;
He by no mean, no selfish motives sway'd
To public view held forth the liberal maid,
Call'd his admiring countrymen around,
Freely declar'd what raptures he had found;
Told them that merit would alike impart
To him or them a passage to her heart.
Rous'd at the call, all came to view her charms,
All press'd, all strove to clasp her in their arms;
See Coats and Dance and Gainsborough seize the spoil,
And ready Mortimer that laughs at toil;
Crown'd with fresh roses, graceful Humphrey stands,
While beauty grows immortal from his hands;
Stubbs like a lion springs upon his prey,
With bold eccentric Wright that hates the day:
Familiar Zoffany with comic art,
And West, great painter of the human heart.
These and yet more unnam'd that to our eyes
Bid lawns, and groves, and tow'ring mountains rise,
Point the bold rock or stretch the bursting sail,
Smooth the calm sea, or drive th' impetuous gale:
Some hunt'midst fruit and flowery wreaths for fame,
And Elmer springs it in the feather'd game.
Apart and bending o'er the azure tide,
With heavenly Contemplation by his side,
A pensive artist stands-in thoughtful mood,
With downcast looks he eyes the ebbing flood;
No wild ambition swells his temperate heart,
Himself as pure, as patient as his art,
Nor sullen sorrow, nor intemperate joy
The even tenor of his thoughts destroy,
An undistinguish'd candidate for fame,
At once his country's glory and its shame:
Rouse then, at length, with honest pride inspir'd,
Romney, advance i be known and be admir'd."'
i See ante, p. 195, for a sketch of Romney.




312       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
CHAPTER XI.
His dramas-Mrs. Siddons-Kemble-Reflections on theatrical fame-Controversy with the Bishop of Llandaff-With Dr. Parr-Mr. Dilly-BoswellRogers-Lines to Richard Sharpe-Sir James Bland Burges-Miss FarrenJohn Palmer-Lord Sackville-His interview with Lord Mansfield-His
death-' The Impostor'-' Arundel'-Principles on which a novel should be
conducted-' Paradise Lost' -' Calvary'-' Tristram Shandy'-' Junius'
Burke's reflections on the French Revolution —Variety of Cumberlandll's
writings-His dramatic labors — The Jew'-Bannister-Dowton-Mrs. Bludworth-Fugitive compositions.
I PERCEIVE I must resume the immediate subject of these
Memoirs; it is truly a relief to me, when I am called off from
it, for unvaried egotism would be a toil too heavy for my mind.
When I attempt to look into the mass of my productions, I
can keep no order in the enumeration of them: I have not patience to arrange them  according to their dates; I believe I
have written at least fifty dramas, published and unpublished.
Amongst the latter of these there are some which, in my sincere opinion, are better than most which have yet seen the
light; they certainly have had the advantages of a more mature
correction. When I went to Spain I left in Mr. Harris's hands
a tragedy on the subject of'The Elder Brutus;' the temper of
the times was by no means suited to the character of the play;
I have never written any drama so much to my own satisfaction, and my partiality to it has been flattered by the judgment
of several, who have read it. I have written dramas on the
stories of'False Demetrius,' of'Tibereus in Caprece,' and a
tragedy on a plot purely inventive, which I entitled,'Torrendal;'
these, with several others, may, in time to come, if life shall be
continued to me, be formed into a collection and submitted to
the public.
About the time at which my story points, my tragedy of'The Carmelite' was acted at Drury Lane, and most ably supported by Mrs. Siddons, who took the part of the Lady of
Saint Valori, and also spoke the Epilogue. She played inimitably, and in those days, when only men and women trod the
stage, the public were contented with what was perfect in nature, and of course admired and applauded  Mrs. Siddons;




MASTER BETTY.                         313
they could then also see merit in Mr. Kemble, who was in the
commencement of his career, and appeared in the character of
the youthful Montgomeri.  The audiences of that time did not
think the worse of him because he had reached the age of manhood, and appeared before them  in the full stature and complete maturity of one of the finest forms, that probably was
ever exhibited upon a public stage.' A revolution since then
has taken place, a caprice, as ridiculous -as it is extraordinary,
and a general act of superannuation has gone forth against
every male performer, that has a beard.  How I am to style
this young child of fortune, this adopted -favorite of the public,
I don't rightly know; the bills of Covent Garden announce
him  as Master Betty, those of Drury Lane as the young Roscius.  IRoscius, as I believe upon the authority of Shakspeare,
was an actor in Rome, and Cicero, who admired him, made a
speech in his praise. All this, of course, is very right on both
sides, and exactly as it should be. Mr. Harris announces him to
the old women in the galleries in a phrase that is familiar to
them; whilst Mr. Sheridan, presenting him to the senators in the
boxes by the style and title of Roscius, fails perhaps in his little
representative of the great Roman actor, but perfectly succeeds
in his own similitude to the eloquent Roman orator. In the
mean time, my friend Smith, of Bury, with all that zeal for merit,
which is natural to him, marries him to Melpomene, with the
ring of Garrick, and strewing roses of Parnassus on the nuptial
couch, crowns happy master Betty, alias Young Roscius, with
a never-fading chaplet of immortal verse:
And now, when death dissolves his mortal frame,
His soul shall mount to heav'n, from whence it came,
Earth keep his ashes, verse preserve his fame.
How delicious to be praised and panegyrized in such a style;
to be caressed by dukes, and (which is better), by the daughters
of dukes, flattered by wits, feasted by aldermen, stuck up in
i When Kemble appeared for the first time in London, at Drury Lane Theatre,
on the 30th Sept. 1783, he had attained the age of twenty-six. His Hamlet
was universally applauded. In Taylor's poem, entitled'The Stage,' will be
found a critical estimate of his talents as an actor.'To close in order due our long career,
See Kemble march, majestic and severe;
Fraught with uncommon' pow'rs of form and face,
He comes the pomp of Tragedy to grace.
Fertile in genius, and inatur'd by art,
Not soft to steal, but stern to seize, the heart;
In mould of figure, and in frame of mind,
To' him th' heroic sphere must be assigned.'
&c. &c.
21




314      MIEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
the windows of the print-shops, and set astride, as these eyes
have seen him, upon the cut-water of a privateer, like the tutelary genius of the British flag.
WVhat encouragements doth this great enlightened nation
hold forth to merit?  What a consolatory reflection must it
be to the superannuated yellow admirals of the stage, that when
they shall arrive at second childhood, they may still have a chance
to arrive at honors second only to these! I declare I saw with
surprise a man, who led about a bear to dance for the edification of the public, lose all his popularity in the street, where
this exquisite gentleman has his lodging; the people ran to see
him at the window, and left the bear and the bear-leader in a
solitude. I saw this exquisite young gentleman, whilst I paced
the- streets on foot, wafted to his morning's rehearsal in a vehicle that, to my vulgar optics, seemed to wear upon its polished
doors the ensign of a ducal crown; I looked to see if haply
John Kemble were on the braces, or Cooke perchance behind
the coach.; I saw the lacqueys at their post, but Glenalvon was
not there. I found John Kemble sick at home  I said within
myself —
Oh! what a time have you chose out, brave Caius,
To wear a kerchief? Would you were not sick I
W1e shall have a second influx of pigmies; they will pour
upon us in multitudes innumerable as a shoal of sprats, and
when at last we have nothing else but such small fry to feed
on, an epidemic nausea will take place.
There are intervals in fevers; there are lucid moments in
madness; even folly cannot keep possession of the mind for
ever. It is very natural to encourage rising genius, it is highly
commendible to foster its first shoots; we admire and caress a
clever school-boy, but we should do very ill to turn his master
out of his office and put him into it. If the theatres persist in
their puerilities, they will find themselves very shortly in the
predicament of an ingenious mechanic, whom I remember in my
younger days, and whose story I will briefly relate, in hopes it
may be a warning to them.
This very ingenious artist, when Mr. Rich the Harlequin was
the great dramatic author of his time, and wrote successfully
for the stage, contrived and executed a most delicious serpent
for one of those inimitable productions, in which Mr. Rich,
justly disdaining the weak aid of language, had selected the
classical fable, if I rightly recollect it, of Orpheus and Eurydice, and having conceived a very capital part for the serpent,
was justly anxious to provide himself with a performer who




BISHOP OF LLANDAFF.                 315
could support a character of that consequence with credit to
himself and his author. The event answered his most ardent
hopes; nothing could be more perfect in his entrances and
exits, nothing ever.crawled across the stage with more accomplished sinuosity, than this enchanting serpent; every soul was
charmed with its performance; it twirled, and twisted, and wriggled itself about in so divine a manner, the whole world was
ravished with the lovely snake; nobles and non-nobles, rich
and poor, old and young, reps and demi-reps flocked to see it
and admire it. The artist, who had been the master of the
movement, was intoxicated with his success; he turned his
hands and head to nothing else but serpents; he made them of
all sizes, they crawled about his shop as if he had been chief
snake-catcher to the furies; the public curiosity was satisfied
with one serpent, and he had nests of them yet unsold; his
stock lay dead upon his hands, his trade was lost, and the man
was ruined, bankrupt, and undone.
]HEere it occurs to me that in one of my preceding pages I
have promised to address a parting word to my brethren and
contemporaries in the dramatic line. If what I have been now
saying coincides with their opinions, I have said enough; if it
does not, what I might add to it would be all too much, and the
experience of gray hairs would be in vain opposed to the prejudices of green heads. May success attend them in their efforts,
whenever they shall seriously address them to the study of the
legitimate drama, and the restoration of good taste!  There is
no. lack of genius in the nation: I therefore will not totally despair, old as I am, of living still to witness the commencement
of a brighter era.
About this time I undertook the hardy task of differing in
opinion with one of the ablest scholars and finest writers in the
kingdom, and controverted the proposal of the Bishop of Llandaff for equalizing the revenues of the hierarchy and dignitaries
of the church established. I still think I had the best of the
argument, and that his lordship did a wiser thing in declining
the controversy than in throwing out the proposal. I have read
a charge of the bishop's to the clergy of his diocese for enforcing
many points of discipline, and enjoining residence. As his lordship neither resides in his diocese, nor executes the important
duty of Regius Professor of Divinity in person, I am not informed whether'his clergy took their rule of'conduct from his
precept or from his example; but I take for granted that those
whose poverty confined them to their parsonages, did not stray
from home, and that those whose means enabled them to visit




316        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
other places, did not want a precedent to refer to for their
apology.
As I have dealt extremely little in anonymous publications, I
may as well confess myself in this place the author of a pamphlet
entitled'Curtius rescued from  the Gulph.'  I conceived that
Doctor Parr had hit an unoffending gentleman too hard, by
launching a huge fragment of Greek at his defenceless head.'
The subject was started, and the exterminating weapon produced
at one of my friend Dilly's literary dinners; there were several
gentlemen present better armed for the encounter than myself,
but the lot fell upon me to turn out against Ajax.  I made as
good a fight as I could, and rummaged my indexes for quotations, which I crammed into my artillery as thick as grape shot,
and in mere sport fired them off against a rock invulnerable as
the armor of Achilles.  It was very well observed by my friend
Mr. Dilly, upon the profusion of quotations which some writers
affectedly make use ofg that he knew a Presbyterian parson who
for eighteen pence would furnish any pamphleteer with as many
scraps of Greek and Latin, as would pass him off for an accomplished classic. I simply discharge a debt of gratitude, justly
due, when I acknowledge the great and frequent gratifications
I have received at the hospitable board of the worthy friend last
mentioned, who, whilst he conducted upon principles of the
strictest integrity the extensive business carried on at his house
in the Poultry, kept a table ever open to the patrons and pursuers of literature, which was so administered as to draw the
best circles together, and to put them most completely at their
ease. No man ever understood this better, and few ever practised it with such success, or on so large a scale; it was done
without parade, and in that consisted the peculiar air of comfort
and repose which characterized those meetings; hence it came
to pass that men of genius and learning resorted to them with
delight, and here it was that they were to be found divested of
reserve, and in their happiest moments. Under this roof the
biographer of Johnson, and the pleasant tourist to Corsica and
the Hebrides, passed many jovial joyous hours; here he has located some of the liveliest scenes and most brilliant passages in
I Parr's pretensions as a man of letters, says a writer in Blackwood's Magazine,'were splendid, and fitted, under a suitable guidance, to have produced a
more brilliant impression on his own age than they really did, and a more lasting one in the next age than they ever will.' In his lifetime, it is true, the applauses of his many pupils, and his great political friends, to a certain extent
made up for all deficiencies on his own part; but now, when these vicarious
props, are withdrawn, the disproportion is enormous, and hereafter will appear
to be more so, between the talents that he possessed, and the effects that he
accomplished.'




SAMUEL ROGERS.                     317
his entertaining anecdotes of his friend Samuel Johnson, who
yet lives and speaks to him. The book of Boswell is ever, as
the year comes round, my winter evening's entertainment; I
loved the man; he had great convivial powers and an inexhaustible fund of good humor in society; nobody could detail
the spirit of a conversation in the true style and character of the
parties more happily than my friend James Boswell, especially
when his vivacity was excited, and his heart exhilarated by the
circulation of the glass, and the grateful odor of a well-broiled
lobster.'
To these parties I can trace my first impressions of esteem for
certain characters whose merits are above my praise, and of
whose friendship I -have still to boast. From Mr. Dilly's hospitality I derive not only the recollection of pleasure past, but
the enjoyment of happiness yet in my possession. Death has
not struck so deep into that circle, but that some are left, whose
names are dear to society, whom I have still to number amongst
my living friends, to whom I can resort and find myself not lost
to their remembrance.  Our hospitable host, retired from business, still greets me with a friendly welcome; in the company of
the worthy Braythwaite I can enjoy the contemplation of a man
universally beloved, full indeed of years, but warm in feeling,
unimpaired in faculties and glowing with benevolence.
I can visit the justly-admired author of'The Pleasures of
Memory,' and find myself with a friend who, together with the
brightest genius, possesses elegance of manners and excellence of
heart. He tells me he remembers the day of our first meeting
at Mr. Dilly's; I also remember it, and though his modest unassuming nature held back and shrunk from all appearances of
ostentation and display of talents, yet even then I take credit
for discovering a promise of good things to come, and suspected
him of holding secret commerce with the Muse, before the proof
appeared in shape of one of the most beautiful and harmonious
poems in our language. I do not say that he has not ornamented
the age he lives in, though he were to stop where he is, but I
hope he will not so totally deliver himself over to the Arts as to
neglect the Muses; and I -now publicly call upon Samuel Rogers
to answer to his name, and stand forth in the title page of some
future work that shall be in substance greater, in dignity of sub1, It is a wonder,' says Taylor,'that Mr. Boswell was universally well received. He was full of anecdote, well acquainted with the most distinguished
characters, good humored, and ready at repartee. There was a kind of jovial
bluntness in his manner, wbhich threw off all restraint, even with strangers,
and immediately kindled a social familiarity.'-Records of my Life, p. 127.




318        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
ject more sublime, and in purity of versification not less charming than his poem above mentioned.'
lMy good and worthy friend Mr. Sharpe has made himself in
some degree responsible to the public, for having been the first
to suggest to me the idea of writing this huge volume of my
Memoirs; he knows I was not easily encouraged to believe my
history could be made interesting to the readers of it, and in
truth, opinion less authoritative than his would not have prevailed with me to commit myself to the undertaking.  Neither
he nor I, however, at that time had any thought of publishing
before my death; in proof of which I have luckily laid my hand
upon the following lines amongst the chaos of my manuscripts,
which will show that I made suit to him to protect this and
other relies of my pen, when I had paid the debt of nature:To Richarcl Sharpe, Esqziire, of Mlalrk Laone.'If rhyme e'er spoke the language of the heart,
Or truth emlploy'd the measur'cl phrase of art,
Believe me, Sharpe, this verse, which smoothly flows,
Hath all the rough sincerity of prose.
False flattering words from eager lips may fly,
But who can pause to harmonize a lie?
Or e'er he make the jingling couplet chime,
Conscience would start and reprobate the rhyme.
If then'twere merely to entrap your ear
I call'd you friend, and pledg'd myself sincere,
Genius would shudder at the base design,
And my hand tremble as I shap'd the line.
Poets ofttimes are tickled with a word,
That gayly glitters at the festive board,
And many a man, my judgment can't approve,
Hath trick'd my foolish fancy of its love;
For every foible natural to my race
Finds for a time with me soine fleeting place;
But occupants so weak have no control,
No fix'd and legal tenure in my soul,
Nor will my reason quit the faithful clue,
That points to truth, to virtue, and to you.
In the vicissitudes of life we find
Strange turns and twinings in the human mind,
And he, who seeks consistency of plan,
Is little vers'd in the great map of manll;
The wider still the sphere in which we live,
The more our calls to suffer andl forgive:
i On the 18th of December, 1855, half a century after Cumberland penned
these lines, Rogers died, at his house in St. James's Place, at the great age of
ninety-three.  Whether his'ColumbuLs,''Jacqueline,''Human Life,' and' Italy,' will stand the test of future criticism, and give the Banker Bard an enduring place among the favored sons of Parnassus, all-decisive time will determine. That his wealth and position in London literary society have much
enhanced his contemporary reputation, he who is familiar with the world will
not be disposed to question.




CARE OF MY REPUTATION.                       319
But.from the hour (and many years are past),
Fromr the first hour I knew you to the last,
Through every scene, self-centr'd and at rest,
Your steady character hath stood the test,
No rash conceits divert your solid thought,
By patience foster'd and with candor fraught;
Mild in opinion, but of soul sincere,
And only to the foes of truth severe,
So unobtrusive is your wisdom's tone,
Your converts hear and fancy it their own,
With hand so fine you probe the festering mind,
You heal our wounds, and leave no sore behind.
Now say, my friend- but e'er you touch the task,
Weigh well the burden of the boon I askSay, when the pulses of this heart shall cease,
And my soul quits her cares to seek her peace,
Will your zeal prompt you to protect the name
Of one not totally Unknown to fame?
Will you, who only can the place supply
Of a lost son, befriend my progeny?
For when the wreck goes down there will be found'Some remnants of the freight to float around,
Some that long time hath almost snatch'd from sight,.And more unseen, that struggle for the light;
And sure I am the stage will not refuse,
To lift her curtain for my widow'd Muse,
Nor will her hearers less indulgent be,
When that last curtain shall be dropt on me.'
I have fairly given the reasons that prevailed with me for
publishing these Memoirs in my lifetime, and I believe every
man, that knows them, will acknowledge they are reasons sufficiently cogent.  My friend Sharpe very kindly acceded to the
suit above made; Mr. Rogers has since joined him in the task,
and Sir James Bland Burges, of whose friendship-I have had
many and most convincing proofs, has, with the candor that
is natural to an enlightened mind, generously engaged to take
his share in selecting and arranging the miscellaneous farrago,
that will be found in my drawers, after my body has been committed to the earth.  To these three friends I devote this task,
and upon their judgment I rely for the publication or suppression of what they may find amongst my literary relics; they
are all much younger men than I am, and I pray God that
death, who cannot long spare me, will not draw those arrows
from his quiver, which fate has destined to extinguish them,
till they have completed a career equal at least in length to
mine, crowned with more fame, and graced with much more
fortune and prosperity. I know that they will do what they
have said, and faithfully protect my posthumous reputation, as
I have been a faithful friend to them and to their living works.
The heroic poem of' Richard the First' is truly a very extraordinary work. I am a witness to the extreme rapidity with




320       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
which my friend the author wrote it. It far exceeded the supposed rate at which Pope translated Homer, which being at
fifty lines per day, Samuel Johnson hesitates to give credit to.
If to this we take into account the peculiar construction of the
stanza, every one of which involves four, three,'and two terminations in rhyme, and which must naturally have enhanced the
labor of the poet in a very considerable degree, I am astonished
at the facility with which Sir James has triumphed over the
difficulties that he chose to impose upon himself, and must
confess his Muse moves gracefully in her fetters. I was greatly
pleased to see that the learned and judicious Mr. Todd, in his
late edition of Spenser, has spoken of this poem in such handsome terms, as I can never meet a stronger confirmation of my
own opinion, than when I find it coinciding with that of so
excellent a critic. The era in which my friend has placed his
poem, the hero he has chosen, and the chivalric character with
which he has very properly marked it, are circumstances that
might naturally prevail with him  for modelling it upon the
stanza of the Fairy Queen, which, though it has not so proud a
march as the heroic verse, has certainly more of the knightly
prance in it, and of course more to the writer's purpose than
the rhyming couplet. Perhaps the public at large have not yet
formed a proper estimate of the real merit of this heroic poem.
Its adoption of a stanza, obsolete and repetitionary on the ear,
is a circumstance that stamps upon it the revolting air of an
imitation, which in fact it is not, and deters many from reading
it, who would else find much to admire, and instead of discovering any traces of the Fairy Queen, would meet enough to remind
them of a nobler model in the Iliad of Homer. In the mean
time, it gives me great satisfaction to know that the author of
Richard has since paid loyal service to the dramatic Muse, and
when a mind so prompt in execution, and so fully stored with
the knowledge both of men and books, shall address its labors
to the stage, I should be loath to doubt but that the time will
come when classic writing shall expel grimace.
I hope I shall in nowise hurt the feelings of a lady who now
most worthily fills a very elevated station, if, in speaking of my
humble productions in the course of my subject, I cannot avoid
to speak of one of the most elegant actresses that ever graced
the stage. When I brought out my comedy of'The Natural
Son,' I flattered myself that in the sketch of Lady Paragon I had
conceived a character not quite unworthy of the talents of Miss
Farren; it is saying little in the way of praise, when I acknow-' With this actress,' says Taylor,'I never had the pleasure of being personally acquainted, but I met her one morning with Lord Derby, at the house




ILL HEALTH OF LORD SACKVILLE.                    321
ledge the partiality I still retain for that particular part, and
indeed for that play in general. It was acted and published in the
same season with the'Carmelite,' and though I did not, either
in that instance or in any other, to my knowledge, obtrude
myself upon the public to the exclusion of- a competitor, still it
was so that the town was pleased to interpret my second appeal
to their candor, and the newspapers of the day vented their
malignancy against me in the most opprobrious terms.  So exquisite was the style in which Miss Farren gave her character
its best display, and so respectable were her auxiliaries in the
scene, particularly Mr. John Palmer,1 that they could never
deprive the comedy of favorable audiences, though their efforts
too frequently succeeded. in preventing them  from  being full
ones.  It was a persecution most disgraceful to the freedom of
the press, and the performers resented it with a sensibility that
did them honor; they traced some of the paragraphs to their
dirty origin, but upon minds entirely debased shame has no
effect..
I now foresaw the coming-on of an event, that must inevitably deprive me of one of the- greatest comforts which still adhered to me in my decline of fortune.  It was too evident that
the constitution of Lord Sackville, long harassed by the painful
visitation of that dreadful malady, the stone, was decidedly giving way. There was in him so generous a repugnance against
troubling his friends with any complaints, that it was from  external evidence only, never from confession, that his sufferings
could be guessed at. Attacks, that would have confined most
people to their beds, never moved him from his habitual punctuality. It was curious, and probably in some men's eyes would,
from its extreme precision, have appeared ridiculously minute
and formal, yet in the movements of a domestic establishment
of the late Mr. Kemble. She seemed to be lively and intelligent, with less
affectation than might reasonably be expected in a fine lady who had a prospect of elevated rank. According to report, she was the daughter of a military officer, who died when she was young, and left his widow in distress....
It would be unbecoming in me to enter into a criticism on her talents, as they
are so well known, and were so justly admired by the public. She was lively
and elegant, and only wanted the satirical point and spirit of Mrs. Abington,
which, after all, is perhaps a vulgar quality; but she had what Mrs. Abington
never possessed, and.that was pathos..... At length, like Miss Fenton,
the first Polly in' The Beggar's Opera,' she was destined to assume a high
rank, which by all accounts she supported as if she had been' to the manor
born,' and was esteemed as one of the chief ornaments in the circle of nobility.'
-Records of my Life, p. 235.
Sheridan is said to have delineated Palmer's real character, in his' Joseph
Surface.' In certain characters, such as Brush in the' Clandestine Marriage,'
Brass, or Dick, in the'Confederacy,' Palmer was unrivalled as an actor.




