I shall insert only two examples, which may shew the pointed felicity

with which Mr Holcroft has selected his traits of national character.

‘My wife,’ says Mr Holcroft, ‘was one day buying some fish; and while

she was undetermined, the girl said to her—“_Prenez cela, car votre mari

est un brave homme_.” My wife replied,—“_Oui, cela se peut bien; mais

comment savez-vous qu’il est un brave homme?_” “_C’est égal_,” answered

the girl, “_cela fait plaisir à entendre_.” This girl’s maxim is sound

morality wherever I have been in France.’ The difference between words

and things is certainly less marked in France than in England: how far

this is an advantage or a disadvantage, I do not, for my own part,

pretend to decide.

The other story is highly honourable to, as well as characteristic of

the French. Their humanity, whatever else we may think of it, costs them

less than it does the English.

‘A poor musician, who usually brought a small pianoforte in the

afternoon to the _Champs Elysées_, and played, that those who were

pleased might reward him by a trifle, having played in vain one evening,

was sorrowfully retiring home. He was seen by Elleviou, (a famous actor)

remarked, and questioned. The poverty and ill success of the wandering

musician moved the pity of the actor, who desired the instrument might

again be put down; and stepping aside, he said he would return

instantly. His wife and friend had passed on, and he brought them back.

It was nearly dark. Pradere, his friend, sat down to the pianoforte, and

accompanied Elleviou, who began to sing, to the astonishment of numbers

that were soon assembled. The men had drawn the hat over the brow:

Madame Elleviou put down her veil, and went round to collect; the

pleasingness of her manner, the little thankful curtsies she dropt to

all who gave, the whiteness of her hand, and the extraordinary music

they heard, rendered the audience so liberal, that she made several

_tours_, and none ineffectually. Elleviou, however, could not long

remain unknown; and finding themselves discovered, Madame Elleviou gave

all, and it was supposed, more than all, she had collected from the

crowd, to the poor musician: the sum amounted to thirty shillings; and

among the pence and halfpence there were crown pieces, which no doubt

were given by the actors. The feelings of the scene as the audience

dispersed, are not easily to be described. The unexpected relief,

afforded to the man who was departing so disconsolate, was great indeed:

but it was forgotten in the charming behaviour of those who relieved

him, in their almost divine music, and in the strangeness of the

adventure. The surrounding people were scarcely less moved; so kind an

act from a man in such high public estimation, excited more than

admiration; and the tears of gratitude, shed by the musician, drew

sympathizing drops from many of the spectators. This event gave birth to

two new musical pieces, which were both successful.’

This was certainly an action of which an Englishman is incapable, but to

which every Englishman will give his warmest tribute of applause. When

people dispute and cavil about one another’s actions, it is only because

there is something wrong or absurd on both sides.

The Travels through France, &c. were published by Phillips, and Mr

Holcroft received 1500_l._ for the copy-right.

After Mr Holcroft’s return from the Continent, in the summer of 1803,

almost the first undertaking in which he embarked was the establishment

of a printing-house, in connexion with his brother-in-law, Mercier. Mr

Holcroft found unexpected difficulties in this business, owing to the

want of sufficient capital to carry it on. Meeting also with many heavy

losses in publications which he undertook to print on his own account,

he found himself under the necessity, in order to satisfy the pressing

demands of his creditors, to dispose of the printing-office, having

previously obtained his partner’s consent to do so.

Mr Holcroft brought out six dramatic pieces while he was abroad, or

after his return to England: Deaf and Dumb, The Escapes, Hear both

Sides, a Tale of Mystery, the Lady of the Rock, and lastly, The

Vindictive Man. All of them, except the last, were successful.

Those which became the greatest favourites with the public, were, Deaf

and Dumb, and the Tale of Mystery, a melo-drama. Both of these are

certainly exquisite in their kind, but of the first it is not too much

to say, that it is one of the most beautiful and affecting stories that

ever was exhibited on any stage. It is taken from the French play of M.

