Southern Branch 
 of the 
 
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 Los Angeles 
 
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 MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS, 
 
 INTERSPERSED WITH 
 
 ANECDOTES AND CHARACTERS 
 
 or SEVERAI. OF THE MOST DISTINGUISHED 
 PERSONS OF HIS TIME, 
 
 wnn \rHOM he has had intercourse and connexion. 
 VOIa I. 
 
 ' ' LOfi-DON' ' 
 
 PRINTED FOR EACKINGTON, ALLEN, 8c CO. 
 
 TEMPLE OF THE MUSES, 
 FINSBT7RY-SQUARE. 
 
 1807.
 
 A! 
 
 \Trig!it, Piuiter, 3:._Joha's Siuare.
 
 PR 
 3-2)93 
 
 J 
 
 MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 i RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 
 
 ^ At the close of the year 1804, whilst I am 
 
 still in possession of my faculties, though full 
 
 ^J 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 writ- 
 ten so voluminously and so variously, that I 
 trust my moti\ies cannot be greatly misunder- 
 stood, if, with strict attention to truth, and in 
 simphcity of style, I pursue my narrative, say- 
 ing, nothing more of the immediate object of 
 these memoirs, than in honour and in consci- 
 ence I am warranted to say. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 I shall use so little embellishment in this 
 narrative, that if the reader is naturally candid 
 he will not be disgusted ; if he is easily amused 
 he will not be disappointed. 
 
 As I have been, through life, a negligent re- 
 corder of dates and events relating to myself, 
 it is very possible I may fall into errors of me- 
 mory as to the order and arrangement of cer- 
 tain 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 in- 
 tercourse and connexion, I shall speak freely and 
 impartially. I know myself incapable of wan- 
 tonly aspersing the characters of the living or 
 the dead ; but, though I will not indulge my- 
 self in conjectures, I will not turn aside from 
 facts, and neither from affectation of candour, 
 nor dread of recrimination, waive the privilege, 
 which I claim for myself in every page of this 
 histor}% 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 3 
 
 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 accom- 
 panied with the inspiration of no worthier pas- 
 sion. 
 
 Doctor Richard Cumberland^ who was con- 
 secrated bishop of Peterborough in the year 
 1691, was my great grandfather. He was au- 
 thor of that excellent work entitled Dc k gibus 
 Natures^ 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 va- 
 cancies in the hierarchy, and rally round their 
 late endangered church. Without interest^ 
 and without a wish to emerge from his obscu- 
 rity and retirement, this excellent man, the 
 vindicator of the insulted laws of nature, re- 
 ceived the first intelligence of his promotion 
 from a paragraph in the public papers, and, 
 being then sixty years old, was with difficulty 
 persuaded to accept the offer, when it came to 
 him from authority. The persuasion of his 
 friends, particularly Sir Orlando Bridgeman, 
 
 B 2
 
 4 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 at length overcame his repugnance, and to that 
 See, though very moderately endowed, he for 
 ever after devoted himself, and resisted eveiy 
 oifer of translation, though repeatedly made 
 and earnestly recommended. To such of his 
 friends as pressed an exchange upon him he 
 was accustomed to reply, that Peterborough 
 was his first espoused, and should be his only 
 one; and, in fact, 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 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 
 expences ; 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 t6 the appropriation of his episcopal revenue. 
 The wealthiest See could not have tempted him 
 to accumulate, the poorest sufficed for his ex- 
 pences, and of those he had to spare for the
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 5 
 
 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 benevo- 
 lence may be carried to excess, no other fail- 
 ing 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 bi- 
 shop'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 eluci- 
 date what they so clearly display, the vast 
 erudition and patient investigation of their au- 
 thor. 
 
 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 bis library, he ex- 
 
 B 3
 
 O MEMOIRS OF 
 
 pired 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 or- 
 dinary visitations of pain or sickness, it pleased 
 God to terminate the existence of this exem- 
 plary man. 
 
 He possessed his faculties to the last, veri- 
 fying 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 preten- 
 sions 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 ima- 
 ginations, and a brighter glow of genius with 
 less solidity of understanding, and, of course, 
 more liable to the influences of their pas- 
 sions. 
 
 Bishop Cumberland was the son of a re- 
 spectable citizen of London, and educated at 
 St. Paul's school, from whence he was admit- 
 ted of Magdalen College in Cambridge, where 
 he pursued his studies, and was elected fellow 
 of that society, to which I had the honour to
 
 IhjiUiKed fy I-ackinytpn^Uen 3c Cf Koy''l.ia06
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 7 
 
 present a copy of that portrait from which the 
 print hereunto annexed was taken. 
 
 In the oriental languages, in mathematics, 
 and even in anatomy, he was deeply learned ; 
 in short, his mind was fitted for elaborate and 
 profound researches, as his works more fully 
 testify. It is to be lamented that his famous 
 work, de legibus Naturae, was allowed to come 
 before the public with so many and such glar- 
 ing errors of the press, which his absence 
 and considerable distance from London dis- 
 abled him from correcting. I had a copy in- 
 terleaved and corrected and amended through^ 
 out by Doctor Bentley, who, being on a vi- 
 sit 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 
 sball 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 per- 
 son, his dignity, his language and his love 
 
 B 4
 
 9 MEMOIRS OF V 
 
 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 Bentley's fame nor 
 elevates his own ; and the petulant poet, who 
 thought he had hit his manner, when he made 
 him haughtily call to Walker for his hat, gave a 
 copy as little like the character of Bentley, as his 
 translation is like the original of Homer. That 
 Doctor Walker, vice-master of Trinity-Col- 
 lege, was the friend of my grandfather, and a 
 frequent guest at his table, is true ; but it was 
 not in Doctor Bentley's nature to treat him 
 with contempt, nor did his harmless character 
 inspire it. As for the hat, I must acknow- 
 ledge it was of formidable dimensions, yet I 
 was accustomed to treat it with great familia- 
 rityj and if it had ever been further from the
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 9 
 
 hand of its owner than the peg upon the back 
 of his great arm-chair, I might have been dis- 
 patched 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 of- 
 fice for Walker, that I can well believe he was 
 never commissioned to in his hfe. 
 
 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 pa-r 
 tron and promoter of all our childish sports and 
 sallies; at all times ready to detach himself 
 from any topic of conversation to take an in- 
 terest and bear his part in our amusements. 
 The eager curiosity natural to our age, and the 
 questions it gave birth to, so teazing to many 
 parents, he, on the contrar}% attended to and 
 encouraged, as the claims of infant reason, 
 never to be evaded or abused ; strongly re- 
 commending, that to all such enquiries answer 
 should be given according to the strictest
 
 10 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 truth, and information dealt to us in the clear- 
 est terms, as a sacred duty never to be depart- 
 ed 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 ob- 
 ject, as the pictures which his books generally 
 supplied me with were anatomical drawings of 
 dissected bodies, very little calculated to com- 
 municate 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 stei'ner 
 stuff, I have had from him, at times, -whilst 
 standing at his elbow, a complete and enter- 
 taining narrative of his school-boy days, with 
 the characters of his different masters very 
 humorously displayed, and the punishments 
 described, which they at times would wrong- 
 fully 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 11 
 
 ** more firmly in my memory, than if I ha4 
 *' 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 outra- 
 geous noise in the room over his library and 
 disturbing him in his studies ; I had no appre- 
 hension of anger from him, and confidently 
 answered that I could not help it, as I had 
 been at battledore and shuttlecock with Mas- 
 ter 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 amu- 
 ** sing game ; so there's 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 af- 
 fiiTned, and present his character in those 
 mild and unimposing lights, which may pre- 
 vail with those who know him only as a cri- 
 tic and controversialist 
 
 As slashing Bentley xdth his desperate hook, 
 
 to reform and soften their opinions of him. 
 
 He recommended it as a veiy essential duty 
 in parents to be particularly attentive to the
 
 12 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 first dawnings of reason in their children ; and 
 his own practice was the best illustration of 
 his doctrine ; for he was the most patient 
 hearer and most favorable interpreter of first 
 attempts at argument and meaning that I ever 
 knew. When I was rallied by my mother, for 
 roundly asserting that I nexier slept, I remem- 
 ber full well his calhng on me to account for 
 it ; and when I explained it by saying I never 
 knew myself to be asleep, and therefore sup- 
 posed I never slept at all, he gave me credit 
 for my defence, and said to my mother, " Leave 
 " your boy in possession of his opinion ; he 
 " has as clear a conception of sleep, and at least 
 " as comfortable an one, as the philosophers 
 " who puzzle their brains about it, and do not 
 *' rest so well." 
 
 Though Bishop Lowth, in the flippancy of 
 controversy called the author of The Philoleu- 
 iherus Lipsiensis and detector of Phalaris aut 
 Caprimulgus aut fossor, his genius has pro- 
 duced those living witnesses, that must for 
 ever put that charge to shame and silence.- 
 Against such idle ill-considered words, now 
 dead as the language they were conveyed in, 
 the appeal is near at hand ; it lies no further
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. IS 
 
 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 step*' 
 ped into his house, and seen him in his private 
 and domestic hours ; therefore it is that I ad- 
 duce these little anecdotes and trifling inci- 
 dents, which describe the man, but leave the 
 author to defend himself. 
 
 His ordinary style of conversation was na^* 
 turally lofty, and his frequent use of thou and 
 thee with his familiars carried with it a kind 
 of dictatorial tone, that savoured more of the 
 closet than the court ; this is readily admitted, 
 and this on first approaches might mislead a 
 stranger ; but the native candour and inherent 
 tenderness of his heart could not long be veil- 
 ed from observation, for his feelings and af- 
 fections 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 be- 
 trayed into agitations, which if the reader as- 
 cribes to paralytic weakness, he will very great-
 
 i4 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ly mistake a man, who to the last hour of his 
 I life possessed his faculties firm and in their 
 fullest vigour; I therefore bar all such misin- 
 terpretations 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 dis* 
 tinction, that sought information, or resorted 
 to him for assistance ; fond of his college al- 
 most to enthusiasm, and ever zealous for the 
 honour of the purple gown of Trinity. When 
 he held examinations for fellowships, and the 
 modest candidate exhibited marks of agitation 
 and alarm, he never failed to interpret candid* 
 ly 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 expound- 
 ing on himself, and credit the exonerated can- 
 didate for answers and interpretations of his 
 own suggesting. If this was not rigid justice, 
 it was, at least in my conception of it, some- 
 thing 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 16 
 
 trom the anecdote of the thief, who robbed 
 him of his plate, and was seized and brought 
 before him with the very articles upon him t 
 the natural process in this man's case pointed 
 out the road to prison ; my grandfather's pro- 
 cess was more summary, but not quite so legal. 
 While Commissary Greaves, who was then 
 present, and of counsel for the college E.v of- 
 JiciOy was expatiating on the crime, and pre- 
 scribing 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 infor- 
 " mation. Greaves. Harkye, fellow, thou see'st 
 ** the trade which thou hast taken up is an un- 
 " profitable trade, therefore get thee gone, lay 
 *' aside an occupation by which thou can'st 
 " gain nothing but a halter, and follow that 
 *' by which thou may'st earn an honest liveli- 
 " hood." Having said this, he ordered him to 
 be set at liberty against the remonstrances of 
 the bye-standers, and insisting upon it that 
 the fellow was duly penitent for his offence, 
 bade him go his way and never steal again. 
 
 I leave it with those, who consider mercy as 
 one of man's best attributes, to suggest a plea
 
 X@ MEMOIRS OP 
 
 for the informality of this proceeding, and td 
 such I will communicate one other anecdote, 
 which I do not dehver upon my own know- 
 ledge, though from unexceptionable authorityj 
 and this is, that when Collins had fallen into 
 decay of circumstances, Doctor Bentley, sus- 
 pecting he had written him out of credit by 
 his Philoleutherus Lipsiensis, secretly con- 
 trived to administer to the necessities of his 
 baffled opponent in a manner, that did no less 
 credit to his delicacy than to his liberality. 
 
 A morose and over-bearing man will find 
 himself a solitary being in creation ; Doctor 
 Bentley on the contrary had many intimates j 
 judicious in forming his friendships, he was 
 faithful in adhering to them. With Sir Isaae 
 Newton, Doctor Mead, Doctor Wallis of Stam- 
 ford, Baron Spanheim, the lamented Roger 
 Cotes, and several other distinguished and il- 
 lustrious contemporaries, he lived on terms of 
 uninterrupted harmony, and I have good au- 
 thority for saying, that it is to his interest and 
 importunity with Sir Isaac Newton, that the 
 inestimable pubHcation of the Principia was 
 ever resolved upon by that truly great and lu- 
 minous philosopher. Newton's portrait by Sir
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. If 
 
 James Thornhill, and those of Bai^on Span- 
 heim and my grandfather by the same hand, 
 pow hanging in the Master's lodge of Trinity^ 
 were the bequest of Doctor Bentley. I was 
 possessed of letters in Sir Isaac's own hand to 
 my grandfather, which together with the cor-, 
 rected volume of Bishop Cumberland's Laws 
 of Nature J 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-r- iViosa; 
 the world will knoxv something, Doctor Bent- 
 ley never mentioned but with the deepest re^ 
 gret; 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 me-, 
 mory in the chapel of Trinity College Doctor 
 Bentley has recorded his sorrows and those of 
 the whole learned world in the following beau-r 
 tiful and pathetic epitaph : 
 H. S. E. 
 *' Rogerus Roberti lilius Cotes, 
 " Hujus Collegii S. Trinitatis Socius, 
 *'Et Astronomiee et experimentalis 
 " Philosophiaj Professor Plumianus ; 
 
 vol. I. c
 
 18 MEMOIRS or 
 
 ... " Qui immatura Morte prsereptus, 
 Uiss ' Pauda quidem ingenii Sui ^ 
 
 !,|y " Pignora reliquit, 
 
 gly^ ; '' Sed egregia, sed admiranda, 
 *'Ex intimis Matheseds penetralibus, 
 " Felici Solertia turn primum eruta ; 
 *' Post magnum ilium Newtonum 
 ^' Societatis hujus ^pes altera 
 " Et decus gemellum ; 
 " Cui ad summam Doctrinse laudem, 
 " Omnes morum virtutumque dotes 
 
 " In cumulum accesserunt ; 
 
 "Eo magis spectabiles amabilcsque, 
 
 " Quod in foiTnoso corpore 
 
 *' Gratiores venirent. 
 
 " Natus Burbagii 
 " In agio Leicestriensi. 
 
 ''Jul. X. MDCLXXXII. 
 
 " Obiit. Jun. v. mdccxvi." 
 His 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 19 
 
 possessing perfect serenity of mind and equa? 
 bility of temper. He 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 hstener to other people's dis- 
 course, however trivial or uninteresting it might 
 be. When The Spectators were in publication 
 I have heard my mother say he took great de- 
 light in hearing them read to him, and was so 
 particularly amused by the character of Sir Ro- 
 ger de Coverley, that he took his literary de- 
 cease 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 por- 
 tion of his time and talents upon criticism in- 
 stead of employing them upon original com- 
 position, he acknowledged the justice of her 
 regret with extreme sensibility, and remained 
 for a considerable time thoughtful and seem- 
 ingly 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 giv^n to me : yet I have 
 ** done something for the honourof my God 
 c 2
 
 % 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 *' and the edification of my fellow creatures;; 
 *' but the Avit and genius of those old heathens 
 ** beguiled me, and as I despaired of raising 
 " myself up to their standard upon fair ground, 
 "I thought the only chance I had of looking 
 ** over their heads was to get upon their shoul- 
 *'ders.'^ 
 
 Of his pecuniary affairs he took no account ;, 
 he had no use for money, and dismissed it en- 
 tirely from his thoughts : his establishment in 
 the mean time was respectable, and his table 
 affluently and hospitably served. All these 
 inatters 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 Huntingdon- 
 shire, a family of great opulence and respect- 
 ability, allied to the Crom wells and Saint Johns, 
 and by intermarriages connected with other 
 great and noble houses. 1 have perfect recol- 
 lection 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 hypo-*
 
 feiCHARD CUMBERLAND. W 
 
 ^critical cant and affected sanctity of the 0U-. 
 verians. Her whole hfe was modelled on the 
 purest principles of piety, benevolence and 
 <;hristian charity ; and in her dying moments^ 
 my mother being present and voucher of the 
 feet, she breathed out her soul in a kind of 
 beatific vision, exclaiming in rapture as she 
 expired-r-/if is aid bright, it is nil glorious ! . 
 I was frequently called upon by her, to re-, 
 peat certain scriptural texts and passages, which 
 he . had taught me, and for whicli I seldom 
 failed to be rewarded, but by which I was also 
 frequently most completely puzzled and bewil- 
 dered ; so that I much doubt if the good ef- 
 fects of this practice upon immature and in-, 
 fantine 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, be- 
 holding the evil and the good, I remember to; 
 have cost me many a struggle to interpret, anfi^ 
 the result of my construction was directly op-f 
 posite to the spirit and meaning of the text.-^ 
 I \uas also occasionally summoned to attend 
 upon the readings of long sermons and homi- 
 Jies of Baxter, as 1 beHeve, and others of his 
 c 3
 
 52 ^^'''' "'MEMOIRS G^ 
 
 period ; neither by these was I edified, but, on 
 the contrary, so eifectually wearied, that by 
 noises and interruptions I seldom failed to ren- 
 der myself obnoxious, and obtain my dismis- 
 sion before the reading was over. 
 
 The death of this exemplaiy 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 accom- 
 pHshments ; he had a fine genius, great wit and 
 a brilliant imagination; he had also the man- 
 ners and address of a perfect gentleman, but 
 there Avas 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 encourage- 
 ment of his talents. His connexion with Mr. 
 Horace Walpole, the late Lord Orford, had' 
 too much of the bitter of dependance in it ta 
 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 
 rery liberal and large-minded. They carried 
 on, for alang time, a sickly kind of friendship,
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 23 
 
 which had its hot fits and its cold; was sus- 
 pended and renewed, but I believe never totally 
 broken and avowedly laid aside. LWalpole had *^ 
 by nature a propensity, and by constitution a 
 plea, for being captious and querulential, foe 
 he was a martyr to the gout. He wrote prose- 
 and published it ; he composed verses and cir- 
 culated 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 priv-ate establishment of a domestic printing 
 press, that seemed to augur great things, but 
 performed little/) WaljDole was already an au- 
 thor w^th no great claims to excellence, Bent- 
 ley had those powers in embryo, that would 
 have enabled him to excel, but submitted to 
 be the projector of Gothic embellishments for 
 Strawberry Hill, and humble designer of draw- 
 ings to ornament a thin folio of a meagre col- 
 lection 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 dig- 
 nity of learned ease. Such a design with fi- 
 
 c 4
 
 2'4 MEMOIRS OF ' 
 
 gures 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 bothi 
 his poet and his patron without intending sci^ 
 to do. 
 
 Let this suffice at present for the son of 
 Doctor Bentley; in the course of these me^. 
 moirs I shall takis occasion to recall the atten-; 
 tion of my readers to what I have further to^ 
 relate of him. ',.'> 
 
 Elizabeth Bentley, eldest daughter of her? 
 father, iirst married Humphry Ridge Esquire,: 
 and aftei' his decease the Reverend Doctor Fa*^ 
 veil, fellow of Trinity College, and after his 
 marriage with my aunt, Rector of Witton near 
 Huntingdon, in the gift of Sir John Bernard 
 of Brampton. She was an honourable and 
 excellent lady ; I had cause to love her, and 
 lament her death. She inherited the virtues 
 and benignity of her mother, with habits more 
 adapted to the fashions of the world. 
 
 Joanna, the younger of Dr. Bentley 's daugh- 
 ters, and the Phoebe of Byron's pastoral, was 
 my mother. I will not violate the allegiance 
 I have vowed to truth in giving any oth^r 
 
 1
 
 ^ RICHARD CUMBERLAND 25 
 
 Ncharacter of her, than what in conscience I re- 
 gard as just and faithful. She had a vivacity 
 Tof fancy and a strength of intellect, in which 
 ^w were her supeiiors : she read much, re- 
 membered 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 ai^ 
 of relating them ; her invention was so fertile, 
 her ideas so original and the points of humour 
 so ingeniously and unexpectedly taken up in 
 the progress of her narrative, that she never 
 tailed to accomplish all the purposes, which 
 the gaiety of her imagination could lay itself 
 out for : she had a quick intuition into cha- 
 racters, and a faculty of marking out the ridi- 
 culous, when it came within her view, whidi 
 of force I must confess she made rather too 
 frequent use of. Her social powers were bril- 
 liant, 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 jvere present, who could 
 taste the spirit and amenity of her humour. 
 There hardly passed a day, in vvhich she failed
 
 26 MEMOlJlS OJ" ^' 
 
 to devote a portion of hei' time to the reading 
 of the Bible; and her comments and exposi-- 
 tJoHsmight have merited the attention of the 
 wise ihd learned. Though strictly piotts, there 
 was lio' gloom in her religion, but on the con*^ 
 trary 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 tb recommend as a recreation 
 and delight. All that son can owe to parent, 
 or disciple to his teacher, I owe to her. 
 
 My paternal grandfather Richard, only son 
 of Bishop Cumberland^ was rector of Peakirk 
 in the diocese of Peterborough and Archdea- 
 con of Northampton. He had tWo sons and 
 one daughter, who was married to Waring 
 Ashby Esquire of Quenby Hall in the county 
 of Leicester, and died in child-birth of her 
 only son George Ashby Esquire, late of Hasel- 
 beach 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 West- 
 minster school, and from that admitted fel-
 
 nrCHARD CUMBEtiLAXD. 7 
 
 loW*commoner of Trinity College in Cani^ 
 bridge. He married at the age of twentytwo, 
 and though in possession of an independerit 
 fortune was readily prevailed upon by his fa^ 
 ther-in*law Doctor Bentley to take the rec-* 
 tory of Stanwick in the county of Northamp-^ 
 ton, given to him by Lord Chancellor Kingj 
 as soon as he was of age to hold it From 
 this period he fixed his constant residence iii 
 that retired and tranquil spot, and sedulously 
 devoted himself to the duties of his function. 
 When I contemplate the character of this ami-' 
 able 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 esteehi of mankind. It seemed 
 as if the whole spirit of his grandfather's bene-* 
 volence had been transfused into his heart^^ 
 and that he bore as perfect a resemblance of 
 him in goodness, as he did in person : in mb* 
 ral purity he was truly a Christian, in genero- 
 sity and honour he was perfectly a gentlemartj 
 On the nineteenth day of February 1/32 I 
 was born in the Master's Lddge of Trinity 
 College, i?ifer silvas Academi, under the 
 roof of my grand-father Bentley, in what i*
 
 S& MEMOIRS OF 
 
 called the Judge's Chamber, Having there- 
 fore prefaced my history with these few faint 
 sketches of the great and good men, whom I 
 have the honour to number amongst my an-i 
 cestors, I must solicit the condescension of my 
 readers to a much humbler topic, and proceed 
 to speak professedly of rnyself. 
 
 Here then for awhile I pause for self-exami- 
 nation, and to weigh the task I am about to 
 undertake. I look into my heart; I search 
 my understanding ; I review my life, my la- 
 lx)urs, 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 appretiation of 
 that self, either as author or man, which of 
 necessity must be made to fill so large a por- 
 tion of the following pages. When from the 
 date, at which my history now pauses, I look 
 forward through a period of more than seventy 
 and two years, I discover nothing within my 
 horizon, of which to be vain-glorious ; no 
 sudden heights to turn me giddy, no dazzling 
 gleams of Fortune's sunshine to bewilder me ; 
 nothing but one long laborious track, not of- 
 ten strewed with roses, and thorny, cold and
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 29 
 
 barren towards the conelusion 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 charac^ 
 ter, 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 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 re-. 
 venged it .^ 
 
 If I do not know myself I am not fit to be 
 my own biographer; and if I do know my-? 
 self I am sure I never took delisrht in es:o- 
 tisms, and now behold ! I am self-devoted to 
 deal in kittle 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 contempora- 
 ries, I will not scruple to exact what is due
 
 30 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 to me from posterity. Ipse de me scribam, 
 (Ck.) 
 
 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 sis- 
 ter Joanna was more than two years older 
 than me, and more than twice two years be- 
 fore me in apprehension, for whilst she pro- 
 fited very rapidly by her mother's teaching, I 
 by no means trode in her steps, but on the 
 coijtrary after a few unpromising efforts pe- 
 remptorily gave up the cause, and persisted m 
 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 be- 
 fore 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, 
 cars and not hearing, with other contrarieties, 
 which between positive and negative so com-.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 31 
 
 pletely 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 im* 
 pressed upon my infantine 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 nur- 
 sery. I have only to add, that when I at length 
 took to my business, I have my mother's tes- 
 timony for saying that I repaid her patience. 
 
 My family divided their time between Cam- 
 bridge and Stanwick so long as my grandfather 
 lived, and when I was turned of six years I 
 was sent to the school at Bury St. Edmund's, 
 then under the mastership of the Reverend 
 Arthur Kinsman, who formed his scholars upon 
 the system of Westminster, and was a Trinity 
 College man, much esteemed by my grandfa- 
 ther. This school, when I came to it, was in 
 high reputation, and numbered a hundred and 
 fifty boys. Kinsman was an excellent master, 
 ^. very sufficient scholar, and had all the pro-
 
 S2 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 .fessional 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 Y 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 respec- 
 tively deserved. His, name was h-igh in the 
 counties of Suffolk and Norfolk, and the chief 
 families in those parts were present with him in 
 the persons of their representatives, and some 
 yet living can bear witness to the vigour of his 
 arm. He was fiery zealous for the honour of 
 his school, which by the terms of its establislv- 
 ment was subject to the visitation of those, 
 who were in the government of it, and I re*-- 
 member 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. S3 
 
 immediate recitation, he echoed forth in a loud 
 and pointed tone of voice 
 
 NoSj nostraque lividus odit. 
 
 It must be confessed that my good old mas- 
 ter 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 raillying 
 kind of Avay " Master, I will make your 
 *' grandson as good a scholar as yourself." 
 To this Doctor Bentfey in the like vein of rail- 
 lery 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 pre- 
 diction, thus improvidently hazarded ; for so 
 supremely idle was I, and so far from being ani- 
 mated by the charms of the Latin grammar, 
 that the labour of instruction was but labour 
 lost, and it seemed a chance if I was destined 
 to arrive at any other acquirement but the art 
 of 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 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 54 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 my security, I was likely to take lastiog po*- 
 session of. 
 
 I am persuaded however that the tranquillity 
 of my ignorance would have suffered no inter- 
 ruption from the remonstrances of the worthy 
 usher of the under-schooi, who sate in a plaid 
 night gown and let things take their course, 
 had not the penetrating eye of old Kinsman 
 discovered the grandson of his friend far in the 
 rear of the line of honour, and in a fair train to 
 give the flattest contradiction to his prophecy. 
 Whereupon one day, which hy me can never 
 be forgotten, calling me lip 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 me, 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 school- 
 fellows. I well remember his demanding of 
 me what report I could expect him to make of 
 me to my grandfather Bentley. I shuddered 
 at the name, even at that early age so loved and 
 so revered : I made no defence ; I had none 
 to make, and he went thundering on, farther 
 perhaps than he need to have gone, had he
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. ^5 
 
 given less scope to lijs zeal, and tri^^ted more 
 to his iptijition, for the keenness of his reproof 
 had sunk into my heart i I was covered with 
 shame arid confusion ; I retired abashed |:p my 
 seat, which was the lo)vest in my cl;ifs, ^nd 
 that class the lowest save one in the under? 
 school : I hid my face between my hands, 
 resting my head upon t|ie desk before me, and 
 gave myself up to tears and contrition : Wheiji 
 I raised my eyes and looked about me, X thoughj: 
 I discovered contempt in the countenances of 
 the boys. At that moment the spirit of emur 
 lation, which had not yet awaked in my heart, 
 was thoroughly roused ; but whilst I was thus 
 resolving on a reform I fell ill, whether from 
 agitation of mind, or from cause more natural 
 I kno\V^ 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 from 
 Cambridge on the alarm, and under her ten- 
 der 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 un- 
 
 D
 
 36 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 der the eye of my most timely admonlsher, I 
 took all the pains that my years would ad- 
 mit of to deserve his better opinion and regain 
 my lost ground. My diligence was soon fol- 
 lowed 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 memo- 
 ry, and practice added such a facility of get- 
 ting by heart, that in my repetitions, when we 
 challenged for places, I entered the lists with 
 all possible advantages, and soon found my- 
 self 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 consequences of my worthy master's 
 seasonable admonition. 
 
 After the decease of Mrs. Bentley, my mo- 
 ther, whose devotion to her father was return-
 
 llICHARD CUMBERLAND. 37 
 
 ed 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 de- 
 lightful seasons gave me, hath left traces of the 
 times long past and the persons now dead, 
 that can only be effaced by death, and of their 
 surviving even that I should be loth to lose 
 the hope. I was become capable of under- 
 standing my grandfather to be the great man 
 he really was, and began to listen to him with 
 attention, and treasure up his sayings in my 
 mind. I was admitted to dine at his table, 
 had my seat next to his chair, served him in 
 many little offices and went upon his errands 
 with a promptitude and alacrity, that shewed 
 what pride I took in such commissions, and 
 tempted his good nature to invent occasions 
 for employing me. 
 
 One day I full well remember my old mas- 
 ter Kinsman walked into the room, and was 
 welcomed by my grandfather with the cordi- 
 ality natural to him. In the mean time my 
 heart fluttered with alarm and dread of that 
 report, which he had once threatened to prefer 
 against me : nothing could be further from his 
 
 D 3 
 
 / .:
 
 8S kEMOkRS OF 
 
 g^netoufe thoughts, and as soon as ever he Wtb 
 4t leiaui'^ b6 notice such an insignificant little 
 being, it was with the afi'ection and caresses 
 of a father ; when I looked in his face there 
 was ho longer any feature of the schoolmaster 
 ih itj the terrors of the ferula and the rod were 
 vanished out of sight, and that upright strut- 
 tifig little person, which in authority was so 
 awful, had now relaxed from its rigidity, and 
 iib longer strove to swell itself into importance^ 
 Arthur hotwilhstanding was a great man on 
 his own gi'ound, and though he venerated the 
 niaster of Trinity College, he did not renounce^ 
 a proper self esteem fot the master of Bury 
 School, and the dignity appertaining to that 
 biffice, which he filled, and to which Bentley 
 hiinself had once stooped for instruction. He 
 Was a gay ifeOcial fellow, who loved his friend 
 and had no antipathy to his bottle ; he had 
 then a kind of dashing discourse, savouring 
 somewhat of the shop, which trifles did not 
 check and contradiction could not daunt. 
 He had at this very time been recreating hiis- 
 spirit wfth the company in the combination 
 room, and was fairly primed with priestly port. 
 My grandfather I dare say discovered nothiftg
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 39 
 
 of this, and Walker, who accompanied Kins- 
 man to the lodge, was exactly in that state 
 when silence is the best resort v Arthur in the 
 mean time, whose tongue conviviality had by 
 no means tied up, began to open his school 
 books upon Bentley, and had drawn him into 
 Homer ; Greek now rolled in torrents from the 
 lips of Bentley, and the most learned of mo- 
 derns chanted forth the inspired rhapsodies of 
 the most illustrious of antients in a strain delec- 
 table 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 under- 
 stood all that he heard, but that the worthy 
 vice master of Trinity was innocent of all ap- 
 prehension, and clear of the plot, if treason 
 was wrapped up in it, I can upon my know- 
 ledge of him confidently vouch. This how- 
 ever I remember, and my mother has frequent- 
 ly in time past refreshed my recollection of it, 
 that Joshua Barnes in the course of this con- 
 versation being quoted by Kinsman as a man 
 understanding Greek and speaking it almost 
 like his mother tongue " Yes," replied Bent- 
 ley, " I do believe that Barnes had as much 
 ^' Greek, and understood it about as well, ai 
 J> 4
 
 40 MEMOIRS or 
 
 an Athenian blacksmith." Of Pope's Homei* 
 he said that 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 vo^ 
 racious appetite for knowledge ; he doubted if 
 there was a good digestion. This is an anec- 
 dote I refer to those, who are competent to 
 make or reject the application. 
 
 At no great distance of time from this pe- 
 riod, which I have been now recording, Doc- 
 tor 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 muni- 
 ficence 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 im- 
 mediate bleeding; Doctor Heberden, then a 
 young physician practising in Cambridge, was 
 of a contrary opinion, and the patient ac- 
 quiesced. His friend Doctor Wallis, in whose 
 skilful practice and experience he so justly 
 placed his confidence, was unfortunately ab-
 
 /<' /Txmt Paar J^'. V, I j 

 
 r RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 41 
 
 sent from Stamford, and never came upon the 
 summons for any purpose but to share in the 
 sorrows of his family, and lament the non-com^ 
 pliance with the process he had recommended, 
 which, according to his judgment 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 Kinsman im- 
 parted the intelligence of my grandfather*s 
 death to me, taking me into his private cham* 
 ber, and lamenting the event with great agita- 
 tion. Whilst I gave vent to my tears, he 
 pressed me tenderly in his arms, and encou- 
 raging me to persist in my diligence, assured 
 me of his favour and protection. He kept me 
 out of school for a few days, gave me private 
 instruction, and then sent me forth ardently re- 
 solved 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, M'ho were as anxious to dislodge mc 
 
 1
 
 42 kEMOIRS OP 
 
 from my post as I was to maintain myself ia 
 it. As I have the honour to name both Bishop 
 Warren and his brother Richard the physician 
 as two amongst the most formidable of my 
 form-fellows, I may venture to say that school 
 boy must have been more than commonly 
 alert, whom they could not overtake and de- 
 pose ; but the exertion of my competitors was 
 Such a spur to my industry and ambition, that 
 Iny mind was perpetually in its business. Had 
 I in any careless moment suffered a discomfi- 
 ture, my mortification would have been most 
 poignant, but the dread I had of that event 
 caused me always to be prepared against itj 
 and I held possession of my post under a sus- 
 pended sword, that hourly menaced me with- 
 out ever dropping. 
 
 Whilst I dwell on the detail of anecdotes 
 like the above I must refer myself to the can- 
 dour of the reader, but though it behoves me 
 to study brevity, where I cannot furnish amuse- 
 ment, it would be totally inconsistent with the 
 plan I have laid down to pass over in total si- 
 lence this period of my hfe ; an eera in the his- 
 tory of every man's mind and character, only
 
 felCflARt) dliMBfittLAND. 4^ 
 
 to be ofliitted When it is not to be obtained ; a 
 plea, which those, who are their own biogra- 
 phers, are liot privileged to make. 
 
 My good old master was a hospitable man, 
 and every Wednesday held a kind of public 
 day, to which his friends and neighbours used 
 to resort. On that day he drank his bottle b 
 port and played his game of back-gammon, af* 
 ter which he came in gaiety of heart to evening- 
 school for one hour only. It was a gala day 
 for Jill the boys, and for me in particular, as I 
 was sui'C on all those occasions to be ordered 
 up to the rostrum to recite and exjjound Juve- 
 nal, and he seldom failed to keep me so employ- 
 ed through the whole time. He had a great 
 partiality for that nervous author, and I remem- 
 ber 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 fol- 
 k)Ws 
 
 Eifto bbAus miies, tutor bonux^ arbiter ickm 
 IrUeger ; atn^igvie iiijuando citabere cawi&^
 
 44 Memoirs xyi^ 
 
 hicertceque rei^ Phalaris licet imperet ut sis 
 Falsus, et admoto dictet perjuria Tauro, 
 Summum crede nefas animam preferre pudori, 
 Et propter vitam vivendi perdere causcts. 
 
 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 de- 
 scriptions ; 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 con- 
 struing and saying by heart, it was the usage 
 of our school to challenge for places : In this 
 province my good fortune was unclouded ; in 
 my exercises I did not succeed so well, for by 
 aiming at something like fancy and invention 
 I was too frequently betrayed into grammati- 
 cal errors, whilst my rivals presented exercises 
 with fewer faults, and, by attempting scarcely 
 any thing, hazarded little. These premature 
 and imperfect sallies, which I gave way to, did 
 me no credit with my master, and once in par- 
 ticular upon my giving in a copy of Latin
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 45 
 
 verses, unpardonably incorrect, though not en- 
 tirely void of imagination, he commented upon 
 my blunders with great severity, and in the 
 hearing of my form-fellows threatened to de- 
 grade me from my station at their head. I 
 had earned that station by hard labour and un- 
 ceasing 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 per- 
 fectly recovered it, and probably should at no 
 time after have gained any credit in that branch 
 of my school- business, had I not been trans- 
 planted to Westminster. 
 
 The exercise, for which I Avas 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 obhgations to 
 his care and kindness, yet having severely ex- 
 perienced how poignant are the inflictions of
 
 4>6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 discoumgement to the fjeelipgs, and how re^. 
 pulsive to the efforte of the unformed emhrya 
 ge9iu$, 1 cannot state this cifcjdrn^^tancie ifi ajiy 
 better light than as a ov^r^ight 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 yoimg and rising au- 
 thor shall he found to profit by the denuncia- 
 tions and brow-beatings of his hypercritical 
 contemporaries, then, and not till then, it will 
 be right to train up our children according to 
 this system, and discouragement be the best 
 model for education, which the conductors of 
 it can adopt. 
 
 As our master had lately discontinued his 
 custom of letting his boys act a play of Te- 
 rence before the Christmas holidays, after the 
 example of Westminster, some of us undertook 
 without his leave, though probably not without 
 his knowledge and connivance, to get up the 
 tragedy of Cato at one of the boarding-houses, 
 and invite the gentry of the town to be present 
 at our childish exhibition. We escaped from 
 school one evening, ajid climbed the wall that 
 intercepted us from the scene of action, to
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 4| 
 
 prepare ourselves for this goodly show. A full 
 hottoinecl periwig for Cato, and female attire 
 for Portia and Marcia borrowed from the 
 maids of the lodging house were the chief ar- 
 ticles of our scanty wardrobe, and of a piece 
 with the wretchedness of our property was the 
 wretchedness of our performance. Our audi- 
 ence however, which was not very select, cut 
 dured us and we slept upon our laurels, till the 
 next morning being made to turn out for the 
 amusement of the whole school, and go through 
 a scene or two of our evening's entertainment, 
 we acquitted ourselves so little to the satisfac- 
 tion of Mr. Kinsman, that after bestowing 
 some hearty buffets upon the virtuous Marcia^ 
 who had towered above her se.v in the person 
 of a most ill-favQured wry-necked boy, the 
 rest of our dramatis personce were sentenced 
 to the fine of an imposition, aud 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 at- 
 tempt in English verse, and took for my sub- 
 ject an excursion I had made with my family 
 \n the summer holidays to visit a relation in^
 
 48 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Hampsliire, which engaged me in a description 
 of the docks at Portsmouth, and of the races 
 at 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 mv business or 
 amusements. I did not like to risk the conse* 
 quences of confiding it to my school-fellows, 
 but kept it closely secret till the next break- 
 ing up, when I exhibited it to my father, who 
 received it after his gracious manner with un- 
 reserved commendation, and persisted in reci- 
 ting it to his intimates, when I had gained ex- 
 perience enough to wish he had consigned it 
 to oblivion. 
 
 Though I have no copy of this childish per- 
 formance, I bear in my remembrance tw^o in- 
 troductory'' couplets, which were the first En- 
 glish lines I ever wrote, and are as follows 
 
 , Since every scribbler claims his shai'e of fame, 
 And every Cibber boasts a Dryden^s name^ 
 Permit an infard Muse her chance to try ; 
 All have a right to that, and zchy 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 49 
 
 art of sinking, and it is clear I had stumbled 
 
 upon it in my description of the dock yard, 
 
 viz. 
 
 ** Here they weave cables^ there they main masts form^ 
 ** Here they forge anchors useful in a storm.'* 
 
 My good father however was not to be put 
 by from his defences by trifles, and stoutly 
 stood by my anchors, contending that as they 
 Av^ere 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, which struck my fancy, and without 
 naming the author, (for I knew him not,) I 
 repeated it to my father it was this 
 
 Poets of old did Argus prize 
 Because he had an hundred eyes^ 
 But sure more praise to him is due^ 
 Who looks an hundred ways with two. 
 
