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THE
COLLECTED WORKS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT
IN TWELVE VOLUMES
VOLUME TWO
_All rights reserved_
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
_Thomas Holcroft._
_From the painting by John Opie, R.A. in the National Portrait
Gallery_
]
THE COLLECTED WORKS OF
WILLIAM HAZLITT
EDITED BY A. R. WALLER
AND ARNOLD GLOVER
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
W. E. HENLEY
❦
Memoirs of Thomas Holcroft
Liber Amoris
Characteristics
❦
1902
LONDON: J. M. DENT & CO.
McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.: NEW YORK
Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, (late) Printers to Her Majesty
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
PAGE
MEMOIRS OF THOMAS HOLCROFT vii
LIBER AMORIS 283
CHARACTERISTICS 351
NOTES 421
MEMOIRS OF THE LATE THOMAS HOLCROFT
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
The _Memoirs of the late Thomas Holcroft, Written by Himself and
continued to the time of his death, from his diary, notes, and other
papers_, were published in three volumes (6⅜ × 3⅞), London, 1816,
_printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Paternoster-row_, by
J. M’Creery, Black Horse Court, Fleet Street. The division of the work
is explained in Hazlitt’s _Advertisement_. Vol. I. contains Book I. (Mr
Holcroft’s Narrative) and Book II.; Vol. II. contains Book III. and
seven chapters of Book IV., in the last chapter of which Mr Holcroft’s
Diary begins (June 22nd-July 18th, 1798); Vol. III. opens without any
reference to a ‘Book’ and heads the conclusion of the Diary (July 19th,
1798–March 12th, 1799) ‘Chap. I.’ In the present edition it has seemed
well to ignore this arbitrary ‘Chap. I.’ heading, to run the Diary
straight on, and to head Chap. II. in the 3rd vol. Chap. VIII., thus
completing Book IV. The remainder of Vol. III. after this chapter is
occupied by _Letters to and from the author_.
It will be seen that a delay of six years took place between the date of
Hazlitt’s _Advertisement_ and the publication of the volumes. Mr W. C.
Hazlitt writes: ‘These _Memoirs_ were never, in spite of all the lapse
of time, completely printed; only three volumes out of four were
printed.’ Every endeavour to find this fourth volume has failed. The
_Memoirs_ were reprinted, abridged, in Longman’s ‘Travellers’ Library,’
1852. The present issue reproduces the first edition.
ADVERTISEMENT
Mr Holcroft had intended, for several years before his death, to write
an account of his own life. It is now only to be regretted that he did
not begin to execute this design sooner. Few lives have been marked with
more striking changes; and no one possessed the qualities necessary for
describing them with characteristic liveliness in a greater degree than
he did. It often happens, that what we most wish done, we fail to do,
either through fear lest the execution should not answer our
expectations, or because the pleasure with which we contemplate a
favourite object at a distance, makes us neglect the ordinary means of
attaining it. This seems to have been the case with Mr Holcroft, who did
not begin the work he had so long projected, till within a short time of
his death. How much he had it at heart, may however be inferred from the
extraordinary pains he then took to make some progress in it. He told
his physicians that he did not care what severity of treatment he was
subjected to, provided he could live six months longer to complete what
he had begun. By dictating a word at a time, he succeeded in bringing it
down to his fifteenth year. When the clearness, minuteness, and
vividness of what he thus wrote, are compared with the feeble,
half-convulsed state in which it was written, it will be difficult to
bring a stronger instance of the exertion of resolution and firmness of
mind, under such circumstances. The whole of this account is given
literally to the public. This part comprises the first seventeen
Chapters, or Book I. The remainder of the Life has been compiled from Mr
Holcroft’s Letters; from Journals and other papers to which I had
access; from conversations with some of his early and most intimate
friends; and from passages in his printed works, relating to his own
history and adventures, pointed out to me by them. Some of the anecdotes
I have also heard mentioned by himself; but these are comparatively few.
I first became acquainted with Mr Holcroft about ten years ago; my chief
intercourse with him was within the last three or four years of his
life.
WILLIAM HAZLITT.
_January, 1810._
THE LIFE OF THOMAS HOLCROFT
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
[_This and the remaining Chapters of the first Book are in Mr Holcroft’s
own words._]
‘I was born in London, in Orange Court, Leicester Fields, on the 10th
day of December, 1745, old style; and was baptized and registered in St.
Martin’s church, where my name is erroneously written Howlcroft. In a
will of one of my uncle’s, which may be seen in Doctors’ Commons, the
name is spelt Houldecroft. From this it appears that our family did not
pay much attention to subjects of orthography, or think the manner in
which their name was spelt, a matter of importance.
