Who, with genius, wit, learning, life's trophies to win,
Had neither great lord nor rich cit of his kin,
Nor discretion to set himself up as to tin;
So, his portion soon spent, like the poor heir of Lynn--
He turned author ere yet there was beard on his chin,
And, whoever was out, or whoever was in,
For your Tories his fine Irish brains he would spin;
Who received prose and rhyme with a promising grin--
"Go a-head, you queer fish, and more power to your fin,"
But to save from starvation stirred never a pin.
Light for long was his heart, though his breeches were thin,
Else his acting for certain was equal to Quin;
But at last he was beat, and sought help of the bin
(All the same to the doctor, from claret to gin),
Which led swiftly to jail, and consumption therein.
It was much, when the bones rattled loose in the skin,
He got leave to die here, out of Babylon's din.
Barring drink and the girls, I ne'er heard a sin:
Many worse, better few, than bright, broken Maginn.
It is not generally known that Dr. Maginn wrote for Knight and Lacey,
the publishers, in Paternoster Row, a novel embodying the strange story
of the Polstead murder, in 1828, under the title of the _Red Barn_.
The work was published anonymously, in numbers, and by its sale the
publishers cleared many hundreds of pounds. Dr. Maginn's learned and
witty essays, in verse and prose, scattered over our monthly magazines
during nearly a quarter of a century, merit collective republication.
Talking of odd epitaphs, that upon Beazeley, the architect and
dramatist, was written, or rather spoken, by Theodore Hook, as
follows:--
"Here lies Sam Beazeley,
Who lived hard and died easily."
Greenwich Dinners.
The Hon. Grantley Berkeley, in his _Life and Recollections_, relates
some amusing anecdotes of these pleasant gatherings:--
"On two occasions," he says, "I remember that the late Lord Rokeby
went to Greenwich behind a pair of posters, and that in coming back
the postboy, excessively drunk, upset him on the road. He was much too
good-natured to insist on the man's discharge, and, perhaps because
he liked a glass of wine himself, he was inclined to forgive a lad
overcome by porter; so the carriage was righted and no notice taken of
the matter. It so happened that some time after, Lord Rokeby had again
to go to Greenwich, and when his carriage and pair of posters came to
the door, he saw in the saddle the same postboy who had brought him to
grief.
"'Oh, you're there, are you?' he said, in that dear, good-natured
way he had of speaking. 'Now mind, my good fellow, you had your
jollification last time; it's my turn now, so I shall get drunk, and
you must keep sober.'
"The postboy touched his hat in acquiescence with this reasonable
proposition; he brought back my friend in safety, at all events, and, I
dare say, in a very happy state of mind."
The writer also remembers a dinner at the Ship, where there were a
good many ladies, and when D'Orsay was of the party, during which his
attention was directed to a centre pane of glass in the bay window
over the Thames, where some one had written in large letters with a
diamond, D'Orsay's name in improper conjunction with a celebrated
German _danseuse_ then fulfilling an engagement at the Opera. With
characteristic readiness and _sang-froid_, he took an orange from a
dish near him, and making some trifling remark on the excellence of
the fruit, tossed it up once or twice, catching it in his hand again.
Presently, as if by accident, he gave it a wider cant, and sent it
through the window, knocking the offensive words out of sight into the
Thames.
Lord Pembroke's Port Wine.
Lord Palmerston (who, when in office, was accustomed to employ his
pleasantries as _paratonnerres_ for troublesome visitors), one day
related the following anecdote to a deputation of gentlemen who waited
upon him to urge the reduction of the Wine-duties. Referring to the
question of adulterations, "I remember," said his lordship, "my
grandfather, Lord Pembroke, when he placed wine before his guests,
said--'There, gentlemen, is my champagne, my claret, &c. I am no great
judge, and I give you this on the authority of my wine-merchant; but
I can answer for my port, for I made it myself.' I still have his
receipt, which I look on as a curiosity; but I confess I have never
ventured to try it."
The following is Lord Pembroke's veritable receipt:--Eight gallons
of genuine port wine, forty gallons of cider, brandy to fill the
hogsheads. Elder-tops will give it the roughness, and cochineal
whatever strength of colouring you please. The quantity made should not
be less than a hogshead: it should be kept fully two years in wood, and
as long in bottle before it is used.