 In repeating this epigram, which perhaps 
 the reader can find an author for, I did not 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 :/... MEMOIRS OF 
 
 give it out as my own, but it was so under- 
 stood by my father, and he circulated it as 
 mine, and took pleasure in repeating it as such 
 amongst his friends and intimates. In this 
 state of the mistake, when his credit had been 
 affixed to it, I had not courage to disavow it, 
 ^nd the time being once gone by for saving 
 my honor, I suffered him to persist in his er- 
 ror 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 Northamptonshire ; 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 hand- 
 some square of four equal fronts, built of stone, 
 containing four rooms on a floor with a gal- 
 lery running through the centre ; it was seated 
 on the declivity of a gentle hill with the vil-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 51 
 
 lage to the south amongst trees and pasture 
 grounds in view, and a small stream in the 
 valley between : on the north, west and south 
 were gardens, on the east the church at some 
 little distance, and in the intermediate space 
 an excellent range of stables and coach houses, 
 built by my father and forming one side of a 
 square court laid out for the approach of car- 
 riages to the house. The spire of Stanwick 
 church is esteemed 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 rail- 
 ing, screen and entablature upon three-quarter 
 columns with a singing gallery at the west end, 
 and spared no expence to keep his church not 
 only in that neatness and decorum, which be- 
 fits the house of prayer, but also in a perfect 
 state of good and permanent repair. 
 
 Here in the hearts of his parishioners, and 
 the esteem of his neighbours, my good father 
 lived tranquil and unambitious, never soliciting 
 other preferment than this for the space of 
 thirty years, holding only a small prebend in 
 the church of Lincoln, given to him by his 
 uncle Bishop Reynolds. He was in the com* 
 
 IL 2
 
 52 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 mission of the peace, and a veiy active magis^ 
 trate 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 hospita- 
 ble 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 favour and their services at his command. 
 In the mean time such was the orderly beha- 
 viour and good discipline of his own immediate 
 flock, that I have frequently heard him say he 
 never once had occasion during his long resi-* 
 dence amongst them to issue his warrant with- 
 in the precincts of his own happy village, 
 which being seated between the more populous 
 and less correct parishes of Ilaunds and Hig^ 
 ham-Ferrers, he used appositely to call Little 
 Zoar, but made no further allusions to the evil 
 neighbourhood of Zoar.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 53 
 
 In this peaceful spot with parents so aifec- 
 tionate 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 sen- 
 sations they have excited are not for me to de- 
 scribe. I had inherited an excellent constitu- 
 tion, and, though not robust in make, was 
 more than commonly adroit in my athletic ex- 
 ercises. In swiftness of foot for a short dis- 
 tance 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 favour. 
 
 Those field sports, of which the young and 
 active are naturally so fond, I enjoyed by my 
 father's favour in perfection, and in my winter 
 holidays constantly went out with him upon 
 his hunting days, and was always admirably 
 mounted. He was light and elegant in his per- 
 son, and had in his early youth kept horses and 
 rode matches at Newmarket after the example 
 of his elder brother ; but though his profession 
 had now put a stop to those levities, he shared 
 in a pack of harriers with a neighbouring gen- 
 
 E 3
 
 54 MEMOIRS or 
 
 tleman, and was a bold and excellent rider. 
 In my first attendances upon him to the field, 
 the joys of hunting scarcely compensated for 
 the terrors I sometimes felt in following him 
 against my will upon a racing galloway, 
 which he had purchased of old Pan ton, and 
 whose attachment to her leader was such as 
 left me no option as to the pace I would wish 
 to go, or the leaps I would avoid to take. 
 At length when age added strength and prac- 
 tice gave address, falls became familiar to me, 
 and I left both fear and prudence behind me in 
 ""the pleasures of the chace. 
 
 It was in these inten^als from school that 
 my mother beg*an 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 Shakespear, 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 enter- 
 tainments ; in the mean time she was attentive 
 to model my recitation, and correct my man- 
 ner with exact precision. Her comments and
 
 RICHAED CUMBERLAND. 55 
 
 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 ad- 
 mire and feel nobody could more happily se- 
 lect 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 subhme,' 
 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 un- 
 ravel, 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 
 
 4
 
 56 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 Shakespear was 
 most upon my tongue and nearest to my heart, 
 I fitted and compiled a kind of cento, which I 
 intitled Shakespear in the Shades, and formed 
 into one act, selecting the characters of Ham- 
 let and Ophelia, Romeo and Juliet, Lear and 
 Cordelia, as the persons of my drama, and 
 giving to Shakespear, who is present through- 
 out the piece, Ariel as an attendant spirit, and 
 taking for the motto to my title page 
 
 Ast alii sex, 
 Et plures, uno conclamani ore 
 
 I should premise that I was now at the head 
 of Bury School, though only in my twelfth 
 year, and not very slightly grounded in the 
 Greek and Latin classics, there taught. 
 
 The scene is laid in Elj^sium, where the poet 
 is discovered and opens the drama with the 
 following address 
 
 " Most fair and equal hearers, know, that
 
 lllCHARD CITMBERLAXD. 57 
 
 * whilst this soul inhabited its fleshly taberna- 
 ' cle, I was called Shakespear ; a greater name 
 
 * and more exalted honours have dignified its 
 
 * dissolution. Blest with a liberal portion of 
 
 * the divine spirit, as a tribute due to the 
 ' bounty of the Gods, I left behind me an im- 
 ' mortal 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 grave 
 
 When zee have shuffled off this mortal coyle 
 
 *' All envy and detraction, all pride and vain- 
 " glory are no more ; still a grateful remem- 
 " brance of humanity and a tender regard for 
 " our posterity on earth follow us to this hap- 
 " py seat ; and it is in this regard I deign once 
 " more to salute you with my favoured pre- 
 ** sence, and am content to be again an actor 
 ** for your sakes. I have been attentive to 
 " your suiferings at my mournful scenes; guar- 
 " dian of that virtue, which I left in distress, 
 " I come now, the instrument of Providence, 
 " to compose your sorrows, and restore to it 
 " the proportioned reward. Those bleeding
 
 55 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 "characters, those martyred worthies, M'hom 
 " 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 with-held from them, 
 " as the arbiter and disposer of their fate, I will 
 " award to them ; but for the villain and the 
 " adulterer 
 
 The perjured and the simular man of virtue 
 
 "the proud, the ambitious, and the murderer 
 
 " I shall 
 
 Leave such to heaven, 
 
 And to those thorns , that in their bosoms lodge 
 
 To prick and sting them. 
 
 " But soft ! I see one coming, that often hath 
 *' beguiled you of your tears the fair Ophe- 
 " lia * 
 
 The several parties now make their respec* 
 tive appeals, and Shakespear 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 haTe been heard, and all shall be restor'd, 
 *^ All errors blotted out and all obstructions^
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 59 
 
 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 enchantments, from whose place preferred 
 
 ** He here attends to do me services, 
 
 *' And qualify these beings for Elysium 
 
 '* Hoa ! Ariel, approach, my dainty spirit 1 
 
 (Ariel enters.) 
 All haiiy great mastery grave Sir, hail! I come 
 To ansKcr thy best pleasure ; be it tofiy. 
 To smm, to dive into thejire, to ride 
 On the curled clouds to thy strong bidding task 
 Ariel and all his qualities 
 
 Shakespear. 
 
 <* Know then, spiritj 
 *' Into this grove six shades consign 'd to bliss 
 *' I've separately remov'd, of each sex three ; 
 '' Unheard of one another and unseen 
 ** There they abide, yet each to each endear'd 
 ^' By ties of strong affection : not the same 
 '^ Their several objects, though the effects alike, 
 *' But husband, father, lover make the change. 
 ** Now though the body's perish'd, yet are they 
 *' Fresh from their sins and bleeding with their wrongs ;
 
 60 MEMOlJEtS Of 
 
 ** Therefore all sense of injury removcj 
 
 *' Heal up their wounded faculties aneWj 
 
 ** And pluck affliction's arrow from their hearts J 
 
 *' Refine their passions, for gross sensual lore 
 
 ** 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 
 1 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 indi- 
 cative 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 ad- 
 dition of a single word
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 6l 
 
 Romeo. 
 
 ** Oh thou, the great disposer of my fate, 
 *' Judge of my actions, patron of my cause, 
 (^ Tear not asunder such united hearts, 
 <' But give me up to love and to my Juliet. 
 
 Slmkespear. .^ 
 
 *' Unthinking youth, thou dost forget thyself; 
 
 *' Rash inconsiderate boy, must I again 
 
 ** Remind thee of thy fate ? What ! know'st thou not 
 
 *' The man, whose desperate hand foredoes himself, 
 
 *' Is doom'd to wander on the Stygian shore 
 
 *' A restless shade, forlorn and comfortless, 
 
 *^ For a whole age ? Nor shall he hope to sooth 
 
 *' The callous ear of Charon, till he win 
 
 *' His passion by repentance and submission 
 
 *' At this my fixt tribunal, else be sure 
 
 <^ The wretch shall hourly pace the lazy wharf 
 
 " To view the beating of the Stygian wave, 
 
 *' And waste his irksome leisure, 
 
 Homeo. 
 
 Gracious powers, 
 
 Is this ray doom, my torment ? Heaven is here 
 
 Where Juliet lives, and each unworthy thing 
 
 Lives here in heaven and may look on her. 
 
 But Romeo may not : more validity. 
 
 More honourable state, more worship lives 
 
 In carrion flies than Romeo ; they may seize
 
 63 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 On the white wonder of mif lovers dear handy 
 
 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, 
 
 *' Tijl, with his tears made full, the briny stream" 
 
 ShaU kiss the most exalted shores of all. 
 
 Shakespear. 
 *' NoW tften ddst: thdii repent thy follies past ? 
 
 Romeo. 
 
 ^' Oh, ask rae 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 wonld say 
 
 " To extenuate my crime ; I fain would plead 
 
 *' The merit of my lore-^bnt I have done 
 
 *' However hard my sentence, 1 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. 
 
 (Kneels.) 
 Shakespear. 
 
 *' Arise, young Sir! before my mercy-seat 
 " None kneel in vain ; repentance never lost
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 65 
 
 ** The cause she pleaded. Mercy is the proof, 
 
 << The test that marks a character diTine ; 
 
 Were ye like roerciful 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. 
 
 j^Romeo zcitJulrazcs.) 
 
 Shakespear remainh' dnd speaks 
 
 ** What rage is this, O man, that thou should'st dare 
 
 *' To turn unnatural butcher on thyself, 
 
 ** And thy presumptuous violent hand uplift 
 
 " Against that fabrick which the Gods have rais'd ? 
 
 *' Insolent Wretch, did that presumptuous hand 
 
 *^ Temper thy wond'rous frame? Did that bold spirit 
 
 *' Inspire the quicken'd clay with Uving 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. 
 
 *' i'hou poorly turn'st upon thy helpless body, 
 
 *' And hast no heart to check thy growing sins : 
 
 *' Thou gain'st a mighty victory o'er thy life, 
 
 " But art enslaved to thy basest passions, 
 
 *' And bowest to the anarchy within thee. 
 
 '* Oh ! have a care 
 
 '' Lest at Ihy great account thou should'st be found 
 
 *' A thriftless steward of thy master's substance.
 
 64 MEMOIRS or 
 
 <* *Tis his to take avray, or sink at will, 
 *' Thou but the tenant to a greater lord, 
 *' Nor maker, nor the monarch of thyself." 
 
 I seldfct 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 con- 
 trived 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 con- 
 temptibly executed. As I have solemnly dis- 
 avowed 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 at- 
 tested the one, and correctly transcribed the 
 other. 
 
 My worthy old master at Bury, now in the
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 65 
 
 decline of life, intimated his purpose of retiring, 
 and my father took the opportunity of trans- 
 planting me to Westminster, where he admit- 
 ted me under Doctor Nichols, and lojjged 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 perceived him to be in 
 considerable agitation. There happened to be 
 no occasion for it, as the passages were fami- 
 liar to me, and my amiable examiner seemed 
 perfectly disposed to approve, cautioning me 
 however not to read in too declamatory a style, 
 *' which," said he, " my boys will call con- 
 ** ceited."" It was highly gratifying to me to 
 hear him say, 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 me a short examination for form-sake 
 at the table, and placed me in the Shell. As 
 I was then only twelve years old, and small in 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 MEMOIRS Of 
 
 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 en- 
 rolled. Doctor Johnson, afterwards Bishop 
 of Worcester, was then second master ; Vin^ 
 cent Bourne, well known to the literary world 
 for his elegant Latin verses, was usher of the 
 fifth form, and Lloyd, afterwards second mas- 
 ter, was at the fourth. Cracherode, the learn- 
 ed collector and munificent benefactor to the 
 Royal Museum, was in the head election, and 
 at that time as grave, studious and reserved 
 as he was through life ; but correct in morals 
 and elegant in manners, not courting a pro- 
 miscuous acquaintance, but pleasant to those 
 who knew him, beloved by many and esteem- 
 ed by all. At the head of the town boys was 
 the Earl of Huntingdon, whom I should not 
 name as a boy, for he was even then the courtly 
 and accomplished gentleman such as the world 
 saw and acknowledged him to be. The late 
 Earl of Bristol, the late Earl of Buckingham- 
 shire, and the late Right Honorable Thomas 
 Harley were my form -fellows, the present Duke 
 of Richmond, then Lord March, Warren Has- 
 tings, Colman and Lloyd were in the under
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 67 
 
 
 
 school, and what is a very extraordinaiy coin- 
 cidence, there were then in school together 
 three hoys, Hinchliffe, Smith and Vincent, 
 who afterwards succeeded to he severally head 
 masters of Westminster School and not by the 
 decease of any one of them. 
 
 Hinchliffe might well be called the child of 
 fortune, for he was born in penury and ob- 
 scurity, and was lifted into opulence and high 
 station, not by the elasticity of his own genius, 
 but by that lucky combination of opportuni- 
 ties, which merit has no share in making, and 
 modesty no aptitude to seize. At Trinity Col- 
 lege I knew him as an under-graduate below 
 my standing ; in the revolutiim of a few years 
 I saw him in the station, aforetime filled by 
 my grandfather as master of the college, and 
 holding with it the bishoprick of Peterborough ; 
 thus doubly dignified with those preferments, 
 which had separately rewarded the learned la- 
 bours of Cumberland and Bentley. 
 
 Smith laboured longer and succeeded less, 
 yet he wisely chose his time for relaxation and 
 retirement, whilst he was yet unexhausted by 
 his toils, sufficiently affluent to enjoy his inde- 
 pendance, and, with the consciousness of having
 
 6S MEMOIRS OF 
 
 done his duty, to consult his ease, and to dis- 
 miss his cares. 
 
 Vincent, whom I love as a friend and ho- 
 nour as a scholar, has at length found that 
 station in the deanery of Westminster, which, 
 whilst it relieves him from the drudgery of the 
 school-master, keeps him still attached to the 
 interests of the school, and eminently con- 
 cerned in the superintendance and protection 
 of it. As boy and man 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 ju- 
 nior usher through every gradation to that of 
 second and ultimately of senior master ; thus, 
 with the interval of four years only devoted to 
 his degree at Cambridge, Westminster has in- 
 deed kept possession of his person, but has let 
 the world partake with her in the profit of his 
 researches. Without deserting the laborious 
 post, to which his duty fettered him, his ex- 
 cursive genius led him over seas and countries 
 far remote, to .follow and develope tracts, re- 
 deem authorities and dig up evidences long 
 buried in the grave of ages. This is the more 
 to his honour as his hours of study were never
 
 RICHAKD CUMBERLAND. 69 
 
 taken but from his hours of relaxation, and he 
 stole no moment from the instruction of the 
 boy to enrich the understanding of the man. 
 His last work, small in bulk, but great in mat- 
 ter, was an unanswerable defence of public 
 education, by which, with an acuteness that 
 reflects credit on his genius, and a candour 
 that does honour to his heart, he demonstrates 
 the advantages of that system, which had so 
 well prospered under his care, and generously 
 forbears to avail himself of those arguments, 
 which in a controversy with such an opponent 
 some men would have resorted to. Let the 
 mitred preacher against public schools rejoice 
 in silence at his escape, but when the yet un- 
 mitred master of the Temple, indisputably one 
 of the first scholars and finest writers of his 
 time, leaves the master of Westminster in pos- 
 session of the field, it is not from want of cou- 
 rage, 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 pa- 
 tronizing in the instance of his own son. Di- 
 F 3
 
 70 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 version of thouglit I well know is not uncom- 
 mon with him, perversion never will be im^ 
 putecl to him. 
 
 When I found upon coming into the Shell 
 that my station was to be quiescent, and thafc 
 all challenging for places was at an end, I re- 
 gretted it as an opportunity lost for turning 
 out with new competitors, so much my seniors 
 in age, and w^ho seemed to regard me with an 
 air of conscious superiority. I sate down how- 
 ever 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 mas- 
 ter, and from that moment I acquired a degree 
 of confidence in myself, that gave vigour to 
 my exertions ; and though I bear all possible 
 respect and gratitude to the memory of that 
 kind friend of my youth, whose rigour was 
 only the effect of anxiety for my well-doing, 
 yet I cannot look back to this period of my 
 education without acknowledging the advan- 
 tages I experienced in being thus transplanted 
 to Westminster, where to attempt was to suc^
 
 mCHARD CUMBERLAND. 71 
 
 ceed, and placed under a master, whose piiin- 
 ciple 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 cer- 
 tainly knew how to make his boys scholars ; 
 Doctor Nichols had the art of making his 
 scholars gentlemen; for there was a court of 
 honour in that school, to whose unwritten laws 
 every member of our community was amenable, 
 and which to transgress by any act of mean- 
 ness, that exposed the offender to public con- 
 tempt, was a degree of punishment, compared 
 to which the being sentenced to the rod would 
 have been considered as an acquittal or re- 
 prieve. 
 
 Whilst I am making this remark an instance 
 occurs to me of a certain boy from the fifth, 
 who was summoned before the seniors in the 
 seventh, and convicted of an offence, which 
 in the high spirit of that school argued an 
 abasement of principle and honour : Doctor 
 Nichols having stated the case, demanded their 
 opinion of the crime and what degree of pu-> 
 F 4
 
 78 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 nishment they conceived it to deserve ; their 
 answer was unanimously "The severest that 
 " could be inflicted" " I can inflict none more 
 " severe than you have given him," said the 
 master, and dismissed him without any other 
 chastisement. 
 
 It was not many days after my admission 
 that I myself stood before him as a culprit, 
 having been reported by the monitor for es- 
 caping 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. 
 We had not been guilty of any gross imperti- 
 nence, but the offence was highly reprehen- 
 sible, and when my turn came to be called up 
 to the master, I presume he saw my contrition, 
 M^hen, turning a mild look upon me, he said 
 aloud Erubuify 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.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 73 
 
 As for me, who had experienced his lenity in 
 the instance above related, it cannot be to my 
 credit that I was destined to put his candour 
 once more to the proof, yet so it was that in 
 an idle moment I was disingenuous enough to 
 give in an exercise in Latin verse, every line of 
 which I had stolen out of Duport, if I rightly 
 recollect. It passed inspection without disco- 
 very, 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 have got by your verses, had they 
 "been your own " I must be allowed to 
 add, in palliation of this disreputable anecdote, 
 that I had the grace to make the voluntary 
 atonement next morning of an exercise as tole- 
 rable as my utmost pains and capacity could
 
 T4 MEMOIRS Of 
 
 render it. I gave it in uncalled for ; it was 
 graciously received, and I took occasion to ap- 
 prize the seniors in the seventh, that I had re- 
 pented of my attempt. 
 
 About this time the victory of CuUoden 
 Jiaving 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 deport- 
 ment of the latter, when suffering on the scaf- 
 fold, drew pity even from the most obdurate, 
 and I believe it was at that time very gene-> 
 rally 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 honour 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 
 yevy highly to their credit. I don't doubt but.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 75 
 
 respect and delicacy towards our kind and 
 well-beloved master had a leadini^ share in dis- 
 posing them to that orderly and humane beha-. 
 viour. 
 
 When the rebels were in march and had ad^ 
 yanced to Derby appearances were very gloomy ; 
 there was a language held by some, who threw 
 off all reserve, that menaced danger, and inti- 
 midated many of the best affected. In the 
 height of this alarm, the Honorable Mrs. Went- 
 worth, 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 im-^ 
 mediate pressure of'the danger she apprehend-r 
 ed. Here I found her at my breaking up from 
 school, a fugitive from her mansion at Har- 
 rowden, and residing in the parsonage house 
 at Stanwick. She was a venerable and excel- 
 lent lady, and retained her friendship for my 
 family to her death : she gave me a copy of 
 the great Earl of Strafford's Letters in two 
 folio volumes magnificently bound. 
 
 This was the time for my good father, whq
 
 76 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 I verily think never knew fear, to stand for- 
 ward in the exertion of that popularity, which 
 was almost without example. He had been 
 conspicuously active in assembling the people 
 of the neighbouring parishes, where his influ- 
 ence laid, and persuading them to enroll and 
 turn out in the defence of their country. This 
 he did in the very crisis of general despondency 
 and alarm, whilst the disaffected in a near- 
 neighbouring quarter, abetted by a noble fa- 
 mily, which I need not name, in the height of 
 their exultation were burning him in effigy, as 
 a person most obnoxious to their principles and 
 most 'hostile to their cause. In a short time, 
 at the expence 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 Halifax, 
 and marched them in person to Northampton, 
 attended by four picked men on his four coach 
 horses, where he was received on his entrance 
 into the town with shouts and acclamations 
 expressive of ajjplause 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 ex-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 77 
 
 pected, and as a mark of his consideration in- 
 sisted upon bestowing one of these companies 
 upon me, for which I had the commission, 
 though I was then too young to take the 
 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 
 CarHsle, then in the hands of the Highlanders* 
 There many of them lost their lives in the siege, 
 and the small pox made such cruel havock 
 amongst our young peasantry, that, although 
 they had in the first instance been cheaply 
 raised, the cfistresses 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 
 
 1
 
 78 MEMOIRS Ot 
 
 kind of taste and character, peculiar to itselfj- 
 and handed down perhaps from times long 
 past, which seems to mark it out for a distinc- 
 tion, that it may indisputably claim, that of 
 having been above all others the most favour- 
 ed cradle of the Muses. If any are disposed 
 to question this assertion, let them turn to the 
 lives and histories of the poets, and satisfy their 
 doubts. I know there is a tide, that flows 
 from the very fountain-head of power, that 
 has long run strongly in another channel, but 
 the vicinity of Windsor Castle is of no benefit 
 to the discipline and good order of Eton- 
 School. A wise father will no more estimate 
 his son*s improvement by the measure of his 
 boarding house bills and pocket money amount, 
 than a good soldier will fix his preference on a 
 corps, because it happens to figure in the most 
 splendid uniform, and indulge at the most vo- 
 luptuous and extravagant mess. 
 
 When I returned to school I was taken as a 
 boarder into the family of Edmund Ashby 
 Esquire, elder brother of Waring, who had 
 been married to my father's sister. This gen- 
 tleman had a wife and three daughters, and 
 occupied a spacious house in Peter Street, two
 
 niCHAtlD CUMBERLAND. ^9 
 
 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 oeconomy 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 vege- 
 tated without occupation, did nothing, and 
 had nothing to do, never seemed to trouble 
 himself with much thinking, or interrupt the 
 thoughts of others with much talking, and I 
 don't recollect ever to have found him engaged 
 with a newspaper, or a book, so that had it not 
 been for the favours I received from a few Ca- 
 nary birds which the ladies kept, I might as 
 well have boarded in the convent of La Trappe. 
 I confess my spirits felt the gloomy influence 
 of the sphere I lived in, and my nights were 
 particularly long and heavy, annoyed as they 
 were by the yells and bowlings of the crews of 
 the depredators, which infested that infamous 
 quarter, and sometimes even roused and alarm- 
 ed us by their pilfering attacks. In some res- 
 pects however I was benefited by my removal 
 from Ludford's^ as I was no longer under the
 
 8Q MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Strict confinement to 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 hum- 
 ble part of Lavinia. I enjoyed a good view of 
 the stage from the front row^ of the gallery, 
 and my attention was rivetted to the scene. I 
 have the spectacle even now as it were before 
 my eyes. Quin presented himself upon the 
 rising of the curtain in a green velvet coat em- 
 broidered down the seams, an enormous full 
 bottomed periwig, rolled stockings and high- 
 heeled square-toed shoes: with very little va- 
 riation of cadence, and in a deep full tone, 
 accompanied by a sawing kind of action, 
 which had more of the senate than of the stage 
 in it, he rolled out his heroics with an air of 
 dignified indifference, that seemed to disdain 
 the plaudits that were bestowed upon him. 
 Mrs. Cibber in a key, high-pitched but sweet 
 withal, sung or rather recitatived Rowe's har- 
 monious strain, something in the manner of the 
 Improvisatories : it was so extremely wanting
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 81 
 
 ill 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 Hke 
 a long old legendary ballad of innumerable 
 stanzas, every one of which is sung to the same 
 tune, eternally chiming in the ear without va- 
 riation 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 favour; 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 Horatio 
 heaven.*, what a transition ! it seemed as if 
 a whole century had been stept over in the 
 transition of a single scene ; old things were 
 done away, and a new order at once brought 
 forward, bright and luminous, and clearly des- 
 tined to dispel the barbarisms and bigotry of a 
 tasteless age, too long attached to the preju- 
 dices of custom, and superstitiously devoted to 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the illusions of imposing declamation. Tliis 
 heaven- born actor was then struggling to eman- 
 cipate 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 tliem, yet in general they seemed to lo*ve 
 darkness better than light, and in the dia- 
 logue of altercation between Horatio and Lo- 
 thario bestowed far the greater shozv of hands 
 iipon 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 ofl^ and no 
 amusements to resort to. I pressed my private 
 studies without intermission, and having taken 
 up the Georgicks for recreation-sake, I began 
 to entertain myself with a translation in blank 
 verse of Virgil's 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.
 
 ktCHARD CtJMBERLAND. 83 
 
 flic quondam morbo cceli miser anda coortaest 
 Tempestas &c. &c. 
 
 As this is one of the very few samples of my 
 Juvenilldj which I have thought well enough 
 of to preserve, I shall now insert it verbatim 
 from my first copy, and, without repeating for- 
 mer apologies, submit it unaltered in a single 
 instance to the candour of the reader 
 
 *' Here once from foul and sickly vapours sprung 
 *' A piteous plague, through all th' autumnal heate 
 *' Fatally raging : not a beast throughout, 
 *' Savage or tame, escap'd the general bane. 
 *' The foodful pasture and frequented pool 
 *^ Lay charg'd with mischief ; death itself assum'4 
 "' Strange forms of horror, for when fiery drought 
 *' Pervasive, coursing through the circling blood, 
 *' The feeble limbs had wasted, straight again 
 ** The oozy poison work'd its cursed way, 
 " Sapping the solid bones ; they by degrees 
 '^ Sunk to corruption. Oft the victim beast, 
 ** As at the altar's sacred foot it stood, 
 *' With all its wreathy honours on its head, 
 *' Dropt breathless, and escap'd the tardy blow. 
 *' Or if its lingering spirit might chance t' await 
 *' The priest's death-dealing hand, no iiames arise 
 ** From the disposed entrails ; there they lie 
 ** In thick and unpresaging smoke obscur'd. 
 ^' The question'd augur holds his peace, and aeey 
 G 2
 
 84 MEMOIRS 01* 
 
 *' His divination foil'd ; the slaughtering blade? 
 " Scarce quits its paly hue, and the light sand 
 '' Scarce blushes with the thin and meagre blood. 
 
 " Hence o'er the pasture rich and plenteous stall* 
 '' The tender herd in fragran* sighs expire; 
 *' Fell madness seizes the domestic dog ; 
 *' The pursy swine heave with repeated groans, 
 *' A rattling cough inflames their swelling throats : 
 ** No toils secure, no palm the yictor-horse 
 '' Availeth, now no more the wholesome spring 
 ** Delights, no longer now the once-lov'd mead ; 
 *' The fatal ill prevails ; with anguish stung 
 " Raging he stamps, his ears hang down relax'd ; 
 " Sometimes an intermitting sweat breaks forth, 
 *' Cold ever at th' approach of death ; again 
 " The dry and staring hide grows stiff and hard, 
 " Scorch'd and impasted with the feverish heat. 
 " Such the first signs of ruin, but at length 
 " When the accomplish'd and mature disease 
 *' With its collected and full vigour works, 
 " The rcd'ning eye-balls glow with baneful fire, 
 *' The deep and hollow breath with frequent groans, 
 " Piteous variety ! is sorely mix'd, 
 *' And long-drawn sighs distend the labouring sides : 
 " Then forth the porches of the nose descends, 
 *' As from a conduit, blood defil'd and black, 
 *' And 'twixt the glew'd and unresolved jaws 
 *' The rough and clammy tongue sticks fast at first 
 " With generous wine they drench'd the closing throat- 
 *' Sole antidote, worse bane at last for then 
 " Dire madness such as the just Gods to none 
 1
 
 illCIIARD CUMBERLAND. 85 
 
 ** Safe 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. 
 
 " The lab'ring ox, while o'er the furrow'd land 
 *' lie trails the tardy plough, down drops at once, 
 " Forth issues bloody foam, till the last groan 
 " Gives a long close to his labours : The sad hind 
 *' Unyokes his widow'd and complainful mate, 
 *' Leaving the blasted and imperfect work 
 <' Where the fix'd ploughshare points the luckless spot. 
 " The shady covert, where the lofty trees 
 *' Form cool retreat, the lawns, whose springing herb 
 *' yields food ambrosial, the transparent stream, 
 *' Which o'er the jutting stones to th' ncighb'ring mead 
 *' Takes its fantastic course, these now no more 
 *' Delight, as they were wont, rather afllict, 
 *' With him they cheer'd, with him their joys expir'd, 
 *' Joys only in participation dear ; 
 *' Famine instead stares in his hollow sides, 
 " His leaden eye-balls, motionless and fix'd, 
 *' Sleep in their sockets, his unnerved neck 
 " Hangs drooping down, death lays his load upon hitn, 
 " And bows him" to the ground what now avail 
 " His useful toils, his life ot" service past ? 
 <' What though full oft he turn'd the stubborn glebc> 
 ' It boots not now yet have these never felt 
 *' The ills of riot and intemperate draughts, 
 *' Where the full goblet crowns the luscious feast ; 
 * Their only feast to graze the springing herb 
 <' O'er the fresh lawn, or from the pendant bough 
 
 g3
 
 "06 IVffiMOIRS OF 
 
 '' To cr6^ thesayoury leaf, from the clear spring, 
 <^ Or active stream refined in its course, 
 ^' They slake their sober thirst, their sweet repose 
 *' Nor cares forbid, nor soothing arts invite, 
 ^' But pure digestion breeds and light repast. 
 
 '' 'Twas then great Juno's altar ceas'd to smoke: 
 '^ With blood of bullocks, and the votive car 
 '' With huge misshapen buffaloes was drawn 
 " To the high temples. Each one till'd his field, 
 "^ Each sow'd his acres with their owner's hand, 
 '^ Or, bending to the yoke with straining neck, 
 ^^ Up the high steep dragg'd the slow load along. 
 '* No more the wolf with crafty siege infests 
 *' The nightly fold ; more pressing cares than these 
 *' Engage the sly contriver and subdue. 
 *' The fearful deer league with the hostile hound, 
 *' And ply about the charitable door 
 *' Familiar, unannoy'd. The mighty deep 
 " At every mouth disgorg'd the scaly tribe, 
 " And on the naked shore expos'd to view 
 " The various wreck : the farthest rivers felt 
 . '* The vast discharge and swarm'd with monstrous shape*., 
 *' In vain the viper builds his mazy cell ; 
 " Death follows him through all his wiles : in vain 
 *' The snake involves him deep beneath the flood, 
 " Wond'ring he starts, erects his scales and dies. 
 '^ The birds themselves confess the tainted air, 
 ''' Drop while on wing, and as they soar expire. 
 " Nought now avails the pasture fresh and new ; 
 *' Each art applied turns opposite ; e'en they, 
 ' Sage Chiron J sage Melampus^ they despair,
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. S? 
 
 ^' 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 ey'ry herd, from ev'ry fold 
 
 *' Complaintive murmurs ; heaps on heaps they fall, 
 
 *' There where they fall they lie, corrupt and rot 
 
 '' Within the lothsome stalls, fiU'd and dam'd up 
 
 *' With impure carcases, 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 essay'd 
 
 *' To shear the tainted fleece, or bind the wool, 
 
 *' For who e'er dar'd to cloath 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 befel my 
 parents and myself. A short time before my 
 hohdays in autumn my father and mother cam* 
 to town, and brought my eldest sister Joanna 
 with them, a very lovely girl then in her se- 
 
 G 4
 
 8$ MEMOIRS OF 
 
 venteenth year. She caught the small pox, and 
 died in the house of the Reverend Doctor Cutts 
 Barton, Rector of Saint Andrew*s Holborn, 
 who kindly permitted my father to remove 
 thither, when she sickened with that cruel 
 disease. She was truly most engaging in her 
 person, and, though much admired, her man- 
 ners were extremely modest, and her teniper 
 mild and gentle. When I first visited her, 
 after the symptoms of the disease were upon 
 her, she told me she was persuaded she had 
 caught the small pox, and that it would be fatal 
 to her. Her augury was too true; it was con- 
 fluent, and assistance was in vain; the regimen 
 then followed was exactly contrary to the pre- 
 sent improved method of treating that disease, 
 which, when it had kept her in torments for 
 eleven days, having effectually destroyed her 
 beauty, finally put an end to her life. My fa- 
 ther, who tenderly loved her, submitted to the 
 afflicting dispensation in silent sadness, never 
 venting a complaint; my mother's sorrows 
 were not under such controul, and as to me, 
 devoted to her as I had been from my cradle, 
 the shock appeared to threaten me with such 
 consequences, that my father resolved upoa
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 89 
 
 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, staid in town and attended the 
 body of his lamented cousin to the grave. My 
 surviving sisters, Elizabeth and Mary, the 
 elder of whom was six years younger than my- 
 self, had been left in the country ; the atten- 
 tions,*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 resigna- 
 tion 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 Lon- 
 don since that unfortunate event, determined 
 him against my return to Westminster, and 
 though another year, which my early age 
 might well have dispensed with, was recom- 
 mended by Doctor Nichols, and would most 
 probably have been so employed with advan- 
 tage to my education, yet the measure was 
 taken, and though only in my fourteenth year, 
 I was admitted of Trinity College in Cam- 
 bridge. There were yet some months of thp
 
 90 MEMOms OF 
 
 vacation unexpired, and that I might pass this 
 time at home with the more advantage, my far- 
 ther prevailed upon a neighbouring clergyman, 
 the Reverend Mr. Thomas Strong, to reside with 
 tis 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 1 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 sometime after married very 
 happily, and resided on his living of Hargrave 
 in our neighbourhood universally respected, and 
 I trust it is not amongst my sins of omission 
 ever after to have forgotten his services, or 
 failed in my attention to him. 
 
 When the time came for me to commence 
 my residence in College, my father accompa- 
 nied me and put me under the care of the Re- 
 verend 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 chaj)el
 
 RICHAUD GUMBEftLAND. 1 
 
 bell ; lie 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 ttifling 
 readings in TuUy's Offices, by which I wa& 
 Jittle edified, and to which I paid little or no 
 attention, he left me and one other pupil, my 
 friend and intimate Mr. William Rudd of Dur^ 
 bam, to choose and pursue our studies, as wt 
 saw fit. This dereliction of us was inexcusa- 
 ble, for Rudd was a youth of fine talents and 
 a well-grounded scholar. In the Course of no 
 long time however Doctor Morgan left college, 
 and went to reside upon his living of Gainford 
 in the bishoprick of Durham, and I was turned 
 ov^r to the Reverend Doctor Philip Young, 
 professor of Oratory in the University, and 
 afterwards Bishop of Norwich ; what Morgan 
 made a very light concern. Young made an ab- 
 solute sinecure, for from him I never received a 
 single lecture, and I hope his lordship's con*- 
 science was not much disturbed on my account, 
 for, though he gave me free leave to be idle, 
 I did not make idleness my choice. 
 
 In the last year of my being under-graduate, 
 when I commenced Soph, in the very first act
 
 92 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 that was given out to be kept in the mathema- 
 tical schools, I was appointed to an opponency, 
 when at that time I had not read a single pro- 
 position in Euclid; I had now been just turned 
 over to Mr. Backhouse, the Westminster tutoi^ 
 who gave regular lectures, and fulfilled the du- 
 ties of his charge ably and conscientiously. 
 Totally unprepared to answer the call now 
 made upon me, and acquit myself in the 
 school^, I resorted to him in my distress, and 
 through his interference my name was with- 
 (drawn 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 xxi%
 
 ItlCHARD CtJMBfiRLAND. 95 
 
 and indulged my passions for the classics 
 with an ardor, that rarely knew any inter- 
 mission or relief. I certainly did not wati-*- 
 tonly misuse my time, or yield to any eveii 
 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 fa- 
 ther, who at this tender ao-e 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 stu- 
 dy 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 
 1 was pressing forward ardently and success- 
 fully to follow them in their profession, and 
 peradventure not fall far behind them in 
 their fame. This was the great aim and object
 
 94 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of my ambition ; for this I laboured, to this 
 point I looked, and all iny world was centered 
 in my college. Every scene brought to my 
 mind the pleasing recollection of times past, 
 and filled it with the animating hope of times 
 to come : as my college duties and attendances 
 were occupations that I took pleasure in, punc- 
 tuality 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 stu- 
 dies, it would have been happy for me ; but I 
 had no such director, and with my books be- 
 fore me, (poets, historians and philosophers) 
 sate down as it were to a c(Ena dubia, 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 stu- 
 dies. 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, contain- 
 ing his correspondence witli many of the fo- 
 reign literati upon points of criticism, some
 
 RICHARt) CUMBRLANt>. 95 
 
 letter* from Sir Isaac Newton, a pretty large 
 body of notes for an edition of Lucan's Phar- 
 salia, which I gave to my uncle Bentley, and 
 were published under his inspection by Dods- 
 ley 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 lost, I 
 have availed myself of them^ and I am vain 
 enough to believe no such collection of the 
 scattered extracts, anecdotes and remains of 
 those dramatists is any where else to be found, 
 f he 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 tliat his executors took 
 4
 
 96 MEMOIRS oi* 
 
 this method of disposing of his books, by whicll 
 they became dispersed in small lots amongst 
 many country purchasers, who probably did 
 not know their value. He was an accurate 
 CoUater, 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-master 
 of the college, never failed to distinguish me 
 by every kindness in his power. He frequent* 
 ly invited me to his rooms, which I had so of- 
 ten visited as a child, and which had the fur- 
 ther merit with me as having been the resi- 
 dence of Sir Isaac Newton, every relick of 
 whose studies and experiments were respect- 
 fully preserved to the minutest particular, and 
 pointed out to me by the good old vice-master 
 with the most circumstantial precision. He 
 had many little anecdotes of my grandfather, 
 which to me at least were interesting, and an
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 97 
 
 old servant Deborah, wliom 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 se- 
 veral years after Sir Isaac left college, and at 
 the death of my grandfather was passed over 
 to Doctor Walker, in whose service she died. 
 
 My mind in these happy days was so 
 tranquil, and my time passed in so uniform a 
 tenor of study and retirement, that though it 
 is a period pleasing to me to reflect upon, yet 
 it furnishes little that is worthy to be recorded, 
 I believe I hardly ever employed myself upon 
 English composition, except on the event of 
 the Prince of Wales's death, when amongst 
 others I sent in my contribution of elegiac 
 verses to the university volume, and very in- 
 different ones they were. To my Latin de- 
 clamations I paid my best attention, for these 
 were recited publicly in the chapel after even- 
 ing prayers on Saturdays, when it was open to 
 all, who chose to resort thither, and we were 
 generally flattered by pretty full audiences. 
 