‘Most persons, I believe, retain through life, a few strong impressions
of very early childhood. I have a recollection of being played with by
my parents, when very young, and of the extreme pleasure it gave me. On
another occasion, as I and one or two of my brothers or sisters were
playing in the court, and kneeling and peeping down a cellar window,
where there were some fowls, a shutter that belonged to the window, and
was fastened up, by some means or other got loose, and entirely cut off
one side of my sister Anne’s thumb;—a disaster never afterwards to be
forgotten. My father one day whipped me very severely for crying to go
to a school in the neighbourhood, where children were sent rather to
keep them out of the way, than to learn any thing. He afterwards ordered
an apprentice he had to take me to school. This apprentice was an
exceedingly hard-featured youth, with thick lips, wide mouth, broad
nose, and his face very much marked with the small-pox, but very kind
and good tempered. I perfectly remember his carrying me in my
petticoats, consoling me as we went, and giving me something nice to
eat. Perhaps I bear his features in mind the more accurately, because I
occasionally saw him afterwards, till I was seven or eight years old,
when he used to visit my father, who was then under misfortunes. He
seldom came without something kind to say, or good to give: but his last
and capital gift, too precious to be ever forgotten, consisted of two
small books. One was the History of Parismus and Parismenos, and the
other, of the Seven Champions of Christendom. These were to me an
inestimable treasure, that often brought the rugged, good natured Dick
to my remembrance, with no slight sense of obligation.
‘Till I was about six years old, my father kept a shoe-maker’s shop in
Orange Court; and I have a faint recollection that my mother dealt in
greens and oysters. After I became a man, my father more than once
pointed out the house to me: the back of it looks into the King’s Mews,
and it is now No. 13. My father was fond of speculation, and very
adventurous. I believe he had been set up in trade by my uncle John, who
lived several years, first as a helper, and afterwards as a groom in the
King’s stables; where, being an excellent economist, he saved money. For
a time, my father, through John’s influence, was admitted a helper in
the stables; but he did not continue there long, not having his
brother’s perseverance. How or when he procured the little knowledge of
shoe-making which he had, I do not recollect; though I have heard him
mention the fact. He was not bred to the trade. He and a numerous family
of his brothers and sisters all spent their infancy in _the field
country_; or, as I have heard him describe it, the most desolate part of
Lancashire, called Martin’s Muir, where my grand-father was a cooper; a
man, according to my father’s account, possessed of good qualities, but
passionate, and a dear lover of Sir John Barleycorn. My grandmother was
always mentioned by my father with very great respect.
‘At the period of which I speak, the west end of London swarmed with
chairmen; who, that they might tread more safely, had their shoes made
differently from those of other people; to which particular branch of
the trade my father applied himself with some success. But he was not
satisfied with the profits he acquired by shoe-making: he was very fond
of horses, and having some knowledge of them, he became a dealer in
them. Few persons but the great, at this time kept any sort of carriage.
It was common for those who wished to ride out, to hire a horse for the
day; and my father kept several horses for this purpose. If his word was
to be taken, they were such as were not very easily to be matched. The
praise he bestowed on them for their performances, and his admiration of
their make and beauty, were strong and continued. Young as I was, he
earnestly wished to see me able to ride. He had a beautiful poney (at
least so he called, and so I thought, it): but it was not more
remarkable for its beauty, than its animation. To hold it, required all
my father’s strength and skill; yet he was determined I should mount
this poney, and accompany him, whenever he took a ride. For this purpose
my petticoats were discarded; and as he was fonder of me than even of
his horses, nay, or of his poney, he had straps made, and I was buckled
to the saddle, with a leading rein fastened to the muzzle of the poney,
which he carefully held. These rides, with the oddity of our equipage
and appearance, sometimes exposed us to the ridicule of bantering
acquaintance; but I remember no harm that happened.
‘About the same time, my father indulged another whim; whether he was
led to it by any particular accident, I cannot tell. I must have been
about five years old, when he put me under the tuition of a player on
the violin, who was a public performer of some repute. Either parental
fondness led my father to believe, or he was flattered into the
supposition, that I had an uncommon aptitude for the art I had been put
to learn. I shall never forget the high praises I received, the
affirmation that I was a prodigy, and the assurances my teachers gave
that I should soon be heard in public. These dreams were never realized.
‘My father was under great obligations to my uncle John, and was afraid,
especially just at that time, of disobliging him. My uncle’s pride took
the alarm; and after marking his disapprobation, he asked with contempt,
“Do you mean to make a fiddler of the boy?” My practice on the violin
therefore ceased; and it is perhaps worth remarking, that, though I
could play so well before I was six years old, I had wholly forgotten
the art at the age of seven; for, after my master left me, I never
touched the instrument. In the days of my youthful distress, I have
sometimes thought, with bitter regret, of the absurd pride of my uncle.