322       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
so large as his, it had its uses and comforts, which his guests
and family could not fail to partake of. i' As sure as the hand of
the clock pointed to the half-hour after nine, neither a minute
before nor a minute after, so sure did the good lord of the castle step into his breakfast room, accoutred at all points according to his own invariable costume, with a complacent countenance, that prefaced his good-morning to each person there assembled; and now, whilst I recall these scenes to my remembrance, I feel gratified by the reflection, that I never passed a
night beneath his roof, but that his morning salutation met me
at my post. He allowed an hour and a half for breakfast, and
regularly at eleven took his morning's circuit on horseback at
a foot's pace, for his infirmity would not admit of any strong
gestation; he'had an old groom, who had grown gray in his
service, that was his constant pilot upon these excursions, and
his general custom was to make the tour of his cottages to reconnoitre the condition they were in, whether their roofs were
in repair, their windows whole, and the gardens well cropped
and neatly kept; all this it was their interest to be attentive to,
for he bought the produce of their fruit-trees, and I have heard
him say with great satisfaction that he has paid thirty shillings
in a season for strawberries only to a poor cottager, who paid
him one shilling annual rent for his tenement and. garden; this
was the constant rate at which he let them to his laborers, and
he made them pay it to his steward at his yearly audit, that
they might feel themselves in the class of regular tenants, and
sit down at table to the good cheer provided for them on the
audit day. He never rode out without preparing himself with
a store of six-pences in his waistcoat pocket for the children of
the poor, who opened gates and drew out sliding bars for him
in his passing through the inclosures; these barriers were well
watched, and there was rarely any employment for a servant;
but- these six-pences were not indiscriminately bestowed, for
as he kept a charity school upon his own endowments, he knew
to whom he gave them, and generally held a short parley with
the gate-opener as he paid his toll for passing. Upon the very
first report of illness or accident relief was instantly sent, and
they were put upon the sick list, regularly visited, and constantly supplied with the best medicines administered upon the best
advice; if the poor man lost his cow, or his pig, or his poultry,
the loss was never made up in money, but in stock. It was his
custom to buy the cast-off' liveries of his own servants as constantly as the day of clothing came about, and these he distributed to the old and worn-out laborers, who turned out




ANECDOTES OF SACKVILLE.               323
daily on the -lawn and paddock in the Sackville livery to pick
up boughs and sweep up leaves, and in short do just as much
work as served to keep them wholesome and alive.
To his religious duties this good man was not only regularly
but respectfully attentive: on the Sunday morning he appeared
in gala, as if he was dressed for a drawing-room; he marched
out his whole family in grand cavalcade to his parish church,
leaving only a sentinel to watch the fires at home, and mount
guard upon the spits. His deportment in the house of prayer
was exemplary, and mote in character of times past than of
time present: he had a way of standing up in sermon time for
the purpose of reviewing the congregation, and awing the idlers
into decorum, that never failed to remind me of Sir Roger de
Coverly, at church: sometimes, when he has been struck with
passages in the discourse, which he wished to point out to the
audience as rules for moral practice worthy to be noticed, he
would mark his approbation of them with such cheering nods
and signals of assent to the preacher, as were often more than.my muscles could withstand; but when to the total overthrow
of all gravity, in his zeal to encourage the efforts of a very
young declaimer in the pulpit, I heard him cry out to the Reverend Mr. Henry Eatoff in the middle of his sermon-'Well
done, Harry!' it was irresistible; suppression was out of my
power: what made it more intolerably comic was, the unmoved
sincerity of his manner, and his surprise to find that anything
had passed that could provoke a laugh so out of time and place.
He had nursed up with no small care and cost in. each of his
parish churches a corps of rustic psalm-singers, to whose performanuces he paid the greatest attention, rising up, and with his
eyes directed to the singing gallery, marking time, which was
not always rigidly adhered to, and once, when his ear, which
was very correct, had been tortured by a tone most glaringly
discordant, he set his mark upon the culprit by calling out to
him by name,: and loudly saying,' Out of tune, Tom Baker!'..
Now this faulty musician Tom Baker happened to be his lordship's butcher, but then in order to set names and trades upon a
par, Tom Butcher was his lordship's baker; which I observed
to him was much such a reconcilement of cross partners as my
illustrious friend George Faulkner hit upon, when in his Dublin
Journal he printed-' Erratum  in our last-For His Grace the
Duchess of Dorset, read Her Grace the Duke of Dorset.' 
I relate these little anecdotes of a man whose character had
nothing little in it, that I may show him to my readers in his
private scenes, and be, as far as I am able, the intimate and true
transcriber of his heart. WVhile the marriage-settlement of his




324       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
eldest daughter was in preparation, he said to the noble person
then in treaty for her,'I am perfectly assured, my lord, that
you have correctly given in a statement of your affairs, as you
in honor and in conscience religiously believe them to be; but
I am much afraid they have been estimated to you for better
than they really are, and you must allow me, therefore, to apprise you, that I shall propose an alteration in my daughter's
fortune, more proportioned to what I now conceive to be the
real valuation of your lordship's property.' To this, when the
generous and disinterested suitor expressed his ready acquiescence, my friend replied (I had the anecdote from his own
mouth),'I perceive your lordship understands me as proposing
a reduction from my daughter's portion; not so, my lord; my
purpose is to double it, that I may have the gratification of supplying those deficiencies in the statement, which I took the
liberty of noticing, and which, as you were not aware of them,
might else have disappointed and perhaps misled you.' When
he imparted this circumstance to me in the words, as nearly as
I can remember, but correctly, in the spirit of those words, he
said to me:'I hope you don't suppose I would have done this
for my eldest daughter, if I had not assured myself of my ability
to do the same for the other two.'
It was in the year 1785, whilst he was at Stoneland, that those
symptoms first appeared, which gradually disclosed such evidences of debility as could not be concealed, and showed to
demonstration that the hand of death was even then upon him.
He bad prepared himself with an opinion deliberately formed
upon the matter of the Irish Propositions, and when that great
question was appointed to come on for discussion in the House
of Lords, he thought himself bound in honor and duty to attend in his place. He then for the first time confessed himself
to be unfit for the attempt, and plainly declared he believed it
would be his death. He paused for a few moments, as if in
hesitation how to decide, and the air of his countenance was
impressed with melancholy: we were standing under the great
spreading tree, that shelters the back entrance to the house;
the day was hot; he had dismounted heavily from his horse;
we were alone, and it was plain that exercise, though gentle,
had increased his languor; he was oppressed both in body and
spirit; he did not attempt to disguise it, for he could no longer
counterfeit: he sat down upon the bench at the tree-foot, and
composing his countenance, as if he wished to have forced a
smile upon it, had his suffering given him leave.' I know,' said
he,' as well as you can tell me, what you think of me just now,
and that you are convinced if I go to town upon this Irish




CONVERSATION WITH SACKVILLE.             325
business, I go to my death; but I also know you are at heart
not against my undertaking it, for I have one convincing proof
forever present to me, how much more you consult my honor
than my safety. And after all what do I sacrifice, if with the
sentence of inevitable death in my hand, I only lop off a few
restless hours, and in the execution of my duty meet the stroke?
In one word, I tell you I shall go: we will not have another
syllable upon the subject; don't advise it, lest you should repent of it, when it has killed me; and do not oppose it, because
it would not be your true opinion, and if it' were, I would not
follow it.'
7It was in that same day, after dinner, as I well remember, the
evening being most serene and lovely, we seated ourselves in the
chairs that were placed out upon the garden grass-plat, which
looks towards Crowberry and the forest. Our conversation
led us to the affair of Minden; my friend most evidently
courted the discussion; I told him I had diligently attended the
whole process of the trial, and that I had detailed it to Mr.
Doddington; I had consequently a pretty correct remembrance
of the leading circumstances as they came out upon the evidence. But I observed to him that it was not upon the questions and proceeding agitated at that court, that I could perfect my opinion of the case; there must be probably a chain of
leading causes, which, though they could not make a part of
his defence in public court, might, if developed, throw such
lights on'the respective conduct of the parties, as would have
led to conclusions different from those which stood upon the
record.
To this he answered that my remark was just; there were
certain circumstances antecedent to the action, that should be
taken into -consideration, and there were certain forbearances,
posterior to the trial, that should be accounted for. The time
was come when he could -have no temptation to disguise and
violate the truth, and a much more awful trial was now close
at hand, where he must suffer for it if he did. He would talk
plainly, temperately, and briefly to me, as his manner was, provided I would promise him to deal sincerely, and not spare to
press him on such points as stuck with me for want of explanation., This being premised, he entered upon a detail, which,
unless I could give as taken down from his lips, without the
variation of a word, so sacred do I hold the reputation of the
dead intrusted to me, and the feelings of the living, whom any
error of mine might wound, that I shall forbear to speak of it
except in general terms. He appeared to me, throughout his
whole discourse, like a man who had perfectly dismissed his




326      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
passions; his color never changed, his features never indicated
embarrassment, his voice was never elevated, and being relieved
at times by my questions and remarks, he appeared to speak
without pain, and in the event his mind seemed lightened by
the discharge. When I compare what he said to me in his
last moments (not two hours before he expired), with what he
stated at this conference, if I did not from my heart and upon
the most entire conviction of my reason and understanding, solemnly acquit that injured man, now gone to his account, of the
opprobrious and false imputations, deposed against him at his
trial, I must be either brutally ignorant, or wilfully obstinate
%gainst the truth.
At the battle of Fontenoy, at the head of his brave regiment,
in the very front of danger and the heat of action, he received
a bullet in his breast, and being taken off the field by his grenadiers, was carried into a tent belonging to the equipage of the
French King, and there laid upon a table, whilst the surgeon
dressed his wound; so far had that glorious column penetrated
in their advance towards victory, unfortunately snatched from
them. Let us contemplate the same man, commanding the British cavalry in the battle of Minden, no longer in the front of
danger and the heat of action, no longer in the pursuit of victory, for that was gained, and can we think with his unjust defamer, that such a man would tremble at a flying foe? It is a
supposition against nature, a charge that cannot stand, an imputation that confutes itself.
Perhaps I am repeating things that I have said in my account
of him, published after his death, but I have no means of referring to that pamphlet, and have been for some time writing
at Ramnsgate, where I have not a single book to turn to, and
very few papers and minutes of transactions to refresh my
memory.
Lord Sackville attended Parliament, as he said he would, and
returned, as he predicted, a dying man. He allowed me to
call in Sir Francis Millman, then practising at Tunbridge
Wells: all medical assistance was in vain; the saponaceous
medicines, that had given him intervals of ease, and probably
many years of existence, had now lost their efficacy, or by their
efficacy worn their conductors out. He wished to take his last
leave of the Earl of Mansfield, then at Tunbridge Wells; I signified this to the earl, and accompanied him in his chaise to
Stoneland; I was present at their interview. Lord Sackville,
just dismounted from his horse, came into the room, where we
had waited a very few minutes, and staggered as he advanced
to reach his hand to his respectable visitor; he drew his breath




SACKVILLE AND MANSFIELD.                     327
with palpitating quickness, and, if I remember rightly, never
rode again: there was a death-like character in his countenance,
that visibly affected and disturbed Lord Mansfield, in a manner
that I did not quite expect, for it had more of horror in it than
a firm  man, ought to have shown, and less perhaps of other
feelings than a friend, invited to a meeting of that nature,
must have discovered, had he- not been frightened from his propriety.
As soon as Lord Sackville had recovered his breath, his visitor remaining silent, he began by apologizing for the trouble he
had given him, and for the unpleasant spectacle he was conscious of exhibiting to him  in the condition he was now  reduced to;'but my good lord,' he said,'though I ought not to
have imposed upon you the painful ceremony of paying a last
visit to a dying man, yet so great was my anxiety to return you
my unfeigned thanks for all your goodness to me, all the kind
protection you have shown me through the course of my unprosperous life, that I could not know you was so near me, and
not wish to assure you of the invariable respect I have entertained for your character, and now in the most serious manner
to solicit your forgiveness, if ever in the fluctuations of politics
or the heats of party, I have appeared in your eyes at any moment of my life unjust to your greatmerits, or forgetful of your
many favors.'
When I record this speech, I give it to the reader as correct;
I do not trust to memory at this distance; I transcribe it: I
scorn the paltry trick of writing speeches for any man, whose
name is in these Memoirs, or for myself, in whose name these
Memoirs shall go forth, respectable at least for their veracity;
for I certainly cannot wish to present myself to the world in
two such opposite and incoherent characters as the writer of my
own history, and the hero of a fiction.
Lord Mansfield made a reply perfectly becoming and highly
satisfactory: he was far on in years, and not in sanguine health
or a strong state of nerves; there was no immediate reason to
continue the discourse; Lord Sackville did not press for it;
his visitor departed, and I stayed with him.' He made no other
1 It was reported that Lord Sackville was the author of Junius, and it has
been supposed that he intended by a dying declaration to disabuse Lord
Mansfield's mind of any suspicion of that kind. If Lord Mansfield was affected and disturbed by his interview with Lord Sackville, it was an exception to
his general impassiveness on such occasions. In the memorable scene in the
House of Lords, when the illustrious Chatham had swooned, and lay, as it
seemed, in the very agonies of death, Mansfield alone, of all the peers, retained his seat, and looked with slight unconcern on the fall of his former rival;




328        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
observation upon what had passed than that it was extremely
obliging  in  Lord Mansfield, and then turned to other subjeets.
In him the vital principle was strong; and nature, which resisted dissolution, maintained at every outpost, that defended
life, a lingering agonizing struggle. Through every stage of
varied misery-extremes by change more fierce  his fortitude
remained unshaken, his senses perfect, and his mind never died,
till the last pulse was spent, and his heart stopped forever.
In this period intelligence arrived of the Propositions being
withdrawn in the Irish House of Commons; he had letters on
this subject from several correspondents, and one from Lord
Sydney, none of which we thought fit then to give him.  I told
him in as few words, and as clearly as I could, how the business
passed, but requested he would simply hear it, and not argue
upon it.'I am not sorry,' he said,'that it has so happened.
You can witness that my predictions are verified; something
might now be set on.foot for the benefit of both countries. I
wish I could live long enough to give my opinion in my place;
I have formed my thoughts upon it; but it is too late for me to
do any good; I hope it will fall into abler hands; and you forbid me to argue. I see you are angry with me for talking, and
indeed it gives me pain. I have nothing to do in this life, but
to obey and be silent.' From  that moment he never spoke a
word upon the subject.
As I knew he had been some time meditating on his preparations to receive the sacrament, and death seemed near at hand,
I reminded him of it; he declared himself ready and at peace
with all mankind; in one instance only he confessed it cost him
a hard struggle.  What that instance was he needed not to explain to me, nor am I careful to explain to any. I trust, according to the infirmity of man's nature, he is rather to be honored
for having finally extinguished his resentment, than condemned
for having fostered it too long.  A Christian saint would have
done it sooner: how many men would not have done it ever!'almost as much unmoved,' Lord Camden writes,' as the senseless body itself.'
— lflahon's Hlistory of Englavnd, vol. vi. p. 231.
Lord Mansfield had two serious defects; he lacked moral courage, and he
wanted heart.'He had,' says his biographer,'no warmth of affection; he
formed no friendships; and he neither made exertions nor submitted to sacrifices purely for the good of others. The striking fact to prove that he reasoned
rather than felt is, that he never visited his native land, from the time when
he first crossed the border, riding a Highland pony, on his way to Westminster;
although he left behind him his father and mother, who survived many years,
and were buried in the church at Scone.' —Campbell's Lives of the Chief Justices, vol. ii. p. 436.. (Amer. ed.)




DEATH OF LORD GERMAIN.                        329
The Reverend Mr. Sackville Bayle, his worthy parish priest
and ever faithful friend, administered the solemn office of the
sacrament to him, reading at his request the prayers for a communicant at the point of death. He had ordered all his bedcurtains to be opened and the sashes thrown up, that he might
have air and space to assist him in his efforts; what they were,
with what devotion he joined in those solemn prayers, that warn
the parting spirit to dismiss all hopes that centre in this world,
that reverend friend can witness; I also was a witness and a
partaker; none else was present at that holy ceremony.
A  short time before he expired, I came by his desire to his
bedside, when, taking my hand, and pressing it between his, he
addressed me for the last time in the following words:'You
see me now in those moments when no disguise will serve, and
when the spirit of a man must be proved. I have a mind perfectly resigned, and at peace within itself. I have done with this
world, and what I have done in it, I have done for the best; I
hope and trust I am prepared for the next. Tell not me of all
that passes in health and pride of heart; these are the moments
in which a man must be searched, and remember that I die, as
you see me, with a tranquil conscience and content." I have
i Lord George Sackville, afterwards Germain, was the youngest son of the
first Duke of Dorset, and born in 1716. He was a man, says Walpole,' of very
sound parts, of distinguished bravery, and of an honorable eloquence, but hot,
haughty, ambitious, obstinate.'-Menemoir of the Reign of George 11., vol. i. p. 279.' He had served on several foreign expeditions'-we are quoting Malhon-'without disparagement, at least, if not without distinction; he had been secretary for Ireland during his father's viceroyalty; he had taken on many occasions a forward and able part in debate.'-History of England, vol. iv. p.
178.
At the battle of Minden, he commanded the whole English, and some German cavalry on the right wing of the Allies. In the crisis of the battle, when
the French were in disorder, and when a cavalry charge would have completed
their destruction, and when Lord George had positive orders from Prince Ferdinand, who commanded the Allies, to bring up the cavalry, he hesitated, and
the opportune moment was thrown away. The outcry against him, both in
England and Germany, was loud and fierce. He resigned his command and
returned home.' On arriving in England... he found himself received by
the nation with scarcely less abhorrence, or less clamor, than Byng......
Hie was at once dismissed from all his employments-the command of a regiment, a post in the ordnance, and the rank of general.'-Ibid. He was tried
by a court-martial, convened at his own request, found guilty of disobeying
Prince Ferdinand's orders, and declared unfit to serve his majesty in any
military capacity whatever. His conduct on the trial was bold and undaunted.'Nothing was timid-nothing humble in his behavior. His replies were
quick and spirited. He prescribed to the court, and they acquiesced. An
instant of such resolution at Minden had established his character forever.'Walpole.
It is generally conceded that the decision of the court-martial was equitable.
The important point, so far as it concerns the character of Lord George is,
whether he was swayed by one of those fancies to which men of quick genius
22




330        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
reason to know I am correct in these expressions, because I
transcribe them word for word from a copy of my letter to the
Honorable George Damer, now Earl of Dorchester, written a few
days after his uncle Lord Sackville's death, and dated September 13th, 1785.
To that excellent and truly noble person I recommend and
devote this short but faithful sketch of his relation's character,
conscious how highly he deserved, and how entirely he possessed,
the love and the esteem of the deceased.
It may to some appear strange that I do not rather address
myself to the present lord, the eldest son of his father and the
inheritor of his title.  He, who knows he has no plea for slighting the friend, who has loved him, knows that he has put it out
of my power, and that I must be of all men most insensible, if
I did not poignantly feel and feelingly lament his unmerited
neglect of me. If the foregoing pages ever meet his eyes, I hope
the record of his father's virtues will inspire him to imitate his
father's example.
I put in my plea for pardon in the very first page of my book
with respect to errors in the dates of my disorderly productions.
I should have mentioned my comedy of'The Impostor,' and the
publication of my novel of'Arundel,' in two volumes, which I
hastily put together whilst I was passing a few idle weeks at
Brighthelmstone, where I had no books but such as a circulating
novel-shop afforded. I dispatched that work so rapidly, sending it to the press by parcels, of which my first copy was the
only one, that I really do not remember what moved me to the
undertaking, nor how it came to pass that the cacoethes scribendri
nugas first got hold of me. Be this as it may, I am not about
to affect a modesty which I do not feel, or to seek a shelter from
the sin of writing ill, by acknowledging the folly of writing rapidly, for I believe that'Arundel' has entertained as many
readers, and gained as good a character in the world as most
heroes of his description, not excepting the immaculate Sir
are sometimes prone, or by an envy of Prince Ferdinand's greatness, and a
desire to leave the victory of his rival incomplete.  The latter motive, says
Lord Mahon, is alleged by several writers. He admits that his own opinion
inclines to the former. —History of Englaund, vol. iv. p. 181.
A man of such spirit, of such indomitable energy as Sackville, could not be
borne down by such a disgrace as had fallen upon him. He again aspired to
high honors and employments, and he obtained them. He was restored to the
Privy Council, made Secretary of State, and raised to the peerage as Viscount
Sackville. His plans and counsels during the American contest had an unprosperous issue; and his life, on the whole, was marked by misfortune. In
his duel with Governor Johnstone, he fought with a coolness' that with almost
all men justly palliated or removed the imputation on his spirit.'- Walpole.




'ARUNDEL.'                     331
Charles Grandison, in whose company I have never found myself without being puzzled to decide whether I am most edified
by his morality or disgusted by his pedantry.'Arundel,' perhaps, of all the children which my brain has given birth to, had
the least care and pains bestowed upon his education, yet he is
a gentleman, and has been received as such in the first circles,
for though he takes the wrong side of the question in his argu.
ment with Mortlake upon duelling, yet there is hardly one to
be found, who thinks with Mlortlake, but would be shamed out
of society if he did not act with Arundel. In the character of
the Countess of G. I confess I have set virtue upon ice; she slips,
but does not fall; and if I have endowed the young ladies with
a degree of sensibility that might have exposed them to danger,
I flatter myself I have taken the proper means of rescuing them
from it by marrying them respectively to the men of their
hearts.
The success, however, which by this novel I obtained without
labor, determined me to write a second, on which I was resolved
to bestow my utmost care and diligence. In this temper of
mind I began to form to myself in idea what I conceived should
be the model of a perfect novel; having, after much deliberation,
settled and adjusted this to the best of my judgment, I decided
for the novel in detail; rejecting the epistolary process, which I
had pursued in'Arundel,' and also that in which the hero speaks
throughout, and is his own biographer; though in putting both
these processes aside I felt much more hesitation in the lastmentioned case than in the first.
Having taken Fielding's admirable novel of Tom Jones as my
pattern in point of detail, I resolved to copy it also in its distribution into chapters and books, and to prefix prefatory numbers to the latter, to the composition of which I addressed my
best attention. In some of these I have taken occasion to submit those rules for the construction of a novel, which I flattered
myself might be of use to future writers in that line, less experienced than myself. HIow far I have succeeded is not for me
to say, but if I have failed, I am without excuse, for I had this
work in hand two full years, and gave more polish and correction to the style, than ever I bestowed upon any of my published
works before. The following few rules which I laid down for
my own guidance, and strictly observed, I still persuade myself
are such as ought to be observed by others.
I would have the story carried on in a regular uninterrupted
progression of events, without those dull recitals, that call the
attention off from what is going on, and compel it to look back,
perhaps in the very crisis of curiosity, to circumstances antece



332       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
dent to, and not always materially connected with, the history
in hand. I am decidedly adverse to episodes and stories within
stories, like that of the Man of the Hill in Tom Jones, and in
general all expedients of procrastination, which come under the
description of mere tricks to torture curiosity, are in my opinion
to be very sparingly resorted to, if not totally avoided. Casualties and broken bones, and faintings and high fevers, with
ramblings of delirium and rhapsodies of nonsense, are perfectly
contemptible. I think descriptive writing, properly so distinguished, is very apt to describe nothing, and that landscapes
upon paper leave no picture in the mind, and only load the
page with daubings, that in the author's fancy may be sketches
after nature, but to the reader's eye offer nothing but confusion.
A novel, professing itself to be the delineation of men and women as they are in nature, should in general confine itself to the
relation of things probabl6, and though in skilful hands it may
be made to touch upon things barely possible, the seldomer it
risks'those experiments, the better opinion I should form of the
contriver's conduct; I do not think quotations ornament it, and
poetry must be extremely good before I can allow it is of any
use to it. In short, there should be authorities in nature for
everything that is introduced, and the only case I can recollect
in which the creator of the fictitious man may and ought to differ from the biographer of the real man, is, that the former is
bound to deal out his rewards to the virtuous and punishments
to the vicious, whilst the latter has no choice but to adhere to
the truth of facts, and leave his hero neither worse nor better
than he found him.
Monsters of cruelty and crime, monks and Zelucos, horrors
and thunderings and ghosts are creatures of another region, tools
appropriated to another trade, and are only to be handled by
dealers in old castles and manufacturers of romances.
As the tragic drama may be not improperly described as an
epic poem of compressed action, so I think we may call the novel
a dilated comedy; though Henry Fielding, who was pre-eminently happy in the one, was not equally so in the other: non
omnia possumnus omnes. If the readers of HIenry have agreed
with me in the principles laid down in those prefatory chapters, and here again briefly touched upon, I flatter myself they
found a novel conducted throughout upon those very principles,
and which in no one instance does a violence to nature, or resorts to forced and improbable expedients to excite surprise; I
flatter myself they found a story regularly progressive, without
any of those retrogradations or counter-marches which break
the line and discompose the arrangement of the fable; I hope




'CALVARY.'                     333
they found me duly careful to keep the principal characters in
sight, and above all if I devoted myself con amore to the delineation of Zachary Cawdle, and in a more particular manner to
the best services I could perform for the good Ezekiel Daw, I
warmly hope they did not think my partiality quite misapplied,
or my labor of love entirely thrown away.
If in my zeal to exhibit virtue triumphant over the most
tempting allurements, I have painted those allurements in too
vivid colors I am sorry, and ask pardon of all those who thought
the moral did not heal the mischief.
If my critics have not been too candid, I am encouraged to
believe that, in these volumes of' Henry,' and in those of'The
Observer,' I have succeeded in what I labored to effect with all
my care-a simple, clear, harmonious style; which, taken as a
model, may be followed without leading the novitiate either into
turgidity or obscurity, holding a middle tone of period, neither
swelling into high-flown metaphor, nor sinking into inelegant
and unclassical rusticity. Whether or not I have succeeded, I
certainly have attempted, to reform and purify my native language from certain false pedantic prevalencies, which were much
in fashion when I first became a writer. I dare not say with
those whose flattery might mislead me, that I have accomplished
what I aimed at, but if I have done something towards it, I may
say with Pliny-Posteris an aliqua cura nostri, nescio. Nos certe
meremur ut sit acliqa; non dicarm ingenio; id enim superbum; sed
studio, sed labore, sed reverentia posterorLurm.
The mental gratification which the exercise of the fancy in
the act of composition gives me, has, with the exception only
of the task I am at present engaged in, led me to that inordinate
consumption of paper, of which much has been profitless, much
unseen, and very much of that which has been seen, would
have been more worthy of the world had I bestowed more
blotting upon it before I committed it to the press; yet I am
now about to mention a poem not the most imperfect of my
various productions, of which the first manuscript copy was the
only one, and that perhaps the fairest I had ever put out of my
hands. Heroic verse has been always more familiar to me, and
more easy in point of composition, than prose: my thoughts
flow more freely in metre, and I can oftentimes fill a page with
less labor and less time in verse of that description, than it
costs me to adjust and harmonize a single period in prose to
my entire satisfaction.
The work I now allude to is my poem of' Calvary,' and the
gratification of which I have been speaking, mixed, as I trust,
with worthier and more serious motives, led me to that under