 The year of trial now commenced, for which, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 ^ MEMOIRS OF 
 
 through the neglect of my tutors, I was, as an 
 academical student, totally unprepared. De- 
 termined 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 
 determined me to persist with ardour, and 
 made me deaf to their advice. In the several 
 branches of the mechanics, hydrostatics, optics 
 and astronomy I consulted the best treatises, 
 and made myself master of them ; I Avorkcd 
 all my 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 pre- 
 sume to say I had advantages, which some of 
 the best of my contemporaries in our public 
 disputations were but too sensible of, for sq
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 99 
 
 long as my knowledge of a question could sup- 
 ply 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 A-ee/) tfw act, and three respect- 
 able 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 dis- 
 putation the schools never failed to be crowd- 
 ed, 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 complete 
 confutation. I was not only a mere novice in 
 the schools but also a perfect stranger to the 
 gentlemen opposed to me ; when therefore 
 mounted on a bass in the rostrum, which even 
 then I could scarcely overtop, I contemplated, 
 in the person of my antagonist, a North-coun- 
 try black-bearded philosopher, who at an ad- 
 vanced age had admitted at Saint John's to 
 
 H 2
 
 100 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 every 
 body's curiosity ; for after I had concluded my 
 thesis, which precedes the disputation, \vhen 
 he ascended his seat under the ro&trum of the 
 Moderator 
 
 With grave 
 Aspect he rose^ and in his rising seem'd 
 A pillar of strength; deep in his front engraven 
 Deliberation sate sage )ie 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 ag-ainst me. I also saw that all advan- 
 tages, 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 impor- 
 tance by the crowd it had collected, armed, as
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 101 
 
 I believed myself to be, in the full understand- 
 ing 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 en- 
 veloped in the terms of his art, as made it some- 
 what difficult for me to discover where his 
 syllogism pointed without those aids and deli- 
 neations, 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 fal- 
 lacy 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 re- 
 maining seven arguments, which fell off in 
 strength and subtlety, and his defence became 
 sullen and morose, his latinity very harsh, in- 
 elegant 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 
 H 3
 
 102 MEMOIflS OV 
 
 already been prolonged beyond the time com- 
 monly allotted, and the schools were broken 
 up by the Moderator with a compliment ad- 
 dressed 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 candour, and that I 
 shall be pardoned for a long tale told in my 
 old age of the first triumph of my youth, earn- 
 ed by extreme hard labour, and gained at the 
 risque and liazard of my health by a perse- 
 verance in so severe a course of study, as 
 brought me ultimately to the very brink of the 
 gra^'e. 
 
 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 con- 
 trived to form certain arguments, which by a 
 scale of deductions so artfully drawn, and in- 
 volving consequences, which by mathematical
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 103 
 
 gradations (the premises being once granted) 
 led to such unforeseen confutation, that even 
 my tutor Mr. Backhouse, to whom I previous- 
 ly 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 me to conform 
 to the usage of proposing one metaphysical 
 question in the place of that, which I should 
 think fit to withdraw. This was ground I 
 never liked to take, and I appealed against his 
 requisition : the act was accordingly put by 
 till the matter of right should be ascertained 
 by the statutes of the university, and in the 
 result of that enquiry it was given for me, and 
 my questions stood. This litigation between 
 the Moderator and an Under-graduate, whose 
 interest in tlie distribution of honors at the 
 ensuing degree laitl 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 
 
 H 4
 
 104 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 op- 
 ponent, who no doubt felt every motive to re- 
 new 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 ap- 
 plication, my whole frame being debilitated in 
 a manner, that warned me I had not long to 
 continue my course of labour without the in- 
 terruption 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 intel- 
 lectually alive to all the purposes of the busi- 
 ness we were upon, and when I observed that 
 the Moderator exhibited symptoms of indispo- 
 sition by resting his head upon the cushion on 
 his desk, I cut short my thesis to make way 
 for my opponent, who had hardly brought his 
 argument to bear, when the Moderator, on the 
 plea of sudden indisposition, dismissed me with 
 a speech, which, though tinctured with some 
 
 I
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 105 
 
 petulance, had more of praise in it than I ex- 
 pected to receive. 
 
 I yielded now to advice, and paid attentiou 
 to my health, till we were cited to the senate 
 house to be examined for our Bachelor's de- 
 gree. 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 consti- 
 tution just held me up to the expiration of the 
 scrutiny, and I immediately hastened to my 
 own home to alarm my parents with my ghast- 
 ly looks, and soon fell ill of a rheumatic fever, 
 which for the space of six months kept me ho- 
 vering between life and death. The skill of 
 my physician, the aforementioned Doctor Wal- 
 lis 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 H^ran- 
 glers of my year, and I further understood 
 how much I was indebted to the generous sup- 
 port of that very Moderator, whom I had
 
 106 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 thwarted in the matter of my questions, foi* 
 this adjudication so much in my favour and 
 perhaps above my merits, for my knowledge 
 had been hastily attained : a conduct so candid 
 on the part of the Reverend Mr. Ray, (fellow 
 of Corpus Christi, and the Moderator, of whom 
 I have been speaking) was ever remembered 
 by me with gratitude and respect : Mr. Ray 
 was afterwards domestic chaplain to the Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury, and, when I was resi- 
 dent in town, I waited upon him at Lambeth 
 palace to express my sensibility of the very 
 liberal manner, in which he had protected me. 
 I now found myself in a station of ease and 
 credit in my native college, to which I was 
 attached by every tye, that could endear it to 
 me. I had changed my Under-graduate's 
 gown, and obtained my degree of Bacbelor 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 con- 
 form, it is not merely because I can quote my 
 privilege for my excuse, but because I would
 
 niCHARD CUMBERLAND. 107 
 
 most earnestly impress upon the attention of 
 my reader the extreme usefulness of these aca*- 
 tlemical 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 therefore I am to 
 speak for the discipline of the schools, ought I 
 not first to show that I am speaking from ex- 
 perience, without wiiich opinions pass for no*- 
 thino"? 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 favour, which every ob- 
 servation of my life has since contributed to 
 establish and confirm. What more can any 
 S3'stem of education hold out to those, who 
 are the objects of it, than public honours to 
 distinguish merit, public exercises to awaken 
 emulation, and public examinations, which can- 
 not be passed without extorting some exertion 
 even from the indolent, nor can be avoided 
 without a marked disgrace to the compoutider ? 
 Now if I have any knowledge of the world,
 
 108 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 any insight into the minds and characters of 
 those, whom I have had opportunities of know- 
 ing, (and few have lived more and longer 
 amongst mankind) all my observations tend 
 to convince me that there is no profession, no 
 art, no station or condition in life, to which 
 the studies I have been speaking of will not 
 apply and come in aid with profit and advan- 
 tage. That mode of investigation step by 
 step, which crowns the process of the student 
 by the demonstration and discovery of posi- 
 tive and mathematical truth, must of neces- 
 sity 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 stu- 
 dies, though he shall afterwards neglect them, 
 will not to his comfort experience some men- 
 tal powers and resources, in which their in-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 109 
 
 fluence shall be felt, though the channels, 
 that conducted it, may from disuse have be- 
 come obscure, and no longer to be traced. 
 Hear the crude opinions, that are let loose 
 upon society in our table conversations; mark 
 the wild and wandering arguments, that are 
 launched at random without ever hitting the 
 mark they should be levelled at; what does 
 all this noise and nonsense prove, but that 
 the talker has indeed acquired the fluency of 
 words, but never known the exercise of 
 thought, or attended to the developement of 
 a single proposition ? Tell him that he ought 
 to hear what may be said on the other side 
 of the question he agrees to it, and either 
 begs leave to wind up with a few words more, 
 which he winds and wire-draws without end ; 
 or having paused to hear, hears with impa- 
 tience a very little, foreknows every thing you 
 had further to say, cuts short your argument 
 and bolts in upon you with an answer to 
 that argument ? No ; with a continuation 
 of his own gabble, and, having stifled you 
 with the torrent of his trash, places your con- 
 tempt to the credit of his own capacity, and 
 foolishly conceives he talks with reason be-
 
 110 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 cause he has not patience to attend to any rea- 
 soning but his own. 
 
 What are all the quirks and quibbles, that 
 skirmishers in controversy catch hold of to es- 
 cape the point of any argument, when pressed 
 upon them ? If a laugli, a jeer, a hit of mi- 
 mickry, 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 receivino: con- 
 viction as the acquirement of something, which 
 they had not themselves and have gained from 
 you, they regard it as an insult to their under- 
 standings, 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 ima- 
 gination having never felt the trammels of a
 
 RICHARI) CUMBERLAND. Ill 
 
 syllogism is for ever %iiig<^ into digression 
 and display-^ r ,iv.'^rh rhi/ol tor 
 
 Quo teneam nodo mutantem Protea formas ? 
 To attempt at hedging in these cuckows is 
 but lost labour. These gentlemen are very 
 entertaining as long as novelties with no mean- 
 ing can entertain you ; they have a great va- 
 riety of opinions, which, if you oppose, they 
 do not defend, and if you agree with, they de- 
 sert. 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 mad- 
 man, 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 pris- 
 matic colours. So great is their distaste for 
 demonstration, they think no truth is worth 
 the waiting for ; the mountain must come to 
 them, they are not by half so complaisant as 
 Mahomet. They are not easily reconciled to 
 truisms, but have no particular objection to
 
 lis MEMOIRS I 
 
 impossibilities. For argument they have no 
 ear ; it does not touch theni ; it fetters fancy^ 
 and dulls the edge of repartee ; if by chance 
 they find themselves in an untenable position, 
 ^nd 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 
 talli, 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 bye- ways and obliquities, and 
 when out of sight of their contemporaries, 
 are for ever lost to posterity. 
 
 When characters of this sort come under our 
 observation it is easy to discover that their le-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 113 
 
 Vities 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 yputh* 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 
 disfiivour, 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-gra- 
 <luates of Trinity College, whether elected from 
 Westminster or not, have no such exemptions. 
 Having now, at an age more than common- 
 ly early, obtained my Bachelor's degree, with 
 the return of health I resumed my studies, and 
 Avithout neglecting those I had so lately been 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 MEMOIRS Ol? 
 
 engaged In, again took up those authors, who 
 had lain by untouched for a whole twelve- 
 month. I supposed my line in life was de- 
 cided for the church, the profession of my an- 
 cestors, and in the course of three years I had 
 good reason to expect a fellowship with the de- 
 gree of Master of Arts. These views, so suited 
 to my natural disposition, were now before me, 
 and I dwelt upon them with entire content. 
 
 Having now been in the habit of reading 
 upon system, I resolved 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 con- 
 troversy 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 dis- 
 pute, and if in the result my judgment went 
 with him, to whom my inclination lent, 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 pro- 
 jected for an Universal History, or at least for 
 
 4
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 115 
 
 that of the Great Empires in particular. For 
 this purpose I began with studying the San- 
 choniatho 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 au- 
 thors, 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 posses- 
 sion, I gave up the task, or more properly 
 speaking reduced it to a more contracted s^ale, 
 in which however I contrived to review all the 
 several systems of the Heathen Philosophers, 
 and discuss at l^rge the tenets and opinions 
 maintained and professed by their respective 
 schools and academies. This was a work of 
 labour and considerable research, and having 
 had lately occasion to resort to it for certain 
 purposes, which I have in hand, I must do my- 
 self 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, 
 
 I 9.
 
 116^ MEMOIRS OF 
 
 and the habitudes of thinking, I had so recent-* 
 \y been engaged in. 
 
 Thus, after wandering at large for a consi- 
 derable 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 M'hat reverence I swal- 
 lowed the absurdities of their chorus, and was 
 bio'oted to their cold character and rig-id uni- 
 ties; and when Mason of Pembroke-Hall 
 published his Elfrida after their model, though 
 I did not quite agree with him as to his choice 
 of plot, or the perfect legitimacy of his chorus, 
 yet I was warm in my praises of that general- 
 ly-admired production, and in imitation of it 
 1
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAXD. 117 
 
 planned and composed an entire drama, of 
 which Charactacus ' was the hero, with Bards 
 and Druids attached to it as a chorus, for 
 whom I wrote Odes in the manner of Elfrida ; 
 I have this manuscript now in my possession, 
 and it is 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 
 ]}lot I stray equally from him and from the 
 history, for not writing with any thought of 
 publication, I wove into my drama some cha- 
 racters and several incidents perfectly ficti- 
 tious : there is a good deal of fancy and some 
 strong writing in it, but as a whole it must be 
 read with allowances, and I shall therefore 
 pass it over, not wishing to make too many 
 demands upon the candour of the reader. 
 
 Whilst I was thus living with my family at 
 Stanwick in the enjoyment of every thing that 
 could constitute my felicity, a strong contest 
 took place upon the approach of the general 
 election, and the county of Northam])ton was 
 Jjotly canvassed by the rival parties of Knight- 
 
 1 3
 
 118 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 ly and Hanbury, or in other words by the To- 
 ries and the Whigs. My father, whose poli- 
 tics 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 said 
 
 Si Pergama dextrA 
 Defendi possent^ etiam h&c defensafuissent. 
 
 This second striking instance of his popu^ 
 larity and influence was by no means over- 
 looked by the Earl of Hahfax, 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 de- 
 clining all favours personal to himself, yet he 
 was persuaded to lend an ear to flattering si- 
 tuations 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 clois- 
 ters of my college, and free range of my stu- 
 dies to the desk of a private secretary, and 
 the irksome painful restraints of dependence. 
 
 Let me not by my statement of this event
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 119 
 
 appear to lay any thing to the charge of my 
 ever dear and honoured father; if I were unna* 
 turally disposed to find a fault in his proceed- 
 ing 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 certain- 
 ly 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 excur- 
 sion to the city of York for the double pur- 
 pose of my relaxation and my sisters' accom- 
 plishments 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 understand- 
 ing ; her opinions were pronounced authorita- 
 
 I 4
 
 V20 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tively and without respect of person ; they 
 were considered in York as little less than ora^ 
 cular. The style of living in this place was so 
 new to me and out of character, when con- 
 trasted by the habits of study and retirement, 
 which I had been accustomed to, that it seem- 
 ed to enfeeble and depress that portion of ge- 
 nius, which nature had endowed me with ; I 
 hunted in the mornings, danced in the even- 
 ings, and devoted but a small portion of my 
 time to any thing that deserved the name of 
 study. I had no books of my own, and unfor- 
 tunately 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 sea-r 
 sonable contempt she threw upon my imita- 
 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 fa- 
 mily ; a beautifid copy of elegiac verses, the 
 composition of his daughter Lady Susan, was
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 121 
 
 communicated to me, of which the hint seem-- 
 ed 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 la- 
 dy, who lived to grace the high station which 
 by her birth, virtues, and endowments she was 
 f^ntitled to, and when I now venture to insert 
 jny own, I am fully conscious how ill it would 
 endure a comparison with that, whiph gave oc^ 
 casion to it :- 
 
 *' True ! We must all be chang'd by death, 
 " Such is the form the dead must wear, 
 " And so, ivhen 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 wond'rous fabric trace 
 
 *' The hand of an unerring God. 
 
 " Why does the blood in stated round 
 '' Its vital warmth throughout dispense ? 
 " Who tun'd the ear to every sound, 
 ^' And lent the hand its ready sense ? 
 
 *' Whence had the eyes that subtle force, 
 ^^ That languor, they by turns display? 
 *' Who hung the lips with prompt discoursCj 
 ' And tun'd the soft melodious lay?
 
 132 MEMOms OF 
 
 <^ 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 avaird the raptur'd strain, 
 *.' Did not the mind her aid impart, 
 *' The melting eye wauld speak in rain, 
 *^ 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 cither 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. 
 
 *' Strong and expansive in its view, 
 *' It tow'rs amidst the boundless sky, 
 *^' Sees planets other orbs pursue, 
 " Whose systems other suns supply.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 123 
 
 ** 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, doatard, hath He idly wrought, 
 *' Or are his works to be belicv'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.
 
 124 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 '* 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, 
 
 " Secure thou'lt chuse that better way, 
 
 <' Which Conscience points and Saints hare trode. 
 
 '' 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 relax- 
 ation, but not altogether of a sort, that either 
 suited my case, or accorded with my taste. 
 Certain it is I had for a time impaired my 
 health by too much application and the over- 
 abstemious habits I imposed upon myself du- 
 ring my last year at college, but tranquillity 
 not dissipation, or what is called amusement, 
 was the restorative I most needed. The allure-^
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 125 
 
 inents of public assemblies and the society of 
 those, who resort to them, form so great a con- 
 trast to the occupations of a student, that in- 
 stead of being enlivened by the change, I felt 
 a lassitude of mind, that put me out of humour 
 with myself, and damped that ardent spirit of 
 acquirement, which in my nature seemed to 
 have been its ruling passion. Extremes of any 
 sort are dangero-us to youthful minds, and 
 should be studiously avoided. The termina- 
 tion 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 my- 
 self only now and then with my pen, because 
 my fancy would not be totally unemployed ; 
 sometimes, as 1 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
 
 126 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 elegies, and took leave of Hammond with the 
 following lines, written almost extempore 
 
 " When wise men loire they lore to folly, 
 " When blockheads love they're melancholy, 
 " When coxcombs lote, they love for fashiotlj 
 *' 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, prdve 
 " 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 Avomcn will not do, 
 
 '' When they love man and money too?"
 
 RICHARt) CUMfiERLAKD. 127 
 
 These and numerous trifles of the like sort, 
 not worth recording, amused my vacant hours 
 at York, hut when I returned home, I made 
 a very short stay and hastened to college^ 
 where I was soon invited to the master's lodge 
 by Doctor Smith, who was pleased to honour 
 me with his approbation of my past exertions^ 
 and imparted to me a new arrangement, that 
 he and the seniors had determined upon for 
 annulling so much of the existing statutes a 
 restricted all Bachelors of Arts, except tlios^ 
 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 seem* 
 ed 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 iji existence ; I knew that by 
 my election there must be an exclusion of 
 some candidate of the vear above me, who had
 
 128 MEMOIRS dF 
 
 only a single chance, whereas I had a dduble 
 one ; in the mean time my circumstances were 
 such as not to want the emoluments of a fel- 
 lowship, and my age such as might well admit 
 of a postponement. These were my reflections 
 at the time, and I felt the force of them, but 
 the regulation was gone forth, and there were 
 others of my own year, who had announced 
 their resolution of coming forward as candi-^ 
 dates at the time of the election. There was 
 no part therefore for me to take ])ut 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 ex-^ 
 perienced 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 tlie exclusion 
 of any other without strict scrutiny into my 
 pretensions, and as I had obtained a high ho- 
 nour when I took my degree, I greatly feared 
 he might expect too much, and meet with dis- 
 appointment.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 129 
 
 Under these impressions, whilst I was pre- 
 paring to resume my studies with increased at- 
 tention, and repair the time not profitably past 
 of late, I received a summons, which opened 
 to me a new scene of Hfe. I was called for by 
 Lord Halifax to assume the situation of his 
 private confidential secretary : it was consi- 
 dered by my family and thp friends and ad- 
 visers of my family, as an offer, upon which 
 there could be no hesitation. They took the 
 question as it struck them in their view of it, 
 they could not look into futurity, neither could 
 they take a perfect estimate either of my fit- 
 ness for the situation- held gut to me, or of the 
 eventual value of the situation, from which I 
 was about to be displaced. What the prose- 
 cution of my studies might have led me to in 
 that line of life, to which 1 had directed my 
 attention, and fixed my attachment, is a mat- 
 ter of speculation and conjecture ; what I 
 might have avoided is now become matter of 
 experience, and I can only say that had cer- 
 tain passages of my past life been then stated 
 to me as probabilities to occur, I would have 
 stuck to my college, and endeavoured to have 
 trodden in the steps of my ancestors. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 I was not fitted for dependence ; my nature 
 was repugnant to it ; I was most unfortunate-, 
 ly formed with feelings, that could ill endure 
 the assumed importance of some, or submit to 
 take advantage of the weakness of others. I 
 had ambition enough, and it may be more than 
 enough ; but it was the ambition of working 
 out my own way by the labours of my mind, 
 and raising to myself a character upon a foun- 
 dation of my own laying. I certainly do not 
 offend against truth when I say I had an ar- 
 dent 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 per- 
 fectly natural for a father to do in the like cir- 
 cumstances, he availed himself of the oppor- 
 tunity for placing me under the patronage of 
 one of the most figuring and rising men of his 
 time. There was something extremely bril- 
 liant and more than commonly engaging in 
 the person, manners and address of the Earl
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 131 
 
 of Halifax. He had been educated at Eton, 
 and came with the reputation of a good scho- 
 lar to Trinity College, where he established 
 himself in the good opinion of the whole so- 
 ciety, not only by his orderly and regular con- 
 duct, but in a very distinguished manner by 
 the attention which he paid to his studies, and 
 the proofs he gave in his public exercises of 
 his classical acquirements. He was certainly, 
 when compared with men of his condition, 
 to be distinguished as a scholar much above 
 the common mark : he quoted well and co- 
 piously from the best authors, chiefly Horace ; 
 he was very fond of English poetry, and re- 
 cited 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 So- 
 lomon, and Henry and Emma, with the whole 
 of his verses, beginnmg with Sincere oh tell 
 w^^-and these he would set off with a great 
 display of action, and in a style of declama- 
 tion more than sufficiently theatrical. He was 
 married to a virtuous and exemplary lady, who 
 brought him a considerable fortune, and from 
 K 2
 
 132 MEMOIRS Of 
 
 whom he took the name of Dunk, and was 
 made a freeman of London to entitle him to 
 marry in conformity to the conditions of her 
 father's will. His family, when I came to him, 
 consisted of this lady, with whom he lived in 
 great domestic harmony, and three daughters ; 
 there was an elderly clergyman of the name of 
 Crane, an inmate also, who had been his tutor, 
 and to whom he was most entirely attached. 
 A better guide and a more faithful counsellor 
 he could not have, for amongst all the men it 
 has been my chance to know, I do not think 
 I have known a calmer, wiser, more right-head- 
 ed man ; in the ways of the world, the politics 
 of the time and the characters of those, who 
 were in the public management and responsi- 
 bility of affairs, Doctor Crane was incom- 
 parably the best steersman, that his pupil could 
 take his course from, and so long as he sub- 
 mitted to his temperate guidance he could 
 hardly go astray. The opinions of Doctor 
 Crane were upon all points decisive, because 
 in the first place they were always withheld 
 till extorted from him by appeal, and secondly, 
 because they never failed to carry home con-
 
 illCHAtlb CUMBERLAii^D. 133 
 
 viction af the prudence and sound judgment 
 they were founded upon. 
 
 This was the state of the family to which I 
 was now introduced. In the Lord of the house 
 I contemplated a man regular in his duties, 
 temperate in his habits, and a strict observer 
 of decorum: in the lady a woman, in whom 
 no fault or even foible could be discovered, 
 mild, prudent, unpretending: in the tutor a 
 character not easy to develope, or rightly and 
 correctly to appretiate, 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 in- 
 telligent 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 respect- 
 ed. Lord Halifax's house was in Grosvenor- 
 Square, but I found lodgings taken for me by 
 his order in Downing-Street, for the purpose, 
 K 3
 
 134 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 as I understood, of my being near Mr* John 
 Pownall, then acting secretary to the Board 
 of Trade, at which it was Lord Hahfax's of- 
 fice to preside. This gentleman was to give 
 me the necessary instructions for my obtaining 
 some insight into the nature of the business, 
 likely to devolve upon me. My location was 
 certainly very well pitched for those communi- 
 cations, for Mr. Pownall lodged and boarded 
 at a house in the same street, and with him I 
 was to mess when not invited out. 
 
 The morning after my arrival I waited on 
 this gentleman at his office in Whitehall, and 
 was received by him with all possible 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 re- 
 lation, 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 155 
 
 the manners of those days were not to be ap- 
 proached without a set of ceremonies and ma- 
 ncEuvres, 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 impres- 
 sive ; he could never be mistaken for less than 
 he was, whilst his official Secretary Pownall, 
 who egregiously over-acted his imitations of 
 him, could as little be mistaken for more than 
 he was. In the world, which I now belonged 
 to, I heard very little, except now and then a 
 quotation from Lord Halifax, that in any de- 
 gree interested me; there were talkers how- 
 ever, 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 pohte as well 
 as a political glossary, which involved myste- 
 ries little less obscure than those, which are 
 couched under the hierogliphics of Egypt, and 
 I perceived that whosoever had the ready use 
 
 K 4
 
 136 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 al- 
 low 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 right. 
 
 When it was my chance to dine at our board- 
 ing-house table with the aforementioned sub- 
 secretary, I contemplated with surprise the im- 
 portance of his air, and the dignity that seem- 
 ed attached to his official situation. The good 
 woman of the house, who was at once our pro- 
 vider and our president, regularly addressed 
 him by the name of statesman, and in her dis- 
 tribution of the joint shewed something more 
 than an impartial attention to his plate. If he 
 knew any state-secrets, I will do him the jus- 
 tice to say that he never disclosed them ; and
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 13f 
 
 if he talked with ministers and great nobles as 
 he talked o/them, I will venture to say he was 
 extremely familiar with them ; and I cannot 
 doubt but that this was the case; for if he 
 was thus high with his equals, it surely be- 
 hoved him to be much higher with those who 
 but for such self-swelling altitudes might stand 
 a chance to pass for his superiors. He had a 
 brother in the guards, a very amiable man, and 
 with him I formed a friendship. Having been 
 told to inform myself about the colonies, and 
 shewn some folio books of formidable con- 
 tents, 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 appHcable to the then 
 existing state of the colonies, were most dis- 
 couragingly meagre, and most oppressively te- 
 dious in communicating nothing. I got a 
 summary but sufficient insight into the con- 
 stitutions of the respective provinces, for what 
 was worth knowing was soon learnt, and when 
 I found that my whole employment in Gros- 
 venor-Square consisted in copying a ^qw pri-
 
 138 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 vate letters to governors and civil officers 
 abroad, I applied my thoughts to other sub- 
 jects, and particularly to the Approaching 
 election at my college ; still London lodgings 
 and London hours were not quite so well adapt- 
 ed 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 Moiint^Street, within a very short Walk 
 of Lor<l Halifax*s house, where I attended for 
 liis 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, stript to his shirt 
 with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, was 
 washing his hands. 
 
 The recess took place at the usual time, 
 when Lord Halifax left town and went to Hor- 
 ton in Northamptonshire ; I accompanied him 
 thither, and from thence went to Cambridge ; 
 he seemed interested in my undertaking, and 
 offered me letters of recommendation, which
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 139 
 
 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 ac- 
 customed cordiality, and I found the candi- 
 dates of both years had turned out strong fof 
 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 fVestminster secure of his elec- 
 tion, and such was his merit, independent of 
 any other claim, that it would have been im- 
 possible to pass him over. He Avas a young 
 man of elegant accomplishments, and with the 
 recommendation of a very interesting person 
 and address, had derived from the Cowpers, 
 of which family his mother was, no small pro- 
 portion of hereditary taste and talent ; he was 
 a good classical scholar, composed excellent 
 declamations in the Ciceronian style, which he 
 set off with all the grace of recitation and 
 voice, that can well be conceived : he had a 
 great passion for music, sung well, and read in 
 chapel to the admiration of every one. I have 
 passed many happy hours with him in tlie
 
 140 MEMOIRS 0^, 
 
 morning of our lives, and I hope he will enjoy 
 the evening of his days in comfort and tran- 
 quillity, having chosen that better lot, which 
 has brought him into harbour, whilst I, who 
 lost it, am left out at sea. 
 
 The senior Westminster of my year, and 
 joint candidate with nie at this time, was John 
 Higgs, now Rector of Grandisburgh in Suf- 
 folk, and a senior fellow of Trinity College ; a 
 man, who, when I last visited him, enjoyed all 
 the vigour of mind and body in a green old 
 age, the result of good humour, and the reward 
 of temperance. We have spun out mutually 
 a long measure of uninterrupted friendship, he 
 in peace throughouti, and I at times in per- 
 plexity ; 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. When the 
 day of examination came we went our rounds 
 to the electing seniors ; in some instances by
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 141 
 
 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 modem 
 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 
 forge, upon his being questioned on his ap- 
 pearance, he replied that he had been turn- 
 ing then I wish, said the other, when you 
 was about it, friend Charles, you had turned 
 your shirt. This philosopher, as I was pre-, 
 pared to believe, decidedly opposed my elec- 
 tion. He gave us a good dose of dry mathe- 
 matics, and then put an Aristophanes before 
 us, which he opened at a venture, and bade 
 us give the sense of it. A very worthy candi- 
 date of my year declined having any thing to 
 do with it, yet Mason gave his vote for that
 
 142 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 gentleman, and against me, who took his 
 leavings. Doctor Samuel Hooper gave us a 
 liberal and well chosen examination in the more 
 familiar classics ; that indeed was a man, in 
 whom nothing could be found but what was 
 gentle and 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 tab- 
 let, 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 re-^ 
 sorted 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 w'as 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 philosopjiy, so called in the 
 4
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 143 
 
 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 deter- 
 mined to take nothing upon trust ; when he 
 had held me a considerable time under this ex- 
 amination, 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 bad 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 de- 
 clension and dates of their extinction. ' When 
 summoned to give answer to so wide a ques- 
 tion, I can only say it was well for me I had 
 worked so hard upon my scheme of General 
 History, which I have before made mention of, 
 and which, though not complete in all the 
 points of his enquiry, supplied me with mate^ 
 rials for such a detail, as seemed to give him 
 more than tolerable satisfaction. This process
 
 144 MEMOIRS or 
 
 being over, he gave me a sheet of paper writtea 
 through in Greek with his own hand, which 
 he ordered me to turn either into Latin of 
 English, and I was shewn into a room, con- 
 taining nothing but a table furnished with ma- 
 terials for writing, and one chair, and I was 
 required to use dispatch. The passage was 
 maliciously enough selected in point of con- 
 struction, and also of character, for he had 
 scrawled it out in a puzzling kind of haixl 
 with abbreviations of his own devising : it re- 
 lated to the arrangement of an army for battle, 
 and I believe might be taken from Polybius, 
 an author I had then never read. When I had 
 given in my translation in Latin, I was re- 
 manded 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, dis- 
 mantled of the bed, in which I was born. 
 The train of ideas it reviv-ed in my mind were 
 not inappositely woven into the verses I gave 
 in, and with this task my examination con- 
 cluded.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND 145 
 
 Doctor Smith, who so worthily succeeded 
 to the mastership of Trinity on my grandfa- 
 ther's decease, was unquestionably one of the 
 most learned men of his time, as his works, es- 
 pecially his System of Optics, effectually de- 
 monstrate. He led the life of a student, ab- 
 stemious and recluse, his family consisting of a 
 sister, advanced in years, and unmarried like 
 himself* together with a niece, who in the 
 course of her residence there was married to a 
 fellow of the 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 pro- 
 minently 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 me- 
 lody he was indignantly neglectful, and could 
 not reconcile his ear to the harpsichord, till 
 by a construction of his own he had divided 
 the half tones into their proper flats and sharps. 
 Those who figured to themselves a Diogenes 
 in Mason, might have fancied they beheld an 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 -i^- ^MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Aristotle in Smith, who, had he lived in the 
 age and fallen within the eye of the great de- 
 signer of The School of Athens, might have 
 lieft his image there without discrediting the 
 groupe. 
 
 The next day 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 JVranghrs. This 
 gentleman had also gained the prize adjudged 
 to him for his Latin declamation ; for his pri- 
 vate worthiness he was universally esteemed, 
 and for his public merits deservedly rewarded. 
 By our election two candidates of the year 
 above us for ever lost their chance ; the one of 
 these a Mr. Briggs, the other Mr. Penneck, a 
 name well known and a character much es- 
 teemed: he filled a situation in the British 
 Museum with great 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 confi- 
 
 '& 
 
 dently as for my own.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 147 
 
 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 innova- 
 " tions, and think it hard upon the excluded 
 '* candidates to be subjected on a sudden to a 
 " regulation, which according to my calcula- 
 " tion 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 staid as long in college as in grati- 
 tude 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 stept out of, and as neither 
 now, nor in any day of my long attendance 
 upon Lord Halifax, there ever was an hour, 
 when my father would not have lent a ready ear 
 to my appeal, the reasons, that prevailed with 
 mc for persisting, were not dictated by him. 
 
 l2
 
 148 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 In the mean time the Hfe I led in town dur/nsr 
 the first years of my attendance was almost as 
 much sequestered from the world, as if I had 
 been resident in college : in my lodging in 
 Mount Street I had stocked myself with my 
 own books, some of my father's, and those, 
 which Doctor Richard Bentley had bestowed 
 upon me ; I sought no company, nor pushed 
 for any new connexions amongst those, whom 
 "I occasionally met in Grosvenor-Square ; one 
 or two of my fellow coUegiates now and then 
 looked in upon me, and about this time I made 
 my first small offering to the press, following 
 the steps of Gray with another church-yard 
 elegy, written on Saint Mark's eve, when ac- 
 cording to rural tradition the ghosts of those, 
 who are to die within the year ensuing, arc 
 seen to walk at midnight across the church- 
 yard. I believe the public were very little in- 
 terested by my plaintive ditty, and Mr. Dods- 
 ley, who was publisher, as httle profited. I 
 had written it at Stan wick in one of my col- 
 lege vacations, some time before I belonged to 
 Lord Halifax, and had affixed to my title page 
 the following motto with which I sent it int 
 the world
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 149 
 
 " Alls ^e roi oiy'^iXos ili/.t, 
 " "Os env, avtv^tv euv, ijusyx ><.-n^trai, ri5' IXixi^w 
 " aWa, (TV a-n<Tiy ij^t pptcri, f^'y|^i as XiiCi) 
 " AipciTu, tvT y at ^tX/(ppa; vtryos *!*)." 
 
 I had made my stay at Horton as short as 
 I could with propriety, being impatient to 
 avail myself of every day that I could pass in 
 the society of my family. With them I was 
 happy ; in their company I enjoyed those tran- 
 quil and delicious hours, which were endeared 
 to me still more by the contrast of what I suf- 
 fered 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 expe- 
 rience may have changed my taste or capacity 
 for public life, certain it is that I was not then 
 fitted for it, nor had any of those worldly qua- 
 lities and accommodations in my nature, which 
 are sure to push their possessors into notice, 
 and fomi what may be called the very nidus 
 of good fortune. A man, who is gifted M'ith 
 these lucky talents, is armed with hands, as a 
 ship with grappling irons, ready to catch hold 
 of, and make himself fast to every thing he 
 comes in contact with ; and such a man, with 
 
 L 3
 
 150 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 all these properties of adhesion, has also the 
 property, like the Polipus, of a most miracu- 
 lous and convenient indivisibility ; cut oif his 
 hold, nay, cut him how you will, he is still a 
 Polipus, 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 king's pa- 
 laces, as the frogs did into Pharoah's : the hap- 
 py faculty of noting times and seasons, and a 
 lucky promptitude to avail themselves of mo- 
 ments with address and boldness, are alone 
 such all-sufficient requisites, such marketable 
 stores of worldly knowledge, that although 
 the minds of those, who own them, shall be as 
 to all the liberal sciences a rasa tabula, yet 
 knowing these things needful to be known, 
 let their difficulties and distresses be what they 
 may, though the storm of adversity threatens 
 to overwhelm them, they are in a hfe-boat, 
 buoyed up by corks, and cannot sink. These 
 are the stray children, turned loose upon the 
 world, whom fortune in her charity takes 
 charge of, and for whose guidance in the bye- 
 ways and cross-roads of their pilgrimage she 
 sets up fairy finger-posts, discoverableii>' them,
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 151 
 
 whose eyes are near the ground, but unper- 
 ceived by such, whose looks are raised above it. 
 In a nation, Hke this, where all ranks and 
 degrees are laid open to enterprize, merit or 
 good fortune, it is fit, right and natural that 
 sudden elevations should occur and be encou- 
 raged. 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 so constituted there will be a se- 
 cret market for cunning, as well as a fair em- 
 porium for honesty, and a vast body of men, 
 who can't support themselves without labour 
 of some sort, and won't hve by the labour of 
 their hands, must contrive to live by their 
 wits 
 
 Honest men 
 Are the soft easy cushions, on which kmtves 
 Repose andfaiien 
 
 But there are more than these Vain men 
 will have their flatterers, rich men their fol- 
 lowers, and powerful men their dependants. 
 A great man in office is like a great whale in 
 the ocean ; there will be a sword-fish and a 
 thresher, a Junius and a John Wilkes, ever in 
 
 l4
 
 152 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 his wake and arming to attack him: These are 
 the vext spirits of the deep, who trouble the 
 waters, turning them up from the very bottom, 
 that they may emerge from their mud, and 
 float upon the surface of the billows in foam 
 of their making. 
 
 The abstract history of some of these gen- 
 try is curious when they have made a wreck 
 of their own reputation, they assault and tear 
 in pieces the reputations of others; they defame 
 man and blaspheme God ; they are punished 
 for their enormities ; this makes them martyrs ; 
 martyrdom makes them popular, they are 
 crowned with praises, honours and emolu- 
 ments, 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, un- 
 ambitious, 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 153 
 
 than to float, like the horse dung with the ap- 
 ples, and enjoy the credit of good company 
 as they travel down the smooth and easy 
 stream of life. For these there is a vast de- 
 mand, 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 of 
 talking, and there must be dull fellows to lis- 
 ten to him ; again, if, by talking about what 
 he does not understand, he gets into embarrass- 
 ments, there luust be clever fellows to help 
 him out of them : when he would be merry, 
 there must be witty rogues to make him laugh ; 
 when he would be sorrowful, there must be sad 
 rogues to sigh and groan and make long faces : 
 as a great man must be never in the wrong, 
 there must be hardy rascals, who will swear 
 he is always in the right ; as he must never 
 show fear, of course he must never see danger ; 
 and as his courage must at no time sink, there 
 must be friends at all times ready to prevent 
 its being tried. 
 
 A great man is entitled to his relaxations ; 
 he, who labours for the public, must recreate 
 his spirit with his private friends : then it is
 
 154 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 that the happy moments, the mollia tempora 
 are to be found, which the adept in the art of 
 rising knows so well how to make his use of. 
 Of opportunities hke these I have had my 
 share; I never turned them to my own advan- 
 tage ; if at any time I undertook a small soli- 
 citation, or obtruded a request, it was for 
 some humble client, who told a melancholy 
 tale, and could advance no nearer to the prin- 
 cipal than by making suit to me ; in the mean 
 time I saw many a favour wrested by impor- 
 tunity out of that course, which I had reason 
 to expect they would have taken : I never re- 
 monstrated, 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 at- 
 tached to my employer: if he had no call upon 
 me for more or greater services than any man 
 of the commonest capacity could havx per- 
 formed, it was because occasions did not oc- 
 cur ; 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.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 155 
 
 Sid with reason, for he wrote well ; but I am 
 tempted to record one opportunity, that was 
 thrown in my way by the candour of Mr. 
 Charles T^wnshend, whilst he was passing a 
 few days at Horton ; amongst a variety of 
 subjects, which his active imagination w^as for 
 ever 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 geo- 
 metrical process, which I was fortunate enough 
 to hit upon ; 1 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 flat- 
 tering things to a diffident young man, who 
 said very little for himself, and further to do 
 me grace he was pleased to put into my hands 
 a very long and elaborate report of his own 
 drawing up, for he was then one of the Lords 
 of Trade, and this he condescended to desire I 
 would carefully revise and give him my remarks 
 without reserve. How highly I was gratified 
 by this condescension in a man of his extraor- 
 dinary and superior genius, I need not say, nor 
 
 2
 
 156 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 how well, or how ill, I executed my commis- 
 sion ; I did it to the best of my abilities ; there 
 was much to admire, and something here and 
 there in his paper to warrant a remark ; if his 
 compliments were sincere, I succeeded, and 
 shortly after I had proofs, that put his kind 
 opinion of me out of doubt. 
 
 One morning in conversation tete-^-tete, he 
 said he recollected a quotation he had chanced 
 upon in an anonymous author, who maintained 
 opinions of a very impious sort. The passage 
 he repeated is as follows 
 
 Post mortem nihil est, ipsaq ; mors nihil 
 
 And he asked me if I knew where those words 
 were to be found : I recollected them to be in 
 one of the tragedies of Seneca, I believed it 
 was that of the Troades, which I had lately 
 chanced upon amongst my grandfather's 
 books : as soon as I had access to these, I 
 turned to the passage, and according to his de- 
 sire 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 in- 
 serted it, together with the stanzas written at
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 157 
 
 the time and transmitted with it, which, 
 though not very closely translated, I have 
 transcribed verbatim as I find them. 
 
 Verum est, an iimidos fabula decipit 
 Umbras corporibus vivere conditis ? 
 Cum conjux oculis imposutt manum, 
 Supremusq ; dies solibus obstitit^ 
 Et tristes cmeres urna coercuity 
 Non prodest animam tradere funerty 
 Sedrestat niiseris vivere longius, 
 An toti morimur, nullaq ; pars manet 
 Nostrij cum profugo spiriius halitu 
 Immistus nebulis cessit in aera^ 
 Et nudum tetigii subditafax latus ? 
 