Bouilly, which was itself founded on an incident in the life of the

famous Abbe de l’Epée, instructor of the Deaf and Dumb.

Julio, the heir of the lord of Harancour, who is born deaf and dumb, is

left an orphan, when he is only eight years old; and the helplessness of

his situation suggesting the possibility of getting rid of him, he is

taken from Thoulouse to Paris by his guardian and maternal uncle,

assisted by a servant in the family, and there lost in the streets at

night. Dupre, the accomplice of his uncle Darlemont, swears to his

death; and at their return home, Darlemont is invested with the estates

and honours of the house of Harancour. Meantime, poor Julio is found in

the streets of Paris in a coarse dress, which does not denote him to be

any thing but a beggar; and it being discovered that he is deaf and

dumb, he is taken to the asylum of the Abbe de l’Epée for children who

are born with this defect. The melancholy observed in his countenance

and manner, the delicacy of his complexion, and other circumstances,

soon lead to a suspicion that he is the child of rich parents, and has

been purposely lost by some person who wished to usurp his rights. He is

taught the use of artificial signs, and learns to read and write. One

day being with De l’Epée, when a judge is passing by dressed in his full

robes, Julio is violently agitated, and makes signs to his instructor,

that his father used to be dressed in this manner. Another time, passing

through the Barriere d’Enfer, the recollection suddenly struck him that

this was the very gate through which he entered Paris. This produced a

conviction in the mind of L’Epée that he came from some city in the

south of France, of which in all likelihood his father had been chief

magistrate. Yet how to proceed in his behalf? The youth had never heard

his father’s name, he did not know his family, or the place of his

birth. After some ineffectual researches, De l’Epée resolves at last to

take his pupil with him, and traverse in person and on foot the whole of

the south of France. They embrace each other, invoke the protection of

heaven, and set forward. After a journey, long, fatiguing, hopeless,

they at length arrive at the gates of Thoulouse. Julio knows the place,

seizes his benefactor’s hand, and uttering wild cries of joy, leads him

quickly, here and there, through various quarters of the city. At last

they come to the square in which the palace of Harancour stood; he

stops, points to the mansion, shrieks, and falls senseless into the arms

of L’Epée. This is the foundation of the story, the rest may be easily

divined by the reader.—The Vindictive Man was the last, and certainly

not the best of Mr Holcroft’s dramatic productions. It was condemned at

Drury-lane. From the state of his circumstances at the time, this

failure was felt as a severe blow, by the author. With what feelings he

bore it, may be learned from a short, but beautiful dedication of the

play to Miss Holcroft.

‘TO MY DAUGHTER FANNY.

‘To you, my dear, I inscribe this comedy, because you approved, nay, was

partial enough to admire the scenes, progressively, as they were

written, and the play, when it became a whole. I inscribe it to you,

because you have dedicated your talents, by your literary efforts, to

the cause of morality, and have need of that patient resignation to

which every writer is doomed. I inscribe it to you, and in this sense to

my whole family, with sympathetic tenderness, as a solitary testimony of

true and ardent affection: as such, I am well persuaded you will all

receive it, though it has been publicly condemned. You will remember the

giver; and the gift, though barren, will be welcome.’

Besides the plays which have been enumerated, Mr Holcroft, after his

return to England, published ‘the Theatrical Recorder,’ in two volumes,

a small volume of Poems, called ‘Tales in Verse,’ and the novel of

‘Brian Perdue.’

Mr Holcroft, at the time of the failure of his last play, had several

dramatic, as well as other manuscripts in hand, which, had he been

allowed to finish them, would have easily relieved him from his

temporary embarrassments. He had however a young and increasing family

to maintain; and the ill health, with which he had long struggled, now

encreased fast upon him, and rendered all his efforts vain.