334      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
taking. It had never been my hard lot to write, as many of my
superiors have been forced to do, task-work for a bookseller; it
was therefore my custom, as it is with voluptuaries of another
description, to fly from one pursuit to another for the greater
zest, which change and contrast gave to my intellectual pleasures.
I had as yet done nothing in the epic way, except my juvenile
attempt, of which I have given an extract, and I applied myself to the composition of'Calvary,' with uncommon ardor; I
began it in the winter, and, rising every morning some hours
before daylight, soon dispatched the whole poem of eight
books, at the average of full fifty lines in a day, of which I kept
a regular account, marking each day's work upon my manuscript. I mention this, because it is a fact; but I am not so
mistaken as to suppose that any author can be entitled. to take
credit to himself for the little care he has bestowed upon his
compositions.
It was not till I had taken up Milton's immortal poem of'Paradise Lost,' and read it studiously, and completely through,
that I brought the plan of' Calvary' to a consistency, and resolved to venture on the attempt. I saw such aids in point of
character, incident, and diction, such facilities held out by the
sacred historians, as encouraged me to hope I might aspire to
introduce my humble Muse upon that hallowed ground without
profaning it.
As for the difficulties which, by the nature of his subject, Milton had to encounter, I perceived them to be such as nothing
but the genius of Milton could surmount: that he has failed in
some instances cannot be denied, but it is matter of wonder and
admiration that he has miscarried in so few. The noble strucure he has contrived to raise with the co-operation of two human beings only, and those the first created of the human race,
strikes us with astonishment; but, at the same time, it forces
him upon such frequent flights beyond the bounds of nature,
and obliges him in so great a degree to depend upon the agency
of supernatural beings, of whose persons we have no prototype, and of whose operations, offices, and intellectual powers
we are incompetent to form any adequate conception, that it is
not to be wondered at, if there are parts and passages in that
divine poem that we either pass over by choice, or cannot read
without regret.
Upon a single text in Scripture he has described a Battle in
Heaven, in most respects tremendously sublime, in others painfully reminding us how impossible it is for man's limited imagination to find weapons for immortal spirits, or conceive an
army of rebellious angels employing instruments of human in



CHARACTER OF THE POEM.                 335
vention upon the vain impossible idea, that their material artillery could shake the immaterial throne of the One Supreme Being, the Almighty Creator and Disposer of them and the universe. Accordingly, when we are presented with the description of Christ, the meek Redeemer of mankind, going forth in
a chariot to the battle, brilliant although the picture is, it dazzles, and we start from it revolted by the blaze. But when the
poet, deeming himself competent to find words for the Almighty,
contrives a conference between the First and Second Persons in
the Trinity, we are compelled to say with Pope-'That God the Father turns a school-divine.'
I must entreat my readers not so to misconceive my meaning
as to suppose me vain enough. to think, that by noticing these
spots in Milton's glorious sun, I am.advancing my dim lamp to
any the most distant competition with it. I have no other motive for mentioning them but to convince the patrons of these
Memoirs, that I did not attempt the composition of a sacred
epic, where he must for ever stand so decidedly pre-eminent,
till by comparing the facilities of my subject with the amazing
difficulties of his, I had found a bow proportioned to my
strength, and did not presume to bend it till I was certified of
its flexibility.
It could not possibly be overlooked by me, that, in taking the
Death of Christ for my subject, I had the advantage of dating
my poem at a point of time the most awful in the whole history of the world, the most pregnant with sublime events, and
the most fully fraught with grand and interesting characters;
that I had those characters, and those events, so pointedly delineated and so impressively described by the inspired historians,
as to leave little else for me to do, but to restrain invention, and
religiously to follow in the path that was chalked out to me.
Accordingly I trust there will be found very little of the audacity of fancy in the composition of' Calvary,' and few sentiments
or expressions ascribed to tie Saviour, which have not the sanction and authority of the sacred record. When he descends
into Hades, I have endeavored to avail myself of what has been
revealed to us for those conjectural descriptions, and I hope I
have not far outstripped discretion, or heedlessly indulged a
wild imagination; for though I venture upon untouched ground,
presuming to unfold a scene which mystery has involved in darkness, yet I have the visions of the Saint at Patmos to hold up a
light to me, and assist me in my efforts to pervade futurity.
My first publication of'Calvary' in quarto had so languid a
sale, that it left me with the inconvenient loss of at least one




336      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
hundred pounds, and the discouraging conviction that the public did not concern itself about the poem  or the poem-maker;
I felt at the same time a proud indignant consciousness, that it
claimed a better treatment, and whilst I called to mind the true
and brotherly devotion I had ever borne to the fame of my
contemporaries, I was stung by their neglect; and having laid.
my poem on the death of my IRedeemer at the feet of my sovereign, which, for aught that ever reached my knowledge, he
might, or might not, have received by the hand of his librarian,
I had nothing to console me but the reflection that there would,
perhaps, be a tribunal that would deal out justice to me when
I could not be a gainer by it, and speak favorably of my performance when I could not hear their praises.
I shall now take leave of'Calvary' after acknowledging my
obligations to my publishers for their speculation of a new
edition, and also to the purchasers of that edition for their
reconcilement to a book, which, till it was reduced to a more
portable size, they were little disposed to take away with them.
I consider'Tristram Shandy' as the most eccentric work of
my time, and' Junius' the most acrimonious; we have heard
much of his style; I have just been reading him over with
attention, and I confess I can see but little to admire. The thing
to wonder at is, that a secret, to which several must have been
privy, has been so strictly kept; if Sir WVilliam Draper, who
baffled him in some of his assertions, had kept his name out of
sight, I am inclined to think he might have held up the cause of
candor with success. The publisher of' Junius,' I am told, was
deeply guaranteed; of course, although he might not know his
author, he must have known whereabouts to look for him. I
never heard that my friend Lord George Germain was amongst
the suspected authors, till by way of jest he told me so not many
days before his death: I did not want him to disavow it, for
there could be no occasion to disprove an absolute impossibility.
The man who wrote it had a savage heart, for some of his attacks are execrable; he was a hypocrite, for he disavows private motives, and makes pretensions to a patriotic spirit. I can
perfectly call to mind the general effect of his letters, and am of
opinion that his malice overshot its mark. Let the anonymous
defamer be as successful as he may, it is but an unenviable triumph, a mean and cowardly gratification, which his dread of a
discovery forbids him to avow.
As for'Tristram Shandy,' whose many plagiarisms are now
detected, his want of delicacy is unpardonable, and his tricks
have too much of frivolity and buffoonery in them to pass upon
the reader; but his real merit lies not only in his general con



EDMUND BURKE.                          337
ception of character, but in the address with which he marks
them  out by those minute, yet striking touches of his pencil,
that make his descriptions pictures, and his pictures life; in the
pathetic he excels, as his story of Lefevre witnesses, but he seems
to have mistaken his powers, and capriciously to have misapplied
his genius.
I conceive there is not to be found in all the writings of my
day, perhaps I may say not in the English language, so brilliant
a cluster of fine and beautiful passages in the declamatory style,
as we are presented with in Edmund Burke's inimitable tract
upon the French Revolution. It is most highly colored and
most richly ornamented, but there is elegance in its splendor,
and dignity in its magnificence.  The orator demands attention
in a loud and lofty tone, but his voice never loses its melody,
nor his periods their sweetness.  When he has roused us with
the thunder of his eloquence, he can at once, Timotheus-like,
choose a melancholy theme, and melt us into pity; there is
grace in his anger; for he can inveigh without vulgarity; he
can modulate the strongest bursts of passion, for even in his
madness there is music.
I was so charmed with the style and matter of this pamphlet
that I could not withstand the pleasure of intruding upon him
with a letter of thanks, of which I took no copy, but fortunately
have preserved his answer to it, which is as follows:-' Beconsfield, November 13th, 1790.
DEAR SIR: I was yesterday honored with your most obliging letter. You
may be assured that nothing could be more flattering to me than the approbation of a gentleman so distinguished in literature as you are, and in so great a
variety of its branches. It is an earnest to me of that degree of toleration in
the public judgment, which may give my reasonings some chance of being
useful. I know, however, that I am indebted to your politeness and your good
nature, as much as to your opinion, for the indulgent manner in which you
have been pleased to receive my endeavor. Whether I have described our
countrymen properly, time is to show: I hope I have, but at any rate it is perhaps the best way to persuade them to be right by supposing that they are so.
Great bodies, like great men, must be instructed in the way in which they
will be best pleased to receive instruction; flattery itself may be converted
into a mode of counsel: laudando admonere has not always been the most unsuccessful method of advice. In this case moral policy requires it, for when
you must expose the practices of some kinds of men, you do nothing if you do
not distinguish them from others.
Accept once more my best"acknowledgments for the very handsome manner
in which you have been pleased to consider my pamphlet, and do me the justice to believe me with the most perfect respect,
Dear sir,
Your most faithful
And obliged humble servant,
EDM. BURKE.'
Am I, or am I not to regret that this fine writer devoted him



338       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
self so professedly to politics? I conceive there must be two
opinions upon this question amongst his contemporaries, and
only one that will be entertained by posterity. Those who heard
his parliamentary speeches with delight, will not easily be induced to wish that he had spoken less; whilst those who can
only read him, will naturally regret that he had not written
more. The orator, like the actor, lives only in the memory of
his hearers, and his fame must rest upon tradition; Mr. Burke
in Parliament enjoyed the triumph of a day, but Mr. Burke on
paper would have been the founder of his own immortality.
Amongst the variety of branches, to which Mr. Burke is
pleased so flatteringly to allude, and which certainly are more
in number than the literary annals of any author in my recollection can exhibit, I reflect with satisfaction that I have devoted
much time and thought to serious subjects, and been far from
idle or lukewarm in the service of religion. I have written at
different times as many sermons as would make a large volume,
some of which have been delivered from the pulpits; I have
rendered into English metre fifty of the psalms of David, which
are printed by Mr. Strange, of Tunbridge Wells, and upon
which I flatter myself I have not in vain bestowed my best attention. I have for some years been in the habit of composing
an appropriate prayer of thanksgiving for the last day in the
year, and of supplication for the first day in the succeeding year.
I published, by Messrs. Lackington & Co., a religious and argumentative tract, entitled'A few Plain Reasons for Believing in
the Evidences of the Christian Revelation;' and this tract, which
I conceive to be orthodox in all its points, and unanswerably
demonstrative as a confutation of all the false reasoners according to the new philosophy, I presented with all due deference to
the Bishop of London, who was pleased to honor me with a very
gracious acknowledgment by letter, and likewise to the late
Archbishop of Canterbury, who was not pleased to acknowledge
it in any way whatever. But I had no particular right to expect
it; all regulars are not equally candid to the volunteer, as I have
good reason to know.
I have selected several passages from the Old Testament, and
turne(l them into verse; they are either totally lost, or buried
out of sight in the chaos of my manuscripts; I find one only
amongst the few loose papers I have with me, and I take the
liberty of inserting it'JTudges, Chapter the 5th,
Hear, all earth's crowned monarchs, hear I
Princes and judges to my song give car:
To Israel's God my voice I'll raise,
And joyful chant Jehovah's praise.




JUDGES PARAPHRASEID.                           389
Lord, when in Edom's glorious day
Thou wentest forth in bright array,
Earth to her inmost centre shook,
The mountains melted at thy look,
The clouds drop't down their watery store,
Rent with the thunder's loud tremendous roar.
Must I remember Shamgar's gloomy days,'And that sad time when Jael rul'd our coast?
No print of foot then mark'd our public ways,
Waste horror reign'd, the human face was lost.
Then I, I Deborah, assum'd command,
The nursing mother of the drooping land;
Then was our nation alien from the Lord,
Then o'er our heads high wav'd the hostile sword,
Nor shield, nor spear, was found to arm for fight,
And naked thousands turn'd their backs in flight.
But now awake, my soul, and thou arise,
Barak; to thee the victory is giv'n;
Let our joint song ascend the skies,
And celebrate the majesty of heav'n.
On me, the priestess of the living Lord,
The care of Israel was bestow'd:
Ephraim and Benjamin obey'd my word,
The Scribes of Zebulon allegiance show'd,
And Issachar, a princely train,
With glittering ensigns dazzled all the plain.
But oh! what sad divisions keep
Reuben inglorious'midst his bleating sheep?
Gilead, in Jordan his asylum seeks,
Dan in his ships, and Asher in his creeks,
Whilst Naphthali's more warlike sons expose
Their gallant lives, and dare their country's foes.
Then was the battle fought by Canaan's kings
In Taanach beside Megiddo springs;
The stars themselves'gainst Sisera declare;
Israel is heaven's peculiar care.
Old Kishon stain'd with hostile blood,
Roll'd to the main a purple flood;
The neighing steed, the thund'ring car
Proclaim'd the terrors of the war;
But high in honor'bove the rest
Be Jael, our avenger, blest,
Blest above women! to her tent she drew
With seeming friendship Jabel's mighty chief;
Fainting with heat and toil he sought relief,
He slept, and in his sleep her weary guest she slew.
The workman's hammer in this hand she took,
In that the fatal nail, then boldly struck;
Through both his temples drove the deadly wound,
Transfix'd his brain and pinn'd him to the ground.
Why stays my son, his absent mother cries;
When shall I welcome his returning car,
Loaded with spoils of conqu'ring war?
Ah, wretched mother, hide thine eyes;
At Jael's feet a headless trunk he lies.
So Sisera fell, and God made wars to cease,
So rested Israel, and the land had peace.'




340      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Of my dramatic pieces I must say in the gross, that if I did
not always succeed in entertaining the audience, I continued to
amuse myself. I brought out a comic opera in three acts, founded
on the story of'Wat Tyler,' which being objected to by the
Lord Chamberlain, I was obliged to new model, and produce
under the title of the'Armorer.' When I had taken all the
comedy out of it, I was not surprised to find that the public
were not very greatly edified by what was left.
I also brought out a comedy called'The Country Attorney,'
at the summer theatre, when it was under the direction of the
elder Mr. Colman. At the same theatre, under the auspices of
the present candid and ingenious superintendent, I produced my
comedy of' The Box-Lobby Challenge,' and my drama of' Don
Pedro.'
When the new and splendid theatre of Drury Lane was opened,
my comedy of'The Jew' was represented, and if I am not mistaken (I speak upon conjecture), it was the first new piece exhibited on that stage. I am ashamed to say with what rapidity
I dispatched that hasty composition, but my friend Bannister,
who saw it act by act, was a witness to the progress of it; in
what degree he was a promoter of the success of it I need not
say; poor Suett also, now no more, was an admirable second.
The benevolence of the audience assisted me in rescuing a
forlorn and persecuted character, which till then had only been
brought upon the stage for the unmanly purpose of being made
a spectacle of contempt, and a butt for ridicule. In the success
of this comedy I felt of course a greater gratification than I had
ever felt before upon a like occasion.
The part of Sheva presented Mr. Bannister to the public in
that light, in which he will always be seen, when nature fairly
drawn and strongly charactered is committed to his care. Let
the poet give him the model, and his animation will give it the
action and the life.
It has also served as a stepping-stone to the stage for an actor
who, in my judgment (and I am not afraid of being singular in
that opinion), stands amongst the highest of his profession; for
if quick conception, true discrimination, and the happy faculty
of incarnating the idea of his poet, are properties essential in
the almost undefinable composition of a great and perfect actor,
these and many more will be found in Mr. Dowton. Let those,
who have a claim upon his services, call him to situations not
unworthy of his best exertions, and the stage will feel the value
of his talents.'The Wheel of Fortune' came out in the succeeding season,
and'First Love' followed close upon its steps. They were suc



THEATRES.                         341
cessful comedies, and very powerfully supported by the performers of them in every part throughout. I was fortunate in
the plot of the first; for there is dignity of mind in the forgive'ness of injuries, which elevates the character of Penruddock, and
Mr. Kernble's just personification of it added to a lucky fiction
all the force and interest of a reality.  When so much belongs
to the actor, the author must be careful how he arrogates too
much to himself.
Of'First Love' I shall only say, that when two such exquisite
actresses conspired to support me, I will not be so vain as to
presume I could have stood without their help.
I think, as I am now so near the conclusion of these Memoirs,
I may as well wind up my dealings with the theatres before I
proceed any further.  I am. beholden to Covent Garden for accepting my dramas of'The Days of Yore' and' False Impressions.' To Drury Lane for' The Last of the Family,''The Word for
Nature,'"'The Dependent,''The Eccentric Lover,' and for' The
Sailor's Daughter.' My life has been a long one, and my health
of late years uninterrupted; T am very rarely called off by avocations of an undomestic kind, and the man who gives so very
small a portion of his time to absolute idleness as I have done,
will do a vast deal in the course of time, especially if his body
does not stand in need of exercise, and his mind, which never
knows remission of activity, incessantly demands to be employed.
I was in the practice of interchanging an annual visit with
Mrs. Bludworth, of Holt, near Winchester, the dearest friend of
my wife. WVhen I was upon those visits, I used to amuse myself with trifles that required no application to my books.  A,
few from amongst many of these fugitive compositions appear
to me not totally unworthy of being arrested and brought to the
bar as petty-larceny  pilferers of the sonnet-writing style, of
which some elegant sisters of the Muses have published such
ingenious originals, as ought to have secured them against interlopers, who have nothing better to produce than some such
awkward imitations as the following:WIT.
No. 1.'How shall I paint thee, many-color'd Wit?
Where are the pallet's brilliant tints to vie
WVith the bright flash of thine electric eye?
Nor can I catch the glance; nor wilt thou sit
Till my slow copying art can trace
One feature of thy varying face.
Soul of the social board, thy quick retort
Can cut the disputatious quibbler short,
Stop the dull pedant's circumstantial saw,
And silence ev'n the loud-tongu'd man of law.




342         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
The solemn ass, who dully great
Mistakes stupidity for state,
Unbends his marble jaws, and brays
Involuntary, painful praise.
Thou, Wit, in philosophic eyes
Can'st make the laughing waters rise;
Proud Science vails with bended knee
His academic cap to thee,
And though thy sallies fly the test
Of truth, she titters at the jest.
Thrice happy talent, could'st thou understand
Virtue to spare and buffet vice alone,
Would'st thou but take discretion by the hand,
The world, O Wit, the world would be thine own.'
AFFECTATION.
No. 2.
Why, Affectation, why this mock grimace?
Go, silly thing, and hide that simpering face;
Thy lisping prattle and thy mincing gait,
All thy false mimic fooleries I hate;
For thou art Folly's counterfeit, and she,
Who is right foolish, hath the better plea;
Nature's true idiot I prefer to thee.
Why that soft languish? Why that drawling tone?
Art sick, art sleepy? Get thee hence, begone!
I laugh at all those pretty baby tears,
Those flutterings, faintings, and unreal fears.
Can they deceive us? Can such mumm'ries move,
Touch us with pity, or inspire with love?
No, Affectation, vain is all thine art,
Those eyes may wander over every part;
They'll never find their passage to the heart.'
VANITY.
No. 3.'Go, Vanity, spread forth the painted wing;
I'll harm thee not, gay flutterer, not I;
Poor innocent, thou hast no sting,
Pass on unhurt! I war not with a fly.
But if the Muse in sportive style
Banters thy silly freaks awhile,
Fear not-she'll lash thee only with a smile.
If thou art heard too loud of tongue,
And thy small tap of wit runs out
Too fast, and bubbles all about,'Twere charity, methinks, to stop the bung.
If when thou should'st be staid and sage,
Thou'lt take no warning from old age,
But still run riot, and spread sail
In all the colors of the peacock's tail:
If, with too hollow cheeks bedaub'd with red,
The ostrich plume nods on thy palsied head,




FUGITIVE  PIECES.                          343
And with soft glances from lack-lustre eyes
Thou aim'st to make our hearts thy beauty's prize,
Then, then, Dame Vanity beware;
Look to thyself-beshrew me if I spare.'
AVARICE
No. 4'A little more, and yet a little moreOh, for the multiplying art
To heap the still increasing store,
Till it make Ossa like a wart!
Oh Avarice, thou rage accurst,
Insatiate dropsy of the soul,
Will nothing quench thy sordid thirst?
Were the sea gold, would'st drink the whole?
Lo! pity pleads-What then? There's none.
The widow kneels for bread. BegoneHark, in thine ears the orphan's cry;
They die of famine —let them die.
Oh scene of wo; heart-rending sight;
Can'st thou turn from them? Yes, behold:
From all those heaps of hoarded gold
Not one, one piece to save them? Not a mite.
Pitiless wretch, such shall thy sentence be
At the last day, when Mercy turns from thee.'
PRUDERY.
No. 5.'What is that stiff and stately thing I see?
Of flesh and blood like you and me,
Or is it chisel'd out of stone,
Some statue from its pedestal stept down?'Tis one and both-a very prude
Of marble flesh and icy blood;
Dead and alive at once-behold,
It breathes and lives; touch it,'tis dead and cold.
Look how it throws the scowling eye
On Pleasure, as she dances by;
Quick flies the sylph, for long she cannot bear
The damping rigor of its atmosphere,
Chill as the eastern fog that blights
Each blossom upon which it lights.
Say, ye that know what virtue is, declare,.s this the form her votaries must wear?
Tell me in time; if such it needs must be,
Virtue and I shall never more agree.'
ENVY.
No. 6.
(See'The Observer,' vol. iv. No. 94.)




344         MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
PRIDE.
No. 7.'Curst in thyself, O Pride, thou canst not be
More competently curst by me.
Hence, sullen, self-tormenting, stupid sot,
Thy dullness damps our joys; we want thee not.
Round the gay table side by side
Social we sit; there is no room for Pride;
We cannot bear thy melancholy face;
The company is full; thou hast no place.
Man, man, thou little grovelling elf,
Turn thine eyes inward-view thyself;
Draw out thy balance, hang it forth,
Weigh every atom thou art worth,
Thy peerage, pedigree, estate,
(The pains that fortune took to make thee great),
Toss them all in-stars, garters, strings,
Heap up the mass of tawdry things,
The whole regalia of kings.
Now watch the beam, and fairly say
How much does all this trumpery weigh?
Give in the total; let the scale be just,
And own, proud mortal, own thou art but dust.'
HUMILITY.
No. 8.
Oh sweet Iumility, can words impart
How much I love thee, how divine thou art?
Nurse us not only in our infant age,
Conduct us still through each successive stage
Of varying life, lead us from youth's gay prime
To the last step of man's appointed time.
Wit, Genius, Learning —What are these?
The painter's colors or the poet's lays,
If without thee they cannot please,
if without thee we cannot praise?
Why do I call my lov'd Eliza fair?
TVhy do I dote upon her faded face?
Nor rosy health, nor blooming youth is there;
Humility bestows the angel grace.
Where should a frail and trembling sinner lie,
How should a Christian live, how should he die,
But in thine arms, conscious Humility?'Twas in thy form the world's Redeemer came,
And condescended to his human birth,
With thee he met revilings, death and shame,
Though angels hail'd him Lord of heav'n and earth.'