 Quidquid sol oriens, quidquid et Occident 
 Novity cceruleis oceanus fretis 
 Quidquid vel veniens velfugiens lavat, 
 /Etas pegaseo corripiet gradu. 
 Quo bissena volant sidera turbine. 
 Quo cursu properat secula volvere 
 Astrorum dominu^, quo properat modo 
 Obliquis Hecate currere Jlexubus, 
 Hoc omnes petimus Jata ; nee amplias 
 Juratos Superis qui tetigit locus 
 Usquam est : ut calidis fumus ab ignibus 
 f^anescitj spatium per breve sordidus, 
 Ut nubes gravidas, quas modo vidimusy 
 Arctoi BorecB disjicit impetus. 
 Sic hie, quo regimur, spiritus cffluet. 
 Post mortem nihil est, ipsaq; mors nihil ;
 
 158 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Vclods spatii meta novissima. 
 Spem ponant avi(li\ solliciti mctuni 1 
 Queer is quo jaccas post obitum loco ? 
 Quo nun natajacent. 
 Tempus nos (tvidum devorat, et chaos: 
 Mors individua est ; noxia corporis 
 Nee par ecus aniince. Tcenara, et aspei^o 
 Regnum sub domino^ limen et obsidens 
 Custos nonfadli Cerberus ostio, 
 Rumores vacut, verbaq ; inania^ 
 Et par solUcito fabula somnio. 
 
 Chorus of Trojan Women. 
 
 '' Is it a truth, or fiction all, 
 ** Which only cowards trust, 
 
 " Shall the soul live beyond the grave, 
 " Or mingle with our dust ? 
 
 *' 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 onr souls away, 
 " And was that sigh our last, 
 
 ''' Or e'er upon the flaming pile 
 '' Our bare remains were cast ?
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 159 
 
 " All the sun sees, the ocean laves, 
 
 '' Kingdoms and kings shall fall, 
 " Nature and nature's works shall cease, 
 
 '^ And time be lord of all. 
 
 <' Swift as the monarch of the skies 
 
 ** Impels the rolling year, 
 *' Swift as the gliding orb of night 
 
 " Pursues her prone career, 
 
 '< So swift, so sure we all descend 
 " Down life's continual tide, 
 
 " '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 vapour 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.
 
 160 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " Time whelms us in the vast Inane, 
 
 *' A gulph without a shore ; 
 *' Death gives th' exterminating blow, 
 
 ' We fall to rise no more. 
 
 *' Hell, and its triple-headed guard, 
 
 " And Lethe's fabled stream, 
 *' Are tales that lying gossips tell, 
 
 *' And moon-struck Sybils dream." 
 
 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 accom- 
 panied by parties of his friends and intimates 
 from town ; the chief of these were the Lords 
 Dupplin and Barrington, Mr. Charles Towns- 
 bend, Mr. Francis Fane, Mr. James Oswald, 
 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 neighbour and 
 constant visitor at those seasons ; these, with 
 the addition of Doctor Crane and the Reve- 
 rend Mr. Spencei', an elderly clergyman, long 
 attached to the family, formed a society high-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. l6l 
 
 ly 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 fe- 
 licity, miabated affection. He had some ex- 
 cellent friends and many'pleasant neighbourSj 
 with whom he lived upon the most agreeable 
 terms, for in his house every body seemed to 
 be happy ; his table was admirably managed 
 by my mother, his cellars, servants, equipage 
 in the best order, and without parade unbe- 
 coming of his profession, or unsuitable to his 
 fwtune, 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 
 aforementioned. Through every scene of my 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 life, from my childhood to the lamented event 
 of his death, which happened whilst I was in 
 Spain, he was invariably kind, indulgent and 
 aifeetionate 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 af- 
 fairs 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 occa- 
 sion his regret. 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 ex- 
 tortion, and left in excellent condition to his 
 son and heir. The benefits he conferred upon 
 Jiis poorer neighbours were of a nature far su-
 
 RICHARD CUTHBERLAND. l6S 
 
 p'erior to the common acts of almsgiving 
 (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 com- 
 petent to all their uses; by which numbers, 
 who might else have fallen under the talons of 
 country attorn ies, were saved from pillage and 
 beggary. With this gentleman my father 
 acted as justice, and was united in friendship 
 and in party, and to him he resorted upon all 
 occasions, where the opinion and advice of a 
 judicious friend were wanted. Our families 
 corresponded in the utmost harmony, and our 
 interchange of visits was frequent and delight- 
 ful. The house of Ecton was to me a second 
 home, and the hospitable master of it a second 
 father; his gaiety of heart, his suavity of tem- 
 per, the interest he took in giving pleasure to 
 his guests, and the fund of information he pos- 
 sessed 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 
 M 2
 
 MfiMOIBS OF 
 
 in n>y lift. For many years before his deatli^ 
 I saw this excellent man by intervals excru* 
 ciated with a tormenting and incurable disease, 
 which laid too deep and undiscoverable in his 
 viit9^ls to admit of any other relief than lauda^* 
 pum in large doses could at times administer j 
 nothing but a soul serene and piously resigned 
 QS his was, could have borne itself up against a 
 visitation at once so agonizing and so hopeless j 
 9. spirit however fortified by faith, and a con- 
 science ekar of reproach can effect great things, 
 and my heroic friend thtough all his trials 
 3miled in the midst of sufferings, and submit- 
 ted 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 capa- 
 city to dictate a reply. 
 
 I was also at this time in habits of the mot 
 intimate friendship with two young men of 
 my own age, sons of a worthy clergyman in 
 Qur neighbourhood, the Reverend Mr. Ekins. 
 Jeffery the elder, now deceased, was Dean of 
 Carlisle, and Rectgr of Morpeth; John the 
 1
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. l65 
 
 younger is yet living and Dean of Salisbury .-^^ 
 Few men have been more fortunate in life than 
 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 re- 
 spective families indulged us in our propensities, 
 and were mutually amused with our domestic 
 exhibitions. My friend Jeffery was in my fa- 
 mily, as I was in his, an inmate ever welcome ; 
 his genius w^as 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 1 recollect the 
 moment in our lives, that ever gave occasion 
 of offence to either. Our destinations sepa-i 
 rated 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 pros- 
 perous and placid, and well for him it was, for 
 he was not made tOt combat with the storms of 
 life. In eaily youth, long before he took or- 
 ders, he composed a drama of an allegorical 
 cast, which he entitled Florio, or I'/ie Pursuit 
 of Happiness. There was a great deal of 
 
 M 3
 
 166 MEMOIRS or 
 
 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 ge- 
 nius, and my affection for his person. He also 
 wrote a poem upon DreamSj 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 tran- 
 scribe no more than the concluding sta;nza 
 
 <^ But thou, whose powers can wield a weightier theme, 
 
 *' Why waste one thought upon an empty dream ? 
 
 *' Why all this genius, all this art display'd 
 
 *' To paint a vapour and arrest a shade ? 
 
 *' Can fear-drawn shapes and visions of the night 
 
 ** Assail thy fancy, or deceive thy sight ? 
 
 ** Wilt thou to air-built palaces resort, 
 
 *' Where the sylphs flutter and the fairies sport. 
 
 *' No, let them sooth the love-enfeebled brain, 
 
 *' Thy Muse shall seize her harp and strike a loftier strain." 
 
 During the time I lived in this pleasing in- 
 tercourse with the family of these worthy 
 brothers, there was an ingenious friend and 
 school fellow of their's pretty constantly resi- 
 dent with them, of the name of Arden, a young 
 man very much to be loved for the amenity of
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. l67 
 
 his temper and the vivacity of his parts. He 
 was the life and soul of our dramatic amuse- 
 ments, and had an energy of character, as well 
 as a fund of humour, that enabled him to give 
 its true force and expression to every part he 
 assumed in our private exhibitions. And here 
 let me not omit to mention a near relation, 
 and once my most dear friend, Richard, son 
 of the Reverend Doctor George Reynolds, 
 and grandson of Bishop Reynolds, who mar- 
 ried the daughter of Bishop Cumberland. 
 This mild and amiable young man had in early 
 life so far attached himself to the Earl of Sand- 
 wich, as to accompany him to the Congress at 
 Aix-la-Chapelle, but being perfectly indepen- 
 dent in his fortune and of an unambitious pla- 
 cid nature, he declined pursuing any further 
 the unquiet track of public life, and sate 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. 
 
 M 4
 
 l6S MEMOIRS or 
 
 If ever this once-valued friend shall be my 
 reader, let me appeal to his candour for a fair 
 interpretation of my feelings, when I cannot 
 pass this period over without recalling to his 
 memory and my own the name of his departed 
 sister, who merited and possessed my best af- 
 fections in their purest sense. The hospitable 
 welcome I always received from the parents of 
 this amiable lady, and their encouraging pO' 
 liteness to me might have tempted one less re- 
 spectful of her comforts, and less sensible of 
 her superior pretensions, to have presumed 
 upon their favor and made tender of his ad- 
 dresses ; 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 be- 
 lieve, to be truth. 
 
 It was about this time I employed myself in 
 collecting materials from the History of India 
 for the plan of a poem in heroic verse, many 
 fragments of which I find amongst my old pa- 
 pers, which prove I had bestowed considerable 
 labour on the work, and made some progress. 
 Whether I found the plan could not be made
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. IGQ 
 
 to accord to my idea of the epic, or whether 
 any other project called me off I camiot now 
 recollect ; but at that time 1 had not attempted 
 any thing professedly for the stage. I must 
 however lament that it has lain by unlocked 
 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 disco- 
 veries of the Portuguese are introduced. I 
 might perliaps have selected passages less 
 faulty, but I give it correctly as I find it, trust- 
 ing that the candid reader will make allow- 
 ances for that too florid style, which juvenile 
 versifiers are so apt to indulge themselves in, 
 whilst the fancy is too prurient and the judg-= 
 ment not mature. 
 
 Fragment. 
 
 *' Long time had Afric's interposing monnd, 
 
 *' Stretching athwart the navigator's way, 
 
 *' Fenc'd the rich East, and sent th' advent'roiis barij 
 
 *' Despairing home, or whelm'd her in the wares.
 
 170 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ** Gama the first on bold discoyery bent, 
 <' With prow still pointing to the further pole, 
 *' Skirted CafFraria till the welcome cape, 
 ** Thence call'd of Hope but not to Asia's sons 
 <' Spoke the long coast exhausted ; still 'twas hope, 
 *' Not victory ; nature in one effort foil'd, 
 ** Still kept the contest doubtful, and enrag'd, 
 *' Rous'd all the elements to war. Meanwhile, 
 *' As once the Titans with Saturnian Jove, 
 *' So he in happier hour and his bold crew 
 ** 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 pluckt them as they grew. 
 *' A new-found world from out the waves arose. 
 '* Now Soflala, 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 
 t< Blaz'd with barbaric gems ; aloft he sate
 
 ^: 
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 171 
 
 *^ 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 colours, brotherhoods and names : 
 
 *' Frowning they rear'd the cross; th' affrighted tribes 
 
 *' Look'd up aghast, and whilst the cannon's mouth 
 
 *' Thunder'd obedienjce, dropt th' unwilling knee 
 
 *' In trembling adoration of a God, 
 
 <* Whom, as by nature tutor'd, in his works 
 
 *' They saw, and only in his mercy knew. 
 
 *' But creeds, impos'd by terror, can ensure 
 
 *' No fixt allegiance, but are strait dismiss'd 
 
 *' From the vext conscience, when the sword is sheath'd. 
 
 ** Now when the barrier, that so long had stood 
 *' 'Twixt the disparted nations, was no more, 
 *' Like fire, once kindled, spreading in its course, 
 *' Onward the mighty conflagration roU'd. 
 *' 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 tain her monarchs from a hundred thrones 
 
 HP
 
 a 
 
 172 MEMOIRS 
 
 <^ Sounded the arbitrary word for war ; 
 
 *' In Tain whole cataracts of dusky slaves 
 
 *' Pour'd on the coast : earth trembled with the weight ; 
 
 *' But what can slaves ? What can the nerveless ann> 
 
 *^ Shrunk by that soft emasculating clime, 
 
 <' What the weak dart against the mailed breast 
 
 *' Of Europe's martial sons ? On sea, on shore 
 
 *' Great Almeed triumph'd, and the rival sword 
 
 ** Of Albuquerque, invincible in arms, 
 
 *' Wasted the nations, humbling to the yojke 
 
 *' 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 prcst, 
 *' 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 these forth issuing from the rocky shore 
 *' Of distant Tagus on the quest for gain 
 ^' In realms unknown, which feverish fancy paints 
 <' Glittering with gems and goH, range the wide seas, 
 *' Till India's isthmus, rising with the sun 
 ^' To their keen sight, her fertile bosom spreads, 
 ^' Period and palm of aU their labours past ;
 
 felCHAEt) CUMBERLAND. 173 
 
 < Whereat wltk avarice and ambition fir'dj 
 
 < Eager alike for plunder and for fame, 
 
 < Onward they press to spring upon their prey ; 
 ' There every spoil obtained, which greedy haste 
 
 * By force or fraud could ravish 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^o rend the hearer's heart, 
 
 ' Truth be my MuSe, and thon, my bosom's star^ 
 
 * The planetary mistress of my birth, 
 
 ' Parent of all my bliss, of all my pain, 
 
 ' Inspire me, gentle Pity, and attune 
 
 ' Thy numbers, heavenly cherub, to ray strain! 
 
 ' Thou, too, for whom my heart breathes every Wishj 
 
 ' 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 scotirge, and waining fast 
 
 ' By ghastly famine and destructive war, 
 
 * No venal suit prefers ; so may thy fleetsj 
 
 * 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 wid6 globe but mount, ye guardian waves, 
 
 ' Stand as a wall before the spoiler's path ! 
 
 * Ye stars, your bright intelligence withdraw,
 
 174 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 *' 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 labours to mankind." 
 * * * 
 
 The severest misfortune, that could menace 
 my unhappy patron, was now hangmg over 
 him. The state of Lady Hahfax's health be- 
 came daily more and more alarming ; she seem- 
 ed to be sinking under a consumptive and ex- 
 hausted constitution. It was then the custom
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 175 
 
 for the chief families in Northamptonshire to 
 attend the county 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 hopes that she had es- 
 caped her fatigues without any material injury, 
 as I was handing her to her coach on the morn- 
 ing of her departure, she shook her head and 
 again repeated her entire conviction that she 
 should not long survive. My heart sunk as I 
 took leave of her under this melancholy im* 
 pression: we met no more: she languished for 
 a time, and to the irreparable loss of her afflict- 
 ed husband died. 
 
 Lady Halifax was by birth of humble rank, 
 and not endowed by nature with shining ta- 
 lents or superior charms of person. She did
 
 # 
 
 176 MM0tRS 6^ 
 
 hot aim at that display, which conciliates pb'- 
 pularity, 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 honour and his 
 peace, the virtues of her heart and the serenity 
 of her temper were so happily adapted to allay 
 and tranquillize the more empassioned character 
 of her Lord, that every man^ who knew his na- 
 ture, could not fail to foresee the dangers he 
 would be exposed to, when she was no longer 
 at his side. He had still a true and faithful 
 friend in Doctor Crane, and to him Lady Ha- 
 lifax had been most entirely attached* He 
 merited all her confidence, and sincerely la- 
 mented her loss, foreseeing, as I had good rea- 
 son to know, the unhappy consequences it 
 might lead to, for by this time I was favoured 
 with some tokens of his regard, that could not 
 be mistaken, and though his feelings never 
 forced him into warm expressions, yet his 
 heart w^as 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 

 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 177 
 
 my own home and the house of Ecton : at 
 length I was invited to Horton, and the meet- 
 ing was a very painful moment to us both. 
 
 >iiW soon removed to town for the winter 
 season, and there whilst politics and public 
 office began to occupy his thoughts, and by de- 
 grees to wean him from his sorrows, I resumed 
 my solitary lodgings in Mount-Street, where 
 with my old Swiss servant for my caterer and 
 cook, 1 lived in all the temperance and nearly 
 all the retirement of a hermit. Then it was 
 that I derived all my resources from 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 dis- 
 daining my poor fare and dull society, cheered 
 and relieved my spirits with the liveliness and 
 hilarity natural to him : these are favours I can 
 never forget ; for they supported me at a time, 
 when I felt all the gloominess of my situation, 
 and yet wanted energy to extricate myself 
 from it, and renounce those expectations, to 
 which I had devoted so much time in profitless 
 dcpendance, I lived indeed upon the narrow- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 est system I could adopt, but nevertheless I 
 could not make the income of my fellowship 
 bear me through without the generous assist- 
 ance 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 resi- 
 dence in town, which my attendance upon 
 Lord Halifax entailed upon me, and the pain- 
 ful separation from my family became almost 
 insupportable, and whilst I was meditating a 
 retreat, my good father, who participated with 
 me and his whole family in these sensations, 
 projected and concluded an exchange for his 
 living of Stanwick with the Reverend Mr. Sa- 
 muel Knight, and with permission of the Bi- 
 shop of London, took the vicarage of Fulham 
 as an equivalent, and thereby opened to me the 
 happy prospect of an easier access to those 
 friends so justly valued and so truly dear. 
 
 In point of income the two livings were 
 as nearly equal as could well be, therefore no 
 pecuniary compensation passed between the 
 contracting parties ; but the comforts of tran- 
 quillity in point of duty, or of conveniences in
 
 mCHARD CUMBERLAND. 179 
 
 -espect of locality, were all in favour of Mr. 
 Knight, and nothing could have prevailed with 
 my father for leaving those, whom he had so 
 long loved and cherished as his flock, but the 
 generous motive of giving me an asylum in the 
 bosoms of my family. With this kind and be- 
 nevolent object in his view, he submitted to 
 the pain of tearing himself from his connexions, 
 and amidst the lamentations of his neighbours 
 and parishioners came up to Fulham to take 
 upon himself the charge of a great suburbane 
 parish, and quitted Stanwick, where he had re- 
 sided for the space of thirty years in peace, 
 beloved by all around him. 
 
 He found a tolerably good parsonage house 
 at Fulham, in which, with my mother and my 
 sisters, he established himself with as much 
 content, as could be looked for. Wherever, he 
 went the odour of his good name, and of 
 course his popularity, was sure to follow him : 
 but the task of preaching to a large congrega- 
 tion after being so long familiarized to the ser- 
 vice of his little church at Stanwick, oppressed 
 his modest mind, and though his person, mat- 
 ter and manner were such as always left favour- 
 able impressions on his hearers, yet it was ev i- 
 N 2
 
 180 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 dent 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 pow- 
 erful mind were still venerable, though his 
 speech was almost unintellignble, and his fea- 
 tures cruelly disarranged and distorted by the 
 palsey : still his genius was alive, and his judg- 
 ment discriminative, for it was in this lament- 
 able state that he perfoniied the task of select- 
 ing sermons for the last volume he committed 
 to the press, and his high reputation was in no 
 respect lowered by the selection. I had occa- 
 sionally the honour of being admitted to visit 
 that great man in company with my father, to 
 whom he was uniformly kind and gracious, 
 and in token of his favour bestowed on him a 
 small Prebend in the church of Saint Paul, the 
 only one that became vacant within his time. 
 
 Mrs. Sherlock was a truly respectable wo- 
 man, and my mother enjoyed much of her so- 
 ciety till the bishop's death brought a successor 
 in his place. 
 
 In the adjoining parish of Hammersmith 
 lived Mr. Dodington, at a splendid villa,
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 181 
 
 which by the rule of contraries he was pleased 
 to call La Trappe, and his inmates and fami- 
 liars the monks of the convent ; these were 
 Mr. Windham his relation, whom he made his 
 heir, Sir William Breton, privy purse to the 
 king, and Doctor Thompson, a physician out 
 of practice ; these gentlemen formed a very cu- 
 rious society of very opposite characters; in 
 short is was a trio consisting of a misanthrope, 
 a courtier and a quack. Mr. GlovTr, the au- 
 thor of Leonidas, was occasionally a visitor, 
 but not an inmate as those above-mentioned. 
 How a mj^n of Dodington's sort came to single 
 out men of their sort (with the exception of 
 Mr. Glover) is hard to say, but though his 
 instruments were never in unison, he managed 
 to make music out of them all. He could 
 make and find amusement in contrasting the 
 sullenness cf a Grumbletonian with the egre- 
 gious vanity and self-conceit of an antiquated 
 coxcomb, and as for the Poctor he was a jack- 
 pudding ready to his hand at any time. He 
 was understood to be Dodington's body-phy- 
 sician, 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 
 N 3
 
 182 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 capacity of superintendant of his patron's die- 
 tetics, he cried out one morning at breakfast to 
 have the muffins taken away, Dodington aptly 
 enough cried out at the same time to the ser- 
 vant to take away the raggamuffin, and truth 
 to say a more dirty animal than poor Thomp- 
 son was never seen on the outside of a pig 
 stye ; yet he had the plea of poverty and no 
 passion for cold water. 
 
 It is about a short and pleasant mile from 
 this villa to the 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 occasion- 
 ally in Dorsetshire. He was certainly one of 
 the most extraordinary men of his time, and as 
 I had opportunities of contemplating his cha- 
 racter 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 de- 
 vote many hours to my own private pursuits
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 183 
 
 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 cor- 
 respondent 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 con- 
 nexions ; 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 Plan- 
 tations, and detached himself from administra- 
 tion. This took place towards the latter end 
 of the late king's reign, and the ^ound 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 Dor^ 
 N 4
 
 184 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 setshire, and passed the whole time of his stay 
 in that place. Lord Halifax with his brother- 
 in-law Colonel Johnstone of the Blues paid a 
 visit there, and the Countess Dowager of Staf- 
 ford and old Lady Hervey were resident with 
 us the whole time. Our splendid host was 
 excelled by no man in doing the honours of 
 his house and table; to the ladies he had all 
 the courtly and profound devotion of a Spa- 
 niard, with the ease and gaiety of a Frenchman 
 towards the men. His mansion was magnifi- 
 cent, massy and stretching out to a great ex- 
 tent of front with an enormous portico of Do- 
 ric columns ascended by a stately flight of 
 steps ; there were turrets and wings that went 
 I know not whither, though now they are le- 
 velled with the ground, and gone to more ig- 
 noble uses : Vanbrugh, who constructed this 
 superb edifice, seemed to have had the plan of 
 Blenheim 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 Bot always with elegance or
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 185 
 
 harmony of style. Whatever Mr. Doding- 
 ton's revenue then was, he h^d the happy art 
 of managing it with that regularity and oeco- 
 nomy, 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-Mail, his villa at Hammersmith, and the 
 mansion above described, were such establish-? 
 ments as few nobles in the nation were pos- 
 sessed 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 mar- 
 ble 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 peacocks' feathers in 
 the style of Mrs. Montague. When he passed 
 from Pall-Mail 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
 
 186 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 em- 
 broidery, and this, when set off with an enor- 
 mous tye-perriwig and deep laced ruffles, gave 
 the picture of an ancient courtier in his gala 
 habit, or Quin in his stage dress ; nevertheless 
 it must be confessed this style, though out of 
 date, was not out of character, but harmo- 
 nized 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 magisterial tye, and put on a modern 
 bag wig, which was as much out of costume
 
 llICHARD CUMBERLAND. 187 
 
 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 per- 
 son's passion for magnificence and display, 
 when I proceed to enquire into those princi- 
 ples of good taste, 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 bugle horns upon hangings of rich 
 crimson velvet, and round his state bed he dis- 
 played a carpeting of gold and silver embroi- 
 dery, which too glaringly betrayed its deriva- 
 tion from coat, waistcoat and breeches by the 
 testimony of pockets, button-holes and loops 
 with other equally incontrovertible witnesses,
 
 188 MEMOIRS 01? .J 
 
 subpoena'd from the tailor's sbopboard. When 
 he paid his courtat 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 bis 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 favourite pros6 writer was Tacitus, and I 
 scarce ever surprised him in his hours of read- 
 ing 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 per- 
 spicuity 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 per- 
 ceive the spirit of his sentiments and the vi- 
 gour of his genius evaporate by the process ;
 
 RICHARD GUM13ERLAND. 189 
 
 For though his first view of the question would 
 be a wide one and clear withal, when he cam<i; 
 to exercise the subtlety of his disquisitiorial 
 powers upon it, he would so ingeniously dis- 
 sect and break it into fractions, that as an ob- 
 ject, when looked upon too intently for a length 
 of time, grows misty and confused, so woiild 
 the question under his discussion, when th6 
 humour took him to be hyper-criticaL Hence 
 it was that his impromptu's in parliament 
 wer generally more admired than his studied 
 speeches, and his first suggestions in the coun* 
 oils of his party better attended to thati^ '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 his^h rank and office. He was de- 
 cidedly aristocratic : he paid his court to Wal- 
 pole in panegyric poems, apologizing for his 
 presumption by reminding him, that it was 
 better to be pelted M'ith roses than with rotten 
 eggs : to Chesterfield, to Winnington, Pul- 
 teney, Fox and the luminaries of his early time 
 he offered up the oblations of his genius, and 
 incensed them with all the odours of his wit : 
 4
 
 190 MEMOIRS OJF 
 
 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 sci- 
 ences to overlook a witty head, that bowed so 
 low, he accordingly put a coronet upon it, 
 which, like the barren sceptre in the hand of 
 Macbeth, merely served as a ticket for the 
 coronation procession, and having nothing else 
 to leave to posterity in memory of its owner, 
 left its mark upon the lid of his coffin. 
 
 During my stay at Eastbury, we were visited 
 by the late Mr. Henry Fox and Mr. Alderman 
 Beckford : the solid good sense of the former, 
 and the dashing loquacity of the latter, form- 
 ed a striking contrast between the characters 
 of these gentlemen. To Mr. Fox our host 
 paid all that courtly homage, which he so well 
 knew how to time and where to apply ; to 
 Beckford he did not observe the same atten- 
 tions, but in the happiest flow of his raillery 
 and wit combated this intrepid talker with ad- 
 mirable effect. It was an interlude truly comic 
 and amusing. Beckford loud, voluble, self- 
 sufficient and galled by hits, which he could
 
 niCHARD CUMBERLAND. IQl 
 
 Hot 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, 
 dosing and even snoring at intervals in his 
 lethargic way, broke out every now and then 
 into such gleams and flashes of wit and irony, 
 ^is by the contrast of his phlegm with the 
 other's impetuosity, made his humour irresisti- 
 ble, and set the table in a roar. He was here 
 upon his very strongest ground, for no man 
 was better calculated to exemplify how true 
 the observation is 
 
 Ridiculum acri 
 Fortius ac melius 
 
 At the same time he had his serious hours 
 and graver topics, which he would handle with 
 all due solemnity of thought and language, 
 and these were to me some of the most plea- 
 sing hours I have passed with him, for he could 
 keep close to his point, if he would, and could 
 be not less argumentative than he was elo- 
 quent, when the question was of magnitude 
 enough to interest him. It is with singular 
 satisfaction I can truly say that I never knew 
 
 1
 
 192 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 him flippant upon sacred subjects. He was 
 however generally courted and admired as ^ 
 gay Companion rather than as a grave one. 
 
 I have said that the dowager Ladies Staf* 
 ford 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 JFild, in 
 which he certainly consulted his own turn for 
 irony rather than their's for elegance, but he 
 set it off with much humour after his manner, 
 and they were polite enough to be pleased, or 
 at least to appear as if they were. 
 
 His readings from Shakespear were altoge- 
 ther as whimsical, for he chose his passages 
 only where buffoonery was the character of 
 the scene; one of tliese I remember was that 
 of the clown, who brings the asp to Cleopatra. 
 He had however a manuscript copy of Glovers 
 Medea, which he gave us con amore, for he 
 was extremely warm in his praises of that clas- 
 sical drama, which Mrs. Yates afterwards
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 193 
 
 brought upon tlie stage, and played in it with 
 her accustomed excellence ; he did me also the 
 lionour to devote an evening to the reading of 
 some lines, which I had hastily written to the 
 amount of about four hundred, partly com- 
 plimentary to him as my host, and in part 
 consolatory to Lord Halifax upon the event 
 of his retiring from public office ; they flattered 
 the politics then in favour WMth Mr. Doding- 
 ton, and coincided with his wishes for detach- 
 ing Lord Halifax from the administration of 
 the Duke of Newcastle. I was not present, as 
 may weH be conceived, at this reading, but I 
 confess I sate listening in the next room, and 
 was not a little gratified by what I overheard. 
 Of this manuscript I have long since destroy- 
 ed the only copy that 1 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 occasional 
 class of j)oems for the day, which have no 
 claim upon posterit}', and in such 1 have not 
 been ambitious to concern myself: it served 
 tl)e 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 
 Jiad dictated his tragedy of Tlie llcvengc, and 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 which the Genius of Voltaire had honoured 
 with a visit : here Glover had courted inspira- 
 tion, 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 terse- 
 ness of style, and some quaintness of expres- 
 sion : 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 ra- 
 ther 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 discre- 
 tion, I instantly replied, that I would destroy 
 it. There was a third, which I more coveted 
 a sight of than of either of the above, as it 
 contained a miscellaneous collection of anec- 
 dotes, 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 pre- 
 pared himself to expect certain men of wit and
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. IQO 
 
 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 ar- 
 moury for their entertainment, and ingenuous- 
 ly 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. Dod- 
 ington. 
 
 Upon my return out of Dorsetshire, I was 
 invited by my friends at Trinity College to 
 come and offer myself as a candidate for tlie 
 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 de- 
 sirable, but the unabated kindness of the mas- 
 ter and seniors patronized my suit, and ho- 
 noured me with that last and most distinguish- 
 o 2
 
 196 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 ed mark of their favour and protection. I did 
 not hold it long, for Providence had a blessing 
 in store for me, which was an effectual dis- 
 qualification from holding any honours on the 
 terms of celibacy. 
 
 About this time I wrote my first legitimate 
 drama in five acts, and entitled it The Banish- 
 ment of Cicero. I was led to this by the pe- 
 rusal 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 cha- 
 racter 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 compe- 
 tent 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 197 
 
 a period of more than forty intermediate years 
 I read it (as I have now been doing) with all 
 the impartiaUty 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 pre- 
 sume to say, that as a dramatic poem for the 
 closet it will bear examination, though I can- 
 not expect that any of its readers at this time 
 would pass so favourable a judgment upon it 
 as I was honoured with by Primate Storie and 
 Bishop Warburton, from the latter of whom I 
 received a letter, which I have preserved, and 
 which I cannot withstand the temptation of 
 inserting, though I am thoroughly conscious 
 it bestows praises far above the merits of my 
 humble work 
 
 To Richard Cumberland, Esq. 
 
 Grosvenor-Square, May 15, 1767. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Let me thank you for the sight of a very 
 fine drainatic Poem. It is (like Mr. Ma^ 
 sofi's) ?nuch too good for a prostitute stage. 
 Yesterday I received a letter from the Pri- 
 mate. He was on the point of leaving Bath 
 
 o 3
 
 198 MEMO! us or 
 
 for Ireland : so that my letter got to him 
 
 just in time It gives me great satisfaction^ 
 
 says he, that my opinion of Bishop Cumber- 
 
 hnd's grandson agrees zvith you7''s, ^c. S^c. 
 
 I have the honour to be, 
 
 Dear Sir, your very faithful 
 And assured humble servant, 
 
 JV. Gloucester. 
 
 It is a singular circumstance, though per- 
 haps not a favourable one, that in the dramatis 
 personae 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. Calphur- 
 nius Piso and Aulus Gabinius, the Tribune P. 
 Clodius, Cicero and Pomponius Atticus, Caius 
 Piso Frugi, Terentia and TuUia, 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 ApoUodorus. 
 
 To give display to characters like these the 
 bounds of any single drama would hardly serve, 
 and of course the arrangement was so far in-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 199 
 
 judicious ; yet the author, as if he had not 
 enough on his hands, goes aside to speak of 
 Cato in the scene betwixt Gabinius and Clo- 
 dius 
 
 *' Gab. Cato is still severe, is still himself: 
 
 <' Rough and unshaken in his squalid garb, 
 <^ He told us he had long in anguish moum'd, 
 *' Not in a private but the public cause, 
 *' Not for the wrong of one, but wrong of all^ 
 '* Of Liberty, of Virtue and of Rome. 
 
 ' Clod. No more : 1 sleep o'er Cato's drowsy theme. 
 *' He is the senate's drone, and dreams of libertj', 
 " 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 satme scene 
 Pompey is mentioned, and Calphurnius Piso 
 introduced in the following terms 
 
 *' Gab. Oh ! who shall attempt to read 
 
 " In Pompey's face the movements of his heart? 
 *' The same calm artificial look of state, 
 ^' His half-clos'd eyes in self- attention wrapt, 
 *' Serve him alike to iiiask unseemly joy, 
 "Or hide the pangs of envy and revenge. 
 
 *^ Clod. See, yonder your old colleague Piso comes ! 
 ** But name hypocrisy and he appears. 
 ** How like his grandsire's monument he looks \ 
 " He wears the dress of holy Numa's days, 
 O 4
 
 200 MEMOIRS 01' 
 
 " The brow aad 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, 
 (^ Thbugh now the natrons melt with awful fear, 
 *' From the dread omen fatal ills 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 efi^brts of 
 its author; in short, although this drama has 
 not all the finishing of a veteran artist, yet in 
 parts' it has a warmth of colouring and a 
 strength of expression, which might induce a 
 
 1
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND 201 
 
 candid reader to augur not unfavourably 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 
 committed. If indeed the candour and libe- 
 rality 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 un- 
 enviable situation, and must either abandon my 
 undertaking, or abide by the conditions of it 
 with what fortitude I can muster. If, when I 
 am profcjssedly the "recorder of my own writ- 
 ings, 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 no- 
 thing more than a catalogue, which any maga- 
 zine might furnish, or the prompter's register 
 as well supply ; if on the contrary I proceed to
 
 202 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 fulfil the real purposes of biographer and cri- 
 tic, ought I not to act as honestly and consci- 
 entiously in my own case, as I would in the 
 instance of another person ? I think I ought : 
 it is what the title of my book professes ; how 
 I am to execute it I do not know, and how my 
 best endeavours may be received I can form no 
 guess. In the mean time I will strive to arm 
 myself with an humble but honest mind, re- 
 solving, as far as in me lies, not to speak par- 
 tially of my works because they are my own, 
 nor shghtingly against my conscience from 
 apprehension that readers may be found to 
 differ from me, where my thoughts may seem 
 more favourable than their's. The latter of 
 these consequences may perhaps frequently oc- 
 cur, and when it does, my memoirs must en- 
 counter 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, 
 laid by me for a considerable time ; till Lord 
 Halifax one day, when we were at Bushey 
 Park, desired me to shew it to him ; he read it, 
 and immediately proposed to carry it to Gar- 
 rick, and recommend it to him for representa-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 203 
 
 lion. Garrick was then at Hampton, and I 
 went with Lord Halifax across the park to his 
 house. This was the first time I found myself 
 in company with that extraordinary man. He 
 received his noble visitor with profound obei- 
 sance, and in truth there were some claims 
 upon his civility for favours and indulgencies 
 granted to him by Lord Halifax as Ranger of 
 Bushey Park. I was silently attentive to every 
 minute particular of this interview, and soon 
 discovered the embarrassment, which the in- 
 troduction of my manuscript occasioned ; I 
 saw my cause was desperate, though my ad- 
 vocate was sanguine, and in truth the first ef- 
 fort of a raw author did not promise much to 
 the purpose of the manager. He took it how- 
 ever with all possible respect, and promised an 
 attentive perusal, but those tell-tale features, so 
 miraculously gifted in the art of assumed emo- 
 tions, could not mask their real ones, and I 
 predicted to Lord Halifax, as we returned to 
 the lodge, that I had no expectation of my 
 play being accepted. A day or two of what 
 might scarce be called suspense confirmed this 
 prediction, when Mr. Garrick having stated hi* 
 despair of accommodating a play on such a
 
 204 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 plan to the purposes of the stage, returned the 
 manuscript to Lord Halifax with many apolo- 
 . gies to his Lordship, and some few qualifying 
 words to its author, Avhich 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 non-compliance with 
 his wishes, and for a length of time forbore to 
 live in habits of his former good neighbour- 
 hood with him. 
 
 When I published this play, which I soon 
 after did, I was conscious that I published Mr. 
 Garrick's justification for refusing it, and 
 I made no mention of the circumstances above 
 stated. 
 
 George Ridge Esquire of Kilmiston in the 
 county of Hants, had two sons and one daugh- 
 ter by Miss Brooke, niece to my grandfather 
 Bentley : with this family we had lived as 
 friends and relations in habits of the greatest 
 intimacy. It was upon an excursion, as I have 
 before related, to this gentleman's house that 
 I founded my school-boy poem written at 
 Bury, and our families had kept up an inter- 
 change of annual visits for a course of time. 
 From these meetings I had been for several
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 205 
 
 years unluckily excluded by my avocations to 
 college or London, till upon Mr. Ridge's 
 coming to town accompanied by his wife and 
 daughter, and taking lodgings in the near 
 neighbourhood of Mount-Street, where I held 
 my melancholy abode, I was kindly entertained 
 by them, and found so many real charms in 
 the modest manners and blooming beauty of 
 the amiable daughter, that I passed every hour 
 I could command in her society, and devoted 
 all my thoughts to the attainment of that hap- 
 piness, which it was in her power to bestow 
 upon my future days. As soon therefore as I 
 obtained, through the patronage of Lord Ha- 
 lifax, a small establishment as Crown-Agent 
 for the province of Nova Scotia, I began to 
 hope the object I aspired to was within my 
 reach, when upon a visit she made with her 
 parents to mine at Fuiham, I tendered my ad- 
 dresses, 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 en- 
 deared to me, and on the 19th day of February 
 i759j (being my birth-day) I was married by
 
 206 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 my father in the church of Kilmiston to Eli- 
 zabeth, only daughter of George and Elizabeth 
 Ridge. 
 
 Lord Halifax upon some slight concessions 
 from the Duke of Newcastle had reassumed 
 his office of First Lord of Trade and Planta- 
 tions, and I returned with my wife to Fulham, 
 taking a house for a short time in Duke- 
 Street Westminster, and afterwards in Abing- 
 don 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 favours and 
 awarder of promotions. Mr. Dodington, whom 
 I had visited a second time at Eastbury with 
 my wife and her father Mr. Ridge, obtained 
 an English peerage, and Lord Halifax was ho- 
 noured with the high office of Lord Lieutenant 
 of Ireland, and was preparing to open his ma- 
 jesty's first parliament in that kingdom : I had 
 reason to believe myself at this time very much 
 in his confidence, and in the conduct of a cer- 
 tain private transaction, which I am not called 
 upon to explain, I had done him faithful ser- 
 vice; happy for him it would have been, and
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. S07 
 
 the prevention of innumerable troubles and 
 vexations, if my zealous efforts had been per- 
 mitted 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. 
 
 His 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 connexion ; 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 compleated that department. I obtain- 
 ed a situation for a gentleman, who had mar- 
 ried my eldest sister, but what gave me pecu 
 liar satisfaction was to have it in my power to 
 gratify the wishes of one of the best and bravest 
 young officers of his time, Captain William 
 Ridge, brother to my wife. He had served 
 the whole war in America with distinguished 
 reputation ; had been shot and carried off the 
 2
 
 208 MEMOmS OF 
 
 field in the fatal affair of Ticonderago, and 
 was now returned with honourable wounds and 
 the praises and esteem of his general and bro- 
 ther 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 negociated himself into the office 
 of Chief Secretary. I need say no more than 
 that he did not owe this to the choice of Lord 
 Halifax ; of course it was not easy for that 
 gentleman to find himself in the confidence of 
 his principal, to whom he was little known, and 
 in the first instance not altogether acceptable. 
 I do not think he took much pains to conquer 
 first impressions, and recommend himself to the 
 confidence of Lord Halifax : it is certain he did 
 not possess it, and the consequence was, that 
 I, who held the secondary post of Ulster-Se- 
 cretary, became involved in business of a na- 
 ture, that should not in the course of office 
 have belonged to me. Afiairs of this sort.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 209 
 
 ^vhich I did not court, and had no right to be 
 concerned in, made my situation very delicate 
 and not a httle dangerous, whilst at the same 
 time the entire superintendance of Lord Ha- 
 lifax's private finances, then very far from be- 
 ing 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 un- 
 dertake. It was his lot to succeed the Duke 
 of Bedford, and his high spirit would not suf- 
 fer 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 expence. All that Was in my 
 power I did with unwearied diligence and at- 
 tention 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 faith- 
 ful 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 
 liad many years experience. 
 
 I had published my tragedy of The Banish- 
 ment of Cicero by Mr. J. Walter at Charing 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 sub- 
 joined a true and faithfullist 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 so- 
 vereign, in which I attempted to delineate the 
 character of the people he was to govern, and 
 the principles of that conduct, which, if pur- 
 sued, would ensure their attachment, and esta- 
 blish 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 prac- 
 tising attitudes and debating within himself 
 upon the most graceful mode of carrying his 
 coronet in the procession. He was in high 
 glee with his fresh and blooming honours, and
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 211 
 
 I left him in the act of dictating a billet to 
 Lady Hervey, apprising her that a young lord 
 was coming to throw himself at her feet. He 
 conjured me to keep my Lord Lieutenant 
 firmly attached to Lord Bute, and we parted. 
 