Mr Holcroft had, for nearly a year, been so much troubled with an

asthma, as to render walking difficult to him. He was not, however,

confined to his house till about half a year before his death. His

disorder was violent spasms, accompanied with spitting of blood, and an

enlargement of the heart, occasioned, as was supposed, by continual

anxiety. It was during the two last months of his illness, when he could

no longer rise from his bed, and when every effort to speak was almost

convulsive, that he dictated the account of his own life, which has been

inserted in the beginning of these volumes. Let it remain a proof of the

energy of his character, and of that superiority of the mind over the

body, which was one of his strongest sentiments. Through the whole time

he discovered a fortitude in suffering, which has rarely been equalled:

nor did he till the very last relinquish the hopes of recovering. If any

thing could exceed the patient courage with which he passed through this

trying scene, it was the affectionate, unwearied assiduity with which

Mrs. Holcroft attended him night and day, through the whole. For the

last six weeks, she scarcely once quitted his bed-side for a quarter of

an hour together. The task was one, to which duty and affection were

alone equal. In any other circumstances, her strength would have failed

under such exertions: but Mr Holcroft was not satisfied unless she was

with him, and that consideration prevailed over every other. Colonel

Harwood, his son-in-law, was with him from the Sunday evening before he

died; on which day, his physicians, Dr. Buchan and Dr. Hooper, had given

him over. Many of the following particulars are taken from Colonel

Harwood’s account.

There was not the shortest interval in which he was not in complete

possession of himself. The only slight indication to the contrary was

that he once said to the Colonel, ‘I have great difficulty sometimes in

rousing my mind; therefore, if at any time I stop in speaking to you, do

you remember my last word, and join it to the next that I shall

afterwards say to you.’ This however rather implied his strong efforts

to preserve his intellects, than the failure of them. His stopping at

any time in the midst of a sentence appeared to be always owing to the

difficulty of articulation, rather than the loss of memory. When he was

so far gone, that it was difficult to understand him, he desired those

who were with him to repeat his words, that he might be sure they were

heard, and then nodded assent.

On Sunday he expressed a wish to see Mr Godwin, but when he came, his

feelings were overpowered. He could not converse, and only pressed his

hand to his bosom, and said, ‘My dear, dear friend!’ On Monday, he again

wished to see Godwin, and all his friends that could be sent to: but he

had not strength sufficient to hold a conversation: he could only take

an affectionate leave, and then he said, he had nothing more to do in

this world. He afterwards frequently spoke, or moved his lips, as taking

a most affectionate leave. A little before he died, he called for wine,

and refused it from every hand that held it to him, till his eldest

daughter took it into hers, he then bowed his head to her, and drank it;

thus, in some way or other, shewing signs of regard to all, till his

last moments approached. Hearing a noise of children on the stairs, he

said to his wife, ‘Are those _your_ children, Louisa?’ as if he was

already disengaged from human ties. On Thursday night, about half past

eleven, he seemed in great pain, and said to Mrs. Holcroft, ‘_How

tedious_, My affections are strong.’ It was thought from this that it

would be a relief to his feelings, that they should retire: they all

went into the next room, Colonel Harwood still keeping his eye upon him;

but seeing his struggles increase, and being desirous to spare his wife

and daughter a sight they could not have borne, he returned into the

bedroom, and gradually shut and fastened the doors, which Mr Holcroft

observing, shewed evident signs of satisfaction. And seeming then

easier, he smiled, and fixing his eyes on his friend, took them no more

from him, till they were closed for ever.—Thus died a great and good

man, who shewed in the last and most trying scene of all the same

firmness of mind, and warmth of affection, which had distinguished him

through life.

Mr Holcroft died on Thursday, the 23rd of March, 1809, at the age of 63.

The following is the report which Dr. A. P. Buchan, and Mr A. Carlisle,

favoured Colonel Harwood with, who also attended the examination.