A tremendous Bowl of Punch.
We find the following recorded upon the sober authority of the veteran
_Gentleman's Magazine_:--
On the 25th of October, 1694, a bowl of punch was made at the
Right Hon. Edward Russell's house, when he was Captain-General
Commander-in-Chief of his Majesty's forces in the Mediterranean Sea.
It was made in a fountain in a garden in the middle of four walks, all
covered overhead with orange and lemon-trees; and in every walk was a
table, the whole length of it covered with cold collations, &c. In the
said fountain were the following ingredients, namely:--
4 hogsheads brandy.
25,000 lemons.
20 gallons lime-juice.
1,300 weight of fine white Lisbon sugar.
5lbs. grated nutmegs.
300 toasted biscuits.
One pipe of dry mountain Malaga.
Over the fountain was a large canopy to keep off the rain, and there
was built on purpose a little boat, wherein was a boy belonging to
the fleet, who rowed round the fountain and filled the cups for the
company; and, in all probability, more than 6,000 men drank thereof.
[Illustration]
_MISCELLANEA._
Long Sir Thomas Robinson.
There were two Sir Thomas Robinsons alive at the same time. The one
above mentioned was called _Long_ as a distinguishing characteristic.
Some one told Lord Chesterfield that _Long_ Sir Thomas Robinson was
very ill. "I am sorry to hear it."--"He is dying by inches."--"Then it
will be some time before he dies," was the answer.
One of Sir Thomas Robinson's freaks was to go to Paris in his hunting
suit, wearing a postilion's cap, a tight green jacket, and buckskin
breeches. In this strange dress he joined a large company at dinner;
when a French abbé, unable to restrain his curiosity, burst out with,
"Excuse me, sir, are you the famous Robinson Crusoe so remarkable in
history?"
Lord Chesterfield's Will.
The will of the celebrated Lord Chesterfield contains this
prelude:--"Satiated with the pompous follies of this life, of which
I have had an uncommon share, I would have no posthumous ones
displayed at my funeral, and therefore desire to be buried in the next
burying-place to the place where I shall die, and limit the whole
expense of my funeral to 100_l._" Shortly after comes the following
clause:--"The several devises and bequests hereinbefore and hereinafter
given by me to and in favour of my said godson, Philip Stanhope, shall
be subject to the condition and restriction hereinafter mentioned--that
is to say, that in case my said godson, Philip Stanhope, shall at any
time hereafter keep or be concerned in the keeping of any race-horse
or race-horses, or pack or packs of hounds, or reside one night at
Newmarket, that infamous seminary of iniquity and ill-manners, during
the course of the races there, or shall resort to the said races, or
shall lose in any one day at any game or bet whatsoever the sum of
500_l._, then, and in any of the cases aforesaid, it is my express will
that he, my said godson, shall forfeit and pay out of my estate the sum
of 5,000_l._ to and for the use of the Dean and Chapter of Westminster,
for every such offence or misdemeanour as is above specified, to be
recovered by action for debt in any of his Majesty's courts of record
at Westminster." The will entails a similar penalty on the letting of
Chesterfield House. The late Lord Chesterfield, who was son of the man
on whom these liabilities were imposed, certainly let Chesterfield
House; and had, we will venture to say, passed some nights at the
"infamous seminary of iniquity and ill-manners." His ancestor vested
the infliction of the penalty in the reverend hands of the Dean and
Chapter, to mark, by a sort of Parthian dart, his sense of the grasping
spirit he considered they had evinced in their dealings with him
respecting the land on which his house was built, and to show what a
rigid enaction of the penalty imposed he anticipated from such sharp
practitioners.
An Odd Family.