 Here however I must take leave to pause 
 upon a period in the life of my uncle Mr. 
 Bentley, when fortune smiled upon him, and 
 his genius was drawn forth into exertion by 
 the patronage of Lord Bute. Through my 
 intimacy with Mr. Dodington I had been the 
 lucky instrument of opening that channel, 
 Avhich for a time at least brought him affluence, 
 comfort and consideration. There was not a 
 man of literary talents then in the kingdom, 
 who stood so high and so deservedly in fame 
 and favour with the Premier as Mr. Bentley; 
 and though, when that great personage went 
 out of office, my uncle lost every place of pro- 
 fit, 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 Me- 
 cjenas, and fondly hoped he would be the aus- 
 picious instrument of opening an Augustan 
 
 V '2
 
 212 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 reign ; he sent out his runners upon the search 
 for men of talents, and Dodington was per- 
 fectly reconciled to the honour of being his 
 provider in that laudable pursuit, for which no 
 man was better qualified. He was not wanting 
 in intuition to discern what the powers of 
 Bentley's genius were, and none could better 
 point out the purposes, to which they might 
 be usefully directed. Opposition was then be- 
 ginning to look up, and soon felt the sharp 
 point of Bentley*s pen in one of the keenest and 
 wittiest satires, extant in our language. Lord 
 Temple, Wilkes,, 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 a first-rate 
 genius, was too candid not to acknowledge the 
 merit of the poem, and when he declined taking 
 up the gauntlet so pointedly thrown down to 
 him, it was not because he held his challenger 
 in contempt. It was this poem, that brought 
 an accumulation of favours on its author, but 
 I don*t know that he ever had an interview 
 with the bestower of them, and I am rather 
 inclined to think they never met. About the 
 same time my uncle composed his witty but
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 213 
 
 eccentric drama of The TVishes, in which he 
 introduces the speaking Harlequin after the 
 manner of the Italians. This curious produc- 
 tion, after being circulated in manuscript, ad- 
 mired 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, ]\Iiss Elliot, Mrs. Haughton and some 
 few others under the management of Foote and 
 Murphy, who attended on the occasion. At 
 this rehearsal, there was present a youth un- 
 knozvn to fame who was understood to be 
 protected by Lord Bute, and came thither in 
 a hackney coach with ]Mrs. Haughton. This 
 gentleman was of the party at the supper with 
 which the evening's entertainmpnt 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 intelli- 
 gent countenance that we could form any con- 
 jecture as to that extraordinary gift of genius, 
 which in course of time advanced him to the 
 
 r 3
 
 214 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Great Seal of the kingdom and the Earldom of 
 llosslyn. 
 
 Foote, IMurphy and Obrien were then joint 
 conductors of the summer theatre, and per- 
 formed their plays upon the stage of Drury 
 Lane, and here they brought out The JVishes, 
 which had now been so much the topic of con- 
 versation, that it drew all the wit and fashion 
 then in town to its first representation. The 
 brilliancy of its dialogue, and the reiterated 
 strokes of point and repartee kept the audience 
 in good humour with the leading acts, and 
 seemed to augur favourably for the conclusion, 
 till when the last of the Three JVisJies pro- 
 duced the ridiculous catastrophe of the hang- 
 ing of Harlequin 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 JVishes were irrevocably condemned. 
 Mr. Harris some years after gave it a second 
 chance upon his stage : the judgment of the 
 public could not take away the merit of the 
 poet, but it decided against his success. Upon 
 the hint of this play, and the entertainment at
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 215 
 
 La Trappe, where Foote Lad 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 Mel- 
 combe: 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 Mel- 
 combe, and stopt with him. If that poem is 
 in the hands of any of Mr. Bentley's family, it 
 is much to be regretted that they withhold it 
 frpm the public, though all that was then tem- 
 porary 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 Philoda- 
 mus has been given to the public by Mr. Har- 
 ris, and Henderson performed the charac- 
 ter, that gives its name to the play. The in- 
 genious author always wrote for the reader, he 
 did not study how to humour the spectator: 
 Philodamus lias much of the old cast in its 
 style, with a considerable portion of originality 
 
 p 4
 
 3l6 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 and a bold vein of humour running through it, 
 occasionally inte*rmixed ev^en 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 weak- 
 est 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 Philoda- 
 mus. 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 ac- 
 ceptable on account of its being so seldom of- 
 fered up. The other drama on the Genoese 
 Conspiracy I saw in its unfinished state, and 
 can only say that I was struck by certain pas^ 
 sages, 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 Airs.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 217 
 
 Ridge, and was accompanied by my wife, 
 though in a state ill calculated to endure the 
 rough roads by land, and the more rough pas- 
 sage by sea : my father, mother and sisters 
 were with us in the yacht ; they took a house 
 in Dublin, and I was by office an inhabitant 
 of the castle, and lodged in very 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 ncft 
 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 Halifix, 
 Avhose patience began to be exhausted, no lon- 
 ger submitted his copy to be dissected, but 
 took it to himself with such alterations as he 
 f^aw fit to adopt, and those but few. I must
 
 218 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 candidly acknowledge that at times when I 
 have heard people searching for internal evi- 
 dence in the style of Junius as to the author 
 of those famous letters, I have called to recol- 
 lection 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 Hamil- 
 ton ; 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 sub- 
 ject of Mr. Edmund Burke, whom he had 
 then attached to himself, and for whom he 
 wished me to assist in projecting some esta- 
 blishment. I had then never seen that emi- 
 nent person, nor did I meet him till after my 
 arrival in Dublii, when I had merely the op- 
 portunity of introducing myself to him in pas- 
 sing through the apartment, where he was in 
 attendance upon ]\Ir. Hamilton. He had in- 
 deed his fortune to make, but he was not dis- 
 posed to make it by any means but such as 
 ])erfectly accorded with his feelings and his
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 219 
 
 honour ; for when Mr. Hamilton contrived, to 
 accommodate him by some private manoeuvre, 
 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 con- 
 nexion with that gentleman and his poHtics. 
 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 
 rightly to have appreciated them, had they 
 ever come cordially into contact, it was not 
 from the quarter, in which he was then placed, 
 that favour and promotion were to be looked 
 for. 
 
 Without entering upon the superannuated 
 politics of that time, it is enough to say that 
 the king's business was carried through the 
 session with success, and when the vote was 
 passed for augmenting the revenue of the Lord 
 Lieutenant, and settling it at the standard, to 
 which it is now fixed, he accepted and passed 
 it in favour of his successors, but peremptorily 
 rejected it for himself. At this very time I 
 had issued to the amount of twenty thousand 
 pounds expended in office, whilst he had been
 
 :V: 
 
 220 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 receiving about twelve, and I know not where 
 that man could have been found, to whom 
 those exceedings were more severely embarras- 
 sing 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 ra- 
 pidity, as to preclude all hesitation or debate. 
 
 His popularity however was so established 
 by this high-minded proceeding, that upon 
 his departure from Ireland all parties seemed 
 to unite in applauding his conduct and in- 
 voking 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 accompa- 
 nied the yacht through the bay, studious to 
 pay to their popular chief governor eveiy vale- 
 dictory honour, 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. Rose-<
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 221 
 
 ingrave discovered a number of lapsed pa- 
 tents, that had lain dormant in my office for a 
 length of time, neither allowances nor perqui- 
 sites being annexed to them. When a pretty 
 considerable number of these patents were col- 
 lected, and a list of them made out, 1 laid 
 them before the Lord Lieutenant for his dis- 
 posal 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 parlia- 
 ment for each respectively, which, though 
 virtually pensions, were not so glaringly ob- 
 noxious, nor were any of them in fact such 
 absolute sine-cures, some duty being attached 
 to every one of them. They were certainly a 
 very seasonable accession to his patronage, and 
 I make no doubt a very acceptable one to the 
 circumstances of those, on whom he bestowed 
 them. I sought no share in the spoil, but ra- 
 ther wished to stand correctly clear of any in- 
 terested 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 manoeuvre, and many other 
 merits of a much superior sort, for which I
 
 222 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 sincerely esteemed him, and, till his death put 
 an end to our correspondence, preserved a con- 
 stant interchange of friendly sentiments, and 
 at times of visits, when either he came to En- 
 gland, 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 any thing, 
 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 acknow- 
 ledgment for favours past, or as an inducement 
 for services to come. As I went to Ireland so 
 I returned from it, perfectly clean-handed, not 
 having profited my small fortune in the value 
 of a single shilling, except from the fair income 
 of my office arising from the established fees 
 upon wool-licences, which netted, as well as I 
 can recollect, about 3001. per annum, and did 
 not clear my extraordinary cxpences. 
 
 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, ad- 
 ding that he wished to mark his particular ap- 
 
 2
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 223 
 
 probation 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 compe- 
 tent estate, which would descend to me. I 
 confess it was not the sort of favour I expect- 
 ed, 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 mere 
 mouthful of moonshine. I received the ten- 
 der 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 adverse 
 to the proposal, I signified to Lord Halifax 
 my wish to decline the honour he bad been 
 pleased to offer to me : I certainly did not 
 make my court to him by this refusal, and va- 
 nity, if I had listened to it, would in this in- 
 stance have taligbt 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
 
 224 MEMOIRS or 
 
 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 favour, unless I 
 kept it up by sacrifices I was determined not 
 to make ; in short I had not that worldly wis- 
 dom, 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 intermis^ 
 sion, and for the longer half of that time with-^ 
 out 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 
 
 4
 
 IIICHARD CUMBERLAND. 225 
 
 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 wait- 
 ing for opportunities to establish his reputa- 
 tion as an orator. He had a striking coun- 
 tenance, a graceful carriage, great self-posses- 
 sion and personal courage : he was not easily 
 put out of his way by any of those unaccom- 
 modating 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 labour 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 
 
 VOL. I. Q,
 
 226 MEMOIRS or 
 
 stand in need of, and all the real flexibility, 
 that could suit his purpose, or advance his in- 
 terest. He would fain have retained his con- 
 nexion 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 oifered to Doctor Crane, who, though 
 moderately beneficed in England, withstood 
 the temptation of that valuable mitre, and dis- 
 interestedly 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 
 negociation 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 httle Cloysters, and some 
 years before his death resided in his parsonage 
 house at Sutton, a living given him by Sir Ro- 
 ger Burgoyne, near to which I had a house, 
 from which I paid him frequent visits, and with 
 unspeakable concern saw that excellent man
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 227. 
 
 resign himself with patience truly christian to 
 the dreadful and tormenting visitation of a 
 cancer in his face. I was at my house at Tet- 
 worth 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 avus hardly dis- 
 cernihle, 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 friend- 
 ships in Ireland with some of the most respect- 
 able characters, and made a visit, accompanied 
 by my mother, to Doctor Pocock, Bishop of 
 Ossory, at his episcopal house in Kilkenny. 
 That celebrated oriental traveller and author 
 was a man of mild manners and primitive sim- 
 plicity : having given the world a full detail of 
 his researches in Egypt, he seemed to hold 
 himself excused from saying any thing more 
 about them, and observed in geneial an obdu- 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 rate taciturnity. In his carriage and deport- 
 ment he appeared to have contracted something 
 of the Arab character, yet there was no auste- 
 rity in his silence, and though his air was so- 
 kmn, his temper was serene. When we were 
 on our road to Ireland, I saw from the win- 
 dows of the inn at Daventry a cavalcade of 
 horsemen approaching on a gentle trot, head- 
 ed by an elderly chief in clerical attire, who 
 was followed by five servants at distances geo^ 
 metrically measured and most precisely main- 
 tained, 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 Lon- 
 don ; the professions more intermixt, and ranks 
 more blended ; in the great houses I met a pro- 
 miscuous assembly of politicians, lawyers, sol- 
 diers and divines ; the profusion of their tables 
 struck me with surprise ; nothing that I had 
 seen in England could rival the Polish magni- 
 ficence of Primate Stone, or the Parisian luxury 
 of Mr. Clements. The style of Dodington 
 vvas stately, but there was a watchful and well- 
 
 1
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 229 
 
 regulated oeconomy over all, that here seemed 
 out of sight and out of mind. The profes- 
 sional gravity of character maintained by our 
 Ertglish dignitaries was here laid aside, and in 
 several prelatical houses the mitre was so min- 
 gled with the cockade, and the glass circulated 
 so freely, that 1 perceived the spirit of convi- 
 viality was by no means excluded from the 
 pale of the church of Ireland. 
 
 Primate Stone was at that time in the ze- 
 nith of his power ; he had a great following; 
 his intellect wai as strong as ever, but his con- 
 stitution was in its waine. I had frequent 
 occasions to resort to him, and much reason 
 to speak highly of his candour and condescen- 
 sion. No man faced difficulties with greater 
 courage, none overcame them with more ad- 
 dress : 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 
 necessjlrily to be enforced, none could hold it 
 with a higher hand : he was an elegant scho- 
 Q 3
 
 230 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 lar, a consummate politician, a very fine gen- 
 tleman, 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. 
 
 Doctor Robinson was by Lord Halifax 
 translated from the see of Ferns to that of Kil- 
 dare. I had even then a presentiment that we 
 were forwarding his advancement towards the 
 primacy, and persuaded myself that the suc- 
 cessor of Stone, would be found in the person 
 of the Bishop of Kildare. Of him I shall pro- 
 bably have occasion to speak more at large 
 hereafter, for the acquaintance, which I had 
 the honour to form with him at this time, was 
 in the further course of it ripened into friend- 
 ship and an intimacy, which he never suffered 
 to abate, and I prized too highly to neglect. 
 
 I made but one short excursion from Dub- 
 lin, and this was to the house of that gallant 
 officer Colonel Ford, who perished in his pas- 
 sage to India, and who was married to a rela- 
 tion of my wife. Having established his fame 
 in the battle of Plassey and several other ac- 
 tions, he seated himself at Johnstown in the 
 centre of an inveterate bog, but the soil, such
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 231 
 
 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 di- 
 ning 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 fiom 
 all ranks, orders and descriptions, than the ef- 
 fect of invitation and design. Description 
 must fall short in the attempt to convey any 
 sketch of that eccentric being to those, who 
 have not read him in the notes of Jephson, or 
 seen him in the mimickry of Foote, who in 
 his portraits of Faulkner found the only sitter, 
 whom his extravagant pencil could not cari- 
 cature ; for he had a solemn intrepidity of 
 egotism, and a daring contempt of absurdity, 
 that fairly outfaced imitation, and like Gar- 
 rick's Ode on Shakespear, which Johnson said 
 " defied criticism," so did George in the ori- 
 ginal spirit of his own perfect buftbonery 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 
 
 Q 4
 
 232 MEMOIRS or 
 
 the same time that he was pre-eminently and 
 by preference the butt and buffoon of the 
 company, he could find openings and oppor- 
 tunities for hits of retaliation, which were such 
 left-handed thrusts as few could parry : no- 
 boay could foresee where they would fall, 
 nobody of course was fore-armed, and as there 
 was in his calculation but one supereminent 
 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 sate at his table once from din- 
 ner 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 pas- 
 sed sentence of death upon him. This did
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 233 
 
 not in the least disturb the harmony of the so- 
 ciety, nor embarrass any human creature pre- 
 sent AH went off perfectly smooth, and 
 George, adverting to an original portrait of 
 Dean Swift, which hung in his room, told us 
 abundance of excellent and interesting anec- 
 dotes of the Dean and himself with minute 
 precision and an importance irresistibly ludi- 
 crou8. 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 but- 
 cher: I beHeve neither of them spoke the truth. 
 George prosecuted Foote for lampooning him 
 on the stage of Dublin ; his counsel the prime 
 Serjeant compared him to Socrates and his li- 
 beller 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
 
 234 MEMOIRS OF 'A 
 
 comparison, and sate down contented under 
 the shadow of his laurels. In process of time 
 he became an alderman ; I paid my court to 
 him in that character, but I thought he was 
 rather marred than mended by his dignity. 
 George grew grave and sentimental, and sen- 
 timent and gravity sate as ill upon George, as 
 a gown and 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, 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 natural ta- 
 lents, and played the part of Maria in her pa- 
 tron'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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 235 
 
 daughters and the ladies of his family on their 
 journey home, whilst he went forward, and 
 would expect us at Bushy Park. Circum- 
 stanced as I was, I could not undertake the 
 charge of his family without; abandoning that 
 of my own, which I did with the utmost re- 
 gret, though my brother in law Captain Ridge 
 kindly offered himself to conduct his sister and 
 her infant to the place of their destination, and 
 accordingly embarked with them in a pacquet 
 for Holyhead some days before my departure. 
 Painful as this parting was, I had yet the con- 
 solation of surrendering those objects of my 
 affection to the care of him, whom I would 
 have chosen out of all men hving for the trust. 
 They were to repose for a few days at a house 
 called Tyringham, within a short distance of 
 Newport Pagnell, which I had taken of the 
 heir of the Bakewell family. It was a large 
 and venerable old mansion, situated on the 
 banks of the river Ouse, and had caught my 
 eye as I was on my road to Ireland : under- 
 standing it was furnished and to be let, I 
 crossed the river, and in a few minutes con- 
 versation with the steward agreed to take it, 
 and in this I was in some degree biassed by the
 
 536 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 consideration of its near neighbourhood to 
 Lord Halifax at Horton. It was a hasty bar- 
 gain, but one of the cheapest ever made, and I 
 had no occasion at any time after to repent of it. 
 Whien we arrived at Bushey Park, and I had 
 surrendered my charge to Lord Hahfax, I lost 
 no Further time, but hastened to my wife, who 
 was then in Hampshire at her father's, where 
 the children we left behind us had been kindly 
 harboured: them indeed I found in perfect 
 health, but that and every other joy attendant 
 on my 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 wis then in the crisis of a most violent 
 fever, exhausted, senseless and scarce alive. 
 Many florid writers would seize the opportu- 
 nity of describing scenes of this sort ; I shall 
 decline it. It was my happy lot to see her ex- 
 cellent constitution surmount the shock, and 
 to witness her recovery in her native air by the 
 blessing of Providence and the unwearied at- 
 tentions of her hospitable parents. As soon 
 as she was re-established in her health, we re- 
 moved with our children to Tyringham, where 
 my wife had left her infant fellow traveller in
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAljJ^D. 237 
 
 the care of an excellent young woman, who 
 from the clay 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 Lord 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 Clon- 
 fert. This vacancy fell so close upon the ex- 
 piration of Lord Halifax's government, that 
 great efforts were made and considerable in- 
 terest exerted to wrest the nomination out of 
 his lordship's patronage, and throw it into the 
 disposal of his successor ; it was proposed to re- 
 compense 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, honoured, 
 beloved, and I may say (almost without a fi- 
 gure) 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
 
 $38 MtiMOIRS OF 
 
 The expectant, who, if I was rightly inform-' 
 cd, would have obtained the bishopric of Clon- 
 fert 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 Doctor Markham 
 was the person, whose happy destiny sent my 
 father to Ireland, and reserved him for better 
 fortune at home, and higher dignities most 
 worthily bestowed and most honourably en- 
 joyed.. 
 
 My father in the mean time had returned to 
 his vicarage of Fulham, and sate down with- 
 out 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 re- 
 ceived 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 ad- 
 vantages likely to accrue to sucti as belonged 
 to him from his promotion to an Irish bi- 
 shopric ; it was not consistent, he said, with 
 his principles to avail himself of his patronage
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 239 
 
 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 rela- 
 tions in England, if any such should solicit 
 him. This did happen in more instances than 
 one, and I can witness with what pain he with- 
 stood requests, which he would have been so 
 happy to have complied with ; but his con- 
 science was a rule to him, and he never de- 
 viated from it in a single instance. He further 
 observed in the course of this conversation 
 -with me what I have before noticed in my re- 
 marks upon Bishop Cumberland's appropria- 
 tion of his episcopal revenue, and, alluding to 
 that rule as laid down by his grandfather, ex- 
 pressed 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 him- 
 self without reason. In conclusion he said, 
 that having visited Ireland, and formed many 
 pleasing and respectable connexions there, he 
 would quietly wait the event without embar- 
 rassing Lord Halifax with any solicitation, and 
 when he thought he perceived me in a disposi- 
 
 2
 
 240 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tion to be not quite so tranquil and sedentary 
 in the business, he positively forbade me to 
 make any stir, or give Lord Halifax any trou-^ 
 ble on his account " You have shew^n your 
 *' moderation," added he, " in declining the 
 " title, that was offered to you; let me at least be- 
 " tray no eagerness in courting that, which may, 
 " ormay 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 circum- 
 ** stances, that have drawn you from your stu- 
 ** dies, 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 in- 
 junction. Not a year passed during my fa- 
 ther's residence in Ireland that I did not hap- 
 pily 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 241 
 
 authorized to announce to my father his nomi- 
 nation 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 Hali- 
 fax 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, man- 
 nerly, 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 his 
 character with marks, that could not be mis- 
 taken ; he well knew how to follow up prefer- 
 ment to its source, and though the waters of 
 that spring were not very pure, he drank de- 
 voutly at the fountain head, and was rewarded 
 for his perseverance. 
 
 I could not be said to suffer any disappoint- 
 ment on the occasion of this gentleman's pro* 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 motion : I had due warning of the alternative^ 
 that presented itself to my choice. I had a 
 holding on Lord Halifax, founded on my fa- 
 ther's merits, and a long and faithful attach- 
 ment 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 connexions, who 
 would have marked my conduct with deserved 
 contempt. In attending upon him to Ireland 
 I had the example of Doctor 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 ray tender being 
 accepted. The answer was exactly what I 
 looked to receive cool in its terms, repulsive 
 in its purport / was not Jit for every situa- 
 tion Nothing could be more true, neither did 
 I oppose a single word to the conviction it car- 
 ried with it : in that I acquiesced respectfully 
 and silently ; but I said a few words in thankful 
 acknowledgment of the favour he had con- 
 ferred upon my father, and for that, which I 
 had received in my own person, namely the
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 243 
 
 Crown-Agency of Nova Scotia. Perhaps lie 
 did not quite expect to have disposed of me 
 with so Httle trouble to himself, for my manner 
 seemed to waken some sensations, which led 
 him to dilate a little on his motives for de- 
 clining 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 under- 
 stood 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 ofifice in 
 question. When we know ourselves to be put 
 aside for reasons, that do not touch the cha- 
 racter, 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. Scdgewicke in possession of his office, I 
 
 began to think it might be worth my while to 
 
 endeavour at succeeding him in his situation at 
 
 R 2
 
 344 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the Board of Trade, and submit to follow him, 
 as he had once followed aftd now passed me in 
 this road to preferment. After above eleven 
 years attendance, my profit was the sole attain- 
 ment of a place of two hundred pounds per 
 annum, my loss was that of the expence I had 
 put my father to for my support and mainte- 
 nance in a style of life, very different from that 
 in which I was found ; this expence 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 gratify- 
 ing to my conscience the balance upon 3000/. 
 which was the portion allotted to Miss Ridge, 
 was very inconsiderable when it reached me. 
 I had already three children, and the prospect 
 of an increasing family; my fathers bishopric 
 was not hkely to benefit me, neither could it 
 be considered as a compensation for my ser- 
 vices, inasmuch as the past exertions of his in- 
 fluence and popularity in Northamptonshire 
 '.might fairly give him a claim to a favour not 
 less than that of appointing him second chap- 
 lain to Doctor Oswald, who was a perfect 
 stranger to his lords-hip, till introduced and re- 
 commended by his brother James. These con-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 245 
 
 siderations induced me to hope I could not be 
 thought a very greedy or presumptuous ex- 
 pectant, when I ventured to soUcit him in com- 
 petition 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 
 endeavouring to succeed that gentleman, whose 
 office, if I could obtain it, would be an addition 
 to my income of two hundred per annum. 
 The Earl of Hillsborough was first Lord of 
 Trade and Plantations, and, being an intimate 
 friend of Lord Halifax, was I presumed not in- 
 disposed towards me. I thereupon went to 
 Bushey Park to wait upon Lord Hahfax, and 
 communicated to him the idea, which had oc- 
 curred 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 offisnce, or turn it oif as matter of indiffer- 
 ence; for some time he seemed inclined to put 
 an interpretation upon the measure proposed, 
 which certainly it could not bear, and to con-i 
 sider it as an abandonment on my part of a con- 
 
 R 3
 
 246 " MlfiMOIRS Of 
 
 nexion, that had uninterruptedly subsisted f*or 
 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 situa- 
 tion 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 dis- 
 cretion, as a measure he neither advised nor op- 
 posed. 
 
 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 me- 
 mory of many particulars, which, if my own 
 credit only was at stake, I should be forward 
 to relate, I shall forbear ; convinced, that when 
 I lost the favour and protection of that noble 
 person, I had not forfeited his real good opi- 
 1
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 247 
 
 nion ; 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 speak- 
 ing, 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 ; his first approach attracted no- 
 tice, his consequent address ensured 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 j the first offices of 
 the state, the highest honours, which his so- 
 vereign could bestow, were showered upon him, 
 when the spring of his mind was broken, and 
 his genius, like a vessel overloaded with trea- 
 sure, but far gone in decay, was only precipi- 
 tated to ruin by the very freight, that in its 
 R 4
 
 248 . MEMOIRS OF 
 
 better days would have crowned it with pros- 
 perity and riches. 
 
 I now addressed a letter to the Earl of Hills- 
 borough, tendering my humble services in Mr. 
 Sedgcvvicke*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 labour, but as Mr. Pownall, now 
 actual Secretary, was much in the habit of di- 
 gesting these reports himself, my task was 
 greatly lightened, and I had leisure to address 
 myself to other studies, and indulge my pro- 
 pensities towards composition in whatever way 
 they might incline me to employ them. 
 
 Bickerstaff having at this time brought out 
 his operas of Love in a Village and The Maid 
 of the Mill with great success, some friends 
 persuaded me to attempt a drama of that sort, 
 and engaged Simpson, conductor of the band
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAXD. 249 
 
 at Coven t Garden and a performer on the 
 liautboy, to compile the airs and adapt them 
 to the stage. With very little knowledge of 
 stage-effect, and as little forethought about 
 plot, incident, or character, I sate down to 
 write, and soon produced a thing in three acts, 
 which I named the Summer's Tale, though it 
 was a tale about nothing and very indifferently 
 told ; however, being a vehicle for some songs, 
 not despicably written, and some of these very 
 well set, it was carried by my friends to Beard, 
 then manager of the theatre, and accepted for 
 representation. My friends, who were critics 
 merely in music, took as little concern about 
 revising the drama, as I took pains in writing 
 it : they brought me the music of old songs, 
 and I adapted words to it, and wove them 
 into the piece, as I could. I saw however 
 how very ill this plan was adapted for any cre- 
 dit, 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 th^ 
 drama, I affixed as motto to the title page the 
 following words Vo.v, et prceterea nihil.-^-^ 
 Abel furnished the overture, Bach, Doctor 
 Arne and Arnold supplied ome original com-
 
 250 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 positions ; Beard, Miss Brent, (then in high 
 reputation) Mr. and Mrs. Mattocks and Shu- 
 ter filled the principal characters. It was per- 
 formed nine or ten nights to moderate houses 
 without opposition, and very deservedly with- 
 out much applause, except what the execution 
 of the vocal performers, and some brilliant 
 compositions justly obtained ; but even with 
 these it was rather over-loaded, and was not 
 sufficiently contrasted and relieved by fami- 
 liar airs. 
 
 The fund for the support of decayed actors 
 being then recently established by the com- 
 pany of Covent Garden theatre, I appropri- 
 ated the receipts of my ninth night to that be- 
 nevolent institution, which the conductors were 
 pleased to receive with much good wnll, and 
 have honoured me with their remembrance at 
 their annual audits ever since. 
 
 The Summer's Tale was published by Mr. 
 Dodsley, and as I 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 favour by the success of his operas
 
 niCHARD CUMBERLAND. 251 
 
 above-mentioned, seemed to consider me as an 
 intruder upon his province, with whom he was 
 to keep no terms, and he set all engines of 
 abuse to work upon me and my poor drama, 
 whilst it was yet in rehearsal, not repressing 
 his acrimony till it had been before the public ; 
 when to have discussed it in the spirit of fair 
 criticism might have afforded him full matter 
 of triumph, without convicting him of any 
 previous malice or personality against an unof- 
 fending author. I was no sooner put in pos- 
 session of the proofs, against him, which were 
 exceedingly gross, than I remonstrated by let*- 
 ter to him against his uncandid proceeding ; I 
 have no copy of that letter ; I wish I had pre- 
 served it, as it would be in proof to show that 
 my disposition to live in harmony with my con- 
 temporaries was, at my very outset as a writer 
 for the stage, what it has uniformly been to 
 the present hour, and that, although this at- 
 tack was one of the most virulent and unfair 
 ever made upon me, yet I no otherwise ap- 
 pealed against it, than by telling him, "That 
 " if his contempt of my performance was real- 
 " ly what he professed it to be, he had no need 
 " to fear me as a rival, and might relax from
 
 252 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 "his intemperance; on the contrary, if alarm 
 ** for his own interest had any share in the mo- 
 *' tives for his animosity, I was perfectly ready 
 *' to purchase his peace of mind and good will 
 " by the sacrifice of those emoluments, which 
 " might eventually accrue from my nights, in 
 " any such way as might relieve his anxiety, 
 " and convince him of my entire disinterested- 
 " ness in commencing author ; adding in con- 
 *' elusion, 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 inte- 
 rest, 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 under- 
 stood he was wholly dependant on the stage, 
 and that the necessity of his circumstances 
 made him bitter against any one, who stept 
 forward to divide the favour of the public with 
 him. To insult his poverty, or presume on 
 my advantage over him in respect of circum-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 253 
 
 stances, was a thought, that never found ad- 
 mission to my heart, nor did BickerstafF him- 
 self so construe my letter, or suspect me of 
 sucli baseness ; for Mr. Garrick afterwards in- 
 formed me that Bickerstaff shewed this letter 
 to him as an appeal to his feeHngs 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 labours. 
 One day as I was leaving the theatre after 
 a rehearsal of the Summer's Tale, I was met 
 by Mr. Smith, then engaged at Covent Gar- 
 den, and whom I had known at the Univer- 
 sity, as an Under-graduate of Saint John's 
 College. We had of course some conversa- 
 tion, during which he had the kindness to re- 
 monstrate with me upon the business I was 
 engaged in, politely saying, that I ought to 
 turn my talents to compositions of a more in-
 
 254 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 dependent and a higher character ; predicting 
 to me, that I should reap neither fame nor sa- 
 tisfaction in the operatic department, and de- 
 manding of me, in a tone of encouragement, 
 why I would not rather aim at writing a good 
 comedy, than dabbhng in these sing-song 
 pieces. The animating spirit of this friendly 
 remonstrance, and the full persuasion that he 
 predicted truly of the character and conse- 
 quences 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 remem- 
 brance this circumstance, as I have, who was 
 the party favoured and obliged, yet I hope he 
 will at all events believe that I record it truly 
 as to the fact, and gratefully for the effects of 
 it. As his friend, I have lived with him, and 
 shared his gentlemanly hospitality ; as his au- 
 thor, I have witnessed his abilities, and pro- 
 fited by his support ; and though I have lost 
 sight of him ever since his retirement from
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 255 
 
 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 be- 
 fore 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 al- 
 lotted. It was thereupon thought adviseable 
 to cut down the Summer's Tale to an after- 
 piece of two acts, and exhibit it in the next 
 season under the title of Amelia. In this state 
 it stood its ground, and took its turn with very 
 tolerable success " behind the foremost and be- 
 *' fore the last." Simpson pubhshed the music
 
 256 MEMOIRS ov 
 
 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 INIeath's house in Kil- 
 dare-Street, next door to the Duke of Lein- 
 ster's. When we had reposed ourselves for a 
 few days, after the fatigues of a turbulent pas- 
 sage, we all set off for Clonfert in the county 
 of Galway. Every body, who has travelled 
 in Ireland, and witnessed the wretched accom- 
 modation of the innsj particularly in the west, 
 knows that it requires some forecast and pre- 
 paration to conduct a large family on their 
 journey. It certainly is as different from tra- 
 velling in England as possible, and not much 
 unlike travelling in Spain ; but with my father 
 for our provider, whose appointments of ser- 
 vants and equipage were ever excellent, wc
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 257 
 
 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 impas- 
 sable bog, we found the episcopal residence, 
 by courtesy called palace, and the church of 
 Cloufert, by custom called cathedral. This 
 humble residence was not devoid of comfort 
 and convenience, for it contained some tole- 
 rable 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 
 %t the extremity of a broad gravel walk in 
 front stood the cathedral. Within this boun- 
 dary the scene was cheerful ; all without it was 
 either impenetrable bog, or a dreary undressed 
 country ; but whilst all was harmony, hospi- 
 tality 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 
 eud^ared him to his neighbours and parishioners 
 in England, now began to make the like im- 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 MfiMOIRS OF 
 
 pressions on the hearts of a people as far dif-- 
 ferent 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 condescend- 
 ing to any of the paltry modes of courting po- 
 pularity, I instantly perceived how high he 
 stood in their esteem ; these observations I was 
 perfectl}'^ in the way to make, for I had no 
 forms to keep, and was withal uncommonly 
 delighted with their wild eccentric humours, 
 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 
 borroF ! Atrocities and violences, which set 
 all law and justice at defiance, were occasion- 
 ally committed in this savage and hcentious 
 quarter, and suffered to pass over with impu'- 
 nity. In the neighbouring town of Eyre
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 259 
 
 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 de- 
 nounced 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 
 knowleda:e, whilst I resided with mv father, in 
 more instances than or.e, and those instances 
 would be shocking to relate. To stem these 
 daring outrages, and to stiknd 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, tlrat come home to their 
 feelings, and are evidently directed to the sole 
 purposes of amending their manners, and im- 
 proving their condition. To suppose they 
 were a race of beings stupidly vicious, devoid 
 
 s 2
 
 260 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of sensibility, and delivered over by their na- 
 tural 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 ex- 
 cuse of their excesses : together with their fe- 
 rocious propensities there are blended and com- 
 pounded humours so truly comic, eccentrici- 
 ties 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 extrava- 
 gancies, which we cannot seriously approve, 
 and captivated by professions, which we can- 
 not implicitly give credit to. 
 
 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 la- 
 bourers, gardeners, turf-cutters, herdsmen and 
 handicraft-men of various denominations. 
 His first object, and that not an easy one to 
 attain, was to induce them to pursue the same
 
 RICHAED CUMBERLAND. 26l 
 
 methods of husbandry as were practised in Ert- 
 gland, and to observe the same neat and cledn- 
 iy course of cultivation. This was a great 
 point gained ; they began it with unwilling- 
 ness, and watched it with suspicion : their idle 
 neighbours, who were without employ, ridi- 
 culed the work, and predicted that their hay 
 stacks would take fire, and their corn be ren- 
 dered unfit for use ; but in the further course 
 of time, when they experienced theadv^antages 
 of this process, and witnessed the striking con- 
 trast of these productive lands, compared with 
 the slovenly grounds around them, they began 
 to acknowledge their own errors, and to re- 
 form them. With these operations the im- 
 provements of their own habitations were con- 
 trived to keep pace : their cabins soon wore a 
 more comfortable and decent appearance ; they 
 furnished them with chimnies, and emerged 
 out of the smoke, in which they had buried 
 and suffocated their families and themselves. 
 When these old habits were corrected within 
 doors, on the outside of every one of them 
 there was to be seen a stack of hay, made in 
 the English fashion, thatched and secured 
 from the weather, and a lot of potatoes, care- 
 
 s 3
 
 22 MEMOIRS OF : 
 
 fully planted and kept clean, which, with a 
 suitable proportion of turf, secured the year's 
 provision both for man and beasts When 
 these comforts were placed in their view, they 
 were easily led to turn their attention ta the 
 li^jttjer^^ppearance of their persons, and this re- 
 form was not a little furthered by the premium 
 of a Sunday's dinner to all, who should present 
 ^hemsjelves in clean linen and with well-combed 
 Jjair, rWithout the customary addition of a 
 scare-crow wig, so that tlie swarthy Milesian 
 jio Ipnger appeared with a yellow wig upon his 
 coal-black hair, nor the yellow Dane with a 
 coal-black wig upon his long red locks : the 
 old barbarous custom also of working in a 
 great coat loosely thrown over the shoulders, 
 with the sleeves dangling by the sides, was 
 now dismissed, and the bishop's labourers turn- 
 ed into the field, stript to their shirts, proud 
 tp shev/ themselves in whole linen, so that in 
 them vanity operated as a virtue, and pi(jued 
 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 de- 
 voted the greatest portion of my time to his
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 263 
 
 works, and had full powers to prosecute his 
 good intentions to whatever extent I might 
 find opportunities for carrying them. This 
 commission was to me most gratifying, nor 
 have any hours in my past hfe been more truly 
 satisfactory, than those in which I was thus 
 occupied as the administrator of his unbound- 
 ed benevolence to his dependant fellow crea- 
 tures. 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 into his neighbourhood, 
 and a great number of spinning-wheels were 
 distributed, and much good linen made in con- 
 sequence of that measure. The superintend- 
 ance of this improving manufacture furnished- 
 an interesting occupation to my mother's ac- 
 tive mind, and it flourished under her care. 
 
 In the month of October my father removect 
 his family to Dublin, and from thence I re- 
 turned to resume my official duty at the Board 
 of Trade. In the course of this winter I 
 brought out my first comedy, entitled The 
 Brotliers, at Covent Garden theatre, then 
 under the direction of Mr. Harris and his as- 
 sociates, joint proprietors with him. I had 
 s,4
 
 264 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 offered ; 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 brethren as to 
 him. He took it however with all its respon- 
 sibility, supported it and cast it with the best 
 strength of his company. Woodward 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 prompt- 
 ed 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
 
 RICHARD CUMB1ERLAND. 265 
 
 say that it brought some advantage to the the- 
 atre 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 labour, if they took 
 it up afresh. I recollect that I borrowed the 
 hint of Sir Benjamin's assumed valour upon 
 being forced into a rencounter from one of the 
 old comedies, and if I conjecture rightly it is 
 The Little French Laxvyer. 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 charac- 
 ter, such as that of the tame Sir Benjamin, is 
 always a striking incident in the construction 
 of a drama, and when a revolution of that sort 
 can be brought about without violence to na- 
 ture, and for purposes essential to the plot, it 
 is a point of art well worthy the attention and 
 study of a writer for the stage. The comedy 
 of Rule a JVife and have a JVife, and parti- 
 cularly that of Massinger's City Madam, are 
 strong instances in point. It is to be wished
 
 ^66 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 that some man of experience in stage effect 
 would adapt the latter of these comedies to re* 
 presentation. 
 