MILITARY PREPARATIONS.                345
CHAPTER XII.
Military preparations-Maj or commandant-Drills-Presented with a swordThe volunteer system-His family-Lines to the Princess Amelia-Conclusion.
WHEN the consequences resulting from the French revolution
had involved us in a war, our country called upon its patriotic
volunteers to turn out and assemble in its defence. I was still
resident at Tunbridge Wells, and, though not proprietor of 4
single foot of land in the county of Kent, yet I found myself in
the hearts of my affectionate friends and fellow subjects; they
immediately volunteered to mount and form themselves under
my command as a troop of yeomen cavalry; I was diffident of
my fitness to head them in that capacity, and, declining their
kind offer, recommended to them a neighboring gentleman, who
had served in the line, and held the rank of field officer upon
half pay. Men of their principles and spirit could not fail to be
respectable, and they are now serving with credit to their captain and themselves under the command of the Lord Viscount
Boyne, who resides at Tunbridge Wells, and together with the
duties attendant on his commission, as commander of this
respectable corps, executes the office of a magistrate for, the
county, not less amiable and honorable in his private character,
than useful and patriotic in his public one.
Some time after this, when certain leading gentlemen of the
county began to make their tenders to government for raising
corps of volunteer infantry, I no longer hesitated to obey the
wishes of the loyal and spirited young men, who offered to enrol themselves under my command, and finding them  amount
upon the muster to two full companies, properly officered, I reported them to our excellent Lord Lieutenant of the county, the
Earl of Romney, and received his Majesty's commission to command them with the rank of Major Commandant. I had instant
proof that the zeal they had shown in turning out in their king
and country's cause did not evaporate in mere professions, for
to their assiduity and aptitude, to their exemplary and correct
observance of discipline, and strict obedience to their officers,
the warmest testimony that I could give would only do them
23




846      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
justice. It was winter when we first enrolled, and every evening
after striking work, till ten o'clock at night, we were incessantly
at the drill, and after we had been practised in the manual, sometimes turning out for the march by moonlight, sometimes
by torch-light. I had not a private that was not in the vigor of
his youth; their natural carriage was erect and soldier-like, they
fell readily into the attitude and step of a soldier on the march,
for they were all artisans, mechanics, or manufacturers of Tunbridge ware, and I had not one who did the work of a mere
laboring peasant amongst them, whilst every officer submitted
to the rule I laid down, and did the duty and learned the exercise
of a private in the line before he stood out and took command
in his proper post.
Our service being limited to the district of the counties of
iKent, Sussex, and Surry, no sooner were my companions fit for
duty, than, at their unanimous desire, I reported them to the
Secretary of State as ready and willing to serve in any part of
England, and this their loyal tender being laid before the King,
His Majesty was graciously pleased to signify to us his royal
approbation of our zeal through his Secretary of State.
When the volunteer infantry were dismissed at the peace of
Amiens, my men requested leave to hold their arms and serve
without pay. At the same time they were pleased to honor me
with the present of a sword by the hands of their serjeant-major,
to the purchase of which every private had contributed, and
which they rendered infinitely dear and valuable to me by engraving on the hilt of it —' That it was a tribute of their esteem
for their beloved commander.'
The renewal of'hostilities has again put them under my command, and I trust the warmth and sincerity of my unalterable
attachment to them has now no need of appealing to professions.
We know each other too well, and I am persuaded that there is
not one amongst them, but will give me credit for the truth when
I declare, that as a father loves his children, so do I love them.
We have now augmented our strength to four companies, and
from the experience I have repeatedly had of their conduct,
when upon permanent duty, I am convinced, that if ever the
necessity shall occur for calling them out upon actual service,
they will be found steady in the hour of trial, and perfectly resolved' never to disgrace the character of Men of Kent, or tarnish
that proud trophy, which they inscribe upon their colors.
I humbly conceive that if we take into our consideration the prodigious magnitude and extent of the volunteer system, we shall
find it has been productive of more real use, and less incidental
embarrassment to government, than could have been expected.




MY FAMILY.                     347
We must make allowances for those who have been accustomed
to look for the strength and resources of the nation only in its
disposable force, if they are apt to undervalue the importance of
its domestic army. But after the proofs, which the capital and
country have given of the spirit, discipline, and good order of
their volunteers, both cavalry and infantry, it is not wise or
politic, or liberal to disparage them as some have attempted to
do; there are indeed but few who have so done; the wonder is
that there are any; but that a man should be so fond of his own
dull jest as to risk it upon one, who has too much wit of his
own not to spy out the want of it in others, is perfectly ridiculous; and I am persuaded, that a man of Colonel Birch's acknowledged merit as an officer, and established character for every
good quality that denotes and marks the gentleman, would infinitely rather be the object of such a pointless sarcasm, than the
author of it.
The man who lives to see many days, must look to encounter
many sorrows. My eldest son, who had married the eldest
daughter of the late Earl of Buckinghamshire, and sister of the
present, died in Tobago, where he went to qualify for a civil
employment in that island; and, some time after, death bereft me
of my. wife. Their virtues cannot need the ornament of description, and it has ever been my study to resign myself to the
dispensations of Providence with all the fortitude I can summon,
convinced that patience is no mark of insensibility, nor the
parade of lamentation any evidence of the sincerity or permanency of grief.
My two surviving sons are happily and respectably married,
and have families; I have the care, under chancery, of five children, relicts of the late William Badcock, Esquire, who married
my second daughter, and died in my house at Tunbridlge Wells,
and I have the: happiness to number nineteen grandchildren,
some of whom have already lived to crown my warmest wishes,
and I see a promise in the rest, that flatters my most sanguine
hopes. These are comforts that still adhere to me, and whilst I
have the kindness of my children, the attachment of my friends,
and the candor of the public to look up to, I have ample cause
to be thankful and contented.
Charles, the elder of my surviving sons, married the daughter
of General Mathew, a truly noble and benevolent gentleman,
loved and honored by all who know him, and who will be ever
gratefully remembered by the island he has governed, and the
army he has commanded.
William, the youngest, married Eliza, daughter of Mrs. Burt,
and, when commanding His Majesty's ship the La Pique, in the




348        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
West Indies, being seized with the fever of the country at Saint
Domingo, was sent home, as the only chance of saving him, and
constrained to forfeit the command of that very capital frigate.
When the young and amiable Princess Amelia was residing at
Worthing for the benefit of the sea and air, my son, then commander of the Fly sloop of war, kept guard upon that station,
prepared to accommodate her Royal Highness with his boats or
vessels in any excursions on the water, which she might be advised to take.  I came to Worthing, whilst he was there upon
duty, and was permitted to pay my homage to the Princess. It
was impossible to contemplate youth and beauty suffering tortures with such exemplary patience, and not experience those
sensations of respect and pity, which such a contemplation naturally must inspire.  When my daughter-in-law, Lady Albinia
Cumberland, took her turn of duty as lady of the bed-chamber,
I took the liberty through her hands to offer the few stanzas
which are here inserted:How long, just heav'n, shall Britain's royal maid
With meek submission these sad hours sustain?
How long shall innocence invoke thine aid,
Andf youth and beauty press the couch of pain?
Enough, dread pow'r, unless it be decreed,
To reconcile thee in these evil times,
That one pure victim for the whole should bleed,
And by her sufferings expiate our crimes.
And sure I am, in thine offended sight
If nothing but perfection can atone,
No wonder thy chastising rod should light
On one who hath no errors of her own.
But spare, Ah spare this object of our love,
For whose dear sake we're punish'd in our fears;
Send down thy saving angel from above,
And quench her pangs in our repentant tears.
Yes, they shall win compassion from the skies,
Man cannot be more merciful than heav'n: -
Thy pangs, sweet saint, thy patience shall suffice,
And at thy suit our faults shall be forgiv'n.
And if, whilst every subject's heart is rack'd,
Our pious king presents a father's plea,
What heav'n with justice might from us exact
Heaven's mercy will remit to him and thee.
Nor will I doubt if thy dear mother's prayer,
Breath'd from her sorrowing bosom, shall prevail;
The sighs of angels are not lost in air,
Can then Amelia's sister-suitors fail?
Come then, heart-healing cherub, from on high,
Fresh dipt in dew of Paradise descend,




CONCLUSION.                          349
Bring tender sympathy with tearful eye,
Bring Hope, bring Health, and let the Muse attend.
Stretch'd on her couch, beside the silent strand,
Whose skirt's old Ocean's briny billows lave,
From the extremest verge of British land
The languid fair one eyes the refluent wave.
Was ever suffering purity more meek,
Was ever virgin martyr more resign'd?
ark how the smile, yet gleaming on her cheek,
Bespeaks her gentlest, best of human kind.
Around her stand the sympathising friends,
Whose charge it is her weary hours to cheer,
Each female breast the struggling sigh distends,
Whilst the brave veteran drops the secret tear.
And he, whose sacred trust it is to guard
The fairest freight that ocean ever bore,
He shall receive his loyalty's reward
In laurels won from Gallia's hostile shore.
Now let thy wings their healing balm distil,
Celestial cherub, messenger of peace.'Tis done; the tortur'd nerve obeys thy will,
And with thy touch its angry throbbings cease.
Light as a sylph, I see the blooming maid
Spring from her couch. 0 may my votive strain
Confirm'd evince, that neither I have pray'd,
Nor thou, my Muse, hast prophesied in vain.'
I have now completed what occurred to me to say of an old
man, whose writings have been very various, whose intentions
have been always honest, and whose labors have experienced
little intermission. I put the first pen to these Memoirs at the
very close of the last year, and I conclude them in the middle
of September. I had promised myself to the undertaking, and
I was to proportion my dispatch to the measure of the time
upon which, without presumption, I might venture to reckon.
As many of my readers as may have staggered under the weight
of such a bulky load, will have a fellow feeling for me, even
though I shall have sunk under it: but if I have borne it through
with tolerable success, and given an interest to some of the many
pages which this volume numbers, I hope they will not mark
with too severe a censure errors and inaccuraciesQuas aut incuria fudit,
Aut humana parum cavit natura.
I have through life sincerely done my best according to my
abilities for the edification of my fellow creatures and the honor
of my God.  I pretend to nothing, whereby to be commended
or distinguished above others of my rate, save only for that




350      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
good-will and human kindness which descended to me from
my ancestors, and cannot properly deserve the name of virtue,
as they cost no struggle for the exertion of them. I am not exempt from anger, but I never let it fasten on me till it harden
into malice or revenge.  I cannot pass myself off for better
than I have been where I am about to go, and if before my departure I were now to take credit for merits Which I have not,
the few which I have would be all too few to atone for the deceit; but I am thoroughly weary of the task of talking of myself, and it is with unfeigned joy I welcome the conclusion of
my task and my talk.
I have now only to devote this last page of my book, as it is
probable I shall the last hour of my life, to the acknowledgments which are due to that beloved daughter, who, ever since
the death of her mother, has been my inseparable companion
and the solace of my ageExtremum hunc, Arethusa, mihi concede laborem.
Frances Marianne, the youngest of my children, was born to
me in Spain. After many long and dangerous returns of illness, it has pleased Providence to preserve to me the blessing
of her life and health. In her filial affection I find all the comforts, that the best of friends can give me; from her talents and
understanding I derive all the enjoyments that the most pleasing of companions can communicate. As she has witnessed
every step in the progress of this laborious work, and cheered
every hour of relaxation whilst I have rested from it, if these
pages, which contain the Memoirs of her father's life, may happily obtain some notice from the world, by whomsoever they
are read, by the same this testimony of my devotion to the best
of daughters shall also be read; and, if it be the will of God,
that here my literary labors are to cease for ever, I can say to
the world for the last time, that this is a dedication, in which no
flattery is mixed, a tribute to virtue, in which fiction has no part,
and an effusion of gratitude, esteem and love, which flows sincerely from a father's heart.




REASONS FOR WRITING AGAIN.                     351
CHAPTER XIII.
Supplement-Reasons for writing-Difficulties in speaking of living characters
-His unpublished writings-Anecdote of his son and the seaman-Collision
with Mr. Hayley-Cowper-Dr. Ben-tley-Pitt-Cicero-Lines to Pitt-Nelson
-Lord Collingwood-Commemorates the victory and death of Nelson-Sharon
Turner-Earl of Dorchester-Reform in the newspapers-Love of booksHis health at Tunbridge Wells-Rev. Martin Benson-The men of KentVolunteer companies-Captain of infantry-Residents at Tunbridge Wells
-Death of friends-Mr. Badcock-His children-Erskine -Answers to letters-Lord Mansfield- Anecdote of Charles Townshend  Conversational
talents of Mansfield-Andrew Stuart-Lord North-Primate Robinson-Cathedral of Armagh-Sir William Robinson-Archbishop Moore —Doctor Moss
-Anecdote of-Consequences of old age-Sir James Bland Burges-MooreSir William Spencer —Eccentricities of eminent men-Edinburgh reviewers
-Rodney's nautical manceuvre-Rev. Mr. Higgs-Doctor Drake-Epic poem
-The Exodiad-His wife-His daughter-Apology to,Mr. Smith-Drury
Lane and Covent Garden —Garrick-'The stage-The profession of actorDeath of Fox-Mr. Higgs-Mistakes in his' Memoirs'-Sir William Pepys
-'A Hint to Husbands'-Napoleon-Conclusion.
February the 19th, 1806.
I AM this day seventy-four years old, and having given to
the world an account of what I have been employed upon since
I have belonged to it, I thought I had said quite enough of an
humble individual, and that I might have been acquitted of
my task, and dismissed to my obscurity; but certain friends,
upon whose judgment and sincerity I have all possible reliance,
tell me that I have disappointed their expectations in the narrative of what I have been concerned in since I came from
Spain; a period which, being more within their own time,
might, as they conceive, have been made more interesting to
them, and to the rest of my readers.
It may be so; nay, I have reason to believe it is so, for I am
conscious that I was impatient to conclude my work, and was
intimidated  by the apprehension of offending  against that modesty of discourse, which becomes me to hold when I have no
better subject to talk upon than myself.
In deference to their judgment I shall now attempt to fill up
that chasm, which they have pointed out, in my imperfect
work; but the volume, which is in the hands of the first purchasers, and which I have disposed of to them with all its errors,




352       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
I consider myself in honor bound to abide by; as I hold it not
correctly fair to recommend a second edition by any means,
that may contribute to degrade the first: I therefore leave untouched all which the liberal patrons of my book are already
possessed of, and now tender to them a few additional pages,
which they may, or may not, attach to their volume, as they
shall see fit.
There are considerations, that will weigh with every writer,
when his subject leads him to discourse of living characters;
there is at once temptation to indulge his friendly prejudices,
and motives to deter him from exposing all his free opinions.
Hence it comes to pass, that, being checked by truth on one
side, and by delicacy on the other, he finds his only safe resource
in silence or an inoffensive tame neutrality.
If therefore I have written indolently of this latter period of
my life, it was not because I had been more indolent in it,
for I might have said, without offence to modesty, that I have
been much more active as a literary man since I have ceased
to be busied as an official one; but it was because I had fallen
into heavy roads, and like the traveller, who, wearied by the
tediousness of the way, puts four horses to his chaise for the
concluding stage, so did I hasten to terminate my task, shutting
my eyes against those objects that would have operated to prolong it.
I will only say in general, that there is a multiplicity of my
unpublished productions, written since I came from Spain,
which, to those who shall search for them and find them, will
evince my industry. The world has such an amiable partiality
to dead men's doings, that, perhaps, when these embryos shall see
the light, and my eyes shall be forever closed against it, I may
look to receive a vast deal of mercy and some praise, when I can
no longer be the better for either. If our resurrection critics shall
persist to rummage amongst the graves, and carry their eyes like
the hare, who sees distinctly only what is behind her, they may
probably spy out my shade in the background, and bring it
into notice. It is naturally to be presumed that, if they would
come manfully forward for a living author, the living author
would be better pleased; but this he must not expect; the temple of their praise is reared with dry bones and skulls, and till
he is a skeleton he cannot be their hero; in this, however, they
are more generous than the legislature, who have given so short
a date to the tenure of his copyright, that, till that is out, the
circulation of his works can scarce commence. Now although
this mode of dealing may not exactly suit the living man's occasions, yet there is a kind of posthumous j ustice in it, as it leads




ANECDOTE OF MY SON.                 353
him to expect a consideration for what he does some time or
other, notwithstanding he shall have done it so much the worse
for the discouragement which he met with whilst he was about
it. It also warns him what he is to expect from the company
he lives with, and apprises him of the luxury he is to enjoy when
he is out of their society.
My youngest son, now a post-captain in the royal navy, had
a lazy, pilfering rascal in his ship, though all the while a prime
seaman; when he had seized him up to the gun for some enormity, he liberated him without a stroke, and reminding him of
his capacity to perform his duty with credit to himself and
good service to his country, appointed him  at a word to be
captain of the forecastle. Reformation instantly took place in
the man's mind; promotion roused his pride; pride inspired
honesty, and he thenceforth acquitted himself as an excellent and
trustworthy seaman, and was pointed out to me from his quarter-deck as such. Now, according to the moral of my story, we
may imagine a young beginner to set out lazily on his first start
into authorship: he may, like the seaman, have good stores in
his own capacity, but through indolence or something else prefer the shorter process of plagiarism to the laborious efforts of
invention. I humbly apprehend that his reviewing officer, instead of flogging him round the fleet of critics, may come
sooner to his point, if the object of correction be amendment,
by copying the humane experiment of the gallant officer, whom
I have taken the liberty to instance, and have the honor of being allied to.
I flatter myself I have through life been not unmindful of the
rule, which I have been so frequently importunate to recommend; and I must own in some instances I have had no better
reason for my praise and commendation of a brother author
than because he was alive; for I was perfectly convinced he
would not mend upon discouragement, and I conceived perhaps
it was as easy for him to be better, as it was for me to persuade
myself that he was not bad.
In these endeavors I have sometimes been defeated, and an
instance has occurred since the publication of my Memoirs,
which proves how little certainty there is that fair intentions
shall be fairly understood. I have unfortunately for myself
given offence to Mr. Hayley, and put him to the trouble of stopping the press, whilst advancing peaceably towards the completion of its labor, merely to make room for me in his supplementary pages to the life of Cowper, and with no other cause in
view, that I can comprehend, but to show the world that he can
be angry without cause. The passages he alludes to in my




354       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Memoirs are in the hands, if not in the recollection, of my readers. As they gave umbrage to him, I wish I could extinguish
them; but that is not in my power, and he has made them necessary for my exculpation; to them of course I must appeal; to
his pages there is no need that I should make any reference, for
all the world will read what Mr. HIayley writes. Still I must
think that in the judgment of all men, who have read us both,
I shall stand acquitted of any purpose to affront Mr. Hayley; for
surely I may hope there cannot be a chance that any man besides
himself can so misconstrue and pervert the compliment I meant
to pay him.
lHe doubts if I deserve the praise he gave me; I doubt so too,
and my doubts were prior to his. I believe he also doubts if I
am justified in publishing his verses. I confess I am at his
mercy upon that account; yet he gives me reason to hope he cannot be very angry with me, when I can quote his own authority
in extenuation of my fault, for he says-that'the praise of Cowper is so singularly valuable from the reserve and purity of his
disposition, that it would almost seem a cruel injury to suppress
a particle of it, when deliberately or even cursorily bestowed'(page 4 Add. Pages). Now, why it should be'almost a cruel
injury' to suppress Mr. Cowper's praise, and anything like an
ofifnce to publish Mr. Hayley's, I do not comprehend; I have
ever paid my testimony both publicly and in private to Mr.
Hayley's genius, and how then can I be supposed insensible to
his praise? Though I should profess myself even as vain of
his applause as I could have been of MIr. Cowper's, there is one
man at least in the world, who muethinks might in his heart be
moved to pardon and excuse my error. I must confess, however, that if Mr. Iayley had treated me no better than his hero
has treated his three kittens in the'Colubriad,' I should not have
esteemed myself justified in exposing his lusus poeticus to the
ridicule of the reader.
I had not the happiness to know the hero of Mr. I-Iayley, and
I am not quite sure that I have a clear conception of his character from his biographer's description of it; for when I am told
in one page of the reserve and purity of his disposition, and in
another, close ensuing, of his unsuspecting innocence and sportive
gayety, I am rather puzzled how to reconcile these seeming contrarieties; especially when I am again informed of a peculiarity
in his character, a gay and tender gallantry, perfectly distinct
from amorous attachment a reserve of this nature'was indeed
a peculiarity in the character of this gentleman; and whilst the
ladies had nothing to apprehend from his gay and tender gallantry, his male acquaintance, who enjoyed the unsuspecting




MR. IAYLE-Y.                    355
innocence and sportive gayety of his disposition, very possibly
overlooked the reserve of it, and found him a very pleasant companion with the property most decisively characteristic of a very
dull one.
Now I want all that respect for the gay reserve of the departed poet, which should cause me to appreciate his praise
above that of the living one; and with all the reverence that I
can summon, for a gallantry so perfectly distinct from amorous
attachment, I cannot bring myself to honor Cowper as a
poet one whit the more for his non-amorous gallantry, or Mr.
H-ayley, in the same light, one atom the less, though any one
should officiously suggest that his gallantry may be of a different complexion. I have nothing more to offer in my own
defence.
On the part of Doctor Bentley I shall hope that Mr. Hayley
describes his character with no better precision than he does the
reserve of Mr. Cowper, when he stigmatizes him as an arrogant
critic, subject to fits of dogmatical petulance, an imperious Patagonian polemic. These would be hard words in some men's
mouths, but I would fain convince the author of'The Triumphs
of Temper,' that I have not been less edified than delighted by
his poem; and as the natural suavity of his disposition has induced him to promise that my grandfather shall rest in peace
for the present, I can assure Mr. Hayley that I should credit
him for his mercy, if I could feel any horror of his vengeance;
but when I know he cannot disturb that rest, over which he
presumes to arrogate a dispensing power, I must put the best
interpretation on his language that it will bear, and calmly tell
him-if it was not nonsense, it would be something worse.
But when Mr. IIayley, after venting these invectives against
Doctor Bentley, is pleased to announce to the world that he
meditates to pay his respects to him again, if Heaven allows him
life and leisure to write such a preface as he wishes to prefix to
the'Milton' of Cowper-it seems to me that if this ingenious
gentleman had not stopped the press at all, or only stopped his
pen before he wrote this vaunting and inveterate paragraph, it
would have been a rescue to his reputation. Let the public now
decide betwixt the station which Mr. Hiayley fills in literature
and that which my ancestor once held, and say if I have cause to
tremble at the flourish of this proud challenger's trumpet: No:
I am well aware that although a gnat can sound a loud horn, it
is but a little, insect; and I am confident that arrogance and pet.
ulance, when charged upon my ancestor by one so open to the
rebound, will neither penetrate nor fix, but return back to the
place from whence they came.




356       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
In the mean time I hope that Mr. ilayley, who piously refers
his purpose to the will of Heaven, may have life and leisure
allowed to him for all worthy undertakings, and wisdom to abstain from all ridiculous ones; and as for this meditated preface,
which he brandishes over the ashes of dead Bentley, I hope he
will wish to write nothing but what will do himself credit, and
then I hope it will be just such a one as he wishes to prefix;
but if it shall be his pleasure to attack him with a repetition of
hard names and foul language, and calls that paying his respects,
I trust there will be found some friend to truth and good manners, some temperate defender of the real character of that good
and benevolent man, who will bring his rash assailant to a better sense by convincing him how very little oil will serve to
suffocate a wasp.
Mr. Hayley calls Doctor Bentley the god of my infantine
idolatry. I have simply related what I knew of him as a boy;
I hope there was nothing fulsome or extravagant in my puerile
anecdotes, and trust I have neither made him a god, nor myself
an idolater. I do not charge that upon the biographer of Mr.
Cowper, though in me as an infant such weakness would be
more excusable than in him as a man. Still I own myself impressed with a warm and heartfelt respect for the memory of
my grandfather, but it is a respect' on this side of idolatry,' and
when I said of Mr. Hayley, that he was one of the last men living who should disparage Bentley, it was because I regarded
him as one of the best classical scholars of his day.
In conclusion, I declare that I never meant to give offence to
Mr. Hayley, and as I think he had no shadow of a right to take
offence, I cannot consider myself bound to apologize.
I seldom hear the present era spoken of as I think it ought to
be, for sure I am that it has been brilliantly distinguished for a
variety of characters great in science, arts, and arms. Should I
venture to pronounce upon it as the most luminous in the annals
of our country, I am not sure that any man would be able to
confute the assertion, but I will throw down no such gauntlet to
the champions of past times; yet, although instances may not
occur of individual pre-eminence so striking as some, which record could supply, still the general diffusion of talents is so very
much increased, that it operates as a leveller, which nothing less
than first-rate genius can surmount.
I have lived to see Pitt, Nelson, and Cornwallis struck out of
the number of the living, yet neither eloquence, valor or integrity are buried in their ashes.
Cicero published studied orations; Pitt uttered unpremeditated
speeches; yet who is prepared to say that the eloquence of the




CHARACTER OF PITT.                 357
English senator was inferior to the eloquence of the Roman
pleader? Cicero wrote innumerable epistles,- crammed with
praises of himself; I believe there is no Atticus in existence, who
can produce such specimens of the vanity of the modern. Cicero
humbled himself to Lucceius, and made abject suit even to his
partiality, imploring him to write a panegyric on his consulship;
Pitt has never been accused of paying court to any man as the
historian of his administration, but on the contrary carried himself too loftily towards men of talents, for any such to be in much
good humor with him. Cicero had many objects that attracted
his ambition, his mind was stored with various kinds of knowledge, anrd ardently attached to various studies and pursuits;
one passion only, untainted by self-interest, unseduced by pleasure, took early possession Qof Pitt's whole heart, and only left it
in the moment when it ceased to beat. If I were now living in
times as tumultuous as those when the partisans of Antony
stuck up the head of Cicero-in the forum, I might be afraid to
venture an opinion as to what I take that ruling passion to have
been; but under correction of those who, from their knowledge
of Mr. Pitt, are better able to judge of his motives and impressions, I conceive that a true and zealous love for his country
accompanied him through life to death, and was paramount to
every other object in his thoughts.
I am giving my conception of his feelings as a man; of his
character as a statesman I do not presume to speak. Those respectable persons, who regularly opposed his public measures
as Minister, could not well give countenance to the honors that
were decreed to him at his public-funeral; but when some, who
had efficiently coincided with them in the policy of those measures, coincided also in the condemnation of them, it must have
been a strong case, either of conscience or of party spirit, which
compelled them, by arraigning him, to criminate themselves.
This is rather an awkward alternative for them, as I am afraid
the world is not always disposed to put the best interpretation
on a doubtful case. At the same time, it is a little difficult to
understand the principle of a resolution, in which both old and
new opponents united, to discharge his debts out of the public
purse, which to my vulgar apprehension seems like complimenting the extravagance of a man in whom they would not acknowledge a single merit that could tend to atone for his bad economy.
If he was not in their opinion a useful servant to the public,
why should they consent to make him an expensive one? All
this perhaps can be readily unravelled, but how he should be
entitled to be set clear in what he had outrun, when he did not
earn what he had received, is a mystery to me of which no




