and all constituted authorities. When put on trial for his life (for
treason), "so far from being moved by his dangerous position, he was
never in more buoyant spirits. His wit and humour had often before been
exhibited in Courts of Justice; but never had they been so brilliant as
on this occasion. Erskine had been at his request assigned to him as
counsel; but he himself undertook some of the most important duties of
his advocate, cross-examining the witnesses for the Crown, objecting
to evidence, and even arguing points of law. If his life had really
been in jeopardy, such a course would have been perilous and rash in
the highest degree; but nobody in court, except, perhaps, the Attorney
and Solicitor-General, thought there was the slightest chance of an
adverse verdict. The prisoner led off the proceedings by a series of
preliminary jokes, which were highly successful. When placed in the
dock, he cast a glance up at the ventilators of the hall, shivered,
and expressed a wish that their lordships would be so good as to get
the business over quickly as he was afraid of catching cold. When
arraigned, and asked by the officer of the court in the usual form,
how he would be tried? he answered, 'I _would_ be tried by God and my
country--but----' and looked sarcastically round the court. Presently
he made an application to be allowed a seat by his counsel; and entered
upon an amusing altercation with the judge, as to whether his request
should be granted as an indulgence or as a right. The result was that
he consented to take his place by the side of Erskine as a matter of
favour. In the midst of the merriment occasioned by these sallies, the
Solicitor-General opened the case for the Crown."[42]
[42] Massey's _History of England_.
His change of name to John Horne Tooke is thus explained. At the time
when he was rising into celebrity, the estate of Purley, near Godstone,
in Surrey, belonged to Mr. William Tooke, one of the four friends who
joined in supplying him with an income, while, after resigning the
vicarage of New Brentford, he studied for the law. One of Tooke's
richer neighbours, having failed in wresting from him his manorial
rights by a lawsuit, had applied to parliament and nearly succeeded in
effecting his purpose by means of an inclosure bill, which would have
greatly depreciated the Purley estate. Tooke despondingly confided
his apprehensions to Horne, who resolved at once to avert the blow,
which he did in a bold and very singular manner. The third reading of
the bill was to take place the next day, and Horne immediately wrote
a violent libel on the Speaker of the House of Commons in reference
to it, and obtained its insertion in the _Public Advertiser_. As
might be expected, the first parliamentary proceeding next day was
the appearance of the adventurous libeller in the custody of the
Serjeant-at-Arms. When called upon for his defence, he delivered a most
remarkable speech, in which he pointed out the injustice of the bill
in question with so much success, that not only was it reconsidered,
and the clauses which affected his friend's property expunged, but
resolutions were passed by the House to prevent the possibility in
future of such bills being smuggled through parliament without due
investigation. In gratitude for this important service, Mr. Tooke,
who had no family, made Horne his heir; on his death in 1803, the
latter became proprietor of Purley, and, as one of the conditions of
inheritance, added the name of Tooke to his own, and from this time was
known as John Horne Tooke. His celebrated _Diversions of Purley_ was
named in compliment to the residence of the author's friend.
Mr. Tooke's Sunday dinners at his villa on Wimbledon Common were very
festive gatherings. So early as eleven in the morning, some of the
guests might be descried crossing the green in a diagonal direction;
while others took a more circuitous route along the great road, with
a view of calling at the mansion formerly occupied by the Duke of
Newcastle while Prime Minister, but then the residence of Sir Francis
Burdett. For many years a coach-and-four, with Mr. Bosville and two or
three friends, punctually arrived within a few minutes of two o'clock.
At four, the dinner was usually served in the parlour looking on the
Common; and the servant having announced the dinner, the company passed
through the hall, the chairs of which were crowded with great-coats,
hats, &c., and took their seats without any ceremony, each usually
placing himself in his proper situation. During dinner, the host's
colloquial powers were called forth into action: indeed, although
he possessed an excellent appetite, and partook freely of almost
everything before him, yet he found ample time for his gibes and jokes,
which seemed to act as so many corroborants, at once strengthening and
improving the appetites of his guests.
Here, at times, were to be seen men of rank and mechanics, sitting in
social converse; persons of ample fortune, and those completely ruined
by the prosecutions of the Attorney-General. On one side was to be
seen, perhaps, the learned Professor of an University, replete with
Greek and Latin, and panting to display his learned lore, indignant
at being obliged to chatter with his neighbour, a member of the
Common Council, about city politics. Next to these would sit a man
of letters and a banker, between whom it was difficult to settle the
agio of conversation, the one being full of the present state of the
money-market, the other bursting to display his knowledge of all books,
except those of account alone!