 Garrick was in the house at the first night 
 of The Brothers, and as I was planted in the 
 back seat of an upper box opposite to where he 
 sate, I could not but remark his action of sur- 
 prise when Mrs. Yates opened the epilogue 
 with the following lines 
 
 .'."; (c Who bat hath seen the celebrated strife, 
 <* Where Reynolds calls the canrass into life, 
 " And 'twixt the tragic and the comic muse, 
 *' Courted of both, and dubious where to chose, 
 *' 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 sur- 
 prise, but was not displeased with the unex- 
 pected compliment from an author, with whom 
 he had supposed he did not stand upon the 
 best terms ; alluding no doubt to his transac- 
 tion with Lord Halifax respecting The Banish- 
 ment of Cicero. From this time Mr. Garrick 
 took pains to cultivate an acquaintance, whicb 
 he had hitherto neglected, and after Mr. Fitz-
 
 mCHARD CUMBERLAND. 26? 
 
 herbert 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 Hamp- 
 ton. In the mean time, whilst I was thus 
 fortunate in conciliating to myself one eminent 
 person by my epilogue, I soon discovered to my 
 regret how many I had offended by my pro- 
 logue. 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 unmitiga- 
 ted acrimony. 1 made no defence, and the 
 only one I had to make would hardly have 
 brought me off, for I could have opposed no- 
 thing to their charge against me, but the sim- 
 ple and sincere assertion that I alluded person- 
 ally to no man, and being little versed in the 
 mock-modesty of modern addresses to the au- 
 dience, took the old style of prologue for my 
 model, and put a bold countenance upon a 
 bold adventure. Numerous examples were be- 
 1
 
 268 MEMOIRS or 
 
 fore me of prologues arrogant in the extreme ; 
 Johnson abounds in such instances, but I did 
 aot 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: 
 neitlier did Smith, who was speaker of the pro- 
 logue, and an experienced actor, warn me of 
 any danger in tlie lines he undertook to deliver. 
 In short mine was the error of inexperience, 
 and their eiforts to rebuff me only gave a fresh 
 spring to my exertions, for I can truly say, 
 that, although I have been annoyed by detrac- 
 tion, 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 esta- 
 bhsh any upon the merit of this address : he 
 was Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, 
 and this was my sole motive for inscribing my 
 first comedy to him. As for the play itself, 
 whilst the prologue and the prologue's author 
 run the gauntlet, that kept possession of the 
 stage, and Woodward and Yates lost no credit 
 by the support they gave it.
 
 niCHARD CUMBERLAND. 269 
 
 I will not trouble the reader with iimny apo- 
 logics or appeals, yet just now whilst I am be- 
 ginning to introduce a long Hst of dramas, such 
 as I presume no English author has yet equalled 
 in point of 7iumber^ I would fain intercede for 
 a candid interpretation of my labours, and re- 
 commend my memory to posterity for protec- 
 tion 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 pub- 
 lic 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
 
 270 MEMOIltS OP 
 
 it. I solemnly protest that I have never writ- 
 ten, or caused to be written, a single line to 
 puif and praise myself^ or to decry a brother 
 dramatist, since I had life; of all such anony- 
 mous and mean manoeuvres I am clearly inno- 
 cent and proudly disdainful ; I have stood firm 
 for the corps, into which I enrolled myself, 
 and never disgraced my colours 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 triumph, that now 
 to be repulsed from the stage is to be recom- 
 mended to the closet, and to be applauded by 
 the theatre is little else than a passport to the 
 puppet-show. I only say what every body 
 knows to be true : I do not write from personal 
 motives, for I have no more cause for com- 
 plaint than is common to many of my brethren 
 of the corps. It is not my single misfortune 
 to have been accused of vanity, which 1 did 
 not feel, of satires, which I did not write, and 
 of invectives, which I disdained even to medi- 
 tate. It stands recorded of me in a review to
 
 XlICHAUD CUMBERLAND. S/l 
 
 this hour, that on the first night oiThe School 
 for Scandal I was overheard in the lobby en- 
 deavouring 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 exhibi- 
 ted my pocket-journal in confirmation of my 
 alibi: the gentleman was convinced of my in- 
 nocence, but as he had no opportunity of cor- 
 recting his libel, every body that read it re- 
 mains convinced of my guilt. Now as none, 
 who ever heard my name, will fail to suppose 
 I must have said what is imputed to me in bit- 
 terness 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. 
 
 In the ensuing year I again paid a visit to 
 my father at Clonfert, and there in a little clo- 
 set at the back of the palace, as it was called, 
 unfurnished and out of use, with no other pros- 
 pect 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 JFe^it Indian.
 
 t*l2- MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 bright- 
 est colouring for the best characters, to give 
 no false attractions to vice and immorality, but 
 to endeavour, 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 in good humour with one ano- 
 ther. 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 hfe and spirit into his man or 
 woman of virtue, and render them entertain- 
 ing as well as good, . their morality is not a 
 whit more attractive than the morahty 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 at- 
 tention to what became of them : Shadwelfs 
 comedy is little better than a brothel. Poetical
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 273 
 
 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 of- 
 fender, has not left the comic writer without 
 his instruments of vengeance ; for surely, if he 
 knows how to employ the authority that is in 
 him, the scourge of ridicule alone is sharp 
 enough for the chastisement of any crimes, 
 which can fall within his province to exhibit. 
 A true poet knows that unless he can produce 
 works, whose fame will outlive him, he will 
 outlive both his works and his fame ; therefore 
 every comic author who takes the mere clack 
 of the day for his subject, and abandons all his 
 claim upon posterity, is no true poet ; if he 
 dabbles in personalities, he does considerably 
 worse. When I began therefore, as at this time, 
 to write for the stage, my ambition was to aim 
 at writing something that might be lasting and 
 outlive me; when temporary subjects were sug- 
 gested to me, I declined them : I formed to 
 myself in idea what I conceived to be the cha- 
 racter of a legitimate comedy, 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 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 fallen upon a time, when great eccentricity of 
 character was pretty nearly gone by, but still 
 I fancied there was an opening for some origi- 
 nality, and an opportunity for shewing at least my 
 good will to mankind, if I introduced the cha- 
 racters of persons, who had been usually exhi- 
 bited on the stage, as the butts for ridicule and 
 abuse, and endeavoured 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 disco- , 
 vering such as were the victims of its national, 
 professional or religious prejudices; in short 
 for those suffering characters, which stood in 
 need of an advocate, and out of these I medi- 
 tated to select and form heroes for my future 
 dramas, of which I would study to make such 
 favourable and reconciliatory delineations, a^ 
 might incline the spectators to look upon them 
 with pity, and receive them into their good opi- 
 nion and esteem. 
 
 With this project in my mind, and nothing 
 but the turf-stack to call oif my attention, I 
 took the characters of an Irishman and a West 
 Indian for the heroes of my plot, and began to 
 work it out into the shape of a comedy. To
 
 lliCIIARD cum'berland. 275 
 
 the West Indian I devoted a generous spirit, 
 and a vivacious giddy dissipation; I resolved 
 he should love pleasure mucii, but honour 
 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 re- 
 commended, 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 ser- 
 vice, and exhibited him in the livery of a fo- 
 reign master, to impress upon the audience the 
 melancholy and impolitic alternative, to which 
 his religious disqualification had reduced a gal- 
 lant and a loyal subject of his natural king : I 
 gave him courage, for it belongs to his nation ; 
 I endowed him with honour, for it belongs to 
 his profession, and I made him proud, jealous, 
 susceptible, for such the exiled veteran will be, 
 who lives by the earnings of his sword, and is 
 not allowed to draw it in the service of that 
 country, which gave him birth, and which of 
 course he was born to defend : for his phraseo- 
 logy I had the glossary ready at my hand ; for 
 his mistakes and trips, vulgarly called bulls, I 
 T 2
 
 276 MEMOIRS or 
 
 did not know the Irisbman of the stage then 
 existing, whom I would wish to make my mo- 
 del : their gross absurdities, and unnatural con- 
 trarieties 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 Irish- 
 man will sometimes blunder ; his fancy having 
 supplied more words than his tongue can well 
 dispose of, it will occasionally trip. But the 
 imitation must be delicately conducted ; his 
 meaning is clear, he conceives rightly, though 
 in delivery he is confused ; and the art, as I con- 
 ceive it, of finding language for the Irish cha- 
 racter 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 sen- 
 timents, 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 277 
 
 find interest and occupation, it wants no out- 
 ward aids to cheer it. My mother, who had a 
 fellow-feehng 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 in- 
 clined 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 for ever 
 crossed me in the writing of The Brothers. I 
 was master of my time, my mind was free, and 
 I was happy in the society of the dearest friends 
 I had on earth. In parents, sister, wife and 
 children greater blessings no man could enjoy. 
 The calls of office, the cavillings of angry ri- 
 vals, and the jibings of news-paper critics 
 could not reach me on the banks of the Shan- 
 non, where all within doors was love and affec- 
 tion, all without was gratitude and kindness 
 devolved on me through the merits of my fa- 
 ther. In no other period of my life have the 
 same happy circumstances combined to cheer 
 me in any of my literary labours. 
 
 During an excursion of a few days upon a 
 visit to Mr. Talbot of Mount Talbot, a very 
 
 T 3
 
 278 * MEMOIRS OF 
 
 respectable and worthy gentleman in those 
 parts, I found a kind of hermitage in his plea- 
 sure grounds, where I wrote some few scenes, 
 and my amiable host was afterwards pleased to 
 honour the author of The West Indian with an 
 inscription, affixed to that building, comme- 
 morating the use, that had been made of it ; 
 a piece of elegant flattery very elegantly ex- 
 pressed. 
 
 On this visit to Mr. Talbot I was accompa- 
 nied by Lord Eyre of Eyre Court, a near neigh- 
 bour 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 repair, he lived ac- 
 cording to the style of the country with more 
 hospitality than elegance : whilst his table 
 groaned with abundance, the order and good 
 taste of its arrangement were little thought of: 
 the slaughtered ox was hung up whole, and the 
 hungry servitor supplied himself with his dole 
 of flesh, sliced from off the carcase. Hi&
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 279 
 
 lordship's day was so apportioned as to give 
 the afternoon by much the largest share of it, 
 during which, from an early dinner to the 
 hour of rest, he never left his chair, nor did 
 the claret ever quit the table. This did not 
 produce inebriety, for it was sipping rather 
 than drinking, that filled up the time, and this 
 mechanical process of gradually moistening the 
 human clay was carried on with very little aid 
 from conversation, for his lordship's compa- 
 nions were not very communicative, and fortu- 
 nately he was not very curious. He 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 
 li\ckily he had no liking for fresh air, and the 
 consequence may be better conceived than de- 
 scribed. 
 
 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 to 
 us to take him over to the other side. The 
 
 T 4
 
 ^80 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 company in the boat making no reply, I inad- 
 vertently called out " Aye, aye. Sir ! stay 
 " there till we come." Immediately I heard a 
 murmur in the company, and Lord Eyre said 
 to me '" You'll hear from that gentleman 
 *' again, or I am mistaken. You don't know 
 *' perhaps that you have been answering one 
 *' of the most irritable men alive, and the like- 
 *' liest to interpret what you have said as an 
 *' affront." He predicted truly, for the very 
 next morning the gentleman rode over to Lord 
 Eyre, and demanded of him to give up my 
 nam6. This his lordship did, but informed him 
 withal that I was a stranger in the country, 
 the son of Bishop Cumberland at Clonfert, 
 where I might be found, if he had any com- 
 mands 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 OTlaherty. 
 
 A short time after this. Lord Eyre, who had 
 a great passion for cock-fighting, and whose
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 281 
 
 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 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 infi- 
 nitely 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 1 should put them under 
 his care, and expect from him as a man of ho- 
 nour 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
 
 282 MEMOIRS 6T 
 
 " glorious and immortal memory for liis toast, 
 *' which no gentleman, who feels as I do, will 
 *' put up with." To this I pledged myself, 
 and we removed to a Avhiskey house, attended 
 by half a score pipers, playing different tunes. 
 Here we ^vt;nt 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 com- 
 pany, if no body had an objection " Ah now, 
 *' don't be too sure of that," a voice was in- 
 stantly 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 after- 
 " wards, in presence of her daughter? And 
 " do you think we will admit you into our 
 " company ? iNlake 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 283 
 
 civil gentleman m.ade his exit and was off. I 
 relate this incident exactly as it happened, sup- 
 pressing 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 wa- 
 ters, I took my departure, having first caution- 
 ed a friend, who sate by me, (and the only 
 protestant in the company) to keep his head 
 cool and beware of the glorious memory ; this 
 gallant young officer, son to a man, who held 
 lands of my father, promised faithfully to be 
 sober and discreet, as well knowing the com- 
 pany he was in ; but my friend having forgot 
 the first part of his promise, and getting very 
 tipsy, let the second part slip out of his me- 
 mory, 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 JVil' 
 Ham in a bumper, or abide the consequences. 
 I was not there, and if I had been present I 
 ould neither have stayed the tumult, nor de-
 
 284 MEMOIRS or 
 
 scribed it. I only know he turned out the 
 next morning merely for honour's sake, but as 
 it was one against a host, the magnanimity of 
 his opponents let him off with a shot or two, 
 that did no execution. I returned to the 
 peaceful family at Clonfert, and fought no 
 more cocks. 
 
 The fairies were extremely prevalent at Clon- 
 fert : visions of burials attended by long pro- 
 cessions of mourners were seen to circle the 
 church yard by night, and there was no lack 
 of oaths and attestations to enforce the truth 
 of it. My mother suffered a loss by them of a 
 large brood of fine turkies, who were every one 
 burnt to ashes, bones and feathers, and their 
 dust scattered in the air by their provident 
 nurse and feeder to appease those mischievous 
 little beings, and prevent worse consequences : 
 the good dame credited herself v-ery highly for 
 this act of atonement, but my mother did not 
 see it quite in so meritorious a light. 
 
 A few days after as my father and I were 
 riding in the grounds we crossed upon the Ca- 
 tholic priest of the pai'ish. My father began 
 a conversation with him, and expressed a wish 
 that he would caution his fiock against this
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 285 
 
 idle superstition of the fairies : the good man 
 assured the bishop that in the first place he 
 could not do it if he would ; and in the next 
 place confessed that he was himself far from 
 being an unbeliever in their existence. My 
 father thereupon turned the subject, and ob- 
 served to him with concern, that his steed was 
 a very sorry one, and in very wretched condi- 
 tion " 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 
 hay-field, where the bishop's people were at 
 work ; orders were instantly given for a stack 
 of hay to be made at the priest's cabin, and in 
 a few days after a steady horse vv^as purchased 
 and presented to him. Surely they could not 
 
 1
 
 86 MEMOIRS or* 
 
 be true born Irish fairies, that Would spite my 
 father, or even his turkies, after this. 
 
 Amongst the labourers in my father's garden 
 there were three brothers of the name of 
 0*Rourke, regularly descended from the kings 
 of Connaught, if they were exactly to be cre- 
 dited for the correctness of their genealogy. 
 There was also an elder brother of these, Tho- 
 mas O'Rourke, who filled the superior station 
 of hind, or headman; it was his wife that 
 burnt the bewitched turkies, whilst Tom burnt 
 his wig for joy of my victory at the cock- 
 match, and threw a proper parcel of oatmeal 
 into the air as a votive offering for my glorious 
 success. One of the younger brothers was 
 upon crutches in consequence of a contusion 
 on his hip, which he literally acquired as fol- 
 lows When my father came down to Clon- 
 fert 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 ex- 
 claimed " 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. 
 2
 
 RICHARD CUMBfiRLAND. 28? 
 
 When I accompanied my mother from Clon- 
 fert to DubHn, my ftither having gone before, 
 we passed the night at Killbeggan, where Sir 
 Thomas Cuffe, (knighted in a frolic by Lord 
 Townshend) kept the inn. A certain Mr. 
 Geoghegan was extremely drunk, noisy and 
 trutally troublesome to Lady Cuffe the hostess: 
 Thomas O'Rourke was with us, and being 
 much scandahzed with the behaviour of Geog- 
 liegan, took me aside, and in a whisper said - 
 " Squire, will I quiet this same Mr. Geoghe- 
 " gan ?" 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 wou'dn't it be a good 
 " deed to put him to death like a mad dog ? 
 " Therefore, Squire, do you see, if it will plea- 
 *' sure you and my lady there above stairs, who 
 " is ill enough, God he knows, I'll put this 
 *' knife into that same Mr. Geoghegan 's ribs, 
 " and be off the next moment on the grey 
 " mare ; and isn't she in the stable ? There- 
 ** fore only say the word, and I'll doit." This
 
 288 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 was the true and exact proposal of Thomas 
 O'Rourke, and as nearly as I can remember, I 
 have stated it in his very words. 
 
 We arrived safe in Dublin, leaving Mr. 
 Geoghegan to get sober at his leisure, and 
 dismissing O'Rourke to his quarters at Clon- 
 fert. When we had passed a few days in Kil- 
 dare-Street, I well remember the surprise it 
 occasioned us one afternoon, when without 
 any notice we saw a great gigantic dirty fellow 
 walk into the room, and march straight up to 
 my father for what purpose we could not de- 
 vise. 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 289 
 
 sufficiently ludicrous to have spoiled the so - 
 lemnity, yet my father kept his countenance, 
 and gravely gave his blessing, saying as he laid 
 his hands on his head-" God bless you, Ste- 
 " phen 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 re- 
 freshment, but with many thanks and a thou- 
 sand blessings in recompence for the one he 
 had received, walked out of the house, and I 
 can well believe resumed his pilgrimage to the 
 westward witliout stop or stay. I should not 
 have considered this and the preceding anec- 
 dotes as worth recording, but that they are in 
 some degree characteristic of a very curious 
 and peculiar people, who are not often under- 
 stood by those who profess to mimic them, 
 and who are too apt to set them forth as ob- 
 jects for ridicule only, when oftentimes even 
 tlieir oddities, if candidly examined, would en- 
 title them to our respect. 
 
 I will here mention a very extraordinary ho- 
 nour, which the city of Dublin was pleased to 
 confer upon my fiither in presenting him with 
 his freedom in a gold boje ; a form of such 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 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 ought not 
 to be mistaken ; if the fact is otherwise, I have 
 been misinformed, and the honour conferred 
 upon the Bishop of Clonfert was not without 
 a precedent. The motives assigned in the deed, 
 which accompanied the box, are in general for 
 the great respectability of his character, and 
 in particular for his disinterested protection of 
 the Irish clergy. Under this head it was sup- 
 posed they alluded to the benefice, which he 
 had bestowed upon a most deserving clergy- 
 man, 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. 
 
 To the same merits, which influenced the 
 city to bestow this distinguished honour on 
 my father, I must ascribe that which I received 
 from the University of Dublin by the hono- 
 rary grant of the degree of Doctor of Laws. 
 L^pon this I have only to observe that to be 
 within the sphere of my father's good name^
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 291 
 
 was to me at once a security against danger 
 and a recommendation to favour and reward. 
 
 When I returned to England I entered into 
 an engagement with Mr. Garrick to bring out 
 The West Indian at his theatre. 1 had re- 
 ceived fair and honourable treatment from Mr. 
 Harris, and had not the slightest cause of com- 
 plaint against him, his brother patentees or his 
 actors. I had however no engagement with 
 him, nor had he signified to me his wish or ex- 
 pectation of any such in future. If notwith- 
 standing, the obligation was honourably 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 
 Mr. Garrick had become intimacy between the 
 acting of The Brothers and the acceptance of 
 the West Indian. I resorted to him again and 
 again with the manuscript of my comedy ; I 
 availed myself of his advice, of his remarks, 
 and I was neither conscious of doing what 
 was wrong in me to do, nor did any remon- 
 strance ever reach me to apprise me of my 
 error. 
 
 I was not indeed quite a novice to the thea- 
 u 2
 
 2Q2 memoirs op 
 
 tre, but I was clearly innocent of knowing or . 
 believing myself bound by any rules or usagje, 
 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 admira- 
 ble judge of stage-effect; at his suggestion I 
 added the preparatory scene in the house of 
 Stock well, 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 tx) be announced of your West Indian 
 " before you bring him on the stage to give 
 " eclat to his entrance, and rouse the curiosity 
 *' of the audience; that they may say Aye, 
 " here he comes with all his colours flying ." 
 When I asked how this w^as 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 Mer- 
 " chant nor his clerk can do it, why, why send 
 ** in the servants, and kt them talk about him.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 295 
 
 " Never let me see a hero step upon the stage 
 ^' without his trumpeters of some sort or other.** 
 Upon this conversation it was that I engraft- 
 ed the scene ahove- 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 ini- 
 mitable man was to be seen in his highest state 
 of animation, we began to debate upon the 
 cast of the play. Barry was extremely de- 
 sirous to play the part of the Irish Major, and 
 Garrick was very doubtful how to decide, for 
 Moody was then an actor little known and at 
 a low salary. I took no part in the question, 
 for I was entitled to no opinion, but I remem- 
 ber Garrick after long deliberation gave his de- 
 cree for Moody with considerable repugnance, 
 qualifying his preference of the latter with rea- 
 sons, 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 cer- 
 tain points of humour, where he thought it 
 likely he might fail, and in that case his failure, 
 like his name, would be more conspicuous than 
 Moody's, In short Moody would take pains ; 
 u 3
 
 294 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 it might make him, it might mar the other ; so 
 Moody had it, and succeeded to our utmost 
 wishes. Mr, King, ever justly a favourite of 
 the pubhc, took the part of Belcour, and Mrs. 
 Abinedon, with some few salvos on the score 
 of condescension, played Charlotte Rusport, 
 and though she would not allow it to be any 
 thing but a sketch, yet she made a character of 
 it by her inimitable acting. 
 
 The production of a new play was in those 
 days an event of much greater attraction than 
 from its frequency it is now become, so that 
 the house was taken to the back rows of the 
 front boxes for several nights in succession be- 
 fore that of its representation ; yet in this in- 
 terval 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 expectatic^ns did 
 not run very high when I made this offer. 
 
 A rumour had .gone about, that the charac- 
 ter, which gave its title to the comedy, was 
 satirical ; of course the gentlemen, who came
 
 RICHARD CDMBERLAXD. 2.95 
 
 under that description, went down to the the- 
 atre 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 sate with Mr. and 
 Mrs. Garrick in their private box. When 
 the prologue-speaker had gone the length of 
 the four first lines the tumult was excessive,' 
 and the interruption held so long, that it 
 seemed doubtful, if the prologue would be 
 suffered to proceed. Garrick was much agi- 
 tated ; 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 hap- 
 pened 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 clamour for us, and 
 so far I regarded the impetuosity of the audi- 
 ence as a symptom in our favour. Whilst this 
 was passing between us, order was loudly is- 
 sued for the prologue to begin again, and in 
 tlie delivery of a few lines more than they had, 
 already heard they seemed reconciled to wait 
 u 4
 
 296 MEMOIRS or 
 
 the devclopement 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 favour than we could earn ; but when the 
 prologue came to touch upon the Major, and 
 told his countrymen in the galleries, that 
 
 ^' His heart can nerer trip '* 
 
 they, honest souls, who had hitherto been 
 treated with little else but stage kicks and cuffs 
 for their entertainment, sent up such a hearty 
 crack, as plainly told us we had not indeed 
 little cherubs, but lusty champions, who sate 
 up aloft. 
 
 Of the subsequent success of this lucky co- 
 medy there is no occasion for me to speak; 
 eight and twenty successive nights it went 
 without the buttress of an afterpiece, which 
 was not then the practice of attaching to a new 
 play. Such was the good fortune of an au- 
 thor, who happened to strike upon a popular
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 297 
 
 and taking plan, for certainly the moral of The 
 West Indian is not quite unexceptionable, nei- 
 ther is the dialogue above the level of others of 
 the same author, which have been much less 
 favoured. The snarlers snapped at it, but 
 they never set their teeth into the right place ; 
 I don't think I am very vain when I say 
 that I could have taught them better. Gar- 
 rick was extremely kind, and threw his shield 
 before me more than once, as the St. James's 
 evening paper could have witnessed. My pro- 
 perty 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 seem- 
 ed to contemplate it with a kind of ecstasy, 
 that was extremely droll ; and when I tendered 
 him his customary fee, he peremptorily refused 
 it, saying he had never paid an author so much 
 before, I had fairly, earnt it, and he would not 
 lessen it a single shilling, not even his coach- 
 hire, and in that humour he departed. He 
 had no sooner left the room than one entered
 
 298 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 to her 
 unwearied diligence and exemplary conduct. 
 
 I sold the copy right to Griffin in Cathe- 
 rine-Street, for 150/. and if he told the truth 
 when he boasted of having vended 12,000 co- 
 pies, he did not make a bad bargain ; and if he 
 made a good one, which it is pretty clear he 
 did, it is not quite so clear that he deserved it: 
 he was a sorry fellow. 
 
 I paid respectful attention to all the floating 
 criticisms, that came within my reach, but I 
 found no opportunities of profiting by their 
 remarks, and very little cause to complain of 
 their personalities ; in short I had more praise 
 than I merited, and less cavilling than I ex- 
 pected. One morning when I called upon 
 Mr. Garrick I found him with the St. James's 
 evening paper in his hand, which he began to 
 read with a voice and action of surprise, most 
 admirably counterfeited, as if he had discovered 
 a mine under my feet, and a train to blow me 
 up to destruction '' Here, here," he cried.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 299 
 
 " if your skin is less thick than a rhinoceros's 
 " hide, egad, here is that will cut you to the 
 " bone. This is a terrible fellow ; I wonder who 
 " it can be." He began to sing out his libel 
 in a high declamatory tone, with a most comic 
 countenance, and pausing at the end of the 
 first sentence, which seemed to favour his con- 
 trivance 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, and moan over me 
 with a great deal of malicious fun and good 
 humour " Confound these fellows, they spare 
 ** nobody. I dare say this is BickerstafF again; 
 ** but you don't mind him ; no, no, I see you 
 "don't mind him; a little galled, but not 
 " much hurt: you may stop his mouth with a 
 " golden gag, but we'll see how he goes on." 
 He then resumed his reading, cheering me all 
 the way as it began to soften, till winding up 
 in the most profest panegyric, of which he was 
 himself the writer, I found my friend had had 
 his joke, and I had enjoyed his praise, sea- 
 soned and set off, in his inimitable manner, 
 which to be comprehended must have been 
 seen.
 
 500 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 It was the remark of Lord Lyttelton upon 
 this comedy, when speaking of it to me one 
 evening at Mrs. Montagu's, tliat had it not 
 been for the incident of O'Flaherty's hiding 
 himself behind the screen, when he overliears 
 the la\vyer*s soliloquy, he should have pro- 
 nounced it a faultless composition. This flat- 
 tery his lordship surely added against the con- 
 viction 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 Lyttelton must 
 always be worth recording, and this especially, 
 as it not only applies to my comedy in parti- 
 cular, but is general to all. 
 
 " I consider listening/* said he, " as a re- 
 " source never to be allowed in any pure drama, 
 " nor ought any good author to makelise of 
 " it." This position being laid down by au- 
 thority 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 
 
 2
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. SOI 
 
 ** for the coustitiition of the comic drama." 
 After all due acknowledgments for the favour 
 of his remark, I replied that if I liad trespassed 
 against any rule laid down by classical autho- 
 rity in the case alluded to, I had done it inad- 
 vertently, 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 
 pi-ecept 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 jus- 
 tify the measure in my opinion, which his 
 lordship's better judgment had condemned; 
 being possessed of that I should offend no 
 more, but as my error was committed when I 
 had no such advice to guide me, I did recollect 
 that Aristophanes did not scruple to resort to 
 listening, and drawing conclusions from what 
 was overheard, when a man i-ambled and 
 talked broken sentences in his bed aleep and 
 dreaming ; a^d as for the Roman stage, if any
 
 302 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 thing could apologize for the Major's screen, I 
 conceived there were screens in plenty upon 
 that, which formed separate street^ and en- 
 trances, which concealed the actors from each 
 other, and gave occasion to a great deal of lis- 
 tening and overhearing in their comedy. 
 
 " But this occurs," said Lord Lyttelton, 
 " from the construction of the scene, not from 
 " the contrivance and intent of the character, 
 *' as in your case ; and when such an expedient 
 " is resorted to by an officer, like your Major, 
 " it is discreditable and unbecoming of him as 
 " a man of honour." This was decisive, and 
 I made no longer any struggle. What my 
 predecessors in the drama, who had been 
 dealers in screens, closets and key-holes for a 
 century past, would have said to this doctrine 
 of the noble critic, I don't pretend to guess ; it 
 would have made sad havoc with many of 
 them and cut deep into their property ; as for 
 me, I had so weak a cause and so strong a ma- 
 jority 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 pal- 
 liation into the Major's part, by making him 
 say upon resorting to his hiding place I'll
 
 RICHARD CtJMBERLAND. 303 
 
 ^tep behind this screen and listen: a goodsol- 
 xlier must sometimes Jight in ambush as well 
 as in the open field. 
 
 I now leave this criticism to the considera- 
 tion of those ingenious men, who may in future 
 cultivate the stage ; I could name one now liv- 
 ing, who has made such happy use of his screen 
 in a comedy of the very first merit, that if Aris- 
 totle himself had written a whole chapter pro- 
 fessedly 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, ])ending that scene, with any rea- 
 sonable 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 re- 
 ferable to the unwritten law of the heart, and 
 that is nature ; now though the natural child 
 is illegitimate, the natural comedy is accord- 
 ing to my conception of it what in other word* 
 
 1
 
 504 MEMOIRS Of 
 
 we denominate the legitimate comedy. Ii*it 
 represents men and women as they are, it pic- 
 tures 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 in- 
 cidental to it, but if it makes its serving-maid 
 its mistress, it becomes a puppet-show, and its 
 actors ought to speak through a comb behind 
 the scenes, and never shew their foolish faces 
 on the stage. If the author conceives himself 
 at liberty to send his characters on and off the 
 stage exactly as he pleases, and thrust them 
 into gentlemen's houses and private chambers, 
 as if they could walk into them as easily as 
 they can walk through the side scenes, he does 
 not know his business : If he gives you the in- 
 terior 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 de- 
 scribe 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 spunging-house to 
 read his lectures in, I am sorry for his dearth 
 of fancy, and lament his want of taste : If he
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 305 
 
 cannot get his Pegasus past Newgate without 
 his restively stopping Hke 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 thosfc 
 caricatures in our print-shops, which keep no 
 terms with nature, he courts the galleries at the 
 expence 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 in 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 re- 
 serve all that my observation and long expe- 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 MEMOIRS Of 
 
 rience can suggest for their edification and ad- 
 vantage. 
 
 However before I quite bid farewel to The 
 West-Indian, I must mention a criticism, which 
 I picked up in Rotten- Row from Nugent Lord 
 Clare, not e.v cathedra, but from the saddle on 
 an easy trot. His lordship was contented with 
 the play in general, but he could not relish the 
 five wives of O'Flaherty ; they were four too 
 many for an honest man, and the over-abun- 
 dance 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 tlie qualifier of en militaire, and his five 
 wives brought him 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 workFs word for the merit of The 
 West-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 pre-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 307 
 
 sutnptuous, I was almost the Master Betty of 
 the time ; but as I dare say that young gentle- 
 man is even now too old and too wise to be 
 spoilt by popularity, so was I then not quite 
 boy enough to he 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 pe- 
 riod of popularity, and of finding our true le- 
 vel at the conclusion of it. 
 
 I recollect the fate of a young artist in 
 Northamptonshire, who was famous for his 
 adroitness in pointing and repairing the spires 
 of church-steeples ; he formed his scaffolds 
 with consummate ingenuity, and mounted his 
 ladders with incredible success. The spire of 
 the church of Ilaunds was of prodigious height; 
 it overpeered all its neighbours, as Shakespear 
 does all his riv^als ; 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 achme of 
 
 X 2
 
 308 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 his fame, but glorious ambition tempted hirti 
 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 be- 
 low : what the song was, and how many stan- 
 2as he lived to get through I do not know ; he 
 sung it in too large a theatre, and was some- 
 what out of hearing ; but it is in my memory 
 to know that he came to his cadence before his 
 song did, and falhng 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 re- 
 nowned champion to vindicate the insulted 
 character of my grandfather Doctor Bentley. 
 The offensive passage met me in a pamphlet 
 written by Bishop Lowth professedly against 
 Warburton, acrimonious enough of all con- 
 science, 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 stept aside to 
 hook him in as a mere rerbal aitic, who in
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 309 
 
 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 aut fossor, 
 terms, that in English, would have been down- 
 right blackguardism. 
 
 All the world knows that Warburton and 
 Lowth had mouthed and mumbled each other 
 till their very bands blushed and their lawn- 
 sleeves were bloody. I should have thought 
 that the prelate, who had Warburton for his 
 antagonist, would hardly have found leisure 
 from his own self-defence to have turned aside 
 and fixed his teeth in a bye-stander. Yet so 
 it was, and it struck me that the unmanly un- 
 provoked attack not only warranted, but de- 
 manded, a remonstrance from the descendants 
 of Doctor Bentley. I stood only in the second 
 degree from my uncle Richaid, 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 phi- 
 losophical contempt for this sparring of pens 
 
 X 3
 
 103 Memoirs of 
 
 he positively declined having any thing to do 
 with the affair. I well remember, but I won't 
 describe the scene j 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 Bi- 
 shop 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 pru- 
 dently conditioned M'ith me so to mark myself 
 out, either by name or description, in the title 
 of my pamphlet, as that he should stand ex- 
 cused, and out of chance of being mistaken for 
 its author. Nothing could be more reason- 
 able, and I promised to comply with his in- 
 junctions, 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 pohteness, in which no man ex- 
 
 1
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 311 
 
 ceeded 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 univer- 
 sally decided for me. Warburton had can- 
 didly apologised to Lowth for having unknow- 
 ingly hurt his feelings by some glances he had 
 made at the person of a deceased relation of 
 the Bishop of Oxford, and I now claimed 
 from Lowth the same candour, which he had 
 experienced in the apology of Warburton. 
 This was unanswerable, and though Bishop 
 Lowth would not condescend to offer the 
 atonement to me, which he had exacted and 
 received from another, still he had the grace 
 to keep silence, and not attempt a justificiftion 
 of himself, and that, which he did not do per 
 sCy he would not permit to be done/?er alium ; 
 for I have reason to know he refused the vo- 
 luntary reply, tendered to him by a certain 
 clergyman of his diocese, acknowledging that 
 X 4
 
 312 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 I had just reason for retaliation, and he thought 
 it better that the affair should pass over in si- 
 lence 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 vi^as in my 
 favour. I entitled it " A Letter to the Right 
 
 *' Reverend the Lord Bishop of O d, con- 
 
 " taining some animadversions upon a charac- 
 " ter given of the late Doctor Bentley in a let- 
 " ter from a late Professor in the University of 
 " Oxford, to the Right Reverend Author of 
 *' the Divine Legation of Moses demonstra- 
 *^ ted." To this I subjoined, by w^ay of motto. 
 
 Jam parce Sepulta. 
 
 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 be- 
 " half of myself that I expostulate, but of 
 " one, for whom I am inuch more concerned, 
 " that is myfother. These are your lord-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 313 
 
 " ship's words amiable, atFecting expression ! 
 *' instructive lesson of filial devotion ! alas, 
 " my lord, that you, who were thus sensible 
 " to the least speck, which fell upon the repu- 
 " tation 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 sam- 
 ples in Catullus, and in that same satire I was 
 led to the character of SufFenus, who seemed 
 made for the very purposes of retort. My un- 
 cle Bentley stood clear from all suspicion of 
 being guilty of the pamphlet, with the excep- 
 tion of one old gentleman only, Mr. Com- 
 missary Greaves of Fulbourne in Cambridge- 
 shire, a man of fortune and consequence in his 
 county, who had ever professed a great esteem 
 for the memory of my grandfather, Avith 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.
 
 314 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 When this mistake was no longer a secret from 
 Mr. Greaves, and I received not a syllable on 
 the subject from him, 1 sent him the follow- 
 ing 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 relatioia Doctor Bentley of Nailstone, of a 
 present of books, which he had designed for 
 me, when I was a student at college, amount- 
 ing in value to twenty pounds, but which 
 promise he excused himself from performing, 
 because there had been a wet season, and 
 some of his fen lands had been under water 
 
 My letter was as follows 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " When in the warmth of your af- 
 " fection 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 j^ou. You have ever 
 *' been so good to me, that had your commen- 
 " dations been directed rio'htlv, I must have 
 " ascribed the greater share of them to your 
 *' charitable interpretation of my zeal, and the
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 315 
 
 *' rest I should have placed to the account of 
 " your politeness. 
 
 ** When I was an Under-graduate at Tri- 
 *' nity-college, you was so obliging as to let 
 ** me be informed of your intention to encou- 
 *' rage and assist me in my studies, and though 
 *' circumstances at that time intervened to 
 *' postpone your kind design, you have so 
 " abundantly overpaid me, that I have no 
 *' greater ambition now at heart than that I 
 " may continue so to write as to be mistaken 
 " for my uncle, and you so to approve of what 
 *' you read, as to see fresh cause of applauding 
 *' him, who is so truly deserving of every fa- 
 " vour you can bestow." 
 
 " I have the honour to be," &c. 
 " To William Greaves Esquire, 
 ''Fulbourne." 
 
 Before I quite dismiss this subject I beg 
 leave to address a very few words to my friend 
 Mr. Hayley, who in his desultory remarks^ 
 prefixed to his third volume of Cowper's Let- 
 ters, has in his mild and civil manner made 
 merciless and uncivil sport with Doctor Bent- 
 lev's character. I srive him notice that I me- 
 ditate to wreak an exemplary vengeance upon
 
 516 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 him, for I will publish in these memoirs a copy 
 of his verses, (very elegant in themselves, and 
 extremely flattering to rhe) which I have cave- 
 fully 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 pos- 
 session with the rapidity, that they have pro- 
 bably slipt out of his recollection. If he shall 
 be angry with me for publishing them, I de- 
 sire he will believe, there is not a man living, 
 who would not do as I have done, when flat- 
 tered by the muse of Hayley : if the followmg
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 317 
 
 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 libe- 
 " rally 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 
 
 *' VVhate'er we lovely call, 
 *' Hath said that all poetic veins 
 
 " Are ting'd with envious gall. 
 
 ^< Each bard, she said, would strike to earth 
 
 ** Hb rival's wreath of fame, 
 ** Nor ever to inferior worth 
 
 *' Allow its humbler claim. 
 
 '* But nature with a noble pride 
 " Maintain'd her injur'd cause 
 
 *' O Spleen, peruse the^ie lines," she cried, 
 *' Of Cumberland's applause ! 
 
 " Enough by me hast thou betn told 
 
 " Of his poetic art ; 
 *' Now in his generous praise behold 
 
 *' The genius of his heart !"
 
 318 MEMOIRS Of 
 
 The sullen sprite with shame confess'd 
 
 Her sordid maxim vain, 
 And own'd the true poetic breast 
 
 Unconscious of the stain. 
 
 Whilst I have been relating the circum- 
 stances, that induced me to appeal to the world 
 against so great a man as Bishop Lowth, and 
 considering within myself how far I was justi- 
 fied in that apparently presumptuous measure, 
 some thoughts have struck me, as I went on 
 with my detail, which all arose out of the sub- 
 ject 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 mu- 
 tually dependent upon those, who are dependent 
 upon him. In a social state no man can be 
 truly said to be safe who is not under the pro-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 319 
 
 tection 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 sensibi- 
 lity 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 arro- 
 gantly attempt to bestride the narrow world, 
 and launch his artificial thunder from a bridge 
 of brass upon us poor underlings in creation ? 
 And when we venture to lift up our heads in 
 the crowd, and cry out to the folks about us 
 *' This is mere mock thunder ; this is no true 
 "Jupiter; we'll not truckle to his tyranny,'* 
 why will some good-natured friend be ever 
 ready to pluck us by the sleeve, and whisper 
 in our ear " What are you about ? Recol- 
 " lect yourself! he is a giant, a man-moun- 
 ' tain ; you are a grub, a worm, a beetle ; he'll 
 " crush you under his foot ; he'll tread you into
 
 320 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 ^' atoms ^" not considering, or rathet not 
 caring 
 
 *' That the poor beetle, which he trode upon, 
 *' In mental sufFrance felt a pang as great, 
 *' As what a monarch feels " 
 
 Let no man, who belongs to a community, 
 presume to say that he is independent. There 
 is no such condition in society. Thank God, 
 our virtues are our best defence. Conciliation, 
 mildness, charity, benevolence H( tibi erunt 
 artes. 
 
 Are there not spirits continually starting out 
 from the mass of mankind, like red hot flakes 
 from the hammer of the blacksmith ? And 
 are not these to be feared, who are capable of 
 setting a whole city aye, even a whole king- 
 dom 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 321 
 
 to sing Te Deinn at liis 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 any 
 thing alive, except it be to the melanchoh'' 
 mute recluse of the convent of La Trappc, who 
 has no employment in life but to dig his own 
 grave, no other society but to keep company 
 with his own coffm. If 1 look for his resem- 
 blance amongst the irrationals, I should com- 
 pare him to a poor disconsolate ass, whom no- 
 body owns and nobody befriends. The man, 
 who has a cudgel, bestows it on his back, and 
 when he brays out his piteous lamentations, 
 the dissonance of his tones provoke no com- 
 passion ; they 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 peo- 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 pie perfectly adored him. He had a revolu- 
 tion in his power every day that he stept with- 
 out his doors. The prime minister truckled to 
 him ; the king trembled at him. How he ac- 
 quired this extraordinary degree of influence 
 was a mystery, that seemed to puzzle all con- 
 jecture 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 un- 
 common nonsense : wit he had none, and vir- 
 tue he by no means abounded in ; few men in 
 Spain were supposed to be more unprincipled ; 
 if you conceived it was by his munificence and 
 generosity, he could have told you no man 
 bought his popularity so cheap, for when the 
 secret came out^ he confessed, that the whole 
 mystery consisted in his wearing out a few more 
 hats in the year than others sacrificed, who did 
 not take off their's so often. 
 