358      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
doubt there is a very competent solution, though I cannot guess
what it is.
I never was in a private room with Mr. Pitt but once, and
that was for a few minutes only at Burlington House. I recollect having troubled him with three several letters at distant
periods; but he did not trouble himself to answer any one of
them. In the first of these I tendered myself as a candidate for
a literary office with a salary so very small, as could of itself be
no gentleman's object, in the solicitation: I dare say I did not
deserve the office, but I must think that I deserved an answer.
The second letter was very thoroughly considered, for I
wrote it at the suggestion of a common friend to us both, who
examined and approved of it. It contained a short and modest
recital of my services and sufferings, and in general terms humbly prayed to be recommended for some small bounty from the
crown in alleviation of my case. I trust it is not too much to
say, that justice, humanity, and the manners of a gentleman
dictated some reply to this unassuming petition: none was
given; not a single word was ever vouchsafed.
The last letter, which I addressed to Mr. Pitt, was upon the
question of some proposed arrangements with respect to volunteers, when he was out of office and commanding in person the
Cinque-Ports volunteer battalions. I had the honor to command a corps of some years longer standing than his own, and
it was a communication which, for the matter it contained, and
the terms in which it was couched, ought not to have been
overlooked by a gentleman engaged in the same service, and
serving in the same county. It imposed no trouble; it solicited
no favor; nay, I may venture to say (as it was written with the
concurrence and assistance of my brother officers) that it conferred a favor. I took care, in my respect for them, that it
should reach his hands; it received no answer.
I have thought it not improper to detail these circumstances,
because I would not pass myself upon the reader as a man who
had been in the favor of Mr. Pitt, or as if I were making a display of my gratitude; when in fact I have no such feeling in
my heart, and only remember him as a man who spurned my
humble applications from him with a degree of contempt, which
could not fail to divest me of every motive to admire him, save
what his great endowments and the compulsive power of his
superior genius absolutely extorted from me.
As for the brief delineation of his character, so far as it might
be traced by one who viewed him at a distance, I conceive I
have not greatly mistaken features, which were so continually
in the eyes of the public that he may be said to have sat for




TRIBUTE TO PITT.                        859
his portrait every day of his life.  He had so few offsets and
ramifications from the one great rooted passion of his mind, that
we need not search deeply into his private history or habits for
the discovery of those fine and finishing touches which in some
instances constitute the whole spirit of the likeness.
A  statue in brass was the highest honor the Athenians could
decree to a mortal, and many of their minor deities were not
accounted worthy to receive it.  Upon the presumption that it
may be in contemplation to devote a public monument to the
memory of this great orator, I take the liberty to insert a few
lines, not with the most distant idea of recommending them to
the sculptor, but simply to assign to them a short and transient
habitation on this perishable page-'To thee, great orator, whose early mind,
Broke forth with splendor that amaz'd mankind,
To thee, whose lips with elegance were fraught,
By which the aged and the learn'd were taught,
To thee, the wonder of Britannia's isle,
A grateful senate rears this marble pile,
Convinc'd that after ages must approve
This pious token of a nation's love.
Here though the sculptor simply graves thy name,
He gives thy titles and records thy fame;
Thy great endowments had he aim'd to trace,
The swelling catalogue had wanted space.
Though vast the range of thine expansive soul,
Thy God and country occupied the whole:
In that dread hour, when ev'ry heart is tried,
The Christian triumph'd whilst the mortal died;
In the last gasp of thine expiring breath
The pray'r yet quiver'd on the lip of death:
Hear this, ye Britons, and to God be true,
For know that dying pray'r was breath'd for you."
I Pitt, throughout his career, was an object of unbounded pride and attachment to the most powerful classes of his countrymen. They relied on his
great capacity during the stormy times in which he held the reins of authority, with unfaltering trust. Yet an eminent living statesman, whose popularity at one time rose to almost as high a pitch as ever did Pitt's, but
whose character inspires much less respect, has declared that, excepting the
union with Ireland, which was forced upon him by a rebellion, and which was
both corruptly and imperfectly carried, so as to produce the smallest possible
benefit to either country, Pitt' has not left a single measure behind him for
which the community, whose destinies he so long swayed, has any reason to
respect his memory; while, by want of firmness, he was the cause of an impolity and extravagance, the effects of which are yet felt, and will oppress us
beyond the life of the youngest now alive.' —Brougham's Skcetches of Statesmen
of the Time of George IlI.
A difference of opinion, however, still divides politicians as to Pitt's merits
as a statesman; and there are those who, in this respect, applaud him as
highly as Brougham condemns him. A generous critic, who -steers a middle




360        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
As for the illustrious naval hero, who fell in the glorious action of Trafalgar, his fame is exalted on a pedestal, which envy
cannot scale, and his funeral triumph carried with it to his grave
the hearts of the whole nation.  I walked about the streets of
the capital on the night of the intelligence, which reached us of
his victory and of his death; I remarked with peculiar satisfaction the divided feelings of the common people; they knew not
how to rejoice, yet they wanted a triumph; the occasion demanded it, but they were unfitted for enforcing and disqualified
from enjoying it: I was charmed with their dilemma.
Great things have been done for the family of this departed
hero, and the nation has a right to something more from  the
present inheritor of his titles and rewards than the mere fortuitous merit of being the vehicle to transmit his name and honors
to posterity; I hope he will not tarnish them in their passage
by anything that is not congenial with the spirit of his predecessor. In the mean time it appears to me, who am only a
looker-on, that the meritorious services of Lord Collingwood in
the action itself, and during those disastrous duties that resulted
from it, constitute a claim and establish a reputation, hardly secondary to those of his commanding admiral; but this is a subject not properly under my contemplation in these memoirs; a
scene not within the short horizon of my humbler prospect; I
did, however, say a little through the organs of the stage, and
was prepared to say more, if I had not been silenced; still I bore
my part in the dirges, which my brother poets sung upon that
memorable occasion, and wrote the following impromptu, which
iMr. WVroughton addressed to the audience at Drury Lane on
the evening of the day in which the news arrived:-' Is there a man who this great triumph hears,
And with his transport does not mingle tears?
course between the extremes of opinion, thus remarks on his talents as a
minister:' The difficulties of his situation were of a nature wholly unparalleleci in history; a person of great steadiness might well have faltered in his
course through such a sea of troubles; and the resources of a very fertile
mind might have easily been exhausted by the strange and novel exigencies
of the crisis. Nor have wea right severely to blame him who met this demand, rather by extraordinary devices than happy ones. A minister may well
be deemed able whom we must allow to have been equal to such novel emergencies; and much of greatness may be attached to the name of Pitt, while
we are compelled wholly to reject the extravagant praises which his followers
have lavished upon him. In the policy which he pursued during the more ordinary period which preceded the Revolution, far less appears to censure; and,
with the exception of the Russian armament and negotiation, his conduct in
relation to foreign powers was firm, consistent, and prosperous. The able and
successful measures adopted in the affairs of Holland gained the unqualified
approbation of all parties, and the French commercial treaty was never impeached with any effect.'




RECEPTION OF MY MEMOIRS.                  361
For though Britannia's flag victorious flies,
Who can refrain from grief when Nelson dies?
Stretch'd on his deck amidst surrounding fires,
There, phcenix-like, the gallant chief expires.
Cover'd with trophies let his ashes rest,
His memory lives in every British breast:
His dirge our groans, his monument our praise,
And whilst each tongue this grateful tribute pays,
His soul ascends to heav'n in glory's brightest blaze.'
I also-composed a melo-dramatic piece', which was represented
on the third night following, and repeated several times after
with that effect which the subject naturally inspired.
For this small service I was favored with the present of a gold
snuff-box, and hold myself much honored by the gift.
I had not yet ceased-from my attempts to commemorate the
victory and death of Nelson, but with more deliberation wrote
a piece of two short acts, which was to have been performed at
Covent Garden Theatre on the evening after his public funeral.
The music was composed, the scenes were preparing, and the
drama was in rehearsal, when I was informed that the representationr was interdicted by authority. The objections, which so
palpably bore against the exhibition of that affecting event at
the opera house, were in no respect whatever applicable to my
composition, and I am to this hour uninformed of the reasons
which actuated the Lord. Chamberlain for the suppression of it.
I have noticed with great sensibility the very candid and encouraging reception which my volume of memoirs has been
favored with by the public, and I am possessed of letters from
some men of eminent talents, which have amply overpaid me for
the labor of the task.
That which I am honored with from Mr. Sharon Turner, I
shall treasure up for my posterity, as a proud memorial of my
having gained the approbation of one of the best writers, of the
most learned antiquarians, and most enlightened scholars of his
time.
I beg leave to offer my most grateful acknowledgments to the
writers of the Reviews, who have universally treated me with
the greatest liberality, and in several instances bestowed upon
my labors those encomiums which (without affecting a consciousness that I do not feel) I am duly sensible are above my
deservings; but.it is charitable in them to praise the efforts of a
worn-out veteran, and fan the sparks of an expiring flame.
From the amiable Earl of Dorchester I have been flattered
with a letter, which, amongst the kind expressions it abounds in
towards me, pays a tribute to-the memory of the deceased Lord
24




362       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Sackville, truly gratifying to my feelings, and highly honorable
to those of his near relation the writer of it.
I can well believe I have dwelt too long upon the narration
of what occurred to me in Spain; yet I must think that every
man naturally wishes to exculpate his conduct in a transaction,
where his efforts are known to have failed of success; and
although I was suspicious that the importance of the subject
was not sufficient to compensate for the prolixity of it, still I felt
a kind of melancholy gratification in the detail, which none need
envy and the humane will pardon; let me be acquitted of all
trespasses but such as they may forgive, and I will not repine.
Though I have not been at ease in my circumstances since I
came from Spain, and probably never shall, I do not regret my
going thither, being proudly conscious of having done my duty,
and that I can look back upon no period of my past life with a
clearer self-acquittal than I can on that. I am past all hope of
receiving any recompense for my sacrifices, and I have accommodated myself to all those privations which the circumscription
of my means prescribes. Though in my seventy-fifth year, I
am even now in the act of levying contributions on my brains,
and thanks be to Providence, age has not quite exhausted the
resource which nature and acquirement have endowed me with.
I remember the time, when the malevolent personality of the
public prints was truly diabolical; I have lived to see more just
and manly principles prevail upon the face of them; this is a
revolution to rejoice in; their only fault seems now to be that
of tantalizing us with too many good dinners, that we do not
partake of; and I must think, if they would make one grand
and sweeping remove of the whole, their publications would be
profited by it. But if it better suits them to record the splendor
in which our great men live, let us not be fastidious readers,
but let us recollect that every one of us, without exception, is to
a certain degree warmed and enlightened by that effulgence,
which a luminous and exalted character, like a beacon on an
eminence, scatters and disperses all around. If their information does not serve them to report how wittily these great men
talk over their tables, let us hear at least how learnedly they eat;
for I can give no better reason for the slight respect in which I
hold the science of cookery, except that I anm too much of an
Englishman to instance any one acquirement, in which the
genius of our countrymen must truckle to-the talents of the
French.
When the historians talk to us of the dark ages, they certainly
do not mean to insinuate that the sun was less bright, and the
sky not so clear in those days as in certain others, but by a figure




VALUE OF MENTAL CULTIVATION.              363
call that dark which science and the human genius do not illuminate; surely, then, if we wish to live in the light, it is every
man's interest to cherish his neighbor's taper, convinced that,
should he blow it out, his own will burn no brighter. I know I
have said something to this purpose nearly a hundred times over,
but as I am nearly a hundred years old, I will say it once more,
and perhaps not for the last time.  Let me go to my grave with
the consciousness of having succeeded in disposing my contemporaries to foster and encourage one another in the spirit of
brotherly love and benevolence, and I have not lived in vain.
When I review that period of my time which I have passed
since my return from Spain, I cannot but be sensible that, if I
shall leave behind meanything worthy the attention of posterity,
it must have been chiefly written within that period when I
composed the poem of'Calvary,' the essays in the Observer, and
the novel of' Henry.' In my retreat at Tunbridge Wells, as soon
as I had discharged myself from my house in Portland Place,
I sat down with my'family, and never had an abiding place in
town-after that. From that hour to the present moment what
cause have I not had to bless my God for having endowed me
with that untired attachment to my books and to my pen (those
never-failing comforters and friends), which has enabled me to
meet and patiently to endure many crosses and some misfortunes
of no common magnitude. How fortunate am I now, in the winter
of my age, that never, in the sunshine of my younger days, when
the world comparatively smiled upon me, (lid I sink into idleness, or surrender myself to any pleasures that could rival those
more temperate and permanent resources which education and
early habits of study had supplied me with!
There is no sure way of providing against the natural ills that
flesh isheir to, but by the cultivation of the mind. The senses
can do little for us, and nothing lasting. When they have for a
time enjoyed everything they can wish for, they will ultimately
be led to wish for what they can no longer enjoy. A man who
wants mental powers, wants everything; for though fortune
were to heap superfluities of every species upon him, the very
overflowings of prosperity would destroy his peace, as an abundance of things without can never compensate for a vacuity
within.
More than twenty years I lived at Tunbridge Wells, inhabiting
the same house, and cultivating a plot of garden ground, embowered with trees, and amply sufficient for a profusion of flowers,
which my old servant Thomas Camis nul-sed and took delight
in: it was then, if only common justice had been rendered to
me by government, I should have enjoyed as much tranquillity




364      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
and content as can fall to the lot of imperfect man; for my
mind was emancipated from the shackles of office, and I seemed
to have a property in the day, for which I paid no tax to business. Whilst I lived in town I had hardly ever passed a year
without a long and dangerous fever, but in this salubrious
climate I never once experienced so much indisposition as to
confine me to my bed even for a single hour. In possession of
a most excellent wife, I had all the happiness that, as a husband, I
could enjoy, and I had seen my eldest daughter Elizabeth married to one of the best and most amiable of men: his choice was
conspicuously disinterested; for if anything like worldly wisdom could have found admittance to his generous heart, he
might, and must, have sought-fortunam ex aliis-neither could
the lure of affluence and establishment be the motive that induced my child to share the fortunes of Lord Edward Bentinck.
No circumstances in life could more clearly evince the purity of
affection in both parties. They have been happy in their lives,
and I trust, with God's favor, as the promise is so fair, they
will be blest in their posterity. To this beloved daughter I dedicated the volumes of the' Observer,' and in the unabating duty
and affection of her benevolent and grateful heart, I never saw,
or fancied that I saw, a moment's variation.
Fortunate as I accounted myself in my location'at Tunbridge
Wells, and gratified by the kindness and good-will of the people, I was not contented to reside in idleness amongst them, but
in everything, that concerned their interests, to the best of my
power took an active part, and I flatter myself that some opportunities occurred, when my zeal was not without effect.
A service to the souls of men is above all others, and whilst I
am entitled to consider myself as the happy instrument of introducing their present exemplary minister, the Reverend Martin
Benson, I don't claim to be remembered by them on account of
less important services. Unblemished in his morals, correct in
the discharge of every duty that his sacred function can involve,
this excellent servant of Christ approves himself the faithful
shepherd of his flock. I have had the experience of years in
contemplating his merits as the friend of the industrious poor,
the reformer of the idle and unwary, and the ever-ready intercessor for the truly penitent at the approach of death.
Mr. Benson cannot need this testimony, and perhaps from me
he has not looked to receive it; but I am incapable of withholding this tribute to his virtues, which is so justly due, and, without attempting to establish any better interest in his thoughts
than I already have experienced, bid him everlastingly farewell.




ANECDOTE OF MR. BENSON.                365
I call to mind a conversation I held with my ever-kind and
respected friend Primate Robinson, upon one of his visits to
Tunbridge Wells, soon after Mr. Benson's induction, respecting
the number of seceders, who in times of past laxity had fallen off
from the established mode of worship, and gone astray after
strange and whimsical teachers. Whilst I was describing to him
some of these motley congregations, and the unwearied efforts
of Mr. Benson for reclaiming them, he said to me, in his plain
and pointed way:' If you wish to get these people back again,
you must sing them in; they won't come to your preaching;
argument will do nothing with them; but they have itching ears,
and will listen to a hymn or an anthem, and as you have an organ, such as it is, you must set to work and assemble the best
singers which your place affords.' I need not say this good
advice was followed, for it was the very measure we had projected, and our rural choir soon became conspicuous and in
credit. In the mean time, Mr. Benson's admonitions, backed by
our melodies, thinned the ranks of the seceders, and a certain
female apostle was deserted by her closet congregation, and
thenceforth devoted her attention to a favorite monkey, who profited more by her caresses, and about as much by her instructions, as the silly souls who had been lectured by her.
The men of Kent, properly so called, have a point of honor,
of which they are extremely jealous, and as they in general merit
to be trusted, they are not very patient to endure suspicion.
They will hold tenaciously and litigiously to their point, so long
as you dispute it; but refer it to their honor, and they shall award
that demand upon them as too little, which, so long as you enforced it, they contended was too much; of this I could adduce
a case most strikingly in point.
Of the characters of the people in and about the spot, where I
have so long been resident, I ought to be a judge, for I have
mixed with them as fellow subjects, and commanded them as fellow soldiers; and if I were not forward to acknowledge the just
cause I have ever had to love them, to contribute to their comforts, to listen to their sorrows and to bestir myself for their interests, I should be a most ungrateful man.
It is no small credit to the loyalty of Tunbridge Wells, that it
is the head-quarters of one troop of yeoman cavalry, and four
companies of volunteer infantry. What is likely to ae the fate
of us, who come under the last-mentioned description, it would
be highly unbecoming in me even to conjecture, forasmuch as
the measures which are to decide upon us are, at the moment
of my writing this, only in their progress, but not complete.
This, however, I will take the liberty to say in vindication of the
good order, aptitude and discipline of the volunteers (not par



366      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
tially applying those properties to the corps which I have the
honor to command, but generally to others, which I have had
opportunities to observe) that no other possible method could
be taken for rendering them that dry stick, which cannot vegetate, but by depriving them of their permanent duty. When that
is done, I most devoutly hope that the evil day, that was heretofore so imminent, will be henceforth so entirely out of sight, as
to leave no responsibility on the score of prudence, no charge
but that of ingratitude with the projector or projectors of those
measures, which are so infallibly contrived to divest them of their
usefulness and deprive them of their energy.
The first time I was ordered out upon permanent duty, I had
men employed upon the king's works at iythe, who were absent upon leave; every one of these brave lads came in on the
evening before I marched, and took their shilling a day with me
and their straw at night, in lieu of the high pay which they
earned as carpenters and masons. Sorry I am to add, that when
I had marched them home, and they went down to their work
again, the director sent them back, and treated my most earnest
appeal for their re-employment, backed by certificates of their
good behavior, with contempt.
Can I suppose that men like these would disgrace their colors,
or desert their officers? Their officers, I am sure, will exchange
that confidence with them, and. I believe there is no commandant, who was not satisfied of the alertness of his men in that
crisis, when expectation watched the beacon that was to give
the signal for their turning out upon a moment's notice. It was
not then the season to inquire from what shops they issued, and
the buffoon, who had risked a silly sneer at any man's vocation,
would have met about as much applause for his gabble as a
goose would for her hissing.
I readily admit that it must be every loyal man's wish to
keep alive the martial spirit of the country, but how it can be
any rational man's expectation to accomplish that wish by discouraging and revolting the volunteers, is a riddle that defies
solution.
I was a captain of infantry in the year 1747, and am perhaps
at this time the most aged field officer of volunteers in the kingdom; but if ever it shall be my lot to find myself under the
command of the youngest major in the line, I shall not be the
less obedient to my superior, though he should issue out his
orders to me in the person of my grandson.
Let him who is now master of the fate of hundreds of thousands of his majesty's brave and loyal subjects, yet carrying arms
in their king's and country's cause, lower them to what level he




MR. BADCOCK.                    367
sees fit, he cannot take from them the conscious recollection that
they have done their duty, and will hold a rank in history, of
which it is in no man's power to strip them.
It was no common recommendation to a place of residence,
where our summer society could boast of visitors so respectable
as the Lord Chief Justice Mansfield, the Ex-Premier Lord North,
the Duke of Leeds, the Lord Primate Robinson, the Lord Chancellor Rosslyn, Archbishop Moore, Bishop Moss, and others,
who, like them, have paid the debt of nature, and are now no
more.
I must confess when these, and some less illustrious, but more
near and dearer to my heart, were struck down, it seemed to me
as if the place had lost its sunshine, and our walks, so often
paced by their steps, had been strewed with their tombs.
Within the period of my residence at Tunbridge Wells I have
felt the loss of many friends; I have followed Lord Sackville,to his vault at Withyham, my lamented wife to her grave in
the church of Frant, and there also I caused to be deposited
the remains of William  Badcock, Esq., the husband of my
second daughter, Sophia, and father of five children, awarded to
my care by chancery, and looking up to me for the education
that is to decide, upon their future destinies. My God! can I
presume to hope that thou wilt give me life to execute this
sacred trust, and train them in the way, poor innocents, wherein
they ought to go?
This young man, Mr. Badcock, died a victim to excess in the
prime of life, before he had attained the age of thirty. He had
received his education at the Charter House and at the University
of Oxford. He had good natural parts, an uncommon strength
of memory, read much and recited well and copiously from our
English poets; he was no contemptible amateur actor upon the
model of Kemble, and exhibited himself repeatedly upon the
stages of Bath and Tunbridge \Wells, in the parts of Hamlet,
Richard, Jaffier, and perhaps some others. He had a great
share of a peculiar kind of humor, was an admirable mimic,
and at times would be extremely pleasant and entertaining in
society; but the general turn of his temper and habits was reserved and gloomy, proudly independent, too quick in conceiving himself affronted, and much too slow in regaining his good
humor when he had discovered his mistake. I have often
found him under the visitation of these sullen fits of discontent,
for which I could assign no cause; in this disposition, as it
should seem, he had estranged himself from me for a considerable length of time, residing at Bath, till I was informed by a
common friend of his being in town, unattended by any servant,




368       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
and dangerously ill. I found him in the public room of a coffee house, where he had taken his lodging, and most evidently
in the last stage of an incurable and confirmed decay. He received me with extreme affection, and seemed greatly penetrated
by the attentions which I paid him in his solitary and alarming
situation. I called in the assistance of an eminent physician,
who, upon a consultation, confirmed my apprehensions that his
case was irrecoverable; the country air was, however, recommended, and I received him in my own house at Tunbridge
Wells, where he languished for some few days, and with pious
resignation, whilst invoking blessings on his children, whom he
recommended to my care, closed his short term of life.
Three of these five fatherless relicts are boys, and as I distributed my four sons between the fleet and army, even so, if my
life is spared, I meditate to deal with these grandsons, who seem
by nature endowed with vigor both of body and of spirit for
their destination. The eldest, a boy of brilliant parts, has now
completed more than half his training time, and is serving in
his majesty's frigate La Loire, under the command of Captain
Maitland; that gallant and distinguished officer reports in terms
of my young charge, that inspire me with the warmest hopes of
his well-doing and as I think I can foresee that we shall have
to fight for our altars and our hearths before the present generation shall pass off, I should be sorry at my soul to suppose that
any one of my posterity, over whom I have control, were not
in train to take his part in' that decisive day, whenever it shall
COme.
In the arrangement of this business, which gives me the superintendence of my grandchildren's education under the authority
of the court of chancery, it was my good fortune to find myself
in the hands of a most sincere and honorable friend, who conducted the whole with great legal ability, and delivered the
children into my care, bringing them from Bath to Tunbridge
Wells. To Mr. Henry Fry I am beholden for every comfort
that has accrued to me respecting that ill-fated portion of my
family; and so many have been the instances which I have experienced of his invariable affection, his correct integrity and
disinterested services ever since, that if I could neglect to rendeil
him this public mark of my esteem and love, I should be guilty
of the worst ingratitude.
When I first enrolled my companies of volunteer infantry,
this young and ardent enthusiast in his king's and country's
cause, then living at Tunbridge Wells, resorted to me with
several recruits which his popularity had attached to him, and
from that hour to the present, at which he is now serving as




HENRY FRY-LORD MANSFIELD.                    369
captain of one of the companies under my command, I have
had the gratification of witnessing the true and steady services
to the corps, and his cordial attachment to me and to his brother
officers.
As my friend is happy in a most amiable and excellent wife,
and is already the father of four young children, I have induced
him to place his son under my eye at the training school, to
which I have sent my grandsons, at Ramsgate, till they are all fit
to be removed to Westminster; in the mean time, I have the
gratification to see him entering on a more extensive field of
business with his worthy and respectable partner, Mr. Crutchley,
of Cliffbrd's Inn. In this, and everything else, which concerns
his honor, interest, or happiness, I must heartily participate;
and I hope my Lord Chancellor Erskine is not angry with me
for the letter which, in the zeal of friendshipfor this excellent
young man, I took the liberty to address to him, and which in
fact being little more than an humble offering of my respectful
congratulations, was naturally considered as the tribute of a
person too obscure to be entitled to an answer.
I have known a man as nobly born, as highly endowed and as
fully occupied as the illustrious personage I allude to, who never
suffered a letter to be thrown by unacknowledged. If I were
called upon to name that grace which is most endearing, that
maxim which is most worldly-wise for men in elevated stations,
it would be punctuality in answers and appointments.  It
sweetens favors, and it softens refusals; it is the most sovereign
charm against envy, malice, and those numerous discontents
that indispose the minds of men against the great and fortunate. I think I may venture to say, upon my long experience,
that I have never known the person who left a great man's
presence in an angry and revengeful humor, when he had been
patiently heard and politely treated, although his suit had miscarried.l
I have named the Lord Chief Justice Mansfield amongst the
distinguished persons who were in the habit of resorting to
Tunbridge Wells; I was led to state some few particulars in
the former part of these memoirs respecting that great man,
whose name will stand so prominent in the annals of his time.
I was frequently in his company, but have no right to think that
I was ever so far in his confidence as to render me a competent
- Cumberland complains of both Pitt and Erskine for neglecting to answer
his letters, and evinces a good deal of feeling on the subject. Lord North
offended many friends by the same negligence; while the Duke of Wellington
gratified hundreds by his prompt answers to their communications. Cumberland's remarks on punctuality in answers, and appointments are perfectly just.