‘_London, March 24th, 1809._

‘_Statement of the Anatomical Inspection of Mr Thomas Holcroft, aged

63._

‘The examination took place twenty-four hours after decease. The body

was considerably emaciated, and slightly anasarcous throughout. An

extensive cicatrix at the upper part of the sternum, and at the junction

of the neck with the breast, indicated some long continued chronic

abscesses. The cavity of the abdomen contained about a pint of dropsical

water. The stomach, intestines, mesenteric glands, kidneys, and bladder,

were free from diseased structure. The liver was about twice the natural

bulk, hard and tuberculated on its surfaces. The peritoneal covering of

this viscous substance was marked by numerous opake spots, where the

membrane was drawn into folds, and this appearance seemed to

characterize a series of inflammations. The interior texture of the

liver was tuberculated. The gall-bladder was much distended. The outer

surface of the spleen had much of the appearance displayed by the liver.

The cavities of the thorax contained about two quarts of dropsical

water. The lungs were soft, and their air-cells free. The heart was

large, and bore the relaxed character which often occurs after a

long-continued laborious circulation. The coronary arteries had begun to

ossify. The arch of the aorta was dilated, approaching to aneurism, and

the texture of its coats had become hard and inelastic. The descending

aorta and the primary iliac arteries had become completely ossified in

several parts, and were unduly dilated. From the facts here adduced, it

may be considered, that the diseased structure of the liver, and of the

heart, and its principal arteries, led to the dropsy of the chest, which

might be the Immediate cause of death, although in a frame so

disorganized, life could not have been much longer protracted. Whether

the disease of the liver preceded that of the heart and its vessels, or

the contrary, and whether they were distinct diseases, and which of

these led most decidedly to the fatal event, are subjects for uncertain

speculation.’

LETTERS TO AND FROM THE AUTHOR

LETTER I

_To a Friend. 1799_

You, and many other of my friends, were informed of my motives for

quitting my native country, and residing some few years abroad: till

more peaceable times should again render that country to me what it once

was; admirable for its general industry, manners, and morality; and

undisturbed by the suspicions and persecutions, with which other

countries were, and too often still continue to be, afflicted. Nothing

but the strange terror which had seized the public mind could have

engendered that spirit of individual rancour so foreign to the English

character, which suddenly spread through the nation; and nothing but the

stupor of mind, under such an impulse, could have made me suspected as

one of the heads of the abominable Hydra, to extirpate which every

Englishman was summoned. The fear was itself ridiculous: but, in their

consequences, such fears have been fatal to many a worthy man.

I cannot recollect these things unmoved: neither can I hear various

false reports of my being obliged to quit England, and of my not being

suffered to return, without wishing that those who give them credit may

be undeceived. My departure from England was voluntary; as is my

absence. I cannot live in danger from Laws which I have not violated, or

power with which I do not contend. I carefully shun the acrimony of

political dispute, and the circles in which it is indulged. To the

utmost of the little ability I have, it is my desire to inform, with the

hopes of benefiting mankind; and this end cannot be attained by making

them angry. In action, heart, and principle, I am, or would become, the

friend of man. The only enemy I encounter is error; and that with no

weapon but words: my constant theme has been, let it be taught, not

whipped.

The letters I mean to address to you are intended for the public; and of

these facts I wish the public to be informed and reminded. You must not,

therefore, be surprised that I speak of them in this place. Whatever

fable may invent, or credulity believe, I pledge my veracity to the

world, that what I have above said is literally true: and may the world

treat my memory with that ignominy, which a falsehood so solemn and

gratuitous would deserve, if I prevaricate.

Avoiding the pursuit of this painful subject, the busy memory recurs to

another, equally ungrateful: I did not quit the circle of friends, in

whose intercourse I found so much benefit, and took so much delight, but

with the bitterness of regret. I could not sit in apathy; and see the

few effects I had collected become the scattered prey of brokers and

dealers; and chiefly my library, on which so much of my money and time

had been bestowed, squandered, twenty and more books in a lot: several

of them individually of greater worth than the price paid for the whole.

It seemed the dissolution of my social life; and something like the

entrance into a wild and savage state. What multitudes of such thoughts

did my afflicted heart suffer without giving them utterance! It would

but have communicated and increased affliction.