 1 knew a gentleman, who was the very im- 
 mediate contrast to this Spanish duke; he was 
 a man of strict morality, who fulfilled the du- 
 ties and observed the decorum of his profession 
 ill the most exemplary manner ; in his medi- 
 tative walk one summer-morning he was greet- 
 
 1
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 333 
 
 ed by a country fellow with the customary sa- 
 lutation " Good morning to you, Sir ! a 
 " fine day a pleasant walk to you !" " I 
 *' don't know you,'* he replied, *' why do you 
 " internipt 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 
 stiried 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 De- 
 cimus 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 
 V 2
 
 S24 MEMOIRS or 
 
 now at a hour when I was so particularly en- 
 gaged, that I should have denied myself to 
 him but that he had called once or twice be- 
 fore and been disappointed of seeing me. I 
 had my office papers before me, and my wife 
 was making my tea, that I might get doAvn to 
 Whitehall in time for my business, and the 
 coach was waiting at the door. He was shewn 
 into the room ; a more uncouth person, habit 
 and address was hardly to be met with : he ad- 
 vanced, stopt, and stood staring with his eyes 
 fixed upon me for some time, when, putting 
 his hand into a pocket in the lining of the 
 breast of his coat, he drew .out an old packet 
 of paper rolled up and tied with whip-cord, 
 and very ceremoniously desired me to peruse 
 it. I begged to know what it was ; for it was 
 a work of time to unravel the knots he re- 
 plied " My will." And what am I to do 
 with your will, Sir?-" My heir" Well, 
 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 
 ** title deeds put them into your hands-^sigu
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 325 
 
 *' 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 laid, 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 sate down, took some time to compose 
 liimself, for he had been greatly agitated, and 
 having recovered his spirits, answered me deli- 
 berately 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 
 a'conomy improved. I stated to him that my 
 V 3
 
 S^6 
 
 MEBIOIRS OF 
 
 friend and cousin Mr. Richard Reynolds of 
 Paxton in Huntingdonshire 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 be- 
 queathed it to me, as his will would testify, 
 tv\^enty years ago, as being the representative 
 of the maternal branch of his family : in fine 
 he requited of me to accompany him to my 
 conveyancer, and direct a positive deed of gift 
 to be drawn up, for which purpose he had 
 brought his title deeds with him, and should 
 leave them in my hands. He added in further 
 vindication of his matives, that my father had 
 been ever his most valued friend, that he had 
 constantly watched my conduct and scruti- 
 nised my character, although he had not seen 
 occasion to establish any personal acquaintance 
 with me. Upon this explanation, and the evi- 
 dence 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 cham- 
 bers in Gray*s Inn, when I would state the 
 case to him, and refer myself to his judgment 
 and good counsel. The result of my confer-
 
 RICHAKD CUMBERLAND. 327 
 
 nce with the lately deceased Sir Richard He- 
 ron was the insertion of a clause of resumption, 
 empowering the donor to revoke his deed at 
 any future time when he should see fit, and this 
 clause I particularly pointed out to my bene- 
 factor when he signed the deed. 
 
 It was with difficulty I prevailed upon him 
 to admit it, and can witness to the uneasiness 
 it gave him, whilst he prophetically said I had 
 left him exposed to the solicitations and re- 
 monstrances 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 hejiad decided upon as 
 the most deliberate act of his life. 
 
 My kind old friend stood a lotig siege before 
 he suffered his prediction to take place ; for it 
 was not till after nearly ten years of uninter- 
 rupted cordiality, that, weak and wearied out 
 by importunity, he capitulated with his be- 
 siegers, and sending his nephew into my house 
 in Queen- Ann- Street unexpectedly one morn- 
 ing, surprised me with a demand, that I would 
 render back the whole of his title deeds : I de- 
 livered them up exactly as I had received tliem ; 
 y 4
 
 328 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 his messenger put them into his hackney coach 
 and departed. 
 
 In consequence of this proceeding I addres- 
 sed the following letter to the Reverend Mv. 
 Decimus Reynolds at Clophill in Bedford- 
 shire. 
 
 " Queen-Ann-Street 
 " Dear Sir, *' Monday 13th Jan*. 1779- 
 
 " I received your letter by the con- 
 " veyance of Major George Reynolds, and in 
 " obedience to your commands have resigned 
 " into his hands all your title deeds, entrusted 
 *' to my custody. I would have had a sche- 
 " dule taken of them by Mr. Kipling for your 
 " better satisfaction and security, but as your 
 " directions were peremptory, and Major Rey- 
 " nolds, who was ill, might have been preju- 
 " diced 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 329 
 
 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 tlie habit of disappointment and misfor- 
 tune, not to acquiesce with patience under 
 the dispensation. 
 
 " You well can recollect, that your first 
 bounty was unexpected and unsolicited : it 
 would have been absolute, if I had not 
 thought it for my reputation to make it con- 
 ditional, and subject to your revocation: per- 
 haps 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 
 every thing has been done by me for your 
 acconniiodation, and I had rather my chil- 
 dren should inherit an honourable poverty, 
 than an ample patrimony, which caused the 
 giver of it one moment of regret. 
 " I believe I have some few papers still at 
 Tetworth, which I received from you in the 
 countr}'. I shall shortly go down thitlier, 
 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
 
 330 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 *' Sir Richard Heron, I shall obey you by re- 
 " turning it: the uses being cancelled, the form 
 *' can be of little value, and I can bear in me- 
 " mory 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 com- 
 *' mon earnestness upon him to fulfil your 
 " wishes in favour of Mr. Decimus Reynolds 
 *' in Ireland. It would be much satisfaction to 
 " me to hear the deeds came safe to hand, and 
 " I hope you will favour me with a line to say 
 *' so. " I am, &c. &c. 
 
 " R. C." 
 
 I have been the more particular in the de- 
 tail of this transaction, because I had been un- 
 fairly represented by a relation, whom in the 
 former part of these memoirs I have recorded 
 as the friend of my youth ; a man, whom I 
 dearly loved, and towards whom I had con- 
 ducted myself through the whole progress of
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 331 
 
 this affair with the strictest honour and good 
 faith, voluntarily subjecting myself, the father 
 of six children, to be deprived of a valuable 
 gift, which the 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 affection and regard. 
 I wish him health and happiness for the remain- 
 der of his days, and, in the perfect conscious- 
 ness of having merited more kindness than I 
 have received, bid him heartily farewel. 
 
 There was more celebrity attached to the 
 success of a new play in the days, of which 
 I am speaking, than in the present time, 
 when 
 
 Portents and prodigies are grown so frequent, 
 That they have lo^t 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 superla- 
 tively blest in a wife, who conducted my fa- 
 mily "with due attention to my circumstances, 
 yet with every elegance and comfort, that 
 could render it a welcome and agreeable ren-
 
 332 MEMOIKS OF 
 
 dezvoiis to my guests. I had six children, 
 whose birthdays were comprised within the pe- 
 riod of six years, and they were by no means 
 trained and educated with that laxity of disci- 
 pline, which renders so many houses terrible 
 to the visitor, and almost justifies Foote in his 
 professed veneration for the 'character of He- 
 rod. IVIy young ones stood like little soldiers 
 to be reviewed by those, who wished to have 
 them drawn up for inspection, and were dis- 
 missed like soldiers at a word. Few parents 
 had more excuse for being vain than my wife 
 and I had, for I may be allowed to say my 
 daughters even then gave promise of that grace 
 and beauty, for which they afterwards became 
 so generally and 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 war-worn 
 veterans before their time. Even poor Fitz- 
 herbert, my unhappy and lamented friend, 
 with all his fond benignity of soul could not 
 with his caresses introduce a relaxation of dis- 
 cipline in the ranks of our small infantry; and
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 333 
 
 though Garrick could charm a circle of them 
 about him whilst he acted the turkey-cocks, 
 and peacocks and water* wagtails to their in- 
 finite and undescribable amusement, yet at the 
 word or even look of the mother, hi motus anu 
 morum 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 esti- 
 mate of that departed character, who only ap- 
 preciate him as the best actor in the world: he 
 was more and better than that excellence alone 
 could make him by a thousand estimable qua- 
 lities, and much as I enjoyed his company, I 
 have been more gratified by the emanations of 
 his heart; than hy 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 pro- 
 portion, and from its flexibility so perfectly un- 
 der command, that by its aptitude and elasti- 
 city he could draw it out to fit any sizes of cha- 
 racter, that tragedy could offer to him, and 
 contract it to any scale of ridiculous diminu-
 
 334 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tioD, 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 speakingj 
 his brow so moveable, and all his features so 
 plastic, and so accommodating, that where- 
 ever 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 cha- 
 racters, who honoured me with their company, 
 so as never to bring unconjenial humours into 
 contact with each other. How often have I 
 seen all the objects of society frustrated by in- 
 attention to the proper grouping of the guests I 
 The sensibility of some men of genius is so 
 quick and captious, that you must first consi- 
 der whom they can be happy with, before you 
 can promise yourself any happiness with them. 
 A rivalrv in wit and humour will oftentimes 
 
 ft/ 
 
 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 siillen.
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. S35 
 
 and a sullen fellow, if provoked by raillery, 
 will disturb the comforts of the whole so* 
 ciety. 
 
 It is tiresome listening to the nonsense of 
 those, who can talk nothing else, but nonsense 
 talked by men of wit and understanding, in 
 the hour of relaxation, is of the very finest es- 
 sence of conviviality, and a treat delicious 
 to those, who have the sense to comprehend 
 it I have known, and could name many, 
 who understood this art in its perfection, but 
 as it implies a trust in the company, not al- 
 ways to be risked, their practice of it was not 
 very frequent. 
 
 Raillery is of all weapons the most dan-^ 
 gerous and two-edged ; of course it ought ne- 
 ver to be handled, but by a gentleman, and ne- 
 ver should be played with, but upon a gentle- 
 man ; 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 to- 
 gether. Sir Joshua Reynolds luckily could not
 
 336 MEMOIRS or 
 
 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 diminutron of its 
 humour, adding only a few more twists to his 
 snuff-box, a few more taps upon the lid of it, 
 with a preparatory grunt or two, the invariable 
 forerunners of the amenity, that was at the 
 heels of them. He was the man, who bore his 
 part in all societies with the most even tem- 
 per and undisturbed hilarity of all the good 
 companions, whom I ever knew. He came 
 into your house at the very moment you had 
 put upon your card ; he dressed himself to do 
 your party honour in all the colours of the jay ; 
 his lace indeed had long since lost its lustre, 
 but his coat had faithfully retained its cut since 
 the days, when gentlemen embroidered figured 
 velvets with short sleeves, boot cuffs and buck- 
 ram skirts ; as nature had cast him in the ex- 
 act 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 33? 
 
 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 beau- 
 ty; yet I heard this good man very innocently 
 remark, when Gibbon published his history, 
 that he wondered any body so ugly could write 
 a book. 
 
 Such was the exterior of a man, who was 
 the charm of the circle, and gave a zest to 
 every company he came into ; his pleasantry 
 was of a sort peculiar to himself; it harmo- 
 ijized with every thing ; it was like the bread 
 to our dinner ; you did not perhaps make it the 
 whole, or principal part, of your meal, but it 
 was an admirable and wholesome auxiliary to 
 your other viands. Soame Jenyns told you 
 no long stories, engrossed not much of your 
 attention, and was not angry with those that 
 did ; his thoughts were original, and were apt 
 to have a very whimsical affinity to the para- 
 dox 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 
 
 VOL. I. z
 
 338 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 single exception of his lines upon Johnson, I 
 iiever 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 speak- 
 ing of the diiference between laying out money 
 upon land, or purchasing into the funds, he 
 said, " One was principal without interest, and 
 " the other interest without principal." Cer- 
 tain 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 as Mr. Jenyns says 
 it was not always what Mr. Jen3^ns said, and 
 never, I am apt to think, as ]\Ir. Jenyns said ; 
 but she was an excellent old lady, and twirled
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND, 339 
 
 her fan with as much mechanical address as her 
 ingenious husband twirled his snufF box. 
 
 The brilliant vivacity of Garrick was sub- 
 ject 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 precaution necessary as 
 to the company you associated with him at 
 your table ; Fitzherbert understood that in ge- 
 neral admirably well, yet he told me of a cer- 
 tain 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 tem- 
 per, and marks good humour 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 propo- 
 sal to Foote at Parson's Green ; I have heard 
 
 z 2
 
 340 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 it said he was reserved and uneasy in his com- 
 pany; I never saw him more at ease and 
 in a happier flow of spirits than on that occa- 
 sion. 
 
 Where a loud-tongued talker was in com- 
 pany, Edmund Burke declined all claims upon 
 attention, and Samuel Johnson, whose ears 
 were not quick, seldom lent them to his con- 
 versation, though he loved the man, and ad- 
 mired his talents ; I have seen a dull damping 
 matter-of-fact man quell the effervescence even 
 of Foote's unrivalled humour. 
 
 But I remember full well, when Garrick and 
 I made him the visit above-mentioned poor 
 Foote had something w^orse 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 or 
 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 
 1
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 341 
 
 wine superlative : Sir Robert Fletcher, who 
 had served in the East Indies, dropt in before 
 dinner and made the fourth of our party : 
 When we had passed about two hours in per- 
 fect 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 ridi- 
 cule at the expence 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 gentle- 
 man was to the full as angry as a brave man 
 ought to be with an unfortunate wit, who j>os- 
 
 z 3
 
 342 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 sessed 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 na- 
 ture 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 pa- 
 rallel. I hope Foote was very grateful, but 
 when a man has been completely humbled, he 
 is not very fond of recollecting it.
 
 RICHAkD CUMBERLAND. 343 
 
 There was a gentleman of very general no- 
 toriety at this time, who had the address to 
 collect ahout him a considerable resort of men 
 of wit and learning at no other expence on his 
 part than of the meat and drink, which they 
 consumed ; foi* 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 no- 
 body could be mistaken ; all beyond that was 
 matter of conjecture, save only that it was uni- 
 versally 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 oflficer, 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 so- 
 ciety, (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 respectabihty. 
 Many of the members of this society were 
 men of th first e minence for their talents, and 
 
 z 4
 
 344 MEMOIRS or 
 
 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 VVhitefoord, 
 with many others, resorted there as they saw 
 fit. , 
 
 In one of these meeting's it was suggested 
 and recommended to me to take up the cha- 
 racter 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'Flaher- 
 ty, 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 Coifee- 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 345 
 
 ** speak Latin " " No, no," cried Foote, 
 *' and if you don't make him wear breeches, 
 " Garrick will be much obhged 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 co- 
 medy to matters more amusing, but the sug- 
 gestion had taken hold of my fancy, and I be- 
 gan to frame the character of Colin Macleod 
 upon the model of a Highland servant, who 
 with scrupulous integrity, and a great deal of 
 nationality about him, managed all the do- 
 mestic affairs of Sir Thomas Mills's household, 
 and being a great favourite of every body, who 
 resorted there, became in time, as it were, one 
 of the company. With no other guide for the 
 dialect of my Macleod than what the Scotch 
 characters of the stage supplied me with, I en- 
 dowed 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
 
 346 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 myself of Mr. Garrick's judgment at all proper 
 intervals as I advanced towards the completion 
 of it. This I have acknowledged in the ad- 
 vertisement, and though I did not form san- 
 guine hopes of its obtaining equal success with 
 The West- Indian 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 1 speak of it. I rather think I was right 
 in giving it the preference to the West-Indian, 
 though I am far from sure I was unprejudiced 
 in my judgment at that time. An author, who 
 is conscious that his new work will not be 
 equally popular with his preceding one, will 
 be very apt to imitate the dealer, who, having 
 a pair of horses to sell, will bestow all his praise 
 upon the worst, and leave the best to recom- 
 mend himself I verily believe if The Fashion- 
 able Lover was not my composition, and I 
 were called upon to give my opinion of it, 
 (speaking only of its merits, and reserving to
 
 RICHARD CUMBERI^AND. 34? 
 
 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 discovered in it 
 sentiments, laudably directed against national 
 prejudice, breach of trust, seduction, gaming, 
 and the general dissipation of the time then 
 present. I could not deny it a preference to 
 the West-Indian in a moral light, and perhaps, 
 if I were in very good humour with its author, 
 I might be tempted to say that in point of dic- 
 tion it approached very nearly to what I con- 
 ceived to be the true style of comedy Joca 
 non infra soccunij seria non usque cothur- 
 num. 
 
 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 mahce on the se- 
 lected ^t\v. 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 coidd have had 
 their will of me, for I constantly stood out 
 against them, and would never ask quarter. I
 
 348 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 con- 
 temporaries, and never separated my own par- 
 ticular interests from those of literature in ge- 
 neral, as will in part appear by the following 
 paragraph, extracted from the advertisement, 
 which I prefixed to this comedy on its publica- 
 tion " 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 ob- 
 " tain some little credit with the candid part 
 *' of mankind, and its author for once escape 
 " without those personal and unworthy asper- 
 " sions, which writers, who hide their own 
 " names, fling on them, who publish their's, 
 " my success, it may be hoped, will draw forth 
 *' others to the undertaking with far superior 
 *' requisites ; and that there are numbers under 
 *' this 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 prac- 
 " tice of abuse is not calculated to create in
 
 niCHARD CUMBERLAND. S49 
 
 ^* the minds of men of genius not only a disin- 
 ** clination 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 could at 
 nee 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 com- 
 pelled to fly their country, some to save their 
 ears and some to save their necks. They were 
 well known, and I am sorry to say some men, 
 whose minds should have been superior to any 
 terrors they could hold out, made suit to them 
 for favour, nay even combined with them on 
 some occasions, and were mean enough to en- 
 roll themselves under their despicable banners. 
 It is to the honour of the present time, and in- 
 finitely to the repose of the present writers for
 
 550 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 the stage, that all these dirty doings are com- 
 pletely done away, and an sera of candour and 
 human kindness has succeeded to one, that was 
 scandalously its opposite. 
 
 At this time I did not know Oliver Gold- 
 smith even by person ; I think our first meet- 
 ing chanced to be at the British- Coffee- House ; 
 when we came together, we very speedily co- 
 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 trou- 
 ble, for it was not his nature to be unkind, 
 and I had soon an opportunity of convincing 
 him how incapable I was of harbouring re- 
 sentment, 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 te- 
 nacious to a ridiculous extreme of certain pre- 
 tensions, that did not, and by nature could 
 not, belong to him, and at the same time inex- 
 cusably careless of the fame, which he had 
 powers to command. His table-talk was, as 
 Garrick aptly compared it, like that of a par- 
 rot, whilst he wrote like Apollo; he had gleams 
 2
 
 RICHARD CUMBERIAKD. 351 
 
 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 ob- 
 scured by the carelessness of his conduct, and 
 the frivolity of his manners. Sir Joshua Rey- 
 nolds was very good to him, and would have 
 drilled him into better trim and order for so- 
 ciety, if he would have been amenable, for 
 Reynolds was a perfect gentleman, had good 
 sense, great propriety with all the social attri- 
 butes, and all the graces of hospitality, equal 
 to any man. He well knew how to appretiate 
 men of talents, and how near a kin the Muse 
 of poetry was to that art, of which he was so 
 eminent a master. From Goldsmith he caught 
 the subject of his famous Ugolino ; what aids 
 he got from others, if he got any, were worthily 
 bestowed and happily applied. 
 L There is something in Goldsmith's prose, 
 that to my .ear is uncommonly sweet and har- 
 monious ; it is clear, simple, easy to be under- 
 stood ; we never want to read his period twice 
 over, except for the pleasure it bestows ; ob- 
 scurity never calls us back to a repetition of it.
 
 35^ MEMOiks o^ 
 
 That he was a poet there is 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, Tra- 
 veller and Hermit are all specimens beautiful 
 as such, but they are only birds eggs on a 
 string, and eggs of small birds too. One great 
 magnificent whole must be accomplished be- 
 fore we can pronounce upon the inaker to be 
 the TOfvjTvi^. Pope himself never earned this 
 title by a work of any magnitude but his Ho- 
 mer, and that being a translation only consti- 
 tutes him an accomplished versifier. Distress 
 drove Goldsmith upon undertakings, neither 
 congenial with his studies, nor worthy of his 
 talents. I remember him, when in his cham- 
 ber in the Temple, he shewed me the beginning 
 of his Animated Nature ; it was with a sigh, 
 such as genius draws, when hard necessity di- 
 verts 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 
 ars well. TPoor fellow, he hardly knew an ass 
 from a mule, nor a turkey from a goose, but
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 353 
 
 when he saw it on the table. But publishers 
 hate poetry, and Paternoster-Row is not Par- 
 nassus. 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 trans- 
 formation into Hannah Glass he turned him- 
 self into a cook, and sold receipts for made- 
 dishes to all the savoury readers in the king- 
 dom. 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 Buifon into 
 English, yet I much doubtif 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. -J / 
 
 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 
 
 VOL. I^ A A
 
 354 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 
 turaed him into a field of clover, he would have 
 laid down and rolled in it. The mere manual 
 labour of writing would not have allowed his 
 lassitude and love of ease to have taken the pen 
 out of the inkhorn, unless the cravings of hun- 
 ger 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 foHo of his own writing. He 
 would perhaps have been the dictator of a club, 
 and wherever he sate down to conversation, 
 there must have been that splash of strong 
 bold thought about him, that we might still 
 have had a collectanea after his death ; but of 
 prose I guess not much, of works of labour 
 none, of fancy perhaps something more, espe- 
 cially of poetry, which under favour I conceive 
 was not his tower of strength. I think we 
 should have had his Rasselas at all events, for 
 he was likely enough to have written at Vol- 
 taire, and brought the question to the test, if 
 infidelity is any aid to wit. An orator he must
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 355 
 
 have been ; not improbably a parliamentarian, 
 and, if such, certainly an oppositionist, for he 
 preferred to talk against the tide. He would 
 indubitably have been no member of the Whig 
 Club, no partisan of Wilkes, no friend of 
 Hume, no believer in Macpherson; he would 
 have put up prayers for early rising, and laid 
 in bed all day, and with the most active reso- 
 lutions possible been the most indolent mortal 
 living. He was a good man by nature, a great 
 man by genius, we are now to enquire what 
 he was by compulsion. 
 
 Johnson^s first style was naturally energetic, 
 his middle style was turgid to a fault, his lat- 
 ter style was softened down and harmonized 
 into periods, more tuneful and more intelligi- 
 ble* His execution was rapid, yet his mind 
 was not easily provoked into exertion ; the va- 
 rietv we find in his writino;s was not the varie- 
 ty 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 as- 
 sert (and he never varied from the truth of fact) 
 
 A A 2
 
 556 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 that he subsisted himself for a considerable 
 space of time upon the scanty pittance of four- 
 pence halfpenny 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 
 kss, 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 1 I am not fit to paint his 
 character; nor is there need of it; Etiain 
 mortuus loquitur : every man, who can buy 
 a book, has bought a Boswell ; Johnson is 
 known to all the reading world. I also knew 
 l^im well, respected him highly, loved him sin- 
 cerely : it was never my chance to see him in 
 those moments of moroseness and ill humour, 
 which are imputed to him, perhaps with truth, 
 for who would slander him ? But I am not 
 warranted by any experience of those humours 
 to speak of him otherwise than of a friend, 
 who always met me with kindness, and from 
 whom I never separated without regret. 
 When I sought his company he had no capri- 
 cious excuses for withholding it, but lent him-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 35? 
 
 self to every invitation with cordiality, and 
 brought good humour 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 waist- 
 coat and worsted stockings, with a flowing bob 
 wig was the style of his wardrobe, but they 
 were in perfectly good trim, and with the la- 
 dies, which he generally met, he had nothing 
 of the slovenly philosopher about him ; he fed 
 heartily, but not Voraciously, and was extreme- 
 ly courteous in his commendations of any dish, 
 that pleased his palate ; he suffered his next 
 neighbour to squeeze the China oranges into 
 his wine glass after dinner, which else per- 
 chance 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 favourite beverage, and I remember 
 when Sir Joshua Reynolds at my house re- 
 minded him that he had drank eleven cups, he 
 replied " Sir, I did not count your glasses of 
 *' wine, why hould you number up my cups 
 '* of tea?" And then laughing in perfect 
 good humour he added *' Sir, I should have 
 A A 3
 
 358 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 "' 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, Cumber- 
 " land to round up my number-^-" When he 
 saw the readiness and complacency, wuth which 
 my wife obeyed his call, he turned a kind and 
 ciheerful look upon her and said" Madam, 
 ;**^ I toust tellyau for your comfort you have 
 ^^'fesc^ped much better than a certain lady did 
 "awhile ago, upon whose patience I intruded 
 " greatly more than I have done on j^ours ; 
 " but the lady asked me for no other purpose 
 " but to make a Zany of me, and set me gab- 
 " bling 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 Ri- 
 ver Could have supplied her with water. 
 ji' Itijwas on such occasions he was to be seen 
 !h his happiest moments, when animated by 
 the cheering attention of friends, whom he 
 liked, h6 would give full scope to those talents 
 for narration, in which I verily think he was
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 359 
 
 unrivalled both in the brilliancy of his wit, the 
 flow of his humour and the energy of his lan- 
 guage. Anecdotes of times past, scenes of his 
 own life, and characters of humourists, enthu- 
 siasts, 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 co- 
 mic, sometimes grave, which he would throw 
 in with infinite fertility of fancy, were a treat, 
 \vhich though not always to be purchased by 
 five and twenty cups of tea, 1 have often had 
 the happiness to enjoy for less than half the 
 number. He was easily led into topics ; it 
 was not easy to turn him from them ; but who 
 would wish it? If a man wanted to shew 
 himself off by getting up and riding upon him, 
 he was sure to run restive and kick him- off; 
 you might as safely have backed Bucephalus, 
 before Alexander had lunged him. Neither 
 did he always like to be over- fondled ; when a 
 certain gentleman out-acted his part in this 
 way, he is said to have demanded of him* 
 "What provokes your risibility. Sir? Have 
 " I said any thing that you understand r 
 " Then I ask pardon of the rest of the com- 
 
 A A 4
 
 360 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " pany '* 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, Cumbey ?*' he replied. 
 " Then I give you leave to say, and you may 
 *' quote me for it, that there are more gentle- 
 *' men 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 par- 
 V.. eel 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 con-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 36l 
 
 templated 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 erudi- 
 tion many have surpassed him. I do not 
 think he had a pure and classical taste, nor 
 was apt to be best pleased with the best authors, 
 but as a general scholar he ranks very high. 
 When I would have consulted him upon cer- 
 tain points of hterature, whilst I was making 
 my collections from the Greek dramatists for 
 my essays in The Observer, he candidly ac- 
 knowledged that his studies had not lain 
 amongst them, and certain it is there is very 
 little shew of literature in his Ramblers, and in 
 the passage, where he quotes Aristotle, he has^^v 
 not correctly given the meaning of the origi- : J 
 nal. 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 scho- 
 larship about him, that you can only fairly re- 
 view him as a man of general knowledge. As 
 4 poet his translations of Juvenal gave him a
 
 t 
 
 362 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 name in the world, and gained him the ap- 
 plause of Pope, He was a writer of tragedy, 
 but his Irene gives him no conspicuous rank 
 in that department. As an essayist he merits 
 more consideration ; his Ramblers are in every 
 body's hands ; about them opinions vary, and 
 I rather believe the style of these essays is not 
 now considered as a good model ; this he cor- 
 rected in his more advanced age, as may be 
 seen in his Lives of the Poets, where his dic- 
 tion, though occasionally elaborate and highly 
 metaphorical, is not nearly so inflated and pon- 
 derous, 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 satis- 
 faction. His selection of a certain passage in 
 the Mourning Bride of Congreve, which he 
 extols so rapturously, is certainly a most un- 
 fortunate 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 363 
 
 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 illumi-. 
 jiated mind, and offers many wise and deep 
 reflections, cloathed in beautiful and harmo- 
 nious 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 sera was 
 not wanting in men to be distinguished for 
 their talents, yet if one was to be selected out 
 as thefirst great Uterary character of the time, 
 I believe all voices would concur in naming 
 him. Let me here insert the following lines, 
 descriptive of his character, though not long 
 since written by me and to be found in a pubr 
 lie print 
 
 *' On Samuel Johnson. 
 
 ** Herculean strength and a Stentorian voice, 
 *' Of wit a fund, of words a countless choice : 
 *' In learning rather various than profound, 
 *' In truth intrepid, in religion sound: 
 <* A trembling form and a distorted sight, 
 ^* But firm in judgment and in genius bright ;
 
 564 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 " In contrOTcrsy seldom known to spare, 
 *' But humble as the Publican in prayer ; 
 *' To more, than merited his kindness, kind, 
 *' And, though in manners harsh, of friendly mind ; 
 *' Deep ting'd with melancholy's blackest shade, 
 *' And, though prepar'd to die, of death afraid 
 *' Such Johnson was ; of him with justice vain, 
 " When will this nation see his like again ?" 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith began at this time to write 
 for the stage, and it is to be lamented that he 
 did not begin at an earlier period of life to 
 turn his genius to dramatic compositions, and 
 much more to be lamented, that, after he had 
 begun, the succeeding period of his life was 
 so soon cut off. There is no doubt but his 
 genius, when more familiarised to the business, 
 would have inspired him to accomplish great 
 things. His first comedy of The Good-na- 
 tured Alayi was read and applauded in its ma- 
 nuscript 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 favour and attention 
 from the performers and the pubhc, that the 
 applauding voice of him, whose applause was
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 
 
 SG5 
 
 feme itself, could give it. This comedy has 
 enough to justify the good opinion of its lite- 
 rary 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 honoured with. It was 
 a first effort however, and did not discourage 
 its ingenious author from invoking his Muse a 
 second time. It was now, whilst his labours 
 were in projection, that I first met him at the 
 British Coffee-house, as I have already related 
 somewhat out of place. He dined with us as 
 a visitor, introduced as I think by Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, and we held a consultation upon the 
 naming of his comedy, which some of the com- 
 pany had read, and which he detailed to the 
 rest after his manner with a great deal of good 
 humour. 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 ac- 
 count 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 coutempora-
 
 $66 Memoirs ol* 
 
 ries, I did not counterfeit, but really felt a cor- 
 dial 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 me- 
 lancholy confession, and from that moment 
 busied myself assiduously amongst all my con- 
 nexions in his cause. The whole company 
 pledged themselves to the support of the inge* 
 nuous 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 re- 
 tainers demanded a fair trial. Colman again 
 protested, but, with that salvo for his own re- 
 putation, liberally lent his stage to one of the 
 most eccentric productions that ever found its 
 Avay to it, and She Stoops to Coiiquer was put 
 into rehearsal. 
 
 We were not over-sanguine of success, but 
 4
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 367 
 
 perfectly determined to struggle hard for our 
 author: we accordingly assembled our strength 
 at the Shakespear Tavern in a considerable 
 body for an early dinner, where Samuel John- 
 son 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 j)halanx of North- 
 British pre-determined 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 rail- 
 lery 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 aw- 
 ful drawing up of the curtain. As our sta- 
 tions were pre-concerted, 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 tiiem up. 
 We had amongst us a very worthy and effi-
 
 368 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 cient Ttiember, long since lost to his friend* 
 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 
 horse of the son of Hystaspes was a whisper to 
 it ; the whole thunder of the theatre could not 
 drown it. This kind and ingenuous friend 
 fairly fore-warned us that he knew no more 
 when to give his fire than the cannon did, that 
 was planted on a battery. He desired there- 
 fore to have a flapper at his elbow, and I had 
 the honour to be 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 manoeuvres 
 was complete. All eyes were upon Johnson, 
 who sate in a front row of a side box, and 
 when he laughed every body thought them- 
 selves warranted to roar. In the mean time 
 my friend followed signals with a rattle so ir- 
 resistibly comic, that, when he had repeated 
 it several times, the attention of the spectators
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 369 
 
 was so engrossed by his person and perfor- 
 mances, 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 every 
 thing that was said ; so that nothing in nature 
 could be more mal-a-propos than some of his 
 bursts every now and then were. These were 
 dangerous moments, for the pit beg-an to take 
 umbrage; but we carried our play through, 
 and triumphed not only over Colman's judg- 
 ment, 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 epi- 
 taph 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 Rey- 
 nolds's and my house, should meet at the St. 
 James's Coffee- House, which accordingly took 
 place, and was occasionally repeated with 
 
 VOL. I. B B
 
 370 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 much festivity and good fellowship. Dr. Ber- 
 nard, Dean of Derry, a tery 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 extempora- 
 ry epitaphs upon the parties present ; pen and 
 ink were called for, and Garrick off hand 
 wrote an epitaph with a good deal of humour 
 upon poor Goldsm.ith, who was the first in jest, 
 as he proved to be in reality, that we com- 
 mitted to the grave. The dean also gave him 
 an epitaph, and Sir Joshua illuminated the 
 dean's verses with a sketch of his bust in 
 pen and ink inimitably caricatured. Neither 
 Johnson, nor Burke wrote any thing, and 
 when I perceived Oliver was rather sore, and 
 seemed to watch me with that kind of atten- 
 tion, which indicated his expectation of some- 
 thing in the same kind of burlesque with their's, 
 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 371 
 
 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 se- 
 rious 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 se- 
 veral 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, I had in 
 the mean time figured them under that of li- 
 quors, which little poem I rather think was 
 printed, but of this I am not sure. Gold- 
 smith sickened and died, and we had one con- 
 cluding meeting at my house, when it was de- 
 B B 2
 
 372 MEMOiUs o^ 
 
 cided to publish his Retaliation, and Johnson 
 at the same time undertook to write an epi- 
 taph for our lamented friend, to whom we pro- 
 posed to erect a monument by subscription in 
 Westminster- Abbey. This epitaph Johnson 
 executed : but in the criticism, that was at- 
 tempted 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 ge- 
 nius was yet in its vigour, and fortune seemed 
 disposed to smile upon him. 1 have heard Dr. 
 Johnson relate with infinite humour tlie cir- 
 cumstance of his rescuing him from a ridicu- 
 lous dilemma by the purchase money of his 
 Vicar of Wakefield, which he sold on his be- 
 half 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,
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 373 
 
 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 al- 
 ternative before him. He shewed Johnson his 
 manuscript of The Vicar of Wakefield, but 
 seemed to be without any plan, or even hope, 
 x)f raising money upon the disposal of it; when 
 Johnson cast his eye upon it, he discovered 
 something that gave him hope, and imme- 
 diately took it to Dodsley, who paid down 
 the price above-mentioned in ready money, 
 and added an eventual condition upon its fu- 
 ture sale. Johnson described the precautions 
 he took in concealing the amount of the sum 
 he had in hand, which he prudently adminis- 
 tered to him by a guinea at a time. In the 
 event he paid off the landlady's score, and re- 
 deemed the jierson of his friend from her em- 
 braces. 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 thencefor- 
 ward enabled him to keep his station in society, 
 and cultivate the friendship of many eminent 
 persons, who, whilst they smiled at his eccen- 
 
 B B 3
 
 374 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tricities, esteemed him for his genius and good 
 qualities. 
 
 My father had been translated to the see of 
 Kilmore, which placed him in a more civilised 
 country, and lodged him in a more comfort- 
 able house. I continued my yearly visits, and 
 again went over to Ireland with part of my fa- 
 mily, and passed my w^iole summer recess at 
 Kilmore. I had with unspeakable regret per- 
 ceived some symptoms of an alarming nature 
 about him, which seemed to indicate the break- 
 ing up of a most excellent constitution, which, 
 nursed by temperance and regularity, had hi- 
 therto been blest with such an uninterrupted 
 course of health, that he had never through his 
 whole life been confined a single day to his 
 bed, except when he had the small pox in his 
 childhood. In all his appetites and passions 
 he was the most moderate of men : ever cheer- 
 ful in his family and with his friends, but ne- 
 ver yielding to the slightest excess. My mo- 
 ther in the mean time had been o-raduallv 
 sinking into a state of extreme debility and 
 loss of health, and I plainly saw that my fa- 
 ther's ceaseless agitation and anxiety on her
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 375 
 
 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 ex- 
 pired, 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 
 tiTily 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 lan- 
 guishing 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 sur- 
 viving sister, the best and most benevolent of 
 human beings, attended them in their last mo- 
 ments, and performed those duties, which my 
 hard fortune would not suffer me to share. 
 
 B B 4
 
 376 MEMOIRS or 
 
 In a small patch of ground, enclosed with 
 stone walls, adjoining to the church-yard of 
 Kilmore^ but not within the pale of the conse- 
 crated ground, my father's corpse was interred 
 beside the gi'ave of the venerable and exempla- 
 ry Bishop Bedel. This little spot, as contain- 
 ing the remains of that good and great man, 
 my father had fenced and guarded with parti- 
 cular devotion, and he had more than once 
 pointed it out to me as his destined grave, say* 
 ing to me, as I well remember, in the words of 
 the Old Prophet of Beth-el, " When I am 
 " dead, then bury me in this sepulchre, where- 
 " in 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 im- 
 partial benefactor and unprejudiced protector 
 of his. Catholic poor, who almost adored 
 him whilst living, was not permitted to de- 
 posit his remains within the precincts of his 
 own church-yard, though they howled over 
 his grave, and rent the air with their savage 
 lamentations. 
 
 Thus, whilst their carcasses monopolise the 
 consecrated ground, his bones and the bones of
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 377 
 
 Bedei make sacred tlie 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 la- 
 mented mother, the instructress of my youth, 
 the friend and charm of my maturer years, is 
 deposited by bis side. 
 
 My 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 oc- 
 curred, and exacting from every man, whom 
 he put into a living, where there was no par- 
 sonage-house, a solemn promise to build ; but 
 I am sorry to say that in no single instartce 
 was that promise fulfilled ; which breach of 
 faith gave him gieat concern, and in the cases 
 of some particular friends, whom he had pro- 
 moted in full persuasion of their keeping faith 
 with him, afflicted him very sensibly, as I had 
 occasion to know and lament. The opportu- 
 nities he had of benefiting his fortune and fa- 
 mily by fines, and the lapse of leases, which 
 might have been considerable, he honourably 
 declined to avail himself of, for when he had
 
 378 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 hasten- 
 ing to its period, esteeming it according to his 
 high sense of honour not perfectly fair to his 
 successor to take what he called the packing- 
 penny, and sweep clean before his departure. 
 He left his see therefore much more valuable 
 than he found it by this liberal and disinterest- 
 ed conduct, by which it was natural to hope 
 he had secured to his executors the good of- 
 fices and assistance of his successor in recover- 
 ing the outstanding arrears due to his sur- 
 vivors but in that hope we were shamefully 
 disappointed ; neither these arrears, nor even 
 his legal demands for monies expended on im- 
 provements, beneficial to the demesne, and re- 
 gularly certified by his diocesan, could be re- 
 covered 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 repre-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 379 
 
 mentation. Whilst I was at Bath the rehear- 
 sals were going on, and the play was brought 
 upon tlie stage during my absence. It suc- 
 ceeded 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 1 could 
 not have been, against productions of my con- 
 temporaries, which I had neither heard nor 
 seen, galled with such false and cruel asper- 
 sions, which, under the pressure of my recent 
 losses and misfortunes, fell on me with accu- 
 mulated 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 " lU- 
 " 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 cer- 
 tain tract then in some degree of circulation, 
 entitled An Essay on the Theatre, in which 
 the writer professes to draw a comparison be- 
 tzveen laughing and sentimental Comedy, and 
 under the latter description particularly poiijts
 
 380 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 his observations at The Fashionable hoxier.-^ 
 There is no occasion for me to speak further 
 of this dedication, as it is attached to' the co- 
 medy, which is yet in print, except to observe 
 that I can still repeat with truth what I there 
 assert to my imaginary patron, that " I can 
 *' take my conscience to witness I have paid 
 " him no sacrifice, devoted no time or study 
 " to his service, nor am a man in any respect 
 " qualified to repay his favours ." 
 
 Garrick wrote the epilogue to this comedy, 
 as he also did that to the West-Indian, and 
 Mrs. Abington spoke it. That charming 
 actress was now at the height of her fame, and 
 performed the part of Laetitia in a style, that 
 gave great support to the representation. The 
 two brothers, formed upon the plan of Te- 
 rence's Adelphi, were well cast between Mr. 
 King and Mr. Aickin, and Weston personated 
 Jack Nightshade with inimitable humour. 
 The chief efl^ect 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 gen- 
 tleman and Jack the rustic booby, who at the 
 first meeting with his brother exclairrs " Who
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. SSl 
 
 " wou*d think you and I were whelps of the 
 " same breed ? You are as sleek as my lady's 
 " lap dog, I am rough as a water-spaniel, be- 
 " daggled and be-mired, as if I had come out 
 " of the fens with wild fowl ; why, I have 
 " brought off as much soil upon my boots 
 " only as wou'd set up a Norfolk farmer " 
 
 It was observed of this comedy that the 
 spirit of the two first acts was not kept up 
 through the concluding three, and the general 
 sense of the public was said to confirm this re- 
 mark, 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 dra- 
 matic works as an entire collection, this corne- 
 dy will stand forward as one of the most pro- 
 minent 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 pro- 
 duced in four succeeding seasons, and if I ac- 
 quired any small share of credit by those, which 
 preceded it, I did not forfeit it by the publica*
 
 528 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 tioii of this. To this Comedy I appositely af- 
 fixed the following motto from Plautus 
 
 Juvi istcec indpientia est 
 Sic tram in promjjtu gerere. 
 