370       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
delineator of his character. Some few features, as they caught
my observation, I may venture to trace out, and can say of him
what everybody who knew him in his social hours must say,
without the risk of a mistake. I cannot recollect the time
when, sitting at the table with Lord Mansfield, I ever failed to
remark that happy and engaging art which he possessed, of
putting the company present in good humor with themselves; I
am convinced they naturally liked him the more for his seeming
to like them so well; this has not been the general property of
all the witty, great, and learned men whom I have looked up to
in my course of life.
Some imaginations are so vivid that they who are under their
influence are all tongue and no ears.'What a sensible and
agreeable companion is that gentleman who has just left us,'
said the famous Charles Townshend to the worthy and sensible
Fitzherbert;'I never passed an evening with a more entertaining acquaintance in my life.'' What could entertain you? the
gentleman never opened his lips.''I grant you, my dear Fitz,
but he listened faithfully to what I said, and always laughed in
the right place.''I am answered,' said Fitzherbert.'A great
nation like ours,' said this last named friend to me,'should have
a Charles Townshend in it for show, as a grand menagerie should
have an ostrich.'
Johnson, though in another style of volubility, went rolling
on, and never stopped to take in the little rills and rivulets, that
would have mingled with his cataract: it was at once too rapid
to admit their slender offerings, and too sonorous to allow their
feeble tinklings to be heard.
Doctor Bentley would readily have listened, but did not
always recollect that he was discussing subjects and discoursing
in a language, that his company did not understand and probably could not speak: he accordingly took their task on himself,
and kindly posted his own answers to the account of those who
had no answers to give.
Lord Mansfield (from whom I have digressed) would lend his
ear most condescendingly to his company, and cheer the least
attempt at humor with the prompt payment of a species of
laugh which cost his muscles no exertion, but was merely a subscription, that he readily threw in towards the general hilarity
of the table. He would take his share in the small talk of the
ladies with all imaginable affability; he was, in fact, like most
men, not in the least degree displeased at being incensed by their
flattery. He was no great starter of new topics, but easily led
into anecdotes of past times; these he detailed with pleasure,
but he told them correctly rather than amusingly. I am in



LORD MANSFIELD.                         371
dined to think he did not covet that kind of conversation which
gave him  any pains to carry on: his professional labors were
great, and it was natural that he should resort to society more
for relaxation and rest of mind than for anything that could
put him upon fresh exertions.  Even dulness, so long as it was
accompanied with placidity, was no absolute disrecommendation of the companion of his private hours; it was a kind of
cushion to his understanding.'
I agree with the general remark, that he had the art of modelling his voice to the room  or space in which he was; but I am
not one of those who admired its tone; it was of a pitch too
sharp to please my ear, and seemed more tuned to argumentation than urbanity.  His attentions, whenever he was pleased
to bestow them, were not set off with any noble air, and I would
rather call them civil than polite; for the stamp of his profession was upon him, and, his deportment wanted gracefulness and
ease.  Pope, above all the sons of song, was his Apollo; but I
suspect he had no real attachment to the Muses, and was merely
civil to them  in return for the compliments they had paid to
him.  I remember when the attack was made upon him for his
conduct and opinions in the Douglas -cause: I was well acquainted with Mr. Andrew Stuart; he was an acute and able
man, and I had the opportunity of knowing how glad he would
have been to have drawn Lord Mansfield into the fair field of
controversy; but I am persuaded there was more sound wisdom
in his lordship's silence, than there could have been sound reasoning in his answer, had his spirit led him to accept the challenge.
I have mentioned his last interview with Lord Sackville in the
former part of- these Memoirs.  It was the only opportunity I
i' Lord Mansfield,' says Campbell,' appeared nowhere to greater advantage
than in the social circle. He did not make a display of condescension like a
low-bred man, who accidentally reaching an elevated position, wishes kindly
to notice his former associates. He did not imitate those who, by the joint
exertion of a great memory and a loud voice, quite unconscious of doing anything amiss, put an end to conversation by a perpetual pouring forth of observations and quotations, which may be useful in an encyclopsedia, but which
are tiresome in a lecture. He always comported himself like a well-bred gentleman among his equals. He considered that men are to gain renown in the
field of battle, in the forum, and in the senate, but that society is for relaxation; and instead of making people despise themselves and hate him by the
overwhelming proof of superior powers and acquirements, he studied to render others dearer to themselves, and consequently to inspire into them a benevolent feeling towards himself, by giving them an opportunity of contributing to the general amusement, and of bringing out the information which
they peculiarly possessed. His general rule was to reward every man's jest
with a smile, although he could not conceal his dislike to a bore or a coxcomb.
-Lives of the Chlief Justices, vol. ii. p. 430, Amer. ed.




372      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
had of knowing something of the movements of his heart: I
caught a glimpse, as it were through a crevice, but it soon shut
up, and the exterior remained, as before, totus teres atque rotunduls.
When I call to mind the hours I passed with Lord North in
the darkness of his latter days, there was such a charm in his
genius, such a claim upon my pity in the contemplation of his
sufferings, that even then, lacerated as I was in my feelings, I
could not help saying within myself-The minister indeed has
wronged me, but the man atones. I-is house at Tunbridge
Wells was in The Grove: one day he took my arm, and asked
me to conduct him to the parade upon the pantiles.'I have a
general recollection of the way,' he said,' and if you will make'me understand the posts upon the foot-path, and the steps
about the chapel, I shall remember them in future.' I could
not lead blind Gloster to the cliff: I executed my affecting
trust, and brought him safely to his family: the ministering
and mild daughter of Tiresias received her father from my
hands.
I have already touched upon the character of this interesting
man, and what little more my pallet can supply, shall be still
only touches. I would not raze the skin, nor mar the polish of
his brilliant talents for anything that fame can give; and as for
that strong food, on which resentment feeds, I have long since
perceived my stomach is too weak to relish it.,
I do not know the person, to whose society a man of sensibility might have given himself with more pleasure and security
than to that of Lord North; for his wit never wounded, and his
humor never ridiculed: he was not disposed to make an unmerciful use of the power which superiority of talents endowed
him with, to oppress a weaker understanding: he had great
charity for dulness of apprehension, and a pert fellow could not
easily put him out of patience; there was no irritability in his
nature. To his acquaintance and friends he was all complacency; to his family all affection: he was generous, hospitable,
open-handed, and loved his ease infinitely too well to sacrifice
any portion of it to a solicitude about money.
The vivacity of his natural parts was strikingly contrasted by
the heaviness of his appearance; in this particular, and in some
others, he would occasionally remind me of Dodington; they
were both scholars and lovers of literature and the Muse: both
were quick in repartee, but Dodington could be sarcastic, and
I am afraid it was too truly said of him, that he kept a tame
booby or two about him for the sake of making them his butt;
a kind of luxury very little above the gratification of a hog,




LORD NORTH.                    373
when he rubs himself.against a post. Dodington was too fond
of giving ironical turns to serious subjects, by which he possessed himself of other people's opinions, and kept his own in reserve. I do not say but that occasions may sometimes justify a
man in point of policy for thus talking under a mask; but I am
very sure it cannot well be resorted to too seldom. He would,
also, at times, indulge a whim of aping the rusticity of the vulgar, and, with a considerable share of humor, mimic their dialect
and assume their manners; it was this whim that induced him
to read Jonathan Wild, and the clowns in Shakspeare, to the
Ladies IIervey and Safford, when they were visiting him at
Eastbury. I remember his asking them if they had seen him
in the print shops astride upon the ear of an elephant, with a
sunflower in his mouth. I believe no such caricature was in,
existence, but I have perfect recollection of the old political
print, called'The Motion,' in which he was admirably portrayed
as a mastiff between the legs of John, Duke of Argyle, upon'the coach-box, with his name Bubb, if I mistake not, upon a
collar round his neck; he had a reverence, so truly aristocratical,
for great men with great titles, that it was enough for him to be
admitted into the group, though in his dog-like caricature, and
he took his metamorphosis in perfect good part.
None of these caprices were to be found in Lord North; he
bore his part in conversation, and introduced his anecdotes to
the full as appositely as Dodington, but I confess he did not set
them off with quite the same advantages of manner. They had
both the like propensity of slumbering in company with their
ears open, and their wits wide awake, which had a very curious
effect when the flash broke out on the sudden, in the -midst of
somnolency, as if the mind had kept watch whilst the body
took a nap.
When Lord North lost his sight, he appeared to enjoy a vivid
recollection of the pictures he had stored in his memory from
men and books, and I have reason to think that, when he ceased
to search for fresh supplies, he became the more liberal in dispensing the stock he had in hand, and that was in no danger of
being exhausted.  He repeatedly expressed a wish to me, that
some young man of education might be found, whose business
it should be to read to him, and live an inmate in his family: I
observed to him that there were many to be found in either university, of whom he might -make choice, but the ma n who had
for so many years been minister of this great country, confessed
to me that his means were too scanty to provide for that establishment. Like the great Lord Chatham and  Mr. Pitt, he kept
his own hands clean and empty, and when he applied to his son,




374       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
who could not afford to keep his favorite mare, that happy
quotation:Equam memento rebus in arduis
Servare,
the son might have filled up the sentence as it stands in the
original, and applied it to the father, who, when deprived of
sight, could not afford to maintain a reader, though he had
administered the revenues of a nation.
The Lord Primate Robinson was my very kind and partial
friend; but, more than this, he was the friend of my father.
Splendid, liberal, lofty, publicly ambitious of great deeds, and
privately capable of good ones, there was an exterior that, to
the stranger, did not always hold out an encouraging aspect, but
to him that stepped within that barrier, all was mildness, suavity,
benevolence. IHe supported the first station in the Irish hierarchy with all the magnificence of a prince palatine. He made no
court to popularity by his manners, but he benefited a whole
nation by his public works; he gave plenty of employment to
the industrious, and of food to the hungry, but he spread no
table for the idle, and made no carousals for the voluptuous.
He built a granite palace from the ground, with all its offices,
gardens, farm, and demrnesne; he repaired and beautified his
cathedral, built houses for his vicars choral, erected and endowed a very noble public school, and built several parish
churches in the neighborhood of Armagh. He lived and died
a bachelor, and administered his revenue with great regularity,
else his fortune could never have sufficed for the accomplishment of such expensive projects, for he kept an establishment
of servants, equipage, and table highly suitable to his rank.
The cathedral church of Armagh stands in full view from the
windows of the palace, and at a short distance from it. Whilst
I was passing some days with the primate, on my return to
England, from Kilmore, I accompanied him on the Sunday forenoon to the cathedral. We went in his chariot, with six horses,
attended by three footmen behind, whilst my wife and daughters,
with Sir William Robinson, followed in my father's coach, which
he lent me for the journey. At our approach, the great western
door was thrown open, and my friend (in person one of the
finest men that could be seen), entered, like another Archbishop
Laud, in high prelatical state, preceded by his officers and ministers of the church, conducting him in files to the robing
chamber, and back again to the throne. After divine service,
the officiating clergy presented themselves in the hall of his
palace to pay their court. I asked him how many were to dine




SIR WILLIAM ROBINSON.                375
with us: he answered:'Not one.' He did them  kindnesses,
but he gave them no entertainments: they were in excellent
discipline. I had accustomed myself so lately to admire the
mild and condescending character of my benevolent and hospitable father at Kilmore, that I confess the contrast did not
please me; but the primate knew —my father loved-mankind.
I saw the princely demesne at Armagh covered with a small
army of wretched creatures, making hay after the old Irish
fashion, in loose great coats, a lazy, ragged, dirty gang: how
different was the scene I had contemplated in my father's fields!
But the primate left many noble monuments of his munificence
in brick and stone —my father left his bounteous tokens in the
human heart.
As my wife and daughters were probably the first and only
female visitors who had been lodged within the walls of Armagh
palace, the ladies of the neighborhood, not knowing how to decide upon the question of coming to them, very properly took
no notice of us, and we enjoyed our liberty without restraint.
Sir William Robinson, elder brother of the Primate, accompanied us on our return to England. He was a man of the
mildest and most amiable quality; though perfectly unlike his
athletic brother in form and constitution, a.feeble, infirm man,
and a real valetudinarian, yet he followed step by step the same
regimen, observed the same diet, took the same physic, swallowed the same number of rhubarb pills, and fought off the bile
with raw eggs and mutton broth mixed up with Muscavado sugar, and although this system did not seem by any means suited
to his constitution, yet, being adopted by his brother, he was
convinced of its being the best and wisest of all-possible systems,
and faithfiully adhered to it. This good man carried his devotion so far as to form many articles of his wearing apparel upon
the same scale with those which the Primate wore; this was inconvenient enough in all conscience, and in some cases the disproportion was not a little ridiculous, particularly in the article
of shoes, which he piqued himself upon having made on the same
last with the Primate's, who, besides being a colossal man, studied
his ease by far too much to cramp his feet; my friend, in the mean
time, who, with the pleasing consciousness of putting on the
same fraternal shoe, had not by many degrees the same foot to
put into that enormous case, was fain -to shove it on before him
like a boat upon dry land; and indeed it was a boat of such size
and burden, that the man who wore it ought, by anatomical proportion, to have been a Hercules ex pede.
The bile, however, so far got the mastery over this excellent
man, on his journey, and the shaking of our coach so disturbed




876      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
the quiet of his raw eggs and sugared broth, that at Donaghadee,
in a wretched inn, he suffered an alarming attack, and had not
my good wife been at hand to have rescued him with James's
powders, his old enemy would hardly have given way to any
remedy less efficacious.
Archbishop Moore was highly to be esteemed for his mild
and condescending manner; and Doctor Moss, the Bishop of
Bath and Wells, was an amiable and edifying instance how
serenely to the latest period of extreme old age a good man can
possess his spirit, when supported by religion.'I recollect one
day, after dining with Lord Mansfield, the good bishop, who was
of the party, informed us that he was repairing an almshouse at
Wells for the reception of five and twenty women, the widows
of clergymen, and, turning to me, asked if I could suggest to
him an appropriate inscription.'Why do you apply to Cumberland,' said Lord Mansfield,'for an inscription? I'll furnish
you with what you want directly: Here are five and twenty
women, all kept by the Lord Bishop of Bath and Wells. That's
plain English; Cumberland would have puzzled the cause and
his brains into the bargain.'
In general, the connections which I formed at Tunbridge
Wells were of a sort to favor rather than obstruct my studies;
of frivolous acquaintance I had no great stock, and amongst my
intimates I had the happiness to number many valuable characters, many candid and ingenious men. Some of these have now
withdrawn themselves to other destinations; some, alas! are no
more, and a new order has succeeded, with whom I am not as
with them.
What a multitude of past friends can I number amongst the
dead! It is the melancholy consequence of old age; if we outlive our feelings we are nothing worth; if they remain in force,
a thousand sad occurrences remind us that we live too long.
For my part I must sojourn amongst strangers, or seek to make
acquaintance with the children and grandchildren of my departed
friends. Though I can hardly harmonize with their society,
still I prefer the making suit to their favor, and am flattered if
they endure me; for I have never yet discovered the delights of
solitude. I consider it as a singular felicity in my life, and a
circumstance to instance for their credit, with whom I have been
connected, that when fortune seemed to have deserted me I had
not to lament the falling away of friends. Men of the world
are drawn off from us by the world; this is too often interpreted
as an abandonment, when in fact it is only the result of avocation; when they, in course of time, cease to tread the public road




SIR JAMES BLAND BURGES.                377
of life, we meet them in the bypaths of retirement, and find our
friendship interrupted only, not renounced.
Whilst Sir James Bland Burges inhabited the next house to
mine, at Tunbridge Wells, I had ever an intimate and kind friend
to resort to. tHe has always been a studious man, and his
knowledge is very various; few men have read to better purpose, and fewer still can boast a more retentive memory, or a
happier faculty of narrating what they remember. The early
part of his education he received in Scotland, and completed it
at Westminster school under Doctor Smith; at the University
of Oxford he was the pupil of Sir William Scott; an opportunity
that he has greatly profited by, and an honor that he is justly
proud of. Upon his leaving Oxford he resided in the Temple,
and devoted himself to the study of the law; since then he has
served in Parliament, and filled an- active and efficient post in
public office; from both these duties he is now released, and,
with a mind at leisure to pursue its natural bent, has commenced
his literary career by devoting those talents, to which his country
has no longer any counter-claim, to the more tranquil service of
the Muse.
Reading has stored the mind of my friend with such a plenitude of matter, and nature has given him such a facility of expression, that his rapidity has hitherto been so great as hardly
to allow, fair leisure for his judgment to exert itself. The world,
therefore, that has only seen his Richard Cceur de Lion (and
in my humble -opinion not yet sufficiently estimated the real
merit of that extraordinary poem), has better things to expect
from him, Nxhen his genius shall begin to feel the rein, and practice shall make him sensible that there is a labor as well as a
luxury in composition. He is now concerned in a long and
arduous work, too weighty to be moved by slight exertions, and
too excursive to be circumscribed by rhyme. He must no
longer now caparison his Muse, as a Spaniard does his mule,
and make her frisk along the road to the eternal jingle of her
own bells.
He has in the mean while written some dramas, and if in
these he has not exactly struck out what the times are pleased
with, it is more than probable he might have struck out some.
thing not so good, and pleased them better; for it is but justice
to confess that they have all possible consideration for folly, and
no great partiality for common sense. It is a gaudy thoughtless age, and they who live up to the fashion of it, live in a
continual display of scenery; their pleasures are all panto.
mirmical; their dinners steam along the columns of every daily
paper, and their suppers and assemblies, dazzle the guests with
25




378      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
tawdry lights and suffocate them with luscious odors-natio
comeda est. It must be a surprise upon a plain gentleman, when,
in consequence of an invitation from his friend, he drives to the
door of what he conceives to be an ordinary street house, and
upon entering it finds himself in an illuminated temple, formed
perhaps upon the model of the concluding scene in a Harlequin
entertainment. I ought to believe there is a great deal of good
taste in all this, as so many fine people are concerned in it, but
till I am better instructed I cannot help seeing it in a very
ridiculous light. I am told the spectacle of' The Forty Thieves'
was a delicious treat; I did not hear quite so good an account
of the dialogue; in like manner I read of forty honest gentlemen at least, who set out exquisite entertainments, but nobody
records a single syllable of their conversation. It is a lucky
circumstance for men of low birth, mean talents and confined
education, that if they can buy good wine, and hire a good cook
with plenty of winter roses, green peas and strawberries out of
season, they can refresh the bowels of the old nobility, who will
walk into a man's house, form their own parties when they are
in it, and take no more notice of the master of it, than they
would of the landlord of the inn they take post at, or the keeper
of the turnpike-gate that they pass through; but there must be
luxury in the glare of lustres to a man who has drudged at his
desk by the light of a tallow candle, and how much handsomer
must a floor appear to him, when splendidly bechalked by a
capital designer, than when besprinkled with a watering pot by
a slipshod apprentice!
The whim must have its run, and so long as our public prints
have no better anecdotes to amuse us with than what are dated
from the kitchen, we must be content to read what they relate,
and let'Hannah Glass' still flourish in the lustre of her fame.
We are apt to covet what we can't obtain, and poets, both
ancient and modern, have written much in praise of luxuries,
which have not fallen to their share; whilst the ladies of Helicon, who should best understand what is fittest for the constitutions of their votaries, never treat them with anything stronger
than a draught of pure water. For my part I cannot comprehend
how the genius can effect anything worthy of itself amidst the
inroads of dissipation, and whoever the man may be, or may
have been, who has written a good song in praise of drinking, I
must believe he was sober when he wrote it. They charged
Cratinus with writing comedies when he was tipsy, but Cratinus
soberly denied it.
I could instance a very ingenious contemporary, who is both
a poet and a scholar of no common rank, a man withal of modest




MOORE-WILLIAM  SPENCER.                 379
conversation, and amongst my acquaintance one of the very
last to whom I should impute a natural depravity of mind; yet
it must be confessed the Muse of Mr. Moore is by no means
pure, and he is a writer of love songs much too highly colored.
I am not amongst his intimates, yet I have seen enough of him
to be persuaded it is not his character to do purposed mischief,
but having, together with the gift of poetry, the grace of song,
and his style of composition in music being professedly that of
the tender and impassioned, he falls into the habit of suiting his
words to his strains, and addresses soft love ditties to imaginary
mistresses. That he can write gravely, solidly, and sublimely,
no critic, who has read his volume, will deny. There are passages, particularly in his epistles, that are conceived in the true
and genuine spirit of poetry. Had he been less tenacious of
quantity, and thrown aside some loose disreputable trash, that
takes from value what it adds to bulk, no critic could have
wounded any feelings that a gentleman should own. He gives
a reason why he did not do this, which would have disarmed
most men of their severity; but if he has really mixed too much
of levity with his better matter (which I am afraid is the fact),
let him remember that he owes an atonement to candor; and
as he has youth for his apology, and genius for his resource, let
him urge his Muse upon some nobler undertaking, and when
he has subjected his composition to the review of his correct
and judicious friend Mr. Rogers, he may surrender himself
without fear to the criticism of the world at large.
I might remind him of another friend, than whom I could not
name a better in all points of honor; but Mr. William Spencer
has in himself such a superabundance of fancy, that he will
hardly be on the restrictive side; he figures in so wide a circle,
and is so prodigal of his wit, that he disperses it amongst many,
who can neither retail it nor retain it. His good sayings are like
the blazing splinters that fly off from the hammered iron, and
they that would lay hold of them would only burn their fingers:
if he would reserve his Greek for those that understand it, he
must seek other company; if he would display his stores of
classic knowledge to more public use and profit,,he must cease
for a time to be the ornament of society, and trim his solitary
midnight lamp. This he knows, but this he will not do, and
will laugh at me for suggesting it.
I suppose the fog of my Cambridge training will never clear
up sufficiently for me to see and understand the world, either as
it now is, or heretofore has been. Gray, in his long story, says
the Lord Chancellor Hatton danced, and Mr. Bentley, in his ornamented edition of that poet's works, has drawn him in the act




380      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
of cutting capers.. Commissioner Whitelocke was as solemn
and precise a personage as need be; he tells us in his memoirs
of his'dauncing the brawls' at the court of Sweden, when he was
Oliver Cromwell's ambassador to Queen Christina, and, if we
may take his account for truth, he seems to have acquitted himself to the admiration of all beholders, unless indeed he mistook
his own admiration for that of other people's, which is not quite
impossible, for Goldsmith thought himself extremely graceful,
Lord Malcombe studied attitudes in his looking-glass, and
Soame Jenyns, as I have before remarked, wrote to the full as
seriously on the art of dancing as he did upon the origin of evil.
Now, though Aristophanes ridiculed a capering poet, modern
times have endured a dancing Lord Chancellor, and may endure
such antic tricks again.
The world will take its own course. The illustrious personages, who manage its concerns, will continue to manage them
after their own way till they are thrown out of their seats, and
when they are prostrate, helpless, and at mercy, the critics, who
watch them as magpies watch a flock of sheep, will pounce upon
them and pick out their eyes.
We are just now, as I before observed, by no means in our
former character of philosophers, but rather living, as creatures
should live, who are born for no other purpose, and devoted to
no other uses, but to consume the fruits of the earth, and leave
their names to be carried down to posterity in the culinary records of our public prints. The frivolity of their tables seems in
a great degree to have overturned the solidity of their understandings, and by the frequency of their dealings with confectioners and cooks they appear to have contracted certain new,
but consentaneous habits of speech, a sort of huffish pufftpaste
eloquence, which consists in treating grave and serious matters
of debate with a vapid kind of levity, affecting quaint conceits
and doggerel quotations, which stand very well in'Mother
Goose's Tales,' but are rather out of their latitude in Saint Stephen's Chapel. I am sorely afraid that our deluded senators,
who, by the flatulency of their mental diet, have fallen into this
laxity of talk, conceive it has some affinity to wit, and think
themselves happy in a familiar style, which has all the point of
ridicule and the grace of ease. Alas! it has nor point, nor
edge, nor grace, nor ease; in fact, it is no style at all; mere gabble, nothing else. One recommendation it may have, which is
that of being unanswerable, for who can remember it; and, being quite as flimsy as Ixion's mistress, who can embrace it?
This is no proof to me that there is a real dearth of taste or
genius in the age; it only confirms what we knew before, that