Tooke took delight in praising his daughters, which he sometimes did
by those equivocatory falsehoods which were one of his principal
pleasures. Of the eldest he said, "All the beer brewed in this house
is that young lady's brewing." It would have been equally true to say,
all the hogs killed in this house were of that young lady's killing;
for they brewed no beer. When a member of the Constitutional Society,
he would frequently utter sentences, the first part of which would have
subjected him to death by the law, but for the salvo that followed;
and the more violent they were, thus contrasted and equivocatory, the
greater was his triumph.
When Tooke was justifying to the Commissioners his return of income
under 60_l._ a-year, one of those gentlemen, dissatisfied with the
explanation, hastily said, "Mr. Tooke, I do not understand you."
"Very possibly," replied the sarcastic citizen; "but as you have not
_half_ the _understanding_ of other men, you should have _double_ the
_patience_."
Horne Tooke told Mr. Rogers that in his early days a friend gave him a
letter of introduction to D'Alembert, at Paris. Dressed _à-la-mode_, he
presented the letter, and was very courteously received by D'Alembert,
who talked to him about operas, comedies, suppers, &c. Tooke had
expected conversation on very different topics, and was greatly
disappointed. When he took leave, he was followed by a gentleman in
a plain suit, who had been in the room during his interview with
D'Alembert, and who had perceived his chagrin. "D'Alembert," said the
gentleman, "supposed from your gay apparel that you were merely a
_petit maître_." The gentleman was David Hume. On his next visit to
D'Alembert, Tooke's dress was altogether different, and so was the
conversation.
Tooke's literal kind of wit--set off, as tradition recounts, by a
courteous manner and by imperturbable coolness--is not ill shown in
the following:--"'Power,' said Lord ---- to Tooke, 'should follow
property.' 'Very well,' he replied, 'then we will take the property
from you, and the power shall follow it....'" "'Now, young man,
as you are settled in town,' said my uncle, 'I would advise you to
take a wife.' 'With all my heart, sir; whose wife shall I take?'"
It is a trait of manners that the "Rev. Mr. Horne" must have been a
young clergyman at the time of this conversation; he did not, as is
well known, take the name of Tooke till a later period. We have a
trace, too, of his philological acuteness in Mr. Rogers's _Memorandum
Book_:--"An illiterate people are most tenacious of their language.
In traffic, the seller learns that of the buyer before the buyer
learns his. A bull in the field, when brought to town and cut up in
the market, becomes bœuf, beef; a calf, veal; a sheep, mouton; a
pig, pork;--because there the Norman purchased, and the seller soon
learnt _his_ terms; while the peasantry retained their own." It is not
surprising that a sharp logical wit should be an acute interpreter of
language.
In the year 1811, a most flagrant depredation was committed in Mr.
Tooke's house at Wimbledon, by a collector of taxes, who daringly
carried away a silver tea and sugar-caddy, the value of which
amounted in weight in silver to at least twenty times more than the
sum demanded, for a tax which Tooke declared he would never pay.
Instructions were given to an attorney for replevying the goods; but
the tax-collector, by the advice of a friend, returned the tea-caddy,
and the man declaring he had a large family, Tooke treated him very
kindly, and the matter was allowed to drop.
Mr. Tooke's health had been a long time before his decease in a
declining state; but his humour and eccentricity remained in full force
to the last; and even in the gripe of death his serenity never forsook
him. While he was speechless and considered insensible, Sir Francis
Burdett, who was present with a few more friends, prepared a cordial
for him, which the medical attendants declared to be of no avail, but
which the baronet persisted in offering, and raising up the patient
for that purpose, when Mr. Tooke perceiving who offered the draught,
drank it off with a smile, and in a few minutes expired, on March 18th,
1812, at his house at Wimbledon. He was put into a strong elm shell.
The coffin was made from the heart of a solid oak, cut down for the
purpose. It measured six feet one inch in length; in breadth at the
shoulders, two feet two inches; depth at the head, two feet six inches;
and the depth at the feet, two feet four inches. This great depth of
coffin was necessary in consequence of the contraction of the body of
the deceased.