 In the autumn of this year I made a tour in 
 company with my friend the Earl of Warwick 
 to the Lakes in Cumberland. He took with 
 him Mr. Smith, well known to the public for 
 his 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 aiforded a vast variety. Whilst 
 we passed a few days at Kesw^ick, I hastily 
 composed an irregular ode, " which was lite- 
 " rally struck out on the spot, and is addres- 
 *' sed to the Sun : for as the season was ad- 
 *' vancing towards winter, we had frequent 
 *' temptations to invoke that luminary, who 
 *' was never very gracious to our suit, except 
 " wliilst we w^ere viewing the lake of Keswick 
 *' and its accompaniments.'* 
 
 With this invocation my ode commences 
 
 " Soul of the world, refulgent sun, 
 " Oh J take not from my ravish'd sight
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 
 
 383 
 
 *' 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' aetherial throne : 
 *' Sullen sad the scene appears, 
 *' Huge llelvellyn streams with tears ; 
 *' Hark ! 'tis giant Skiddavs's groan ; 
 " I hear terrific Lazcdoor 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. Rob- 
 son in New Bond -Street in the year 177^, and 
 is I believe to be found in the Tour to the 
 Lakes. The Ode to Doctor Robert James 
 was suggested by the recovery of my second 
 son from a dangerous fever, effected under 
 Providence by his celebrated powders. I am 
 tempted to insert the following short extract, 
 descriptive of the person of Death 
 
 " On his pale steed erect the monarch stands, 
 *' His dirk and javelin glittering in his hands : 
 *' This from a distance deals th' ignoble blow, 
 ** And that dispatches the resisting foe :
 
 384 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 *' 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. 
 
 The next piece that I presented to the 
 stage under the management of Mr. Garrick 
 was Timon of Athens, altered from Shake- 
 spear, to which I prefixed the following Ad- 
 vertisement, when it was puhhshed by Bec- 
 ket 
 
 " 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 exa- 
 ' mining the brilliancy of a diamond few peo- 
 ' pie throw away any remarks upon the dul- 
 ' ness of the foil " Barry played the part 
 of Timon, and j\Irs. Barry that of Evanthe, 
 which was engrafted on the original for the
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 385 
 
 purpose of writing up the character of Alcibi- 
 ades, 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 favour of its me- 
 rit. 
 
 As few, Avho read these memoirs, have ever 
 met, or probably ever will meet with this al- 
 tered play, which is now out of print, I trust 
 that such at least will forgive me if I extract 
 a bhort specimen from my own new matter in 
 the second act 
 
 " Jd 2. Scene 3. 
 
 ^( LucuUus and Lucius. 
 
 Lucul.-^^^ How now, my Lord ; in private ? 
 Luc. " Yes, I thought so, 
 
 VOL. I. CO
 
 386 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Lucul. 
 
 Ltic. 
 Lucul.- 
 
 Luc.- 
 
 LiicuL- 
 LucuL- 
 
 Luc- 
 
 Till an unwelcome intermeddling Lord 
 Stept in and ask'd the question. 
 '' What, in anger ! 
 
 By heav'ns Pll gall him ! for he stands before me 
 In the broad sunshine of Lord Timon's bounty, 
 And throws my better merits into shade. (Aside.) 
 Now would I kill him if I durst. (Aside,} 
 
 " Methinks 
 
 You look but coldly. What has cross'd y oujf suit ? 
 AlaSj poor Lucius I but I read your fate 
 In that unkind-one's frown. 
 No doubt, my Lord, 
 
 You, that deceive 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. 
 ' Come, you presume too far ; talk not thus idly 
 To me, who know you. 
 Know me? 
 
 '. Aye, who know you, 
 
 For one, that courses up and down on errands, 
 A stale retainer at Lord Timon's table ; 
 A man grown great by making legs and cringes. 
 By winding round a wanton spendthrift's heart, 
 And gulling him at pleasure Now do I know you ? 
 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 ? Whathadst thou been, in- 
 *' grateful,
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. SBf 
 
 ". Bat that I took up Jove's imperfect work, 
 *' Gave thee a shape and made the6 into man ? 
 Aldbiades to them. 
 
 Jkib. " What, wrangling, Lords, like hungry curs for 
 ** crusts ? 
 *' Away with this unbianly warbf t<^ofd* ! 
 '' 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 Luculius, I shall find a time. 
 
 Alcib. " Hah ! find a time ! the brave make time and 
 " place. 
 *' Gods, gods, what things are men ! yOn'll fifid 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 sbelt'ring asgis 
 *' Of sterh Minerva. 
 
 Luc. " Aye; 'tis your profession. 
 
 Akib. " Down on your knees and thank the gods for that. 
 " Or woe for Athens, were it left to suCh 
 " As you are to defend. Do ye not hate 
 " Each other heartily ? Yet neither dares 
 " To bare his trembling falchion to (he sun. 
 '' How tame they dangle on your coward thighs ! 
 
 Lucul. " We are no soldiers. Sir. 
 
 Jlcib. " No, ye are Lords : 
 
 *' A lazy, proud, unprofitable crow : 
 " The vermin gender'd from the rank rorruption 
 C C 2
 
 388 MEMOIRS or 
 
 '' Of a luxurious state No soldiers, say you ? 
 *' And wherefore are ye none ? Have ye not life, 
 " Friends, honour, freedom, country to defend ? 
 *' He, that hath these, by nature is a soldier, 
 ** And, when he wields his sword in their defence. 
 *' Instinctively fulfils the end he lives for " 
 &c. &c. 
 
 When Moody from the excellence of his 
 acting in the part of Major O'Flaherty, became 
 the established performer of Irish characters, I 
 wrote in compliance with his wishes another 
 Hibernian upon a smaller scale, and composed 
 the entertainment of The Note of Hand, or 
 Trip to Newmarket, which was the last piece 
 of my writing, which Mr. Garrick produced 
 upon his stage before he disposed of his pro- 
 perty 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 389 
 
 confirmed in my opinion of his merit, I warm- 
 ly 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 ex- 
 tremely reasonable. At first I conceived the 
 negociation as good as concluded, but some 
 reports, that rather clashed with mine, rendered 
 Mr. Garrick cool in the business, and disposed 
 to consult other opinions as to Mr. Hender- 
 son's abilities ; and amongst these he seemed 
 greatly to depend upon his brother George*s 
 udgment, whose report was by no means of 
 the same sanguine complexion with mine. 
 Poor George had come to Bath in a lament- 
 able state of health, and must have seen Hen- 
 derson with distempered eyes to err so egre- 
 giously as he did in his account of him. It 
 proved however in the upshot decisive against 
 my advice, and after a languishing negocia- 
 tion, which got at length into other hands 
 than mine, Garrick made the transfer of his 
 property in the theatre without the name of 
 Hendei-son upon the roll of his performers. 
 Truth obliges me to say that the negociation 
 in all its parts and passages was not creditable 
 c c 3
 
 390 MEa/oiRs or 
 
 to Mr. Garrick, and left impressions on the 
 njiind of Henderson, that time did not speedily 
 wear out. He had wit, infinite pleasantry 
 and inimitable powers of mimickry, which he 
 felt himself privileged to employ, and employ- 
 ed only too successfully. The season of the 
 winter theatres passed over, and when the 
 Haymarket house opened, Henderson came 
 from Bath with all the powers of his genius 
 on the alert, and upon the summer stage fully 
 justified every thing that I and others had 
 said of him through the winter, and establish- 
 ed himself completely in the public favour. 
 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 quib- 
 bling about terms, he had missed the credit 
 of ensraq-ino- the best actor of the time, himself 
 excepted, it is not to be wondered at if the 
 praise, bestowed on Plenderson's performances, 
 was not the most agreeable topic, that could 
 be chosen for his entertainment. He could 
 not indeed always avoid hearing these ap- 
 
 1
 
 RICHARD CUJVfBERLAND. 391 
 
 plauees, but he did not hold himself obliged to 
 second them, and wlien curiosity drew him to 
 the summer theatre to see Henderson in the 
 part of Shylock, h.6 said nothing in his dis- 
 praise, but he discovered great merit in Tubals 
 which of course had been the cast of some se- 
 cond-rate performer. 
 
 Henderson in the mean time was transferred 
 from the Hay market theatre to Drury-Lane, 
 under the direction of Mr. Sheridan, where I 
 brought out my tragedy of The Battle of 
 Hastings, in which he played the part of Ed- 
 gar Atheling, not indeed with the happiest ef- 
 fect, for he did not possess the graces of per- 
 son or deportment, and as that character de- 
 manded both, an actor might have been found, 
 who with inferior abilities would have been a 
 fitter representative of it. As for the play it- 
 self, it was publislied and is to be found in 
 more collections than one; its readers will 
 probably be of opinion, that is it 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. 
 c c 4
 
 392 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 ex- 
 tinct. His fine mansion and estate of Stan- 
 sted, 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 subpoena'd to give evidence on this point 
 before the Lord Chief Justice Mansfield, and 
 according to my conscience deposed what was 
 my opinion of his hopeless state ; his physi- 
 cian Sir Noah Thomas, whose professional 
 judgment had justly more authority and influ- 
 ence 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 favours profusely upon him. Providence 
 repeatedly held forth the most extraordinary
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 393 
 
 vouch- safements What a mournful retrospec- 
 tion ! 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 depart- 
 ment 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 aifair of Minden, which I attended through 
 the whole of its progress, and regularly re- 
 ported what occurred to Mr. Dodington, who 
 was then out of town ; some of his letters I 
 preserved, but of my own, according to cus- 
 tom, I took no copies. When Lord George 
 had taken the seals, I asked my friend Colonel 
 James Cunningham to take me with him to 
 Pall-Mall, which he did, and the ceremony of 
 paying my respects was soon dismissed. I 
 confess I thought my new chief was quite as 
 cold in his manner as a minister need be, and 
 rather more so than my intermediate friend had 
 given me reason to expect. I was now living 
 in great intimacy with the Duke of Dorset, and
 
 394- MEMOIRS 01' 
 
 asked him to do me that grace with his uncle, 
 which the honour of being acknowledged 'by 
 him as his friend would naturally have obtain- 
 ed, for me. This I am confident he would rea- 
 dily have done but for reasons, which pre- 
 cluded 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 negociation with Mr. 
 Pownall for the secretaryship, and had under- 
 stood 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 there- 
 fore as an opportunity gone by, and entertained 
 no further hopes of succeeding. A very short 
 time sufficed to confirm the idea I had enter- 
 tained of Lord George's character for decision 
 and dispatch in business : there was at once an 
 end to all our circumlocutory reports and inef- 
 ficient forms, that had only impeded business, 
 and substituted 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 395 
 
 superfluous words, nor ever suffered the clear- 
 ness 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 dic- 
 tating 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 no- 
 tices from him but such as I might reasonably 
 expect, I built no hopes upon his favour, nor 
 allowed myself to think I was in any train of 
 succeeding in my treaty with our secretary for 
 his oflice ; and as I had reason to believe he 
 was equally happy with myself in serving un- 
 der 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 stopt me on the outside of the door, 
 at the head of thq stairs, and invited me to pass
 
 SQS Memoirs of 
 
 some days with him and his family at Stone- 
 land near Tiinbridge Wells. It was on my 
 part so unexpected, that I doubted if I had 
 rightly understood him, as he had spoken in a 
 low and submitted voice, as his manner was, 
 and I consulted 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 par- 
 ty, that he was sure there would be no room 
 for me, and dissuaded me from the under- 
 taking. I did not quite follow his advice by 
 neglecting to present myself, but I resolved to 
 secure my retreat to Tunbridge Wells, and 
 kept my chaise in waiting to make good my 
 quarters. When I arrived at Stoneland I was 
 met at the door by Lord George, who soon 
 discovered the precaution I had taken, and 
 himself conducting me to my bed-chamber, 
 told me it had been reserved for me, and ever 
 after would be set apart as mine, where he 
 hoped I would consent to find myself at home. 
 This was the man I had esteemed so cold, and 
 thus was I at once introduced to the com* 
 mencement of a friendship, which day by day 
 improved, and which no one word or action of
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 397 
 
 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. Pow- 
 nall 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 condi- 
 tions were, that my superior in office expected 
 for the accommodation. I had not yet men- 
 tioned 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 favour of 
 that sort, promoted by surprise to a very ad- 
 vantageous and desirable situation. I came to 
 my office at the hour appointed, not dreaming 
 of such an event, and took my seat at the ad- 
 joining 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 ma-
 
 398 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 jesty's commands, as above recited, with a po- 
 sitive prohibition of all stipulations. When I 
 had endeavoured to express myself as properly 
 on the occasion, ks my agitated state of spirits 
 would allow of, I remember Lord George made 
 answer, " That if I was as well pleased upon 
 " receiving his majesty's commands, as he was 
 " in being the bearer of them, I was indeed 
 " very happy." If I served him truly, ho- 
 nestly and ardently ever after, till I followed 
 him to the grave, where is my merit ? How 
 could I do otherwise ? 
 
 The conflict in America was now vaging 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 endea- 
 vour by every means in my capacity to be 
 hi^lpful at those hours, which were necessary 
 for his relaxation, and take to my share as" 
 many of those burtbensome and vexatious con- 
 cerns, 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 tall, I reflect with comfort, that
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 399 
 
 tTiere were occasions when my zeal was not 
 unprofitably exerted for his alleviation and re- 
 pose. I might say more, for those were trying 
 and unquiet times. It is not a Very safe or en- 
 viable 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 con- 
 sciences; 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 ad- 
 vantage. My eldest son Richard went through 
 Westminster with the reputation of an excel- 
 lent school scholar, and I admitted him of Tri- 
 nity College, but in one of his vacations hav- 
 ing prevailed with me to let him volunteer a 
 cruize with Sir Charles Hardy, then com- 
 mander of the home fleet, the rage of service
 
 400 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 seized him, and by his importunity I may 
 say in the words of Polonius he wrung from 
 me my slow leave to let him enter himself 
 an ensign in the first regiment of foot-guards. 
 This at once gave fire to the train, and the 
 three remaining heroes breathed nothing but 
 war : my second boy George took to the 
 sea, and sailed for America ; my third Charles 
 enrolled himself an ensign in the tenth, and 
 my youngest William disposed of himself as 
 n]y second had done, and also took his de- 
 parture for America under the command of the 
 late Sir Richard Hughes. 
 
 I had been dispossessed of my delightful re- 
 sidence 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 Bedfordshiue to be near my kind 
 and ever honoured friend Lady Frances Bur- 
 goyne, 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 in- 
 troducing to the public the compositions of 
 Mr. Butler, then a young man, newly returned 
 from Italy, where he had studied under Pic-; 
 cini, and giv^n early proofs of his genius. He
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 40A 
 
 passed the summer with me at Tetwortb, and 
 theie 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 be- 
 longed 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 ta 
 them that Mr. Butler addressed his chief atten- 
 tion, 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 pow- 
 erfully mounted by Braham, Incledon and Sto- 
 race, it might have been revived with brilliant 
 effect. ^Vlly Mr. Butler did not publish his 
 music, or a selection at least of those airs, 
 which were most applauded, I cannot tell ; but 
 
 VOL. I. D D
 
 402 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 SO it was, and the score now remains in the de- 
 p6t 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, accom- 
 plished 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 teach- 
 er and writer of music, and is well known to 
 the professors and admirers of that art. 
 
 That I may not again recur to my dramatic 
 connexions with this ingenious composer, I 
 will here observe that in the following season 
 I wrote a comic opera, which I entitled Tke 
 IVidoxv of Delphi, or The Descent of the 
 Deities, the songs of which he set to music. 
 Mr. Butler published a selection of songs, Sec. 
 from this opera, but as I was going out of En- 
 gland I did not send my copy to the press, 
 and having now had it many years in my 
 hands, by the frequent revisions and correc-
 
 niCHARD CUMBERLAND. 403 
 
 tions, 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 ho- 
 nour, 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 
 lie read at the bar, was to a word drawn up by 
 me, under the revision of his counsel Mr. Dun- 
 ning, who did not change a syllable. I dined 
 with Garrick on the very day when Ro- 
 bert 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 consider- 
 able 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 M'ho it was ? 
 I confess my v^anity was strongly moved to tell 
 him ; but he shortly after found* it out, and 
 D D 2
 
 404 MEMOIRS or 
 
 perhaps repented of his hyperboles, for it wa* 
 not good policy in him to over-praise a writer 
 for the stage. When poor Dodd fell under 
 the like misfortune, he applied to me in the 
 first instance for the like good offices, but as 
 soon as I understood that application had been 
 made to Dr. 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, con- 
 vinced 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 aifairs 
 at home, had spared no pains to serve his in- 
 terest and pave the way for his return to his 
 own country, where I was not without hopes 
 by the recommendation of Lord George Ger- 
 main 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 risque of his liberty to refute some
 
 mCHARlD CUMBERLAND. 405 
 
 malicious imputations, that had been glanced at 
 his character : this he effectually and honourably 
 accomplished, and I was furnished with testimo- 
 nials very creditable to him as an oificer ; his si- 
 tuation in the mean while was very uncomfort- 
 able 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 volun- 
 teer 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 for- 
 tune to put in train that statement of his claim 
 for service and employ, which through the im- 
 mediate 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 Indies made capture of the Spanish fleet 
 fitted out for the Caraccas. The degree of 
 gratification, which I then experienced, is not 
 D D 3
 
 406 MEMOIRS 
 
 r 
 
 easily to be described. It was not only that of 
 a triumph gained, but of a terror dismissed, for 
 the West India merchants had been alarmed 
 and clamoured against the appointment so ge- 
 nerally and so decidedly as to occasion no.smaU 
 uneasiness to my friend and patron, and drew 
 from him something that resembled a remon- 
 strance for the risque I had exposed him to. 
 But in the brilliancy of this exploit all was 
 done away, and past alarms were only recol- 
 lected 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 offi- 
 cious gentleman, who upon some reference to 
 me in his concerns expressed himself with sur- 
 prise at the degree of influence which I ap- 
 peared to have " You are very right," replied 
 my friend, " that gentleman has a great deal 
 ** to do M'ith me and my affairs, and if you can 
 *' find any other to take his place as disinte- 
 ** restedly attached to me and as capable of 
 *' serving me, I am confident he will hold him- 
 " self very highly obliged to you for relieving 
 " him from a burden, that brings him neither
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 407 
 
 ** 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 break- 
 ing the French line by passing through it in the 
 heat of the action. It was at Lord George 
 Germain's house at Stoneland after dinner, 
 when having asked a number of questions 
 about the manoeuvring of columns, and the ef- 
 fect of charging with them on a line of infan- 
 try, 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 gene- 
 rally engaged by his preparatory enquiries, by 
 declaring he was determined so to'pierce the 
 enemy's line of battle, (arranging his manoeu- 
 vre 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 dilliculties made no impression on the ad- 
 p p 4
 
 408 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 miral, who having seized the idea held it fast, 
 and in his eager animated way went on ma- 
 noeuvring his cherry stones, and throwing his 
 enemy's representatives into such utter confu- 
 sion, that already possessed of that victory in 
 imagination, which in reaUty he Hved to gain, 
 he concluded his process by swearing- he would 
 lay the French admiral's flag at his sovereign's 
 feet ; a promise which he actually pledged to 
 his majesty in his closet, and faithfully and 
 gloriously performed. 
 
 He was a singular and extraordinary man ; 
 there were some prominent and striking eccen- 
 tricities about him, which on a first acquaint- 
 ance might dismiss a cursory observer with 
 inadequate and false impressions of his real 
 character; for he would very commonly in- 
 dulge 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. We are
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 409 
 
 apt to set that man down as vain-glorious and 
 unwise, who fights battles over the table, and 
 in the ardour of his conversation though 
 amongst enviers and enemies, keeps no watch 
 upon his words, confiding in their candour 
 and believing them his friends. Such a man 
 was Admiral Lord Rodney, whom history will 
 record amongst the foremost of our naval he- 
 roes, 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 
 uccessfully 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 obe- 
 ** dienceonly, he did not want advice " Sir 
 Charles also told me that whilst the project 
 was in operation, (the battle then raging) his 
 own attention being occupied by the gallant 
 defence made by the French Glorieux against
 
 410 MEMOIRS 0^ 
 
 the ships that were pouring their fire into hef, 
 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 manauvre, 
 (which in the instance of one ship had un- 
 avoidably 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 the French line in a gal- 
 lant style, turning with a smile of joy to Sir 
 Charles Douglas, he cried out " Now my 
 *' dear friend, I am at the service of your 
 ** Greeks and Trojans, and the whole of Ho- 
 *' mer's Iliad, or as much of it as you please, 
 ' for the enemy is in confusion, and our vic- 
 *' tory is secure " This anecdote, correctly 
 as I relate it, I had from that gallant officer, 
 untimely lost to his' country, whose candour 
 scorned to rob his admiral of one leaf of his 
 laurels, and who, disclaiming all share in the 
 manoeuvre, nay confessing he had objected to 
 it, did in the most pointed and decided terms
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 411 
 
 again and again repeat his honourable attesta- 
 tions of the courage and conduct of his com- 
 manding 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, 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 no- 
 " thing to do with parties and politics, being 
 " simply bound to carry their instructions into 
 ** execution, to the best of their abilities, with- 
 " out 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 fol- 
 lowing lines, which I wrote and inclosed to 
 Lord Mansfield about this time. I had the 
 lionour and happiness of enjoying his society 
 frequently, but the immediate reason for my 
 addressing him in this style has no connexion 
 with the subject here referred to 
 
 To the Earl of Mansftdd. 
 ** Shall merit find no shelter but the grave, 
 *' And envy still pursue the wise and brave ? 
 4
 
 lit MEMOIRS OF "- 
 
 *' Sticks the leech close to life, and only drops 
 'J When its food fails and the heart's current stops ? 
 ** Though sculptur'd laurels grace the hero's bust, 
 " And tears are mingled with the poet's dust, 
 ^ Review their sad memorials, you will find 
 *' This fell by faction, that in misery pin'd. 
 
 *' When France and Spain the subject ocean swept, 
 ** Whilst Briton's tame inglorious lion slept, 
 *' Or lashing up his courage now and then, 
 *' Turn'd out and growl'd, and then turn'd in again, 
 *' Rodney in that ill-omen'd hour arose, 
 *' Grush'd his own first and next his country's foe^ ; 
 *' Though all that fate aliow'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, 
 *' Summon'd the nation's brave defender home, 
 *' Prejudg'd his cause and warn'd him to his doom j 
 *' 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 ; 
 2
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND, 413 
 
 '' They say ^bnt 'tis an office I disclaim *;^^* 
 
 '' To brush their cobwebs from the roll of fame, ^ 
 
 " There let the spider hang aad work his worst, * 
 
 *' And spin his flimsy Tenom 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 incurred ? 
 '' Why to posterity this labour given 
 ** To search out frauds and set defaulters even ? 
 *' If our sons hear our praise 'tis well, and yet 
 <' Praise in the father's ear had sounded sweet. 
 
 *' Still there is one exception we must own, 
 *' Whom all conspire to praise, and one alone ; 
 '* One on whose living brow we plant the wreath, 
 ^' And almost deify on this side death: 
 *' He in the plaudits of the present age 
 *' Already reads his own historic page, 
 " And, though preeminence is under heav'n 
 " The last of crimes by man to be forgiv'n, 
 *' Justice her own vice-gerent will defend, 
 " The orphan's father and the widow's friend j 
 <' Truth, virtue, genius mingle beams so bright, 
 *' Envy is dazzl'd with excess of light :
 
 414 MEMOmS OF 
 
 ^* Detraction's tongue scarce stammers out a fault, 
 
 *^ And faction blushes for its own assault. 
 
 *' His is the happy gift, the nameless grace, 
 
 *' That shapes and fits the man to every place, 
 
 *' The gay companion at the social board, 
 
 *' The guide of councils, or the senate's lord, 
 
 *' Now regulates the law's discordant strife, 
 
 *' Now balances the scale of death or life, 
 
 ** Sees guilt engendering in the human heart, 
 
 ** And strips from falsehood's face the mask of art. 
 
 *' Whether, assembled with the wise and great, 
 
 ^' He stands the pride and pillar of the state, 
 
 ** With well-weigh'd argument distinct and clear 
 
 ** Confirms the judgment and delights the ear, 
 
 ^' Or in the festive circle deigns to sit 
 
 ** Attempering wisdom with the charms of wit 
 
 ** Blest talent, form'd to profit and to please, 
 
 *^ To clothe Instruction in the garb of Ease, 
 
 *' Sublime to rise, or graceful to descend, 
 
 '* Now save an empire and now cheer a friend. 
 
 ** More I could add, but you perhaps complain, 
 *^ And call it mere creation of the brain ; 
 *' Poets you say will flatter true, they will ; 
 *' But I nor inclination have nor skill 
 *' Where is your model, you will ask me, where ? 
 ** Search your own breast, my Lord, you'll find it there.'* 
 
 I 
 
 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
 
 mCHARD CUMBERLAND. 415 
 
 have very strongly contrasted and changed 
 the complexion of my latter days from that of 
 the preceding ones. 
 
 1 will relate no other circumstances of this 
 nesrociation than I am in honour 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 offi- 
 cial 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 rea- 
 ders, yet I do most faithfully assure them that 
 no tittle of the truth shall be sacrificed to de- 
 scrij)tion, being resolved to give no colour to 
 facts and events, but such as they can strictly 
 bear, nor ever knowingly permit a w^ord to 
 stand in these pages inconsistent with that ve- 
 racity, 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
 
 4l6 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 seem- 
 ed advisable. By these, in the course of their 
 progress, a prospect was opened of a secret 
 negociation with the Minister Florida Blanca, 
 to which I was personally committed, and of 
 course could not dechne 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, pro- 
 ceeded to Aranjuez, and by the advice, which 
 he should send me, I was to be governed in 
 the alternative of either going into Spain for 
 the purpose of carrying my instructions into 
 execution, or of 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
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 41? 
 
 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 
 1 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 cruize after a 
 French privateer, but was expected every hour. 
 On the 21st she came in from her cruize, and 
 I delivered to her Captain Sir William Burnaby 
 two letters from the Admiralty, one diiecting 
 him to receive me and my family on board, the 
 other to be opened when he came off the Start 
 Point. 
 
 This frigate being from long and constant 
 service in a weak and leaky state, on which 
 account Sir William had lately brought her 
 into port, and undergone a court martial in 
 consequence of it, I found him and his officers 
 under some alarm as to the unknown extent 
 of my destination, suspecting that I might be 
 bound to the West Indies, and justly doubting 
 the sea-worthiness of the ship for any distant 
 voyage. On this point I could give them no 
 
 VOL. I. E E ,.
 
 418 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 satisfaction, but on the day following her ar- 
 rival, (viz. April the 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 8 o'clock in the morning we weighed an- 
 chor with the wind at south, and brought to 
 at Cowes. Here I fixed three double-headed 
 shot to the box, that contained my papers and 
 instructions, and the wind still hanging in the 
 south-west, foul and unfavourable, it was not 
 till the 2d of May, when upon its veering to 
 the north-east we took our departure in the 
 forenoon from Cowes, and upon its dying away 
 anchored in mid- channel for the night in 20 
 fathom water. Needle-rocks S. W. by W. Yar- 
 mouth 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 west- 
 ward at the Start-point, which proved to be 
 the Quebec trade outward-bound under con- 
 voy. On the 6th having passed the Land's- 
 end, we found the fore-mast sprung below the 
 2
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 419 
 
 trussel trees, and by the next day the carpen- 
 ter had moulded a fish on it, when the gale 
 having freshened with rain and squalls, we 
 struck top-gallants, handed the fore-sail and 
 hove to under the main-sail; on the ninth the 
 gale increased, and having reefed and furled 
 the main-sail, we laid to under the mainstay- 
 sail and mizen-stay-sail : Lat. 49 4' ; Long, 
 r 45' Land's-end. 
 
 Our situation now became veiy uncomfort- 
 able, 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 meanwhile occasionally received such 
 liard and heavy shocks, as caused serious ap- 
 prehensions even in those, to whom dangers 
 were familiar. I had in my passages to Ire- 
 land been in angry seas and blowing \veather, 
 but nothing I had seen bore any resemblance 
 to the fuiy of this gale, nor could any thing 
 but the confidence I had reason to place in 
 British seamen, and the exertions, which I wit- 
 nessed 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 
 
 E E 2
 
 420 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 water, making darkness at mid-day, and ren- 
 dering 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 ob- 
 jects, who had embarked themselves with me, 
 and were as I supposed suffering the extreme 
 of terror and alarm. How greatly was I mis- 
 taken 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 de- 
 ceived 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." I'hus divested of my alarm by the in- 
 trepidity of the very person, who had so great 
 a share in causing it, I made my way with
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 421 
 
 some difficulty to the ward-room, where my 
 daughters had taken shelter, whilst Mr. Lucas 
 the purser was serenading them with what 
 would have heen a country dance, if the ship 
 had not danced so violently out of all time 
 and tune. In this moment the Abbe Hussey, 
 who had followed me, upon a sudden pitch of 
 the ship burst head foremost into the ward- 
 room, and with the momentum of a gun broken 
 loose from its lashings overturned poor Lucas, 
 demolishing his violin, the table, and every 
 thing frangible that his colossal figure came in 
 contact with. 
 
 Such was our situation on the 9th of May, 
 and when upon the morning following the 
 gale moderated we set the mizen and fore- top- 
 mast stay-sail, and swaying the top-gallant- 
 mast up, set main-sail and fore-sail, working 
 the pumps to keep the ship free, whilst the sea 
 ran very lofty with a heavy swell. This was 
 the last time the Milford frigate ever went to 
 sea, for by the time we anchored in the Tagus 
 her main-deck exhibited sufficient proofs how 
 completely she was broken-backed by straining 
 in the gale. 
 
 I will here relate an incident no otherwise 
 
 E E 3
 
 422 MEMOIRS or 
 
 interesting or curious but as a mere matter of 
 chance, which tends in some degree to shew 
 the creduHty of our seafaring countrymen. I 
 had been in the habit of wearing in my pocket 
 a broad silver piece given to me as a keepsake 
 by my son George, who received his death at 
 the siege of Charlestown in South Carolina 
 the very day after he had taken command of 
 an armed vessel, to which he was appointed. 
 This piece had been beaten out from a dollar 
 by a marine belonging to the Milford then on 
 the American station, and presented by him to 
 my son then a midshipman serving on board : 
 on this piece the artist had engraved the Mil- 
 ford in full sail, and on the reverse my coat of 
 arms, and upon my discovering that this same 
 ingenious marine, now become a serjeant, was 
 on the same quarter-deck with me, I had been 
 talking with him upon the incident, and shew- 
 ing him that 1 had carefully preserved his pre- 
 sent, 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 re- 
 ligious enthusiasm as to be plunged in the pro- 
 foundest apathy and indifference towards life ;
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 423 
 
 Still he exhibited on this occasion some small 
 show of sensibility at the sight of his own 
 work, and the recollection of an amiable youth, 
 now untimely lost. The wind was adverse to 
 our course, our ship still labouring in a heavy 
 sea, whilst strong and sudden squalls, which 
 every now and then annoyed us, together with 
 the incessant labour of the pumps, denied our 
 people that repose, which their past toils de- 
 manded : 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 favour, which I 
 boldly promised it would do. I found my 
 gallant shipmate eagerly disposed to confide in 
 the experiment, which he put out of all doubt 
 by clinching his belief in it with a deposition 
 upon oath, quite sufficient to convince me of 
 his sincerity, and something more than neces- 
 sary for the occasion. Accordingly! laid my 
 charm upon the glass of the compass with all 
 the solemnity I could assume, M^iilst 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 cm- 
 
 E E 4
 
 424 MEMOIRS 01' 
 
 broidered than the former, he announced to 
 the conviction of ail present a considerable 
 shift of wind in our favour. Credulity now 
 began to circulate most rapidly through the 
 ship : even the officers seemed to have caught 
 some touches of its influence, and my friend 
 the meditative serjeant raised his eyes with 
 some astonishment from his book, where they 
 had been riveted to a few dirty pages loose and 
 torn, as it seemed, out of Sherlock's volume 
 upon death. My first prediction having suc- 
 ceeded so luckily, I boldly promised them a 
 prize in view, and whimsical as the incident is, 
 yet it so chanced that in a very short time the 
 man at the mast-head sung out two ships bear- 
 ing north standing to the southward ; this hap- 
 pened at one o'clock ; at half-an-hour past the 
 sternmost tacked and made sail to the north- 
 ward ; we found our ship gaining fast upon 
 her, and at four hoisted Dutch colours; at 
 three quarters after hoisted St. George's ensign, 
 and fired a shot at her; at five she hoisted 
 French colours and fired a broadside into us, 
 and at six she struck, and proved to be the 
 Due de Coigny private frigate of 28 guns, 
 Migniouet commander, belonging to Gran-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAXD, 425 
 
 ville ; this gallant Frenchman had scarcely pro- 
 nounced his anathema against the man, that 
 should offer to strike his colours, when his head 
 was blown to atoms by one of our 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 seaman 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 com- 
 mantls so distinctly given upon going into ac- 
 tion, 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 secu- 
 rity for success and conquest. Our spirited 
 purser Mr. Lucas performed better with his
 
 4^6 MEMOlRfi^ OF 
 
 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 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 indif- 
 ference, and would not be persuaded to leave 
 the quarter-deck till the action was over, when 
 going down to be dressed as my eldest daugh- 
 ter (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 
 *' Serjeant, I am afraid you are wounded '* 
 he calmly rephed " 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 ser- 
 viceable arm and kept the broken one unem- 
 ployed. One other incident, though of a very 
 different sort, occurred as I was handing her 
 along the main deck from the bread-room,
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 4^7 
 
 when slipping in the blood and brains of a poor 
 fellow, who laid dead beside his gun, an insen- 
 sible 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. Was'nt that a droll affair ? " 
 
 The shifting the prisoners was a task of dan- 
 ger, as the sea ran very high and they were 
 beastly drunk. In this our people were em- 
 ployed all night : when they had refitted the 
 rigging shot away in the action, and hoisted 
 in the boats, we made sail with the prize in 
 company. The carpenters were employed 
 in repairing the boats, which were stove in 
 shifting the prisoners, of which we took on 
 board 155 French and Americans: Lat, 49^'. 
 Long. 1 45'. 
 
 Our surgeon and his assistants being ex- 
 hausted with their duty on board both ships, 
 my anxiety kept me sleepless through a turbu- 
 lent night, and I went about the ship to the 
 wounded men, one of whom (James Eaton by 
 name) a quarter- master and one of the finest
 
 428 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 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 ser- 
 vice over him the next morning, whilst Abbe 
 Hussey performed that office for the other two, 
 who were Irish and of his communion. 
 
 On the 1 1th w 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 prizC) but soon after made signal for 
 her to stand about and go into port, which 
 she safely effected. In the course of this day 
 I wrote a song for my amusement descriptive 
 of our action, and adapted it to the tune of 
 
 Whilst here at Deal xce're lyings boysy 
 With the tioble Commodore 
 
 Our crew were very musically inclined, and 
 we had some passably good singers amongst 
 them, which suggested to me the idea of wri- 
 ting 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 du-
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND. 429 
 
 ring the voyage ; an objection, wliieh had es- 
 caped me, but which I felt the full force of, 
 when stated to me by him. 
 
 The song was as follows, and the circum- 
 stances, under which it was hastily written, 
 must be my apology for inserting it 
 
 *' 'Twas up the wind three leagues or more 
 
 " We spied a lofty sail ; 
 ** Set your top-gallant sails, my boys, 
 
 " And closely hug the gale. 
 
 '' Nine knots the nimble Milford ran, 
 
 ** Thus, thus, the master cried ; 
 ** Hull up we brought the chace in view, 
 
 " And soon were side by side. 
 
 * Dowse your Dutch ensign, up Saint George ; 
 
 *' To quarters now all hands ; 
 *' With lighted match beside his gun 
 
 *^ Each British hero stands. 
 
 *' Give fire, our gallant captain cries, 
 
 " 'Tis done, the cannons roar; 
 ^' Stand clear, Mounseers, digest these pilb, 
 
 *' And soon we'll send you more. 
 
 *' Our chain-shot whistles in the wind, 
 
 *' Our grape descends like hail 
 ** Hurrah, my souls ! three cheering shoutSj 
 
 ^ French hearts begin to quail.
 
 430 MEMOIRS OP 
 
 " Rak'd fore and aft her shatter'd hull 
 
 *' Lets in the briny flood, 
 ** Her decks are carnaged with the slain, 
 
 *' Her scuppers stream with blood. 
 
 *' Her French jack shiyers in the wind, 
 
 " Its lilies all look pale ; 
 *' Down it must come, it must come down, 
 
 *' For Britons will prerail. 
 
 *' And see ! 'tis done : she strikes, she yields ; 
 
 " Down haughty flag of France : 
 ** Now board her, boys, and on her staff 
 
 *' The English cross adyance ! 
 
 *' There, there triumphantly it flies, 
 
 *' It conquers and it saves 
 *' So gaily toss the can about, 
 
 *' For Britons rule the waves." 
 
 During the 12th, 13th and 14th, we had 
 fresh gales and squally, till on the night of 
 the latter, being then in Lat. 44 2'. Long. 3** 
 16'. we had light airs and fair weather, when 
 descrying a frigate under English colours to 
 the southward, standing to the northward, we 
 cleared ship for action, but soon after lost 
 sight of her. The next day, viz. the 15th, we 
 saw a fleet of the enemy to the southward 
 standing to the westward, forty-five in number, 
 of which were eight sail of the line and three 
 or four frigates. They proved to be the French
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND 431 
 
 squadron under the command of Tournay, and 
 having brought to on the starboard tack dis- 
 patched a Hne of battle ship in chace of us 
 coming down in a slanting course she appeared 
 at first to gain upon us, till at half past eight in 
 the evening, (our rate being then better than 
 at twelve knots) she left oif chace, having gi- 
 ven us her lower guns, whilst the prisoners, ex- 
 pecting us to be captured, became so unruly, 
 that our men were obliged to drive them down 
 with the hand-spikes. 
 
 On the l6th we brought to and took a Por- 
 tuguese pilot on board, passed the Burlings, 
 and the next day at six in the evening anchor- 
 ed with the best bower in eight fathom water, 
 Belem Castle N. E. Abbe Hussey and I with 
 the second lieutenant landed at the castle, and 
 at eight at night we obtained pratique. We 
 found riding here 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 pur- 
 chase a large stock of oranges for the refresh- 
 ment of the ship's company, especially the 
 wounded, and of these my friend the Serjeant 
 condescended to partake, though he had beeu
 
 432 ' MEMOIRS, &c. nois] 
 
 so extremely occupied with his meditations 
 upon death, as hardly to be persuaded to let his 
 arm be dressed, answering all the kind enqui- 
 ries of his comrades in the most sullen and of- 
 tentimes abusive terms" They were wicked 
 " wretches and deserved^damnation for pre- 
 " suming to condole with him. It was God's 
 *' good pleasure to exercise his spirit with" pain, 
 " and he had supreme satisfaction in bearing 
 *' it. What business was it of their's to be 
 " troubling him with their impertinent enqui- 
 " ries?" This was in the style of his civilest 
 rephes : to some his answers were very short 
 and extremely gross. 
 
 The day after our arrival we weighed and 
 dropt farther up the river ; at night we dis- 
 fhsr^c^ the prisoners, and Ihc ron^ vi- 
 
 i'oT hiS ioni: - .;':u ..........5 and 1 proviifd 
 
 upaitnu-ats i'oi my fii*niiy al ]M -^ I^'v.^ - hAtel 
 .'.* Hiwmy, Avre^, 'Tf'c. >>ext cJav; the v:>.v:rr>0' 
 vxwiv. cuLcriamefl us at Belem, and the day en- 
 suing he, with Captains Home and Payne, 
 dined with us on board. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Printed by J. Wright, St. John's Square.
 
 
 
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