EDINBURGH REVIEWERS.                 381
false taste and false genius are more obtrusive than true. If ever
there was a time for this distinguished nation in a more peculiar
manner to maintain her dignity and display her virtue, it is now,
when the eyes of suffering and degraded Europe are directed
towards her, and she has not yet been tempted to lay aside her
arms.
There is a northern junto of periodical critics, who have rendered themselves extremely formidable to us poor authors, and
to whom such of us, as have viands at command, offer them up,
as Indians do their oblations to the devil; whilst they, who
know we do not incense them out of love, but fear, receive our
knee-worship with indifference and despise us for our meanness.
I have not the honor of being personally acquainted with any
one of these gentlemen, but I perceive that my sheets amongst
others have been taken into their laundry, and have gone through
the usual process of mangling. I am truly and sincerely obliged
to them for the great consideration they have had for the feeble
fabric of my manufacture, on which they have bestowed so very
gentle a squeezing as not to break a thread, that was not rotten
before they handled it, nor make one hole but what a housewife's hand may darn. In short, though it is so much my wish
to be well with them, I cannot compliment them on their sagacity, forasmuch as they have not hit upon a single fault in my
imperfect work, that was not much too obvious for any common marksman to have missed.
They say, with a great deal of natural good manners, that they
should have been better reconciled to me, if I had talked more
of other people and less of myself. This marks a delicate attention to certain feelings which I am proud to find they give
me credit for, and I wish as much as they can do, that I could
have discovered the happy means of being my own biographer
without egotism; but having been induced, by reasons which
I have not scrupled to confess, to render an account of my life
and writings, whilst I am yet living and personally responsible
for the truth of what I have written, I endeavored, to the best
of my power, to lighten a dull topic by digressions, wherever I
could avail myself of an opportunity; and if these gentlemen
found those digressions the more tolerable part of my performance, so did I also. They seem as if they had written for the
very purpose of confirming me in my own opinions.
The friends, who know with what hesitation I yielded to their
advice and undertook this task, can witness that I did not expect
to make my own immediate memoirs entertaining to the public;
yet every reviewer, who has condescended to notice them (these
of Edinburgh excepted), have had the charity to make me think




382       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
they had read me with complacency. But they were my countrymen; they could feel for my motives, they could allow for
my difficulties; they had too much manliness of nature to endeavor at depressing me, and forbore for a time to be critics for
the gratification of exhibiting themselves in the more amiable
character of gentlemen.
I understand that these acrimonious North-Britons are young
men; I rejoice to hear it, not only for the honor of old age,
but in the hope that they will live long enough to discover the
error of their ambition, the misapplication of their talents, and
that the combination they have formed to mortify their contemporaries is in fact a conspiracy to undo themselves.'
I am afraid that, in spite of the plain hint they have given me,
I shall not be able to keep myself totally out of sight through
the remaining pages of this supplement, especially as they themselves have given me an opportunity of explaining a circumstance of some importance, which had not come to my knowledge when I was employed upon the former part of these
Memoirs.
By the anecdote which I related of Admiral Sir George Rodney, whilst he was manoeuvring the cherry-stones upon Lord
Sackville's table after dinner at Stonelands, I certainly meant
to convey to the reader my sincere belief that it was then he first
conceived the project of cutting through the enemy's line. I
was not at that time, nor till very lately, apprised that there
was a man living who could dispute the originality of that manceuvre with him. I now learn that Mr. Clerk had communications with the admiral, and if they were previous to the period of my anecdote, which may be easily ascertained, it will
be evident that I mistook those symptoms, which so strongly impressed me and others present with the belief, which I attached
to my relation of that anecdote.  That I was more particularly
attentive to the whole elaborate process of the gallant admiral
with his cherry-stones, is a fact that I can well account for, inasmuch as when I perceived Lord Sackville losing his attention
to his guest, and wearied with the many leading questions, uninteresting as they seemed to be to the rest of the company,
who did not foresee the point they led to, I thought it right in
my regard for both parties to give the more earnest heed to what
The Edinburgh Review, at this time, had begun to stir mightily the stagnant waters of criticism, and was regarded by authors with a feeling something
akin to that with which the lamb views the fatal approach of the wolf. That
periodical has lived long and done much. Some of the most beneficial reforms
that have been made in English law, and some of the most important changes
in English policy, can, in part, be traced to the powerful advocacy of the
Edinburgh Review.




REV. MR. HIGGS.                  383
my friend was about, who seemed to travail with sbme new
idea, and in a whisper predicted to his lordship that I was
persuaded that something worth his. notice would come out
at last.
I repeat this as my apology to Mr. Clerk, and the public at
large, if, being misled by these indications, I have ascribed originality to the wrong person: nothing could more strongly character the first conception of a new idea. When the Admiral
avowed his resolution to make experiment of his plan in action,
and heard it treated with something more than doubt, he quoted
no authority in support of it, but seemed contented to stand
alone in the opinion of its practicability, and persisted in declaring that he would try it.
I must also beg leave to add that my friend Sir Charles Douglas, upon his return to England, expressly declared to me that
the- merit of cutting the French line rested entirely with his
Admiral, and that his own opinion ever went against it. In my
assertion of this fact I am strictly correct, and the observation I
deduce from it is, that if Mr. Clerk suggested it to Sir Charles
Douglas for the Admiral's consideration, it must have been the
sagacity of the principal, not that of the second, which discerned the merit of Mr. Clerk's discovery, and in spite of all discouragements carried it resolutely and successfully into operation.
If, after all this discussion, it shall turn out that two men
great in naval tactics, struck upon the same idea, where would
be the miracle? Whilst I was upon a visit to my old and worthy
friend the Reverend Mr. Iiggs, at his rectory of Grandisburgh,
in the county of Suffolk, I put the last hand to my poem of'Calvary.' In his hospitable mansion I enjoyed my leisure in
complete tranquillity and peace. It does not often come to
pass, that two men, who had been intimates in their boyish days
at school, and contemporaries in the same college, shall meet,
as we did, in our old age, with the consciousness that there had
not been a single moment when our friendship felt a check, or a
word had passed that we could wish unsaid. Those days of
course were to me peculiarly grateful, and I flatter myself if
any visitations of my Muse were happy, it was then they were
such, when she led me to those regions, which I attempt to
describe as the residence of death. I should hardly presume to
particularize these passages, had I not the authority of my kind
reviewer Doctor Drake to appeal to for my apology, and to him
I shall ever hold myself indebted as the one candid critic, who
brought that poem out of its obscurity, and obtained for it a
place amongst our British classics.




384      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
Encouraged by that favor, which was thus obtained for'Calvary,' I cherished a design of attempting another epic poem on
a sacred subject, and of selecting it from the Old Testament,
following the example of Milton in his'Paradise Lost and Regained.' Whilst these thoughts were in my mind, though without any fixed plan, my friend Sir James Burges suggested to me
the history of Moses from the period of his leading the Israelites
out of Egypt to his death upon Mount Hloreb. This he did
not propose in a crude and undigested state, but imparted to
me a plan deliberately and minutely methodized, and apportioned into Books, ten in number, with the argument of each
correctly drawn up; a work of much labor and considerable
research. When I had taken this plan into consideration, I
found that he had not only traced out the journal of the sacred
historian with the most exact fidelity, but had availed himself
of maps and books, till then unknown to me, and which seemed
to leave little to the pen that followed him, except the task of
filling up the outline he had laid down. It appeared to me to
be a subject, comprising every property that should unite to
constitute a sacred epic poem-a series of supernatural and sublime events, awful and tremendous judgments, forming a perfect and magnificent whole, displaying characters, achievements,
incidents and situations, such as the history of no other people
upon earth ever did exhibit, exceeding all the powers of mortal
agency, yet backed with the authority of holy writ.
My friend, who had taken to himself the whole labor of the
plan, consented also to share that of the execution, and we divided our respective portions accordingly. Though we have
each been drawn off to other studies, yet we have advanced
considerably in the joint work, and I purpose, with the concurrence of my worthy colleague, to submit the first and second
books to the public very shortly, and so to publish part by part,
if life and health permit, till the whole shall be completed.WTe entitle it The Exodiad.
I have also planned, and in great part finished, one more
novel, upon which I have bestowed much time and care, anxious
to leave something behind me in that way, which may interest
the scholar as well as the idler; something which gravity may
read without contempt, and modesty without a blush; a work
of fancy, that may prove I have not quite exhausted my capacity to amuse, nor quite abandoned my endeavors to instruct.
I hope it is not the character of old age to be querulous and
dissatisfied; if it is, I trust I have escaped the common lot, for
Nature has bestowed on me such strong animal spirits, and I
have been blessed with so long a series of health, that I have




THE WAY TO ENJOY OLD AGE.                385
hitherto found an unfailing source of occupation in solitude,
and of pleasure in society. We old fellows should be aware
that the young ones will only suffer us whilst we are conformable; the world at large will pay but little reverence to our
gray hairs unless we set- them off with the graces of good nature.
For some years before the decease of my wife, such was the
unhappy state of her exhausted and decayed constitution, that
my house was in a manner inaccessible even to my nearest
friends and neighbors, her nerves being utterly destroyed, and
even her recollection impaired by the effects of the breaking
of a bloodvessel, which no art could heal. Every step that
approached her threw her into tremors; and it required careful
preparation to enable her to support an interview with any of
her children who came at times to pay their duty to her.
I The daughter, who is now the comfort of my old age, was
then the only inmate in my family. Fortunately for her, she
had the same resources with myself; from her earliest infancy,
books had been her passion, and of these, her choice was directed
much more to edification than mere amusement, and so clear
was her comprehension, so retentive her memory, that I had
the substance of any new publications, in her own language, so
well detailed to me that I could reap the fruits of her studies,
and pursue my own. So supported, I could not wholly sink;
but when she also fell dangerously ill, and death seemed only
pausing between objects so infinitely dear where first to point
the inevitable blow, it was a trying and distressing crisis.
Still, I struggled against base despondency, to which, amidst
the wreck of father, mother, sons, and friends, I never yet had
yielded; and here (as I am still my own biographer) I must
take leave to say, in mitigation of my many failings and infirmities, that want of patience under the dispensation of God's
providence is not amongst their number. Let not my readers
think I aim to give false colors to my character; I scorn
the imputation, and am too sensible how nearly I am approaching to the hour when every idle word must be accounted for to
load my conscience with the guilt of an untruth.
AMen who have been in situations, and availed themselves of
opportunities for conferring favors, are apt, when fortune turns
against them, to be loud in their complaints of the ingratitude
of mankind. I have had those opportunities, but am not warranted to make those complaints. Whether I have not met
with instances of ingratitude, or have outlived the recollection
of them,' I would not wish to ascertain, if it were in my power.
I know that many people torment themselves with conceiving
slights, and teaze their hearers with describing them. I can




386       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
readily call to mind many small services of mine gratefully
remembered, and generously overpaid. I have had many true
and steady friends, and never found myself cast off by any only
because I could no longer keep the station which I held before.
WVhen I am within their reach, they welcome me with all the
cordiality of former times, and when I am master of a leisure
day in London, I can always find a hospitable table and a friendly
host;' this is at once my consolation and my pride. I have
lived beyond the ordinary limits of man's -time on earth, and
have not forfeited the good-will of those with whom I lived;
whilst, with few exceptions from amongst the numbers who are
now no more, I can reflect with comfort that I did not lose them
till death took them from me.
One instance of injustice and, oppression was so interwoven
with my history that I could not avoid the recording it; setting
that aside, which it now behooves me to do, I have much reason
to think well of the world, and, when my time shall come, much
good cause to part from it in peace.
In the quarto edition of my memoirs, page 471, I mention a
certain tributary present which my old friend, Mr. Smith, of
Bury, was pleased to bestow upon the puerile Roscius in the
candid spirit of encouragement. If anything that appears upon
that page gave my respectable contemporary a moment's pain,
I am sincerely sorry; and though I know he has forgiven me,
yet before I can be heartily disposed to forgive myself, he must
allow me to tender him this, my public apology. We are both
far advanced into the vale of years, both pilgrims gray with
age, and pressing onward to our journey's end. Time has been
when his encouragement put me upon attempts, which his
abilities as an actor contributed to support. I met him lately
in town; a lucky chance brought him to the hotel, where I had
lodgings; I was delighted to see him in such green old age, upright in person, active in limbs, and of a countenance still so
animated, as bespoke him  apparently as able to perform the
part of'Charles' as in his younger days. I introduced Mr.
Alexander Rae to him, and tempted him  to the Haymarket
Theatre to see him in the character of Mortimer in' The Iron
Chest.' He sat with me in the orchestra, and was highly pleased
with the performance of that young and very promising actor,
with whose merits I am so intimately acquainted, and for whose
success I am so warmly interested.
Cumberland's manners were those of the courtier and gentleman; and his
powers of conversation of a high order.'The want of company,' says Dr.
Johnson, in a letter to Mrs. Thrale,' is an inconvenience, but Mr. Cumberland is
a million.'




OLD DRURY AND GARRICK.                 387
Since the stages of Drury Lane and Covent Garden have
been so enlarged in their dimensions as to be henceforward
theatres for spectators rather than playhouses for hearers, it is
hardly to be wondered at if their managers and directors encourage those representations to which their structure is best
adapted.  The splendor of the scenes, the ingenuity of the
machinist, and the rich display of dresses, aided by the captivating charms of music, now in a great degree supersede the
labors of the poet. There can be nothing very gratifying in
watching the movements of an actor's l'ps, when we cannot hear
the words that proceed from them; but when the animating
march strikes up, and the stage lays open its recesses to the
depth of a hundred feet for the procession to advance, even the
most distant spectator can enjoy his shilling's worth of show.
What then is the poet's chance?  Exactly what the parson's
would be, if the mountebank was in the market-place, when the
bells were chiming for church.
On the stage of Old Drury, in the days of Garrick, the moving
brow and penetrating eye of that matchless actor came home to
the spectator. As the passions shifted, and were by turns reflected from the mirror of his expressive countenance, nothing
was lost; upon the scale of modern Drury many of the finest
touches of his art would of necessity fall short. The distant
auditor might chance to catch the text, but would not see the
comment that was wont so exquisitely to elucidate the poet's
meaning, and impress it on the hearer's heart.
It was never my object to, depress the living candidate for
fame, but has been uniformly my desire and my endeavor to
uphold and cherish genius whilst it. lives amongst us, and may
be fostered by our commendations. The dead can do no more;
they have finishedl their career, and there is no more use and
profit in our praise of them; the living are our property, we
have a participation in their talents, and it is no less our interest
than our duty to encourage all their efforts for the honor of the
era we belong to. Htow much more gratifying must it be to
behold perfection than to hear of it! If I tell a man that Garrick was an inimitable actor, he may, or he may not, take it on
my credit; but how does my report edify him unless I could
present him with a sample of his style, and be myself in every
circumstance of action, voice and feature perfect Garrick? But
this I cannot be, and in the mean time nothing is more illusory
and vague than my description; I can give the measure of his
stature, and perhaps some idea of his person, but that which alone
is interesting to be acquainted with, I cannot communicate. The
living actor is within our reach.




388      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
So long as I have known the stage, so many eminent performers as I have seen pass over it, and so frequent as my concerns with them have been, I should be glad to say something
in this place that might manifest my regard for them, and keep
me in their remembrance when I am no more; but when I turn
to the essay, No. xxix. in the'Observer,' which I devoted to
their use and service, whilst my thoughts were fresher than
they are at present, it is but little I can add, and that little
will be hardly worthy of their attention in any other light than
as a mark of the unvaried good-will which I entertain for them.
As men separated by their profession into a distinct order, I
have the satisfaction to see them maintain a more respectable
station in society than they did in my early acquaintance with
the stage. Though they have produced no writer from amongst
themselves equal to the author of'The Careless Husband,' yet I
could instance some who have written, and still write, more
prosperously in their day than Cibber did in his. Though none,
perhaps, since Garrick trod the stage, can boast such various
excellence as he possessed, yet I have seen nature so admirably
imitated in particular characters by performers yet amongst us,
that I have said within myself: If human powers can reach
perfection, I behold it now.
The stage has never, within my knowledge of it, been wholly
unprovided with performers of distinguished merit in the tragic
line. I have remarked that it is generally the first ambition of
the candidate for histrionic fame to be the hero or heroine of a
tragedy. It is perfectly in nature that it should be so; the
school-boy who is taught to declaim, has his passages selected
from the writers in heroic metre; he speaks a soliloquy of Hamlet's to a parcel of people who are predisposed to applaud him,
and he conceives himself a second Garrick; he makes love as
Romeo and Marc Antony, behold he is another Barry; he recites
an extract from Macbeth or Richard, and he is Kemble, Cooke,
or any other, who can please you better, if any such there are.
Blank verse adheres more easily to the memory than prose;
the human passions are more strongly roused by tragedy than
comedy, and he becomes a decided votarist of Melpomene; he
enrolls himself in the troop of a country theatre, the manager
of which pays no attention to his prejudices, no respect to the
sublimity of his ideas, but levels him at once with his fellows,
and makes him stand in any gap that wants a substitute to fill
it up; at length, by frequent lowerings, he discovers to his surprise, but ultimately to his advantage, that he is a low comedian,
and that it is much easier for him to provoke a laugh than to
extort a tear. Thus it comes to pass that comedy, in its lower,




THE STAGE.                     389
characters, has been always well filled up, but very few indeed
have distinguished themselves in the more refined and elegant
department; there must be a graceful ease and a highly finished
air, which, without an experience that falls to the lot of very
few performers, cannot be engrafted even upon the finest and
the fairest forms.
The profession of the actor is laborious in the extreme; it is
only to be upheld by habitual temperance and incessant study;
indolence cannot retain it; dissipation must extinguish it.
They, who are forever in the public eye, can surely estimate
the value and advantages of private character; they must know
how grudgingly applause is given to such as have no title to
respect. The increased exertion of the voice alone is now become a task more toilsome than their predecessors underwent,
and by how much the present call for novelties exceeds that
which is passed, by so much greater must the exercise of the
memory be now than heretofore. With these extraordinary demands upon the vital sources of their noblest functions, how
cautious should they be to keep those sources pure! Repletion
must impede the faculties; ebriety deserves no pardon.
It would be possible for me to bring to my recollection the
particular style and manner of many eminent performers, who
are now no more, and my description of them might, perhaps,
afford amusement to the generality of my readers; but I am not
disposed to make the attempt, because I am so averse from all
comparisons between the dead and living, that I will not give
any one the opportunity of supposing that my praise implies
preference. It is more a trick of talking than a truth'of judging in those who make a practice of decrying living actors: if
they would write but half as well as the performers can act, the
stage would be better furnished with new pieces. A silly, witless coxcomb conceives it is a token of superior taste to contemplate everything with cold indifference; whereas his foolish
affectation only impresses us with a sure conviction of his dulness, and a shrewd suspicion of his maliciousness. Such a man
will tell you there are no good actors now; they are not to be
compared with some that he remembers; whereas, he said the
same of those then as he does of these now, and, perhaps, with
something more like truth and reason. Is he a judge of what
an actor should be? Is he competent to distinguish the just and
genuine representation of nature from the tricks of art and
studied pedantry of declamation? If he were, he would know
better where to look for merit, and how to value it when he had
discovered it. But I am resolute to credit no man for merit in
himself, who can see none in others, and am persuaded that with




390      MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
all his contempt for the sons and daughters of Thespis, there is
no strolling master of a troop of spouters, who would admit
him into his barn, unless to snuff the candles or to teat a drum.
The living actors can do justice to the living authors, let them
write as well as they can, and as much better than they do
write, as it shall please Heaven. If their wit provokes them to
attempt a comedy, the danger will not be that any part shall be
too good for the performer, but that the performer shall think
himself too good for the part. I am satisfied it is not in my
power to name the time within more than half a century past,
when the stages of Drury Lane and Covent Garden have been
better furnished with comedians than at the present hour. Perhaps it is to be lamented that their influence is such as to induce an author to make greater sacrifices, and pay more attention to the particular persons whom he has in view to represent
the characters of his play, than to the general interests of the
play itself; and though I would not be understood to insinuate
that an actor or actress should not have the privilege of declining certain parts, that may be tendered to them, yet I am
fully warranted to remark, that they exercise that privilege much
too frequently, and upon too frivolous objections.  They are
become exceptions to a degree that the stage in former times
had no idea of, and this unaccommodating caprice reduces the
author either to sacrifice the harmony of his composition out of
flattery to their freaks, or by submitting to the rebuff; put his
play upon its trial with the discouraging circumstance attached
to it, of having begged' its way through the repugnant heroes
and heroines of the green-room. It may not be reasonable in
some cases to expect compliance, but when the director of the
theatre concurs with the author, in deciding on the cast, either
the performer must do his duty, or the writer should withdraw
his play; and give his reason to the public.
But it is not in this particular only that the conduct of our
theatres seems to need some further regulation; there might, in
my opinion, be a better mode adopted than what they now pursue in treating writers for the stage, and passing judgment on
the manuscripts referred to them.  As there can be no premeditated offence in the person who makes suit to be accepted,
there should be nothing that can wound his feelings in the manner of rejecting him. He has an equitable right to know the
judge/that passes sentence on his work, and there cannot be a
good reason why that judge should only be heard to speak
through the organs of the prompter, and commit the manuscript
to be sent back to its owner, withl a note from that servant of




THEATRICAL MANAGEMENT.                 391
the side-scene, so uncourteously concise, that it would barely
serve to warn an actor to rehearsal.
If it were to be wished that he whose first proposal does not
suit, should not be tempted ever to propose again, a more effectual method of accomplishing that end can hardly be devised.
The flame of that dramatic passion must be very strong, which
the prompter's extinguisher, thus applied, cannot put out: but
if an easy intercourse between parties, mutually interested to
serve one common cause, ought in all good policy to be furthered, everything that can give disgust and irritation should with
caution be avoided; for in every pursuit where ambition is
praiseworthy, attempts should be encouraged.
Conducted as the business now is, the ruler of a theatre may
well complain of the burden of his office: but if a judicious and
respectable person was sought out, and specially appointed for
the purpose of receiving, reading, and reporting upon dramatic
compositions, tendered for acceptance, all cause of complaint
on the part of the genus irritabile would be removed, and there
would be no accumulation of the obnoxious mass of manuscripts,
that occasion so much trouble to the holders,, and give such matter of complaint to the authors, who are destined to be tantalized
by long expectations, and at length dismissed by short answers.
This person, if duly qualified for his office, will readily distinguish such performances as are evidently inadmissible, and in
the disposal of these, nothing more will be required than expe,
dition and a courteous manner of declining the offer; whereas
now, when manuscripts of this description are suffered to lie
upon the shelf, though they have no title to be accepted, their
owners have still just reason to complain of inattention and
delay.
There will of course be other tenders made with more respectable pretensions, but which, nevertheless, upon the whole it may
be judged expedient to decline; in these cases I should conceive
it right to qualify their rejection with such general observations
and remarks, as may not only soften disappointment, but convey instruction: candor of this sort would inspire ambition, and
if there was a spark of genius in the writer of a piece so treated,
it would cherish and improve it.
When a drama shall be judged worthy of acceptance, it must
still, from the nature of all human compositions, be found capable of improvement: how many novelties are improvidently
brought forward, whose general merit is so glaringly defaced by
obvious errors, or stifled by disgustful and unnatural excrescences, which in their passage to the stage might and ought to have
been corrected and lopped off!. It is then, if the author is not




392        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
deaf to all advice, and unobservant of effect, that in the course
of the rehearsals he may give the finishing touches to his production, and how much depends upon the proper conduct and
enforcement of those rehearsals I need not observe; they certainly demand attention, and I suspect they need reform; for
what between the affected carelessness of some performers, and
the real indolence of others, the play is in part kept out of the
author's sight, who is told that such and such an actor will be
perfect at representation, or in other words that he will get his
part when he can no longer put it by, and speak out to his
audience in self-defence, though he has muttered and slurred it
over to his author at rehearsal through mere laziness or self-conceit.  But neither these, nor any other remarks how apposite
soever, can be said to be in place, whilst the stage is so preoccupied
by spectacle! As a gaudy equipage will attract notice, though
it shall carry a dull company withinside of it, so will fine
scenery and rich dresses hide the nakedness of nonsense, and
sweet melodies impart a grace even to the lamest and most
wretched metre.
If nature can hardly be upheld by Mrs. Jordan, or Shakspeare
by Mr. Kemble, what author in his senses will attempt a comedy
more legitimate than'The Forty Thieves,' or a tragedy more
serious than' Tom Thumb?'
Whilst I pause here, death has struck down an illustrious
victim in the person of Mr. Fox. The time is marked with
awful visitations. Mr. Pitt is taken from us, and now the other
luminary of our state and senate is extinct: in the moment when
his great abilities were drawn out by great occasions into full
exertion, we have lost him. His amiable qualities, his steady
friendships, his brilliant talents, will be long recorded in the
hearts of those who loved and admired him; their sorrow will
be proportionable; but it is to be hoped they will avoid that
extravagance in their eulogies, which oversteps discretion, nor
mingle that despondency with their bewailings, in which there
is no wisdom, policy or common sense.' We should recollect
I If Pitt was born to be admired, Fox was born to be loved. With his consummate powers, blazing with equal splendor in debate, and in office, he combined a placidity, a sweetness of disposition, that attached friends and disarmed
foes.' If you had been called upon to select a friend from the whole human
race,' says Dr. Parr,'where could you have found one endowed as he was with
the guileless playfulness of a child, and the most correct and comprehensive
knowledge of the world; or distinguished as he was by profound erudition, by
well founded reverence for the constitution of his country, and the keenest penetration into the consequences, near or remote, of all public measures?'' Mr. Fox,' says Sir James Mackintosh,' united in a most remarkable degree
the seemingly repugnant characters of the mildest of men, and the most vehe