In the reign of William III., there resided at Ipswich a family which,
from the number of peculiarities belonging to it, was distinguished
by the name of the "Odd Family." Every event remarkably good or bad
happened to this family on an odd day of the month, and every member
had something odd in his or her person, manner, or behaviour. The
very letters in their Christian names always happened to be an odd
number: the husband's name was Peter, and the wife's name Raboh: they
had seven children, all boys, _viz._ Solomon, Roger, James, Matthew,
Jonas, David, and Ezekiel: the husband had but one leg, his wife but
one arm: Solomon was born blind of one eye, and Roger lost his sight
by accident; James had his left ear bit off by a boy in a quarrel, and
Matthew was born with only three fingers on his right hand; Jonas had
a stump foot, and David was hump-backed. All these, except the latter,
were remarkably short, while Ezekiel was six feet one inch high at
the age of nineteen; the stump-footed Jonas and the hump-backed David
got wives of fortune, but no girls in the borough would listen to the
addresses of their brothers. The husband's hair was as black as jet,
and the wife's remarkably white; yet every one of the children's hair
was red. The husband was killed by accidently falling into a deep pit
in the year 1701; and his wife refusing all kinds of sustenance, died
five days after him, and they were buried in one grave. In the year
1703, Ezekiel enlisted as a grenadier; and although he was afterwards
wounded in twenty-three places, he recovered. Roger, James, Matthew,
Jonas, and David, it appears by the church registers, died in different
places, and were buried on the same day, in the year 1713; and Solomon
and Ezekiel were drowned together in crossing the Thames in the year
1723. Such a collection of odd circumstances never occurred before in
one family.--_Clarke's Account of Ipswich._
An Eccentric Host.
Lady Blessington used to describe Lord Abercorn's conduct at the Priory
at Stanmore as very strange. She said it was the most singular place
on earth. The moment any persons became celebrated they were invited.
He had a great delight in seeing handsome women. Everybody handsome he
made Lady Abercorn invite; and all the guests shot, hunted, rode, or
did what they liked, provided they never spoke to Lord Abercorn except
at table. If they met him they were to take no notice. At this time,
_Thaddeus of Warsaw_ was making a noise. "Gad!" said Lord Abercorn, "we
must have these Porters. Write, my dear Lady Abercorn." She wrote. An
answer came from Jane Porter, that they could not afford the expense
of travelling. A cheque was sent. They arrived. Lord Abercorn peeped
at them as they came through the hall, and running by the private
staircase to Lady Abercorn, exclaimed, "Witches! my lady. I must be
off," and immediately started post, and remained away till they were
gone.
Quackery Successful.
Sir Edward Halse, who was physician to King George III., driving one
day through the Strand, was stopped by the mob listening to the oratory
of Dr. Rock, the famous quack, who, observing Sir Edward look out at
the chariot-window, instantly took a number of boxes and phials, gave
them to the physician's footman, saying, "Give my compliments to Sir
Edward--tell him these are all I have with me, but I will send him
ten dozen more to-morrow." Sir Edward, astonished at the message and
effrontery of the man, actually took the boxes and phials into the
carriage; on which the mob, with one consent, cried out, "See, see, all
the doctors, even the King's, buy their medicines of him!" In their
young days, these gentlemen had been fellow-students; but Rock, not
succeeding in regular practice, had metamorphosed himself into a quack.
In the afternoon, he waited on Sir Edward, to beg his pardon for having
played him such a trick; to which Sir Edward replied, "My old friend,
how can a man of your understanding condescend to harangue the populace
with such nonsense as you talked to day? Why, none but fools listen
to you."--"Ah! my good friend, that is the very thing. Do you give me
the _fools_ for my patients, and you shall have my free leave to keep
the people of sense for your own." Sir Edward Halse used to divert his
friends with this story, adding, "I never felt so like a fool in my
life as when I received the bottles and boxes from Rock."
The Grateful Footpad.
It is related of Jerry Abershawe, the notorious footpad, that on a dark
and stormy night in November, after having stopped every passenger
on the Wandsworth road, being suddenly taken ill, he stopped at his
old haunt, the Bald-faced Stag public-house, when his comrades sent
to Kingston for medical assistance, and Dr. William Roots, then a
very young man, attended. Having bled him, and given the necessary
advice, the doctor was about to return home, when his patient, with
much earnestness, said, "You had better, sir, have some one to go back
with you, as it is a very dark and lonesome journey." This, however,
the doctor declined, observing that he had "not the least fear, even
should he meet with Abershawe himself," little thinking to whom he was
making this reply. It is said that the footpad frequently alluded to
this scene, with much comic humour. His real name was Louis Jeremiah
Avershawe. He was tried at Croydon for the murder of David Price, a
Union Hall officer, whom he had killed with a pistol-shot, and at the
same time wounded a second officer with another pistol. In this case
the indictment was invalidated by some flaw; but having been tried and
convicted, for feloniously shooting at one Barnaby Turner, he was hung
in chains, on Wimbledon Common, in August, 1795.