I wish not to dwell on these dark parts of the picture. Who quits the

country of his fathers without a sigh? Yet, who journeys forward to

lands unexplored without hopes of strange and unexpected pleasures? It

is a season full of apprehensive emotions, flutterings of the heart, and

hopes and fears too numerous to be defined. At least it is such to those

to whom travelling is not become a habit.

Some people have asked, why are books of travel so much read? It is

because they are so often entertaining. Customs, when they differ but

little from our own, seldom fail to excite our surprise, our laughter,

or our contempt. Without crossing the seas, a man who has the faculty of

noticing the remarkable, the whimsical, and the absurd, in his daily

walks at home, never fails to entertain, if he think proper to narrate

and to comment; and the traveller who wants this faculty of observation

journeys to little purpose, and is heard with little pleasure. He

sometimes even endeavours to falsify the true reports of his

predecessors; and to offer the dulness of his discernment as a proof of

his impartiality. Thus much by way of introduction.

LETTER II

Let us begin our journey; and whet your imagination to fill up the

narrative.

We were sufficient in number to occupy a small cabin; and various

reasons determined us to sail down the river, instead of posting by land

to Yarmouth. Wind and weather out of the question, he that depends on

the word of a captain, for the day that his vessel will be ready to

sail, will be deceived ninety-nine times in a hundred: a week of

additional latitude is often too little. Not thoroughly aware of this,

we left the polite parish of Mary-le-bone, and removed to the purlieus

of London-Bridge. How many thanks are due to our worthy and liberal

friend, G——, for the many invitations he gave us to his table, and the

pleasant urbanity with which we were there treated. But these, you well

know, are not the only acts of kindness for which we are indebted to

this free-hearted, worthy man.

About two days before we went on board, a sudden difficulty seemed to

start. We were told we should be stopped at Gravesend, if we had not a

passport. This seemed incredible: we inquired, and some affirmed, and

others denied the necessity of such a document. Could an Englishman want

a passport, to go wherever his business or his pleasure might invite

him, within the British domains, or to a neutral state? By many the idea

was scouted, and as it proved, justly. Yet others were so positive in

affirming the reverse, that I thought it prudent, for full security, to

go to Gravesend, and inquire.

It happened to be at the hour when the tide served, and the common

passage-boats were ready to sail; and, as this was a cheap, an

expeditious, and to me a novel conveyance, it was in every sense

acceptable. Those who have made the experiment, know with what

solicitations they have been invited to step on board first one boat and

then another. On this occasion, it happened that the Queen Charlotte,

and the Prince of Wales, were rivals: but, as I was first harangued by

the orator of the Charlotte, and had no other preponderating motive, the

right seemed to be in her; and I was escorted, with great eagerness and

civility, to my seat.

I had heard so much of Gravesend passengers, and the peculiar rhetoric

in which they indulge, that I thought it probable they would detect

something ridiculous in the cut of my coat, the colour of my hair, or

some other feature or appurtenance about me. I was not deceived. The

shortsightedness that obliges me to wear spectacles, has often subjected

me to the derision of the working community; who never suspect there can

be a rational motive for walking the streets with what they generally

regard as a badge of supreme folly. I had not taken my place five

seconds, before I saw the leer and the wink go round. The weather being

fine, every body was on deck; and the assumed gravity of my look, at

first checked risibility. But the pause was short. An impudent fellow

opposite to me, looking in my face, said—‘The next time I go to court, I

will get a saddle for my nose; because I see it is all the go.’—‘You had

better get a handle to your hat,’ said the man at the helm, whose

invitation to come on board I had followed; and who therefore, I

suppose, thought proper to be my champion. My assailant knew his man;

and, without noticing this retort continued.—‘I’ll ask my granny to

leave me her barnacles. Pray, Sir, how many candles may you see in the

dark, when only one is lighted?’ ‘How many fools did you meet, when you

last dipt your pate in a pail of water? Who gave you that coarse

net-work, to cover your face? Why did not you ask your wife to wash it

before you came out?’ [The man was scarred with pock-marks, and the

river tar continued.] ‘You’re a pretty fellow to hoist the slang-flag!