A tomb had long been prepared for Mr. Tooke in his garden at Wimbledon,
in which it was his desire to have been buried; but this, after his
decease, being opposed by his daughters and an aunt of theirs, his
remains were conveyed in a hearse and six to Ealing, in Middlesex;
attended by three mourning-coaches, containing Sir Francis Burdett and
several other political and literary friends. His remains were interred
according to the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England,
otherwise, it was his desire that no funeral service should be read
over his body, but that six poor men should have a guinea each to bear
him to the vault in his garden. He rests in a vault, inclosed with iron
railings, and bearing this inscription:--"John Horne Tooke, late of
Wimbledon, author of the _Diversions of Purley_, was born June, 1736,
and died March 18th, 1812, contented and grateful."
Mr. Canning's Humour.
It has been sagaciously remarked in a paper in the _National Review_,
No. 18, that "if Mr. Canning had not been a busy politician, he
would probably have attained eminence as a writer. There must be
extraordinary vitality in jokes and parodies, which after sixty or
seventy years are almost as amusing as if their objects had not long
since become obsolete." We propose to string together a few of these
pleasantries, collected from the above and other authentic sources.
It is related that Mr. Canning's aunt on the anniversary of her
birthday made presents to each of her relations: to Mr. Canning she
once gave a piece of fustian, which produced from him the following
stanzas, found in MS., a line wanting:--
"Whilst all on this auspicious day,
Well pleas'd their gratulations pay,
And sweetly smile, and softly say
A thousand pretty speeches;
My Muse her grateful tribute wings,
Nor scorn the lay her duty brings,
Tho' humble be the theme she sings--
A pair of shooting breeches.
"Soon shall the tailor's subtle art
Have fashion'd them in every part,
And made them snug, and neat, and smart,
With twenty thousand stitches;
Then mark the moral of my song,
Oh! may our lives but prove as strong,
And wear as well, and last as long,
As these, my shooting breeches.
"And when to ease the load of strife
Of public and of private life,
My fate shall bless me with a wife,
I seek not rank or riches;
But worth like thine, serene and gay,
* * * * *
And form'd like thine, to give away
Not wear herself the breeches."
Among Canning's playful rhymes will be remembered, in _The Microcosm_,
Nos. 1, 11, and 12, those commencing,--
"The Queen of Hearts,
She made some tarts," &c.
The continuation, which is less known, apparently contains some
political allusions:--
"Ye Queen of Spades
Herself degrades
By dancing on the green;
Ye Knave stood by
In extacy,
Enamoured of ye Queen.
Ye King so brave
Says to the Knave,
'I disapprove this dance;
You make more work
Than Mister Burke
Does with ye Queen of France.'"
The following is written as a variation:
"Ye Queen of Spades
She beat ye maids
For their immodesty;
Ye Knave of Spades
He kissed those maids,
Which made the Queen to cry.
Ye King then curst
That Knave who durst
Make Royalty shed tears;
'Vile Knave,' says he,
''Tis my decree
That you lose both your ears.'
"Ye Diamond Queen
Was one day seen
So drunk she could not stand;
Ye Diamond Knave
He blushed, and gave
Ye Queen a reprimand.
Ye King, distrest
That his dearest
Should do so vile a thing,
Says, 'By my wig
She's like ye pig
Of David, ye good king.'
"Ye Queen of Clubs
Made syllabubs;
Ye Knave came like Big Ben,
He snatched the cup
And drank it up--
His toast was, 'Rights of men.'
With hands and eyes
That marked surprise
Ye King laments his fate:
'Alas!' says he,
'I plainly see
Ye Knave's a Democrate.'"
Mr. Canning used habitually to designate the selfish and officious Duke
of Buckingham as the "Ph.D.," an abbreviation which was understood to
mean "the fat Duke." That bulky potentate had cautioned him on the eve
of his expected voyage to India, against the frigate in which he was
to sail, on the ground that she was too low in the water. "I am much
obliged to you," he replies to Lord Morley, "for your report of the
Duke of Buckingham's caution respecting the _Jupiter_. Could you have
the experiments made _without_ the Duke of Buckingham on board? as that
_might_ make a difference."
In a letter to Lord Granville, at a time when Prince Metternich
was expected in Paris, he says, "You ask me what you shall say to
Metternich. In the first place, you shall hear what I think of him;
that he is the greatest r---- and l---- on the Continent, perhaps in
the civilized world!"