A Notoriety of the Temple.
Through reverses at law, how many persons has melancholy marked for
her own. Miss Flight, the little lady who was always hovering about
the courts, and behaving eccentrically, was one of this class, known
to Dickens's readers. Doubtless, she was considered a mere pen-and-ink
sketch from fancy, but she was a fact, every inch of her. She would,
we know, stop the most learned judges that sit on the bench when in
full swing of their awful judgment. She would rise and shake her lean
weird fist at the embodiment of wisdom in horse-hair, and exclaim, "Oh,
you vile man! oh, you wicked man! Give me my property! I will issue a
_mandamus_, and have your _habeas corpus_!" And having continued in
a like fashion for a minute or two, she would bind up her papers in
"red tape"--at least, tape that had once been red, and had followed
her dirty fortunes for years--and either subside into the seat granted
her beside the barristers or depart triumphant from court. No usher
had dared exclaim "Silence!" or send forth the hush of the cackling
animal peculiar to that official. No barrister had nudged her under
the fourth rib, as he might have done another, and would have done
had she been fairer. And the learned Judge, sitting patiently till
the end, with a mild perspiration only rising on the tip of the nose
to show that he was in any way put out, would then, as if nothing had
occurred, resume the thread of his learned judgment, to be appealed
against, perhaps, soon after. What the mystery is between Miss Flight
and the Bar no one can tell. She may have been the embodiment of a
peculiar wrong, and have appeared in the eyes of the bewigged as a sort
of ghost threatening the evil doers with the shades. Perhaps she was
pensioned merely out of some stray idea of benevolence. We scarcely
thought of that in connection with the object of our comment, and yet
to a certain extent it may be true, as she received from the right
learned Middle Temple a sum of shillings per week, which she added to
a sum of shillings received from the right learned Inner Temple, and
so she supported life. But why the learned of the law gave something
for nothing, and were afraid of and respectful to the little woman,
let no man enquire. The little woman's soul has, however, flitted,
and we can say that, after all, the few young lawyers who know nought
of her history will send after her whither she has gone a word of
regret.--_Court Journal._
A Ride in a Sedan.
From a house in Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, the beautiful
Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, and the other fair and high-born
women who canvassed for Charles James Fox, used to watch the humours
of the Westminster election. Pitt writes to Wilberforce on the 8th
of April, 1784, "Westminster goes on well, in spite of the Duchess
of Devonshire, and the other women of the people; but when the poll
will close is uncertain." Hannah More, as appears from the date of her
letters, resided at one period in Henrietta Street, and in one of them
we find an amusing account of an adventure which she met with during
the Westminster election. To one of her sisters she writes:--"I had
like to have got into a fine scrape the other night. I was going to
pass the other evening at Mrs. Coles's, in Lincoln's Inn Fields. I went
in a chair. They carried me through Covent Garden. A number of people,
as I went along, desired the man not to go through the garden, as there
were an hundred armed men, who suspected every chairman belonged to
Brookes's, and would fall upon us. In spite of my entreaties the men
would have persisted, but a stranger, out of humanity, made them set me
down, and the shrieks of the wounded, for there was a terrible battle,
intimidated the chairmen, who were at last prevailed upon to carry me
another way. A vast number of people followed me, crying out, 'It is
Mrs. Fox: none but Mr. Fox's wife would dare to come into Covent Garden
in a chair; she is going to canvass in the dark!' Though not a little
frightened, I laughed heartily at this, but shall stir out no more in a
chair for some time."
[Illustration: Lord Eldon. "Old Bags" after H. B.]
Mr. John Scott (Lord Eldon) in Parliament.
Mr. Scott broke ground in Parliament in opposition to the famous East
India Bill, and began with his favourite topic, the honesty of his
own intentions, and the purity of his own conscience. He spoke in
respectful terms of Lord North, and more highly still of Mr. Fox; but
even to Mr. Fox it was not fitting that so vast an influence should be
entrusted. As Brutus said of Cæsar--
"---- he would be crown'd!