Where did you learn gull shooting? you are an apt scholar! You could eat

a giblet-pye before you could spell goose *****.’ Enough of these vulgar

but merry kind of combats. Would that the well-bred duellist were as

harmless!

I believe it was here I first remarked one of the many superstitious

habits of seamen; that of whistling for a wind. I find it is common to

them all; from the captain to the cabin-boy. The day was more calm than

either the passengers, or the boat-men wished; and, to beguile the time,

a man sang the beautiful ballad of Black-Eyed Susan. Having ended,

another told us a tragical tale, which the song no doubt had brought to

memory.

The mate of a ship had a sweetheart; who came on board the evening he

was to sail. She was a pretty girl, and deeply affected. Her love was

strong, or rather violent. Having drawn him aside, she told him, if they

parted, she was certain they should never meet again; and that she had

not the power to leave the ship. He remonstrated on the impossibility of

her stay; but she could listen to nothing but her passion, fears, and

forebodings. She wept, intreated, went on her knees; and, if he would

but consent, said she would hide herself in the forecastle, till the

ship should be under way. The mate, who could not comply, at length

reproved and left her in anger; while she threatened her own

destruction. He went below; and, not seeing her when he returned on

deck, he concluded she was gone. Alas! the poor agitated, and despairing

creature, had thrown herself over-board. She had done it unseen; and the

mate, immediately afterward perceiving that the boat in which she came

was waiting, began to inquire: but no one knew what was become of her.

He recollected her proposition to hide herself, and went in search:

certain, as he supposed, she had made the attempt. She was no where to

be found: his alarm increased; his cheeks became pale. One man said ‘he

had heard something fall into the water; and to be sure it must be she.

Who knew but she might have been thrown over-board?’ Suspicions arose:

the pallid hue and wild terror of the poor mate, gave them strength: he

was taken into custody, tried for the supposed murder, and in great

danger of suffering death; so strong did the circumstances against him

appear to be, in the opinion of his judges. One witness, however, was

very clear in his testimony, that he saw the mate go under hatches, and

leave the deceased on the deck; that he likewise saw him return; and

that it was during this interval, the accident must have happened: for

that he and others had accompanied the mate in his search to find her.

Thus the positive and accurate evidence of this witness, saved his

shipmate from an ignominious death.

The life of a man, in a court of law, depends upon a breath. Remember

it, you who sit in judgment on the lives of your fellow creatures!

Another told us how his cabin-boy (he was himself a sea-captain) jumped

over-board in a rough sea, to recover a mop; which he had accidentally

let fall. He succeeded; but it was at the risk of his life. ‘I asked

him,’ said the captain, ‘how he came to do such a thing? and the little

hell-spawn told me, “he was afraid I should _give him the cat_; if the

mop had been lost.”—I’ll give it you to some tune, lubber, said I, if

you do such a thing again.’—So much for a captain’s humanity. This is no

bad instance of the general despotism exercised on board of ships.

Fine writing will object to the coarseness of phraseology in this

letter; and, under other circumstances, I would not give fine writing

such cause of complaint: but, were it changed in this place, we should

no longer be in company with sea-captains and passengers from

Billingsgate in a Gravesend boat.

LETTER III

We parted during a calm, in my last; but remember we are not yet at

Gravesend. In wit, vulgar or refined, puns are more frequent agents than

wits generally suppose. Hearing a child cry in a woman’s arms, a sailor

exclaimed—‘So! We have a squall: we shall soon have a breeze.’—‘Yes,’

replied a second, ‘I hope another hand will be put to the bellows.’

It so happened that the punster was a prophet. The sails swelled; and

the steersman told us ‘we could not have a better wind, if we had bought

one.’ To which another added—‘he wished he could find the way to the

weather-office.’