Almost all the brilliant exceptions to the average trash of the
_Anti-Jacobin_ appear to belong to Canning; though, if the authority of
the most recent editor may be trusted, the best stanza of the best poem
was added to the original manuscript by Pitt.
"Sun, moon, and thou, vile world, adieu!
Which kings and priests are plotting in;
Here doomed to starve on water gru-
el, I no more shall see the U-
niversity of Gottingen."
Canning's _Friend of Humanity and the Knife-grinder_ is well remembered
as witty ridicule of the youthful Jacobin effusions of Southey, in
which it was sedulously inculcated that there was a natural and eternal
warfare between the poor and the rich; the Sapphic lines of Southey
affording a tempting subject for ludicrous parody:--
"_Friend of Humanity._
"Needy Knife-grinder? whither art thou going?
Rough is your road--your wheel is out of order.
Bleak blows the blast--your hat has got a hole in't!
So have your breeches!
"Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
Road, what hard work 'tis crying all day, 'Knives and
Scissors to grind O!'
"Tell me, Knife-grinder, how came you to grind knives?
Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the squire, or parson of the parish,
Or the attorney?
"Was it the squire, for killing of his game, or
Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?
Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
All in a lawsuit?
"(Have you not read the _Rights of Man_, by Tom Paine?)
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall, as soon as you have told
Your pitiful story.
"_Knife-grinder._
"Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir.
Only last night, a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.
"Constables came up for to take me into
Custody; they took me before the justice;
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish
Stocks for a vagrant.
"I should be glad to drink your honour's health in
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
But for my part I never love to meddle
With politics, sir.
"_Friend of Humanity._
"I give thee sixpence! I will see thee d----d first--
Wretch, whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance--
Sordid, unfeeling reprobate; degraded,
Spiritless outcast!
[_Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a
transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy._]
Again, the atrocious exaltation of the contemporary poet in the murder
of Jean Bon St. André is still delightfully contagious:--
"'Twould have moved a Christian's bowels
To hear the doubts he stated;
But the Moors they did as they were bid,
And strangled him while he prated."
The exquisite polish of the _Loves of the Triangles_ is enjoyed, while
Darwin's grave absurdities are only remembered in Miss Edgeworth's
admiring quotations, or by Lord Brougham's fidelity to the literary
prepossessions of his youth. It is remarkable that an author who in
literature can only be considered as an amateur, should have possessed
that rare accomplishment of style which is the first condition of
durable reputation. The humour of Canning's more ephemeral lampoons, as
they exist in oral tradition, seems to have been not less admirable.
When Mr. Whitbread said, or was supposed to say, in the House of
Commons, that a certain day was memorable to him as the anniversary
both of the establishment of his brewery and of the death of his
father, the metrical version of his speech placed his sentiments in a
more permanent form:--
"This day I will hail with a smile and a sigh,
For his beer with an _e_, and his bier with an _i_."
Some of the diplomatic documents which have been published tend to
justify the common opinion that Mr. Canning was liable to be misled by
his facility of composition and his love of epigram. On one occasion,
he wrote to Lord Granville, that he had forgotten to answer "the
impudent request of the Pope," for protection to his subjects against
the Algerine corsairs. He replies, with more point than relevancy,
"Why does not the Pope prohibit the African Slave Trade? It is carried
on wholly by Roman Catholic powers, and by those among them who
acknowledge most subserviently the power and authority of the court
of Rome.... Tell my friend Macchi, that so long as any power whom the
Pope can control, and does not, sends a slave-ship to Southern Africa,
I have not the audacity to propose to Northern Africans to abstain
from cruising for Roman domestics--indeed, I think them justified in
doing so." In a private conversation or a friendly letter, the fallacy
of the _tu quoque_ would have been forgotten in the appropriateness of
the repartee; but in a question of serious business, the argument was
absurd, and a diplomatic communication ought never to be insulting.
There might be little practical danger in affronting the Pope; but Mr.
Canning himself would have admitted, on reflection, that his witticism
could by no possibility conduce to the suppression of the Slave Trade.