How that might change his nature,--there's the question."
It was an aggravation of the affliction he felt, that the cause of it
should originate with one to whom the nation had so long looked up;
a wound from him was doubly painful. Like Joab, he gave the shake of
friendship, but the other hand held a dagger, with which he despatched
the constitution. Here Mr. Scott, after an apology for alluding to
sacred writ, read from the book of Revelation some verses which he
regarded as typical of the intended innovations in the affairs of the
English East India Company:--"'And I stood upon the sand of the sea,
and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten
horns, and upon his horns ten crowns. And they worshipped the dragon
which gave power unto the beast; and they worshipped the beast, saying,
Who is like unto the beast? who is able to make war with him? And there
was given unto him a mouth speaking great things; and power was given
unto him to continue forty and two months.' Here," says Mr. Scott, "I
believe there is a mistake of six months--the proposed duration of the
bill being four years, or forty-eight months. 'And he caused all, both
small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in
their right hand, or in their foreheads.'--Here places, pensions, and
peerages are clearly marked out.--'And he cried mightily with a strong
voice, saying, Babylon the Great'--plainly the East India Company--'is
fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold
of every foul spirit, and the cage of every unclean and hateful bird.'"
He read a passage from Thucydides to prove that men are more irritated
by injustice than by violence, and described the country crying out for
a respite, like Desdemona--
"Kill me to-morrow--let me live to-night--
But half-an-hour!"
This strange jumble was well quizzed by Sheridan, and Mr. Scott appears
to have found out that rhetorical embellishment was not his line; for
his subsequent speeches are less ornate.
In the squibs of the period, their obscurity forms the point of the
jokes levelled at him. Thus, among the pretended translations of Lord
Belgrave's famous Greek quotation, the following couplet was attributed
to him:--
"With metaphysic art his speech he plann'd,
And said--what nobody could understand."
A Chancery Jeu-d'Esprit.
Sir John Leach was a famous leader in Chancery in his day; afterwards
Vice-Chancellor, and finally Master of the Rolls.
"Nor did he change, but kept in lofty place"
the character assigned to him by Sir George Rose in a _jeu-d'esprit_,
the point of which has suffered a little in the hands of Lord Eldon's
biographers, Mr. Twiss and Lord Campbell. The true text, we know from
the highest authority, ran thus:--
"Mr. Leech
Made a speech,
Angry, neat, and wrong;
Mr. Hart,
On the other part,
Was right, and dull, and long.
Mr. Parker
Made the case darker,
Which was dark enough without;
Mr. Cooke
Cited a book,
And the Chancellor said, 'I doubt.'"
Mr. Twiss good-naturedly suggests that "Parker" was taken merely for
the rhyme; but we are assured that this was not so, and that the verses
represent the actual order and _identities_ of the argument. By the
favour of the accomplished author we are enabled to lay before our
readers his own history of this production. "In my earliest years at
the Bar, sitting idle and listless rather than listening, on the back
benches of the court, Vesey, junior, the reporter, put his notebook
into my hand, saying, 'Rose, I am obliged to go away. If anything
occurs, take a note for me.' When he returned, I gave him back his
notebook, and in it the fair report, in effect, of what had taken place
in his absence; and of course thought no more about it. My short report
was so far _en règle_, that it came out in _numbers_, though certainly
_lege solutis_. It was about four or five years afterwards--when
I was beginning to get into business--that I had a motion to make
before the Chancellor. Taking up the paper (the _Morning Chronicle_),
at breakfast, I there, to my surprise and alarm, saw my unfortunate
report. 'Here's a pretty business!' said I; 'pretty chance have I,
having thus made myself known to the Court as satirizing both Bench and
Bar.' Well, as Twiss truly narrates, I made my motion. The Chancellor
told me to 'take nothing' by it, and added, 'and, Mr. Rose, in this
case, the Chancellor does not doubt.' But Twiss has not told the whole
story. The anecdote, as he left it, conveys the notion of a taunting
displeased retaliation, and reminds one of the Scotch judge, who, after
pronouncing sentence of death upon a former companion whom he had found
it difficult to beat at chess, is alleged to have added, 'And now,
Donald, my man, I've checkmated you for ance!'