I doubt if there be a nation existing more skilful and alert, on the

water, than the English. The Thames in particular, has vessels so

numerous, and of such various kinds, riding and traversing its waves in

such endless directions, that the unaccustomed eye is confused in its

attempts to distinguish and individualize the moving multitude. Ships,

snows, brigs, sloops, cutters, barges, lighters, boats, vessels of every

form and size, and from all regions of the Earth! My heart beat, while I

watched the dexterity with which they mutually shunned the shocks, that

at every returning moment, threatened each other with oversetting. Of

this we were once in danger. The steersman of a heavy barge, had his

attention called away, perhaps not three-seconds, from his duty; and it

was with the utmost exertion, and presence of mind, that the active

fellows on board the Charlotte kept her from running foul of the barge.

The danger past, they were enraged; and began to rate the barge-man:

who, angry with and ashamed of himself, bade them in a surly tone ‘mind

their own business.’ ‘You don’t mind yours,’ aptly retorted one of them.

‘I’ll be damned if you are he that set the Thames on fire.’

I was not a little amused by an itinerant bookseller, one of the

passengers; who opened his pocket, and spread his wares upon deck: and,

to astonish and invite customers, among other things, exhibited a small

quarto, on botany, with coloured plates; which, he told us, was for a

_surprising_ learned gentleman, at West Thurrock. (Apropos of Thurrock.

All book-men are addicted to etymology. Pray was this the rock of the

gothic god, Thor?) Among his literary treasures was a sixpenny

description of the passage, by water, from London to Gravesend; by the

erudite Bibliopole Pocock, of the latter place: from which, if you have

the patience to read it, you may discover how many reaches, or windings,

are in this traject. Pillaging this boatman’s history, and pointing to

the shore, our sagacious tradesman told us, ‘all those houses were built

in _one_ day’s time.’ The prevaricating knave ought to have given a

different emphasis; and have said “in one _day’s_ time.” But wit was

always a shuffling fellow, and seldom a friend to truth. The hawker’s

jocularity, from the same source, was next exerted on a church, of which

we had a prospect: which he said was as _light_ by night as it was by

day! Of the truth of which quaint pun the inventor had no doubt. Yet the

unvarying force of gravitation is not perhaps absolutely certain. But I

am now getting out of my depth; and will therefore hasten on shore to

Gravesend. In despite of the noble stream that washes the banks, this

said Gravesend is a dirty, disagreeable place; and for pitiful extortion

unrivalled. If you have but little money in your purse, or if you feel

indignation or sorrow, at beholding man in the daily practice of petty

theft, till the confirmed habit, makes him believe thieving to be

justice, and necessary to his happiness, arrange your affairs, so as to

make but a short stay at Gravesend. It was my good fortune to remain

there only one night. My journey was unnecessary: no pass was required.

But of this I was ignorant. The expense and trouble were trifling, the

characters and scene of action new, and the pain of uncertainty was

relieved. And now thank your benignant stars, that you have escaped from

a Gravesend-boat, and have only paid so trifling a tax on good sense,

and good manners. The potentate of the North, at whose breath all things

shake, having honoured a yatcht by his presence, issued an edict,

commanding that it should no longer remain a paltry yatcht, but become a

glorious frigate. Peter was not so great as Paul; for Peter could only

change a brown loaf into Banbury mutton.

LETTER IV

And now comes the day of departure: and now farewel for a time to

London, that hive of souls; itself the soul of Britain, the seat of

action, the city of great events! Farewel to many pleasures, and to many

pains! to friends in whom the heart delighted! to foes that persecuted

they knew not why! we go in search of better days.

Before we embark, suffer me to make an observation, and tell a story.

Fortune is a capricious jade; she flies from those who pursue; and

pursues those who shun her. The remark is old; but not, I believe, the

tale to which it leads.

In the town of Halberstadt, not long ago, there lived a