CHAPTER XIII.
1805–1810.
The allusion in the last chapter by the Bishop to Venus and Adonis, applied to a new Shakspearian acquisition made by his editor. In the little volume itself, now in the Bodleian (325), we find the following memorandum:—
“Bought of Mr. William Ford, bookseller, in Manchester, in August, 1805, at the enormous price of twenty-five pounds.
“Many years ago, I said that I had no doubt an edition of Shakspeare’s Venus and Adonis was published in 1593;[1] but no copy of that edition was discovered in the long period that has elapsed since my first notice of it, nor is any other copy of 1593 but the present known to exist.
In December, he writes to the Rev. Mr. Davenport, of Stratford, of the new edition, “in twenty-three volumes, royal octavo,” flitting before his sanguine hopes, and of which Shakspeare’s Life is to form an important part; but the stubborn volumes required even more than the stubborn labour he gave them to start into active existence.
“I have still been in hopes of bringing my work to a conclusion, but have been delayed by a thousand unforeseen consequences. . . . . If I can but live to finish it, I shall think nothing of the labour. I hope to put it to press about the middle of summer.”
Just eleven years before (1794), he told the same friend he had been almost equally sanguine on the Life of Shakspeare, and a hint is dropped as if some essential discovery in his history had been made. “One half of it was written and fairly transcribed; but when I had brought him to the door of the London theatre, a fancy struck me to give a history of the prevailing manners of the English world when he first came on the town. . . . . My plan will have the advantage of novelty, for I think I shall be able to overturn every received tradition respecting this very extraordinary man.”
Another friend, Bishop Percy, reduced to blindness and the necessity of employing a friendly pen, is not less active and inquisitive than before. Two long letters in the spring, treat of Dean Vincent and the Periplus of the Erythrean; Bruce, the traveller; a Hermit’s Meditations, copied by him when a boy though the author continued unknown; Norton Fulgate, written probably in ridicule of Bentley; Malone’s obvious advantage over Steevens as to Shakspeare’s conversation; the Society of Antiquaries; Sir Joshua Reynolds’s monument; the condition of the Club with his usual Esto perpetua; and reply to a proposal from Malone to have his (the Bishop’s) portrait engraved. Acquiescing in the request, it was forwarded to town by his daughter in Northamptonshire. The Bishop adds an Anglo-Iricism considering his complaint, “I hope you will allow me to see there are no mistakes in the narrative”—stating that several had crept into some notes of Dr. Anderson printed in Edinburgh. This engraving and memoir, under Malone’s inspection, were meant for an edition of the Reliques.
In the following year (1806) the print was completed, and gave satisfaction to the Bishop’s Irish friends. To Malone he wrote as usual, in that tone of apology always employed in adverting to a work the introduction of which, to literary life, required no apology, and which, in fact, forms the basis of his literary reputation. “The Bishop cannot see the print, but his friends think it is neatly engraved. Not having the picture to compare it with, they cannot judge of its fidelity. He cannot by any means think that such a solemn figure is fit to be prefixed to the sportive subjects of the Reliques—the gay amusements of early youth, of which he is now frequently reproached by his brethren and other serious persons.”
In the beginning of winter, renewed apprehensions of their brother’s condition prevailed in the Baronston family. His health became unsatisfactory, exercise was discontinued, and his spirits depressed. A cheerful companion and counsellor was again sought in their reverend friend (Jephson) from Westmeath, whose spirits were as cheerful as his personal attachments were sincere. He was therefore again summoned to London, and gives his wife as before, some lively notices of the incidents of his stay:—
I sit down (November 4th, 1805) to write my dearest girl an account of myself in Mr. M.’s study, after having sent off Miss Spencer[2] without much difficulty to Hockston (sic), where she is to be received in an excellent establishment for persons in her situation. I think I am of use to Mr. M., and if so, my whole object has been attained. I have hitherto never stirred from him, and to-morrow night am to be in the house. . . . . London looks, for that is all I shall see of it, as cheerful, gay, and riant as possible.