MR. HIGGS.                          393
that it is upon the general spirit of our countrymen that we rest
our confidence; when Nelson breathed his last, he breathed out
nothing but his own brave soul; our fleets are not become less
terrible to our enemies because he no longer lives to command
them: if it were so, it were time indeed to withdraw from the
contest, for there is one at no great distance from us, who is
fearfully and anxiously alert to watch our waverings, and engraft his own advantages upon them; but as the courage of our
soldiers has recently chastised his arrogance, so I trust that the
harmony of our councils will disappoint his artifice, and enable
our nation to maintain that attitude, which alone is worthy of
its character and consistent with its security.
As I now find myself once more under the hospitable roof of
my old friend Mr. Higgs, I am  likely to wind up this supplement of my Memoirs in the very spot where, fifteen years ago, I
concluded my poem of'Calvary.' This companion of my youth,
though far advanced into the vale of years, is still enjoying the
reward of temperance, a sound mind in a healthful body. He
performs all the duties of a parish priest in an exemplary manner, executes the laborious office of an acting justice of the
peace with that of a director of the poor-house, established at
Nacton in this county of Suffolk, an institution of such striking
use and benefit, and productive of so great a public saving in
the article of poor rates, that it is matter of astonishment why it
has not been more generally adopted.  When I fell ill at Ramsgate, and he was made acquainted with my situation, he wrote
a letter, that convinced me his affection had suffered no abatemnent by the lapse of years since I had seen him, and he took a
journey of a hundred and forty miles to visit me in my convalescence. He was of the same year with me at Trinity, and we
have not a senior to us in the college now living.
To the candid reviewers of the first edition of my Memoirs I
ment of orators.  In private life he was gentle, modest, placable, kind, of
simple manners, and so averse from dogmatism, as to be not only unostentatious, but even something inactive in conversation..... He certainly possessed above all moderns that union of reason, simplicity and vehemence,
which formed the prince of orators. He was the most Demosthenean speaker
since the days of Demosthenes.'' I knew him,' says Burke,' whenhe was nineteen; since which time he has risen, by slow degrees, to be the most brilliant
and accomplished debater the world ever saw.'
If the private life of Fox had been as unblemished as Pitt's, and he had
steered clear of that fatal coalition, his influence on the national mind, and
on the government, might have been unparalleled. But such had been the
habits of his life, and accompanied with such notoriety, that the people'wo4ld
never be persuaded to attribute virtue to his character.' But despite this
serious drawback in his influence, he did immense good, and deserves the lasting gratitude of his country.
26




394       MEMOIRS OF RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
have already paid my acknowledgments, and if in this octavo
republication I have omitted to avail myself of some remarks
upon a few verbal inaccuracies, which had escaped my notice, I
must beg them to believe it is not that I am obstinate against correction, but because I hold it a point of honor to leave that copy
untouched, which my first purchasers are in possession of, preferring to acknowledge my faults and ask pardon of the public,
rather than make this second copy better by the amendment of a
single word than that which they have bought at twice the price.
Perhaps I may refine too much in this particular, but it is my
idea of fair dealing, and there are objects in my estimation infinitely more worthy my consideration and attention, than anything which can only affect my reputation as a writer.
When this manuscript was going to the press, I was informed
by my publisher, Mr. Lacki.ngton, that he had been told I was
not correct in stating that the'West Indian,' when first produced,
had no after-piece attached to it. If this was a misstatement, I
trust I need not say that it was perfectly involuntary.
While I was employed upon my Memoirs, I was inhabiting a
furnished house at Ramsgate, where I was literally provided
with nothing but the mere materials for writing, having left my
books and papers in their packages at Tunbridge Wells, where
they still remain. This I hope will in some degree apologize
for my mistake in retorting upon Bishop Lowth, by saying I
had traced his quotation against Doctor Bentley up to its source
in one of the most uncleanly samples in Catullus; it is a palpable
error, of which I am very properly reminded, and I thank my
kind reviewer in the'British Critic,' for giving me this opportunity of acknowledging it.
At the same time that I was writing without books, I was
living without any literary friend or neighbor to resort to, till
the arrival of Sir William Pepys at Ramsgate gave me an opportunity of renewing my acquaintance with one of the best
classical scholars of his time, and who, together with his learning, possessed a correct taste, and admirable judgment. When
I lived with Johnson, Garrick, IDodington, Jenyns, and the wits
of that period; I had the happiness also of living with Sir William Pepys. No man had a better right to be present wherever
men of talents held their meetings; for with a very quick comprehension, a ready elocution, and a fund of erudition, this gentleman has a grace and suavity of manners not always to be found
in contact with a superior understanding. There are few now
left who can be heard with equal profit upon literary topics,
for his opinions are delivered with peculiar clearness and a
marked precision; they are not such as can puzzle and entangle;




'A HINT TO HUSBANDS.'                 395
they must either confirm or confute. He attached himself very
zealously to Samuel Johnson, for he admired the man, and was
more solicitous to elicit his talents than to display his own; on
many subjects I have known him follow where he might have
led; for if the orbit in which Johnson's mighty genius rolled
was wider than his, or probably than any other man's of his
time, still, on all points where classical authorities were to be
appealed to, and somebody was to be appointed as expounder
of those authorities, I should conceive there could be none more
fit than him of whom I am speaking. When I had him within
a few doors of me, though much the greater part of my work
had passed the press, I did not fail to solicit his revision of the
few concluding sheets, which I had yet in manuscript; to this
request he most kindly accorded, and I must ever regret, not
less for the sake of my readers than for myself, that I had so
limited an opportunity of availing myself of his judgment.
In the winter season, I produced with Mr. Harris's permission
a comedy in five acts, which I entitled'A Hint to Husbands.'
It was originally engaged to take its fate upon the stage of
Drury, and was calculated to suit the cast of certain performers
belonging to that theatre, particularly Mr. Johnstone, so justly
admired for his excellent display of Irish characters. If I had
done right, I should have prevailed upon Mr. Harris not to risk
his expectations and property upon it, when both Mr. Kemble
and Mr. Lewis thought proper to reject the parts which they
were solicited to undertake; he was too generous, however, to
let their scruples divert him from his protection of the play, and
brought it on his stage, where, after the flattering reception of a
first night, it languished through a chilling course of five successive snowy evenings, severe enough to have starved a healthier
babe than mine. This play has been published, and they, who
are pleased to patronize it in their closets, will perceive that I
have persisted in making no sacrifice to the ruling fashion of the
times, nor studied to contrive any situations which the favorers
of farce are likely to be amused with; if it may aspire to any
merit, it will be found where I would wish to place it, in the
moral; the whole is written in five-footed verse, and perhaps
some passages may recommend themselves to the reader as not
unworthy of the British stage.
I have now concluded the account I undertook to give of a
long life, not often occupied in interesting and important pursuits, but certainly comprising very few periods of indolence and
inaction. What further time may be allotted to me I shall devote to the works which I have noticed in this supplement, and I
hope the publication of this edition will be speedily followed by




396        MEMOIRS OF RICHARD  CUMBERLAND.
that of the first part of'The Exodiad.'  But I apprehend we are
fast approaching towards an awful crisis when the minds of men
will be too much occupied to spare a thought for literary objects.
Perhaps the Destroyer, who has been sent on earth for the
chastisement of the nations, has already reached the summit of
his power, and, like Apollyon, shadowed out in the Apostle's
vision, is verging towards extinction, together with those symbolical locusts, who have him as a king over them, and on their
heads as it were crowns like gold; and I doubt not but it will
be the destiny of our brave countrymen to convince the rescued
world that these vermin are not invincible.
It is a delicate and arduous task I have had in hand, and I
trust that now, as heretofore, I shall be read and judged with
candor. I have not knowingly transgressed, or even strained,
the truth, to which I pledged myself; but fairly and sincerely
stated how I have employed my faculties, what I have been, and
what I am.  Man hath no need, no right, no interest to know
of man more than I have enabled every one to know of me.  I
have no undivulged evil in my heart; but with unabated affection
for my friends, and good-will towards my fellow-creatures, I remain the reader's most devoted servant,'
RICHARD CUMBERLAND.
But little remains to complete the record of Cumberland's life.' That a man
of such learning,' says one of his contemporaries,' of such versatility of literary talent, such unquestionable genius, and such sound morality, should, in'the vale of years' feel the want of what he has lost by his exertions for the
public good, must, to every feeling mind, be a subject of keen regret.'-Biographica Dramatica.  Yet such was the fact.  The evening of his day was
clouded by pecuniary embarrassments, from which he endeavored in vain to
relieve himself by his literary labors. His latter days were spent chiefly in
London, where, on the 7th of May, 1811, he expired, after a short illness, at
the house of a friend, in Bedford Place, being then in the 79th year of his age.'Of the personal character of Cumberland, a pretty accurate judgment may
be formed from his memoirs. His self-esteem was great, and his vanity overweening, but, although extremely sensitive to criticism, and intolerant of censure, he had not real malignity in his composition, and, like most excitable
persons, seems to have been as placable as he was irritable. His temperament
was of a kind which, if easily disturbed, as quickly recovered its balance;
and there is every reason to believe that the predominant tone of his feelings
was alike generous and liberal. On the only occasion of his life when his
moral principles were put to the test, they appeared to the very greatest advantage. His conduct respecting the bequest of Mr. Reynolds, who had devised to
Mr. Cumberland his estate, to the exclusion of the natural heir, evinced the
greatest disinterestedness, and the highest sense of honor and probity. It was
his misfortune to have been bred a courtier, and never to have taken his degrees in that school.  He evidently wanted the suppleness and versatility
necessary to insure success in such a career. In a subordinate station, which
merely required attention to formal and technical duties, he acquitted himself
indifferently well; but in venturing to act as minister, he found himself wofully
deficient in those qualities, without the possession of which genius and talents




CHARACTER OF CUMBERLAND.                           397
are of little avail..... In society, his chief aim was to please; and, by the
admission of his contemporaries, few men appeared to more advantage in conversation, or evinced a more perfect mastery, when he chose to exercise it, of the
art of pleasing. The great faults of his character were a tendency to lavish
hollow compliments on those who were present, and a propensity, without provocation or necessity, to indulge in bitter sarcasms against individuals after
they had taken their departure.....  As a writer, he is more remarkable
for the number than for the excellence of his works; but many of them, it
should be remembered, were hastily produced, in order to better his income,
and some of them are marked by no ordinary degree of intellectual power.
In every variety of fortune the drama was his favorite pursuit; and if he has
produced much that is perishable or forgotten, he has also evolved orations
which have been inregistered as among the finest efforts of genius. The character of Penruddock in' The Wheel of Fortune,' for example, is a masterpiece, which received a double consecration from the histrionic talents of John
Kemble, by whom it was so often, so nobly personated. As a poet he cannot
by any means rank high; for, while he had a play of imagination, which unfitted him for the concerns of actual life and business, his warmest admirers
can only claim for him the praise of correct versification and elegant sentiment,
which, however, has secured for some of his poetical works a considerable
share of popularity.'
This brief summary of Cumberland's qualities as a man and author, is taken
from the'Encyclopaedia Britannica.' Whether it is altogether charitable, the
reader of these memoirs must decide.
THE END.
















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Chemistry applied to the Manufacture of Soap and Candles. A thoroughExposition of the Principles and Practice of the Trade. By CAMPBELL
MORFIT, Practical and Analytical Chemist. Illustrated with 170 Engravings on Wood. One volume, 8vo.,.                            5 00
HINTS ON DAGUERREOTYPING.
Plain Directions for obtaining Photographic Pictures by the Calotype and
Enengeal. Also, upon Albumenized Paper and Glass, by Collodion
and Albumen, &c. &c. Including a Practical Treatise on Photography,
&c; Also, Hints on the Daguerreotype. Illustrated with engravings, 1 00
"Every Daguerreotypist will find this Manual an essential guide in the prac.
tice of his art."-N. Y. Commercial Advertiser.




S              PARRY & McMILLAN'S PUBLICATIONS.
BRASS AND IRON FOUNDER.
Practical Brass and Iron Founder's Guide. A Concise Treatise on the
Art of Brass-founding, Moulding, &c. With numerous Practical Rules,
Tablets, and Receipts for Gold, Silver, and Copper founding; Plumbers,
Bronze and Bell founders; Jewellers, &c. By JAMES LARKIN. One
volume,.                                                   00
"A gentleman admirably qualified for the task, which he has ably accomplished."-Boston Evening Gazette.
MISS LESLIE'S HOUSE BOOK.
Miss Leslie's Lady's House Book. Manual of Domestic Economy, containing improved Directions for Washing, Dress-making, Millinery,
Dyeing, Cleaning, Quilting, Table Linen, Window-washing, Wood
Fires, Straw Bonnets, Silk Stockings, Rag Carpets, Plated Ware,
Porcelain, House-cleaning, Laundry, Wood and Coal Grate Fires, Evening Parties, &c. &c. Nineteenth edition, enlarged. With numerous
additional Receipts for removing Stains from Silks, Woollens, Cottons,
&c. Being a Companion to 4" Miss Leslie's Lady's New Receipt Book,"
and "Complete Cookery.i' One volume,.1. 1 00
TURNBULL ON THE TELEGRAPH.
The Electro-Magnetic Telegraph. With an Historical Account of its
Rise, Progress, and Present Condition. Also, Practical Suggestions
in regard to Insulation and Protection from the Effects of Lightning.
Together with an Appendix containing several important Telegraphic
Decisions and Laws. By LAURENCE TURNBULL, M.D., Lecturer on
Technical Chemistry in the Franklin Institute of Pennsylvania. Second
edition, revised and improved. Illustrated by numerous engravings.
One volume,.......2 00
RAILROAD ACCIDENTS.
Railroad Accidents, and the Means by which they may be Prevented by
the Use of the Electro-Magnetic Safety Apparatus. With some useful
Hints to Railway Travellers. By LAURENCE TURNBULL, M. D., and
WILLIAM C. McREA. One volume,.25
BURNET ON PAINTING.
Practical Htints on Composition in Painting. Illustrated by examples from
the Great Masters of the Italian, Flemish, and Dutch schools. By JOHN
BURNET. One volume, quarto, halfrnorocco,....    3 00




PARRY & McMILLAN'S PUBLICATIONS.                        9
BAUCiHER ON HORSEMANSHIP.
A Method of Horsemanship, founded upon New Principles; including
the Breaking and Training of Horses; with Instructions for obtaining
a good Seat. By F. BAUCIIER. One volume, 12mo.,...  1 25
ARABIAN NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS.
Arabian Nights' Entertainments, embellished with nearly 100 engravings.
A new edition, carefully revised and corrected. Complete in one
volume, 8vo., cloth,....1 00
Scarlet cloth,..                                            1 25
ROSE OF THE PARSONAGE.
An Idyll of our own Times. Translated from the German of ROBERT
GISEEn, author of the Romance "Moderne Titanen."  One volume,
paper cover,....  50
Cloth,....       75
N OVELS AND TALES.
BY CAROLINE LEE HENTZ.
New Editions in nine volumes, 12mo., paper covers,.               4 50
Cloth gilt,........... 6 50
I.
LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE.
A Tale of Southern Life. Eighth edition. In one volume, 276 pages.
Paper covers,...                        50
Cloth gilt,...........   75
"This is no ordinary story; it exhibits the most useful phases of romance."
City Item.
II.
RENA; OR, THE SNOW BIRD.
A Tale of Real Life. Fifth edition. In one volume 273 pages. Paper
covers,...50
Cloth gilt,.........             75
"It will be found to be the best story which Mrs. Hentz has ever given to the
public." —Saturday Courier.
III.
MARCUS WARLAND; OR, THE LONG MOSS SPRING.
A Tale of the South. Sixth edition. In one volume, 287 pages. Paper
covers,.. 50
Cloth gilt,.....                                  75
"Should follow in the wake of' Uncle Tom's Cabin.' — Pennsylvanian.




10              PARRY & McMILLAN'S PUBLICATIONS.
IV.
EOLINE; OR, MAGNOLIA VALE.
A Novel. Complete in one volume, 257 pages. Fifth Edition. Paper
covers,............ 50
Cloth gilt,..    75
"It is worthy to be pronounced a charming and delightful story."-Southern Literary
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V.
WILD JACK; OR, THE STOLEN CHILD.
A Sketch from Life. Together with Bell and Rose, &c. Third edition.
Complete in one volume, 277 pages. Paper covers,.                      50
Cloth, gilt,........   75
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HELEN AND ARTHUR; OR, MISS THUSA'S SPINNING-WHEEL.
A Novel. Complete in one volume, 280 pages. Third edition. Paper
covers,............ 50
Cloth gilt,........  -...   75
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THE VICTIM OF EXCITEMENT, THE PARLOR SERPENT,
And other Nouvellettes. Second edition. Complete in one volume, 272
pages. Paper covers,.                                                  50
Cloth gilt,...........   75,/:VIII.
PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE.
A Novel. Complete in two volumes, 12mo., 600 pages, with six illustrations. Paper covers,..  00
Cloth gilt,....                              1 50
" It is unquestionably the most powerful and important, if not the most charming
work that has yet flowed from her elegant pen; and though evidently founded
upon the all-absorbing sfibjects of slavery and abolitionism, the genius and skill
of the fair author have developed new views of golden argument, and flung
around the whole such a halo of pathos, interest, and beauty as to render it every
way worthy the author of' Linda,'  Rena,' Marcus Warland,' and the numerous
other literary gems from the same author."-American Courier.
" We have seldom been more charmed by the perusal of a novel; and we desire to commend it to our readers in the strongest words of praise that our vocabulary affords. *     * The incidents are well varied; the scenes beautifully described; and the interest admirably kept up. But the moral of the book
is its highest merit. * * * The' Planter's Northern Bride' should be as welcome as the dove of peace to every fireside in the Union. It cannot be read
without a moistening of the eyes, a softening of the heart, and a mitigation of
sectional and most unchristian prejudices." —N. Y. Mirror.




PARRY & McMILLAN'S PUBLICATIONS.                            11
LORD BACON'S WORKS.  Price Reduced to $2 50,
Price Reduced to $7 50.   THE WAVERLEY NOVELS.
In 3 Royal 8vo. Volumes, Cloth Gilt.               COMPLETE.
THE WOURkS Of LORD B1CON,   3340 Pages for Two Dollars and a Half.
WITH A MEMOIRS AND A TRANSLATION } CAREY & HART, have recently published
OF HIS LATIN WRITINGS,                     A NEW EDITION OF
BY BASIL MONTAGU, ESQ.  THE WAVERLEY NOVELS,
In Three Volumes, Octavo.              BY SIR WALTER SCOTT,
The American edition of the works of wYith all the Author's latest Notes and AddiLord Bacon, now offered to the public, is   tions, Complete, without the slightest
reprinted from the most approved English             Abridgmnent.
edition, that of Basil Mlontagu, Esq., which
has recently issued from the celebrated  In FIve  Royal 8vo. volumes, upwards of
press of Pickering, (the modern Aldus,) in    550 Pages in each volume.
seventeen octavo volumes. It contains the           CONTENTS.
complete works of the illustrious philoso-   Waverley Guy  aerig, Atiquary,
pher, those in Latin being translated into   Waverleyi Guy Mannering, Antiquary,
English. In order to render the publica- Rob Roy, Black Dwarf, Old Mortality;
tion cheap, and therefore attainable by all Heart of Mid-Lothian, Bride of Lamrnerour public and social libraries, as well as moor, Legend of Montrose, Ivanhoe) The
by those general readers who study econo-Monastery, The Abbot, Kenilworth, The
my, the seventeen octave volumes have  Pirate, Fortunes of Nigel, Peveril of the
been comprised inl three volumes, imperial Peak, Quentin Durward, St Ronan's Well,
octavo.. Being printed from the most accu-Redgauntlet, The Betrothed, The Talismato,
rate as well as complete English edition  Woodstock, The Hig0land  7idow, Two
and carefully revised, the American edition Drovers, My Aunt Margaret's' Mlrror,
will possess greater advantages for the cri- Tapestried Chamber, The Latrd's Jock,
tical scholar as well as the general reader. Fair Maid of Perth, Anne of Gierstein,
In typography, paper and binding, it will Count Robert of Paris, Castle Dangerous,
be recognized as a brilliant specimen of The Surgeot's Daughter.
the products of the American book trade.    The object of the publishers in thus re"We may safely affirm, that, by giving  ducing the price of the Waverley Novels,;he Inducttive Philosophy to the world, is to endeavor to give them a greatly exLord Bacon has proved one of its most si-      circulati  a           n  thenal benefactors, and has largely done his   put them at a price which brines  tel
part towards promoting the final triumph within the reach of every family in the
of all truth, whether natural, or moral and  country  There is now  no fireside that.ntellectual, over all error; and towards  ieed be without a set ofthe most charmintg
bringing on that glorious crisis, destined, works of fiction ever issued from the press:
we doubt not, one day to arrive, when, ac- for there is no one that can't afford two
cording to the allegorical representation of dollars and a half-TWO  DOLLARS
that great poet, who was not only the Ad- AND A HALF for twenty-five of Sir Walmirer of Bacon, but in some respects his ter Scott's Novels! ten cents for a. comkilidred genius-TnvTII thlough'hewn like plete Novel!  ten cents for  Ivanhoe,
the mangled body of Osiris, into a thousand  which was originally published at a guinea
pieces, and scattered to the four winds, and ahalf!!! It seems impossible, and yet
shall be gathered limb to limb, and mould- it is true. In no other way canl the same
ed, with every joint and member, into an  amount of amusement and instruction be
immortal feature of loveliness atnd perf c- obtained for ten times the money, for the
lion.    f'"                           Waverley Novels alone form a Library.
W"e are more gratified than we can   The publishers wish it to be distinctly
fid wiords to cxrpress, to find] a pib lishitg  understood, that, while the price is so greatounse int this country, putting forth a pub- ly reduced the work is in no way abridged,
licaton like the Complete Works of Lord but is CAREFULLY PRINTED FROM, AND CON.
I3acon, in a form at once compact, elegant TAINS EVERY WORD IN THE LAST EDINBURGH
and econoomical."-Broiher Jonatlhain.  EDITION, ill forty-eight volumes, which sells
for seventy-two dollars.
TER   SCOTTSCOPlETE WORKS  Now is the time to buy! Such an oppor.
WALTER SCOTT'S COMPLETE WORKS. tunity may never again occur. Let every
In 10 vols., Royal 8rto, Cloth gilt, for  one, then, who wants the Waverley Novels
only $10!t!               or two dollars and a half, snowpurchase, foi
Inclueding the Waverly ~Novlels, Poetical and $if the publishers do not find the sale greatly
I neludinc the  immverly Nsvels Poetical and                                in
Prose Works, with the Author's latest   increased, by the immense reduction in
Correctionf,             price, they will resume the old price of
twenty-five cents for each Novel, wnich
Ahse, Full-bound Library Stlyle P-ice $12.50. was considered wonderfully eheap.




CIRCULAR,
PARRY & McMILLAN (successors to A. HART, late Carey &
Hart,) respectfully announce to the Trade that they have succeeded
Mr. Hart in the Publishing and General Bookselling Business, at
the old stand, S. E. corner of Fourth and Chestnut Streets, having
purchased his entire Miscellaneous Stock, together with a large portion of his Stereotype Plates, at the sale on the 8th inst., to which
they purpose making such additions of Standard, Popular, and Scientific Works, as will secure the attention of the Trade.  P. & McM.
hope, by strict attention, to merit a continuance of that patronage
and confidence so deservedly bestowed on their predecessor.
J. PARRY,
JAMES MoMILLAN.
In retiring from business, I beg to return my sincere thanks to
the Booksellers for their uniform  courtesy and kindness extended
to me during a period of twenty-five years, and take great pleasure
in recommending my successors (Messrs. PARRY & MCMILLAN) to
the confidence of the Trade, feeling satisfied that their transactions
will be conducted with the strictest principles of honor and integrity.
Mr. Parry has served me long and faithfully, having been in my
employ for the last eighteen years, and of course is fully acquainted
with the business.  Mr. McMillan has also been long engaged in
the Bookselling business, formerly in the West, and for the past
nine years in St. John, N. B., where his name stands pre-eminent.
Both parties bring a sufficient amount of capital into the business, which is a guarantee for the faithful performance of their
contracts.
A. HART, LATE CAREY & HART.
PHILADELPHIA, March 9, 1854.