Here is a more playful instance of humorous correspondence. When
Mr. Canning was forming his ministry, he offered Lord Lyndhurst the
Chancellorship, though he had recently attacked the new Premier in a
speech which was said to be borrowed from a hostile pamphlet, written
by Dr. Philpotts, Bishop of Exeter. Canning offered Lord Lyndhurst
the seals in a letter expressive of his goodwill, "_pace Philpotti_;"
and the answer of acceptance was signed, "Yours ever, except for
twenty-four hours."
Mr. Canning had a faithful college servant, who became much attached to
him. Francis, for such was his name, was always distinguished by his
blunt honesty and his familiarity with his master. During his master's
early political career, Francis continued to live with him. Mr.
Canning, whose love of fun was innate, used sometimes to play off his
servant's bluntness upon his right honourable friends. One of these,
whose honours did not sit very easily upon him, had forgotten Francis,
though often indebted to his kind offices at Oxford. Francis complained
to Mr. Canning that Mr. W. did not speak to him. "Pooh!" said Mr.
Canning, "it is all your fault; you should speak first: he thinks you
proud. He dines here to-day--go up to him in the drawing-room, and
congratulate him upon the post he has just got." Francis was obedient.
Surrounded by a splendid ministerial circle, Francis advanced to the
distinguished statesman, with "How d'ye do, Mr. W. I hope you're very
well--I wish you joy of your luck, and hope your place will turn out
a good thing." The roar of course was universal. The same Francis
afterwards obtained a comfortable berth in the Customs, through his
kind master's interest. He was a stanch Tory. During Queen Caroline's
trial, he met Mr. Canning in the street. "Well Francis, how are you?"
said the statesman, who had just resigned his office, holding out his
hand. "It is not well, Mr. Canning," replied Francis, refusing the
pledge of friendship--"It is not well, Mr. Canning, that you should say
anything in favour of that ----." "But, Francis, political differences
should not separate old friends--give me your hand." The sturdy
politician at length consented to honour the ex-minister with a shake
of forgiveness. It is said that Mr. Canning did not forget him when he
returned to power.
Canning and Lord Eldon were, in many respects, "wide as the Poles
asunder," although they were in the same administration. Mr. Stapleton,
in his _George Canning and his Times_, publishes a curious letter
written in 1826 to Lord Eldon, who exhibited his unconcealed dislike
to his brilliant and liberal colleague by steadily refusing to place
any part of his vast patronage at his disposal. Complying with the
importunity of Mr. Martin, of Galway, Mr. Canning formally transmitted
a letter of application, reminding the Chancellor at the same time
that in twenty-five years he had made four requests for appointments;
"with one of which your lordship had the goodness to comply." The
letter was placed in the private secretary (Mr. Stapleton's) hands,
with directions to copy it and forward it immediately; but knowing the
state of parties in the cabinet, and seeing that the letter had been
written under the influence of irritation, Mr. Stapleton undertook
the responsibility of keeping it back. A few hours afterwards, Mr.
Stapleton said to Mr. Canning, "I have not sent your letter to old
Eldon." "Not sent it," he angrily inquired; "and pray why not?" Mr.
Stapleton replied, "Because I am sure that you ought to read it over
again before you send it." "What do you mean?" Mr. Canning sharply
replied. "Go and get it." Mr. Stapleton did as he was bid; Mr.
Canning read it over, and then a smile of good-humour came over his
countenance. "Well," he said, "you are a good boy. You are quite right;
don't send it. I will write another."
When his obstinate old enemy stood beside him at the Duke of York's
funeral, in St. George's Chapel, Mr. Canning became uneasy at seeing
the old man standing on the cold, bare pavement. Perhaps he was more
uneasy because he knew he was unfriendly; so to prevent the cold damp
of the stones from striking though his shoes, he made him lay down his
cocked hat, and stand upon it; and when at last he got weary of so
much standing, he put him in a niche of carved wood-work, where he was
just able to stand upon wood. Unfortunately, although the tough old
Chancellor was saved by his constitution and his hat, Mr. Canning's
health received, through the exposure to cold, a shock from which he
never recovered. A few days afterwards he paid a last visit to Lord
Liverpool, at Bath, and on the plea of entertaining Mr. Stapleton, as a
young man, with the stories of their early years, they went on amusing
each other by recounting all sorts of fun and adventure, which were
evidently quite as entertaining to the old as to the young. The picture
of the two time-worn ministers laughing over the scenes of their youth
must have been a treat.