Whether Luttrell be yet in town or not, I know not. I dine to-day with Mr. M., Mr. Plumptree, a Cantab, and I believe young Boswell. Now for my journey. It was ridiculous enough during my Italian mania that I found myself placed in the coach at Holyhead, next to a native of Tuscany, of most agreeable manners, so that in walking up and down the Welsh hills, I had plenty of pronunciation, idiom, and the analogy and philosophy of languages, which you know is so much to my taste. . . . .
November 9th.—I had this morning packed up the greater part of my things, and with an impatient heart was getting ready for the Shrewsbury coach, which sets off at three o’clock this day, when I received a letter from Miss C. Malone, so earnestly recommending my further stay, that I was staggered in my resolution, and upon showing my letter to Mr. M., and pressing him to know how he felt upon the subject, the result is that I must submit to a little further absence from my dearest of dear girls.
Though Miss Malone, naturally enough, is more apprehensive for her brother’s spirits than happily she need be, I now find that my presence for a little while longer is more material than Mr. M.’s extreme delicacy suffered me to imagine before, and I shall therefore mitigate my impatience to be with you again by reflecting that I am acting at once more rightly and beneficially to the best of friends. And now, my love, that I am disappointed of telling you myself all that I have seen and done so soon as I expected, I will write in continuation what I hoped to have related with the interruption of a thousand kisses. You know to whom my whole heart belongs, and you shall have the rummaging of your own property, and look, as you have a right to do, into every corner of it.
To begin with my reception by Mr. M., I found him in his study at about eight o’clock; his manner was kind, but not remarkably warm. After a little conversation he told me that he began to smell a rat—and that I had been sent over by the Baronston lord and ladies. I assured him that was not the case, but did not tell him exactly that I had come to help him, not liking to place him under an obligation, and quite satisfied with conversing and drawing off his thoughts from melancholy objects. A few days after he received a letter from Miss C. (Catherine Malone). I came into the room, when he seized my hand, and rated me for not telling him how much he was my debtor. This you see was at once the best and most agreeable way of our coming to a right understanding; and the greatest possible degree of cordiality and confidence immediately commenced, which has increased with uniformly accelerated motion ever since.
Our first company was a very lively Mr. Boswell, and Mr. Plumptree, a Cambridge author. The first business I set about was collecting materials for my uncle’s life,[3] and the opportunity, which will not recur, proved such a stimulus that, aided by Mr. M.’s zeal, I have succeeded in point of dates and events completely to my wish. I soon saw Mr. Courtenay, and, added to a good deal of amusement from his conversation, sucked out of him something for my Life, together with the promise of a very interesting letter, relative to Mr. Burke and my uncle, which will greatly enrich my volume. The Trafalgar victory, and the death of Lord Nelson, occupied every one, and I had the pleasure of talking it over with Mr. Trevor, late ambassador at Turin, who knows all continental business, and the probable effects of our naval success upon them, as well as any man in England.
In a day or two after Luttrell arrived from Lord Egremont’s with Lord Cowper<!— Peter Leopold Louis Francis Nassau Clavering-Cowper, 5th Earl Cowper (1778–1837), mentioned previously. -->. He ran to me in an absolute ecstasy; next morning introduced me to Lord C, whom I like better, I think, than any one I ever met upon a short acquaintance. Luttrell dined next day with Mr. Malone; and the day but one after, gave a dinner to Lord C, Mr. M. and myself. It was absolutely delightful; and we sat till near twelve in a perpetual talk, and of the best kind. You cannot often, my dearest Anne, see such men as Lord C, but I am a little out of luck about him. He has lately married Lord Melbourne’s daughter, and is fitting up his house, residing till it is finished with Lord Melbourne. He lamented over and over again this circumstance, which prevented him giving me certain dinners, which he assures me are at my service whenever I come again to London. Lord Melbourne’s house was inaccessible, on account of the Prince of Wales, who lived there all the time Lord C. staid in town, and must not have new personages to dine with him. I should otherwise, I believe, have had an entrée here. Lord C, Luttrell, and I, however, had a long and very pleasant walk to Kensington, and consequently a lot of talking.
I have been twice to the play; once because Mr. M. passed the evening abroad. It was at Drury Lane, a new play, dreadfully bad—The Prior Claim; but Bannister very diverting in Moliere’s Médecin Malgre Lui. The next was to hear Braham. I was delighted with him and Storace. He is in appearance so like Harvey Daniel, that I was thinking myself every moment at New Forest. I have not been at the Opera, but will give you a variety of reasons for not doing what you desire, beginning with the last, namely, that there will be no more till January. Luttrell and I chose you a few musical things.
The day before yesterday Mr. M. and I went to Hoxton and sat with poor Miss S. for half an hour. She is much better, but still evidently deranged; she kissed us both on our going away. Yesterday Mr. Windham came to town. He dined with us and sat all the evening. We had a great deal of conversation together of the most satisfactory kind,—to me extremely flattering on his part. I was to have dined to-day with Mr. Ward, Lord Dudley’s son, and to have met Mr. Spencer, the author, but my proposed departure prevented it. He is the liveliest man I ever met, and we harmonized amazingly one evening at Luttrell’s. I must tell it in my dearest dear’s ear, that my reception here with these sort of people has been uniformly so flattering, and so favourable, as to astonish even my vanity. Lord C. called upon me while I was out, and spoke of me most ludicrously well to Mr. M.
I have dined twice with Dr. Hume and Anacreon Moore. Once I brought Mr. Malone at his desire. I like his wife much, and Moore without bounds. Once also with Woodward, where I met Lord Mountcashell hot from Germany.
After an impassioned passage of affection to his wife, Mr. Jephson again writes:—
November 30th.—You are right in your opinion of Mr. M.’s mind, and of the excellence of his heart. His kindness to me is unbounded, and the unqualified confidence in which we live together, with our many hours of talk which our mode of life induces, have certainly strengthened those bonds of amity that before subsisted between us.
To return to my journalier account of myself. We dined a few days since with Mr. Metcalf. He is principally remarkable for La cuisine douce, of which we certainly had a very good example. A Mr. Cromle, formerly Steward of the Household to Lord Carlisle when Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, was the only stranger. He seemed to me a perfect model of that species of man which is formed by exclusive habitudes with the very highest ranks of society, operating upon a mind very moderately qualified by nature. He is, as Shakspeare expresses it, “a man of most soft society,” and might be well administered as a sedative to irritable nerves, without anything of those angular manners and ungraceful abruptnesses that give me the sensation of jolting at every step. Compared to his host, Mr. Metcalf, he was as a well-hung, double-springed coach to the wheel part of a jaunting car without springs. We were placed together at table, and had a great deal of intercourse. I think I have a sort of advantage from taking all manner of things in their own way, not wilfully excluding all pleasure but such as comes in such a particular shape.
The day before yesterday Mr. Courtenay and Mr. Windham dined here, or rather, the latter came in after dinner and drank wine. He brought an account of Bonaparte’s arrival at Vienna, the probable death of the archduke, and seemed really depressed upon public affairs. He would hardly allow me to state Trafalgar as a good set off, according to the legal phrase.
Were not you diverted, dearest, to see me making a figure in the fashionable intelligence of a London newspaper? Who informed the public of so important an event as my visit to Mr. Malone, I cannot guess; but there I was, to my own great surprise and amusement. I feel extremely obliged to Miss C. Malone for her good-nature to me, and still more for her kindness to you. She rates much too highly my attempt to be of use to the best and most affectionate of friends; but that overrating is a further cause of gratitude on my part, which I most sincerely feel.
Mr. M. begins to talk rather peremptorily of sending me away during the next light nights. I shall not at this moment directly oppose him, but certainly shall not leave him till I am quite convinced that he really wishes it. S. S.[4] is a great deal better. A Miss Legard, a friend of hers, saw her the day before yesterday, and says that she thinks her quite well. I know that this appearance is fallacious, and have tried to instil that opinion into Mr. M. that he would do nothing without precise directions from Dr. Willis. We shall go to see her together on Monday next.
An advertisement of a Life of Dr. Johnson written by himself drew attention from the Dublin critics as a probable forgery. Malone, as an authority, was appealed to by two or three of the number; and he ascertained it to be that juvenile sketch which is now admitted to be authentic.
Dr. Kearney again enters upon Shakspearian criticism, deeming the Poet, the more he read him, to rise higher and higher in mind.
When I read him (Shakspeare), I think that I find many deep and philosophical maxims which, if they were prosaically expressed and incorporated in the writings of the severest masters of reason, even in Bacon, would appear to he the profoundest and best established observations. . . . . I do not mean remarks on manners, &c, which might he expected in the writings of a man engaged in the world, but such as might offer themselves to a studious, contemplative mind, absorbed in meditation on the subjects of science.[5]
Toward the end of 1806, a visit from his friend Jephson and family from Gibraltar, deranged the systematic quietude of an old bachelor. “My whole time,” he writes, “has been taken up. Shakspeare is at a stand. On his account alone, I shall not be sorry when they are settled in their own house. However, I have the pleasure of reflecting that though inconvenient in housekeeping details, I have done a kind thing.”
“I am still,” he writes again to his elder sister, “as you see, in town, though I had thought of going to Taplow Court for a few days. Lady Thomond[6] is a good deal here, attending her aunt, who is very ill and not likely to live long. Lord Thomond is uneasy without her society, so she does as well as she can, going to and fro occasionally. This matter might be adjusted by removing Mrs. Reynolds to the country, were she not confined to bed, and near eighty years old. However, if I find Lord Thomond at home the latter end of next week, I believe I shall then go to them.
“The Windhams are still in town, but are positively to set off for his house in Norfolk next Monday. I dined with them twice this week. As usual, old Mrs. Cholmondeley, who is grown quite foolish, was there, and tiresome enough. I met there the two Miss Berrys, renewed our acquaintance, and dined with them and their father in North Audley Street last week. They have a pretty little place in the country, on the banks of the Thames, which Lord Orford gave them, called little Strawberry Hill; and they pressed me much to visit them there. So has their neighbour, Mrs. Damer, of great Strawberry Hill. But I am a wretched visitor.”
Frequent remonstrances came from friends upon the undue labours given to his eyes. Lord Charlemont, who suffered from similar infirmity, often remonstrated with him. “Five hours a day employed in transcribing from obscure manuscripts! How in the name of wonder do your eyes hold out?” His sisters often ask the same question, intermingled with sisterly exhortations to amend; but the species of recreation given them seems pretty much akin to work. “I have not pressed them hard these three weeks, for I have been almost daily at a book auction, the library of Mr. Reed, the last Shakspearian except myself, where my purse has been drained as usual. But what I have purchased are chiefly books of my own trade. There is hardly a library of this kind now left, except my own and Mr. Bindley’s, neither of us having the least desire to succeed the other in his peculiar species of literary wealth.”
While in search of the publications of the age of Elizabeth, he discovered some tracts connected with the settlement of the colony of Virginia. These on further consideration led to the belief of their bearing upon a curious Shakspearian question—the origin of the play of The Tempest—in the shipwreck of Sir George Somers and Sir Thomas Gates on the Bermuda Islands in a violent storm. This impression became at length conviction. A paper was drawn up embodying the circumstances, with extracts from one of the pamphlets alluded to, which were shown at the time to a literary friend whom he does not name, who fully participated in the opinion.
This discovery he deemed to be exclusively his own. It was therefore hoarded for the long-promised second edition of the Poet; but just at this moment the publication of Mr. Douce’s Illustrations disclosed that he also had arrived at a similar conclusion. No time was to be lost in announcing through the press his claim to originality.[7] The tract was therefore printed early in January, 1808, and all honour paid in it to “the learned and ingenious critic” who had thus accidentally preceded him. Copies, however, were still withheld from the public. That to Lord Sunderlin, now before me, and others also have this intimation on the fly-leaf: “It is requested that this pamphlet may not be inadvertently put into the hands of persons who may be likely to publish any part of it.” It did, however, eventually transpire. From some misapprehension of Archdeacon Nares, a review of it appeared in the British Critic in the following year in conformity, as erroneously supposed, with the wishes of the author, which produced two or three letters of amicable explanation between the parties, though Nares was declared to be wrong in giving part of the merit of the discovery to Capell.
This essay proved a momentary diversion from another subject. In 1796 he had lost his friend Mr. William Gerard Hamilton, who had acquired during life high private repute with apparently little labour. Among many of his manuscript remains submitted to Malone, one only appeared fit for the press, Parliamentary Logick. To this were added a few poetical pieces printed after leaving college; and a short notice by Dr. Johnson of the corn-laws of that day (1767), which had been found in his own handwriting among Hamilton’s papers.[8]
Malone edited these, and was constitutionally fitted for an editor—for his friendships survived his friends. He was proud of their names and their remains being equally remembered. He and the deceased had travelled down the hill of life together without finding cause to part company by the way. They valued each other, were in habits of intercourse, visited in the same circles—that is, the best informed societies in London,—and he wished now to test whether public opinion would stamp as sterling that reputation which in private life had been freely awarded him.
Hamilton was one of those men whose history presents some anomalies in English public life, not always easy to reconcile. Elsewhere I have glanced at the earlier portion of his career. He has left us little of himself to contemplate; and if the portrait be unsatisfactory, the fault can scarcely be laid to the charge of the limner.
He was clever; and no ordinary judge of cleverness in others. He sought out those who possessed it, and aimed to draw around and secure such as might be employed for his own special uses. Accession to office in the Board of Trade about 1755, after a popular speech or two, kept him for five years afterwards silent. An Irish sinecure kept him equally tongue-tied after his return from office in that country above thirty years more. Though mute, he contrived to retain fame as an orator. Unknown to the press, he obtained the character of a first-rate writer even so far as to be considered "Junius"—no one could tell precisely why,—yet comparison with that writer he deemed injurious to his own powers. He claimed to be a statesman, but did nothing and attempted nothing common to the character. In private life, none more freely discussed public affairs. In the Senate he said nothing. None more narrowly watched there the conduct of public men, their sentiments, speeches, and modes of speaking, yet never gave the country the benefit of his opinions on the momentous proceedings of one American and two French wars—not even the small contribution of a set speech once or twice in a session. He saw a former friend of whom he had hoped to make a tool, ascend equally by his tongue and his pen, step by step, and day by day, to unrivalled celebrity throughout Europe, yet never once attempted a struggle for former eminence as a speaker, or attempted to do anything as a writer. He appeared to live upon the past, yet is said to have kept a lively eye upon the future. Office—after his sinecure had been exchanged for a pension—he did not for a long time deem beyond his grasp; and had Richard, Earl Temple, constructed a ministry he would have probably become his Chancellor of the Exchequer.[9]
The chief incident of his life was in becoming the first official patron of Edmund Burke. From volunteer studies at the Board of Trade—for Burke had no appointment—he carried him to Dublin; profited by his large capacity; procured him a pension “after six years of laborious attendance” in both countries; exacted its resignation when he refused to become permanently subservient; and the quarrel ceased in what Burke, writing to Flood at the moment, said should be an “eternal separation.” The demand made upon him was unprecedented—in fact, to sell himself for life—for three hundred a year. He, however, felt confident in his own powers to ensure distinction whenever an appropriate stage should open for their exhibition. The “patron” may have thought the same; but presuming on the adhesive power of the pension to keep its holder in his train, carried his demand farther than a man of spirit could brook. Hamilton thus lost the services and friendship of the most accomplished intellect in Europe. “With such an ally and counsellor, added to his own influence and talents, he may have lost much fame and honour in public life. He could not indeed have had the remotest conception that the rise of that luminary should prefigure his own decadence, nay prove, from whatever cause, the extinction of his eloquence and consequent political importance in the country.
In the esteem of the Grenvilles, he took a high place. No guest was more frequent or favoured at Stowe. Many eminent men of the day spoke of his talents as first-rate. Select circles of good society made him an oracle. Dr. Johnson admired his conversation and encouraged his visits. He left behind several volumes of Adversaria, none of which but that mentioned here found its way into the press.
Of such a man, who spoke little in public while living, and has left nothing behind to earn reputation, what shall we say? Probably that he was overrated. Critical justice can scarcely award celebrity where there is nothing of moment to warrant it. He observed keenly and discriminated minutely; but if we are to take Parliamentary Logick as a specimen—though it contains useful precepts for young members of Parliament—he appears prone to note the forms rather than substance of things—the manner of a debater more than his matter—in fact, that he was a mere rhetorician. Otherwise, how can we conceive that a really powerful mind should be profoundly taciturn between 1756 and 1761, and again from 1763 to 1796 in the British House of Commons, when the most exciting topics ever discussed in Europe were daily before him? Or if too nervous to speak, which has never been alleged, that he should not have aimed to enlighten the country through the press?
Lord Charlemont, in writing to Malone (1792), is equally unable to suggest any probable motive for his inactivity—“For the precarious state of my old acquaintance Hamilton, I am most sincerely grieved.[10] There was a man whose talents were equal to every undertaking; and yet from indolence, or from too fastidious vanity, or from what other cause I know not, he has done nothing.” Further conjecture is now vain; we are left but to one derogatory supposition—that having reaped the material fruits of statesmanship in a sinecure place afterwards exchanged for an “equivalent,” he was willing to remain undisturbed by its contests and labours.
In the preliminary notice to the volume it is remarkable that Malone is silent on the connection of the writer with Burke. Neither did he affix his name as editor. Mrs. Burke still survived. Hamilton had formed no family ties. But as the friend of both, he was probably unwilling to revive any unpleasing recollections at Beaconsfield, or on the other hand tell a story of one who, in that instance at least, had exhibited none of the feelings of a high-spirited or liberal man. A few of his remarks appear in the subsequent anecdotes.
With the usual keen eyes of ladies on domestic matters, the Misses Malone discovered in their London visits that their brother’s house was becoming more and more that of an old bachelor—an accumulation of books; rooms not in spruce order; furniture rather in the rear of the fashion of the age. One rallies him on the unthriftiness of not paying off debts instead of investing money in the funds. The other, for not spending savings in refurnishing and beautifying Foley Place. He makes the best defence he can—the want of female superintendence. Catherine on her way to England, returns to the charge in writing from Dublin—
Mr. Forth[11] told me he had sent you a pretty round sum of one thousand pounds. My answer to him was that I wished he had not sent you so much at a time; for that you would only be more profuse in buying old books, and think it would never be out. Is not this true enough? Well, if money ever did you good, this will certainly. He has paid us a hundred and twenty pounds on your account; so you have got out of your estate this moment eleven hundred and twenty pounds.
Again she writes, that having been on a visit to the Bishop of Meath (O’Beirne), they heard so much of Kilkenny theatricals from visitors in the house as to produce general desire for an excursion thither. A party for the occasion had been therefore formed by Lord Sunderlin and some of the family, which, with one of the Jephsons, she meant to accompany. The Bishop stayed at home. But in a long letter to Malone soon afterwards, his lordship concludes with an allusion to the most celebrated member of the Kilkenny amateur group.
We have had a visit very lately from our friends at Baronston, and the only drawback on the pleasure we always enjoy in their society was the absence of the good and worthy Miss Malone, who was not well enough to accompany them. All Miss Catherine’s cheerful spirits and goodhumour, Lady Sunderlin’s sound sense and understanding, your brother’s warmth of heart, and Jephson’s jokes, could not make us forget her.
I dare say they will have made the theatricals of Kilkenny, and the final close of that very classical scene, the subject of some of their late letters to you. My daughter has copied for you Mr. Moore’s verses on the effect of national music, which he recited on the stage there, as I heard from every one, in a most masterly manner. I do not much admire that little gentleman; and I am apt to believe, with a most excellent judge of character, that Tommy Moore will never become Thomas. But I think some of the verses of the Melologue, as he foolishly calls it in the cant phrase of the day, are extremely beautiful and true poetry.
The prediction happily was not fulfilled. Tommy grew to be Thomas; the supposed pigmy became a giant among admiring nations, equally valued for fancy, and sweetness, and often for strength. How is it that Irishmen are thus prone to form such undue estimates of each other? Why do not the gifted class more frequently travel to England for reputation—that England so often abused and vilified by the idle, the uninformed, and the bigoted of their country? There, when they deserve it, they will obtain it. No party or religious feelings which poison the sources of liberality elsewhere, can in her keep down the intellect of man to the narrow dimensions which interested bigotry and superstition prescribe at home. In England, the mind may expand to the length, and breadth, and depth which Providence may have ordained for its widest and highest exercise, because untrammelled by a despotic priesthood. Let not Irishmen be misled by their provincial notions or peddling politics to look no farther than Ireland for the reward of their talents. England is the natural sphere for capacious views and enlightened labours. She opens widely her arms to every man who does honour to his kind; and from her, when their conduct and character merit it, are sure to obtain their reward.
Amused by these accounts of theatrical exhibitions on one side of the Channel, he was not at all disposed to submit to censures of it on the other. One of his friends, Archdeacon Plumptre,<!— Prior is confused: James Plumptre (1771–1832) with whom Malone corresponded at Clare College, Cambridge, was never Archdeacon; the Archdeacon of Cambridge is Charles Plumptre (d. 1779), but Malone never corresponded with him. --> was accused of this in sermons preached at Cambridge. Malone lost no time in defence and remonstrance. In reply, the Archdeacon denies the charge; alleges that he assails only abuses, not uses, of the stage; that he had quoted Archbishop Tillotson, and other eminent authorities holding the same sentiments, in opposition to Wilberforce, Witherspoon, Law, Mrs. More, who took extreme views of the subject; and for his own part, believed that many portions of an audience would be worse employed than in witnessing a well-written play. The critic was soothed, and sent him an additional sheet to the tract on the Tempest.
Amid correspondence on various topics—with the learned though eccentric Dr. Barrett (of Dublin) on certain historical incidents, Lysons on mistakes in the Monumenta Vetusta, Rev. Mr. Blakeway, Archdeacon Nares, Dr. Burney, Chetwood, and others—the death of Mr. Windham gave a severe shock to his enjoyments. No adverse influences had shaken mutual esteem and intimacy during thirty years. From the turmoil of public business, the statesman often sought repose in the quiet study or the conversation of the man of letters. There, sincere affection and admiration at all times awaited him—such as were due to one of the most accomplished gentlemen and manly spirits of the age—from one of the most amiable and unassuming.
Mr. Windham formed the beau ideal of an English gentleman of the highest class. Well born, well educated, endowed with superior faculties, in addition to those goods of fortune which command consideration everywhere and often of themselves serve to open the portals to fame, he possessed judgment to turn these advantages to the best use. As a boy, he sought distinction, and as a boy obtained it, in being leader of all those sports which make the ambition of school-boy life. At college he became a student of no ordinary attainments. While resident for a season in Scotland he took to mathematics. At Oxford, and through life, he pursued with success the study of its higher branches. At twenty-three, he started with the future Lord Mulgrave on a voyage to the North Pole. He ascended, in 1785, in a balloon. At the siege of Valenciennes, he perilled himself freely in surveying the enemy’s works; and at an earlier period, ran personal risks in subduing mutiny in a militia regiment of which he was major. Even his death arose from the same fearless spirit exhibited through life. While assisting to rescue valuables from the house of a friend on fire, he sustained injury eventually requiring a surgical operation, under which he sank; but with characteristic consideration for the feelings of his wife, the operation was performed during her absence from town. And in the same Christian spirit, he received the sacrament previously in a private room from the Rev. Dr. Fisher, of the Charter House.
Equally frank and generous; graceful in address and high in principle; chivalrous and resolute; the patron and promoter of manly pastimes and character, he seems to have been cut out by nature for a favourite of the people. But he would not yield to their prejudices or errors. Hence he was occasionally unpopular; but the courage displayed in opposing their wishes often made him nearly as much a favourite as those who gave way to them.
His career in the State, open and uncompromising, left no doubt as to his opinions. In Parliament, his abilities commanded the greatest respect. Often eloquent and logical, he was sometimes too refined—sometimes too sincere and unreserved for a working statesman. In quitting office he took nothing for himself or his friends. As Secretary at War he was too low in the scale of office, though a seat in the Cabinet partially remedied the defect. But it was not known even to Malone till a year or two afterward, that he declined the Seals as Secretary of State by deferring to the Duke of Portland; and twice the title of viscount in the peerage. He conscientiously filled public places—not by playing the patron to his friends—but with the fittest men he could find for the duties.
The regard and companionship of one so characterized conferred honour on any man. To lose such a friend when ourselves advanced into the vale of years, leaves a miserable blank in the breast. So Malone felt it. And when the first emotions of grief were subdued, he set about doing honour to the departed by embodying a few of the leading points of character in a memoir. A short statement was first printed in the Gentleman’s Magazine to correct erroneous rumours regarding the manner of an event so little expected by the world. This, with additions, was reprinted as a pamphlet, and sent to many mutual friends and various members of both Houses of Parliament, all of whom, however opposed in party attachments, paid the honour due to one who stood in the foremost rank in public esteem as in worth and independence. He left a journal which rumour said was not to be published.
The correspondence of our author during this year appears to have been less active than usual. Mr. J. Taylor, of the Sun newspaper (author of Monsieur Tonson), refers to a passage in Cynthia’s Revels so closely resembling what Anthony says of Brutus that it seems plain the one poet borrowed from the other.[12] Interested, as he says, in the researches of the critic, he would not fail to point out any things bearing upon Shakspeare. Ritson is taken to task soundly for his abuse; and the writer, who had given him previous information upon the supposed connection between Shakspeare and D'Avenant, thus breaks out in a stanza against Malone’s unhappy assailant.
Nor heed what Ritson’s cankered spleen can say;
So may the Sun of our poetic sphere
Shoot through the mists of time its faintest ray.
- ↑ In the edition of Shakspeare (1790) he fancied the first edition was 1594, though entered at Stationers’ Hall 1593.
- ↑ Daughter, it is supposed, of a former acquaintance, alluded to by Mr. Metcalfe in a letter from Brighton, and now believed to have been thrown on the humanity of Malone.
- ↑ Captain (or Mr.) Robert Jephson, the dramatist, who has been already introduced to the reader, and died in 1803
- ↑ The lady who had been placed at Hoxton.
- ↑ Among numberless others, perhaps the following passages may support my notion (edition 1793):—
“The sense of death,” Measure for Measure, act iii. scene 1, p. 271.
“Nature is better made,” Winter’s Tale, act iv. scene 3, p. 125.
“Oh, vanity of sickness,” &c., King John, act v. scene 7, p. 178.
“Before the curing,” &c., King John, act iii. scene 4, p. 113.
“All things that are,” Merchant of Venice, act ii. scene 6, p. 444.
“Each substance of a grief,” Richard II., act ii. scene 2, p. 247.
“For if our virtues,” &c., Measure for Measure, act i. scene 1, p. 185.
“Too subtle,” &c., Troilus and Cressida, act iii. scene 2, p. 321.
“The heavens themselves, Troilus and Cressida, act i. scene 3, p. 252.
“Who can hold,” &c., King Richard II., act ii. scene 3, p. 222.
“Reason not the need,” &c., Lear, act ii. scene 12, p. 134.
“Impediments in Fancy’s way,” All’s Well, act v. scene 3, p. 363.
Many more will present themselves to you. - ↑ Niece to Sir Joshua Reynolds.
- ↑ Malone assigned the date of the Tempest to 1611; recently Mr. Joseph Hunter believes that an earlier date may be assigned to the Tempest, perhaps 1596 or 1597; but other authorities say certainly not till after 1603, and more probably not till 1611, the time stated by Malone.
- ↑ Boswell, in one of his letters to Malone, written just before the publication of Johnson’s life, thus writes of Hamilton:—“That nervous mortal, W. G. H., is not satisfied with some particulars which I wrote down from his own mouth, and is so much agitated that Courtenay has persuaded me to allow a new edition of them by H. himself, to be made at H.’s expense.” On this Mr. Croker remarks—“Mr. Hamilton’s nervousness increases our regret at not being able to penetrate the secret of his political transactions with Johnson. It was clearly something that he did not like to reveal.” This, however, is probably an error. It was more likely temperament—a nature painfully fastidious about small matters.
- ↑ Mr. Thomas Grenville in reply to Malone’s inquiries writes (March, 1807):—“Long as I have known Stowe, and much as I have been accustomed to see Gerard Hamilton there from my earliest days, yet have I no recollection whatever of any picture or drawing of him at that place. I have, however, written to Lord Buckingham to inquire.” The result was the engraving prefixed to the posthumous work by Malone.
- ↑ An attack of paralysis; yet in 1794 he still wished to remain in the House of Commons! and became dissatisfied by the seat being given to another.
- ↑ His land agent.
- ↑ Critcs, a creature of the most perfect and divine temper—one in whom the elements are peaceably met, &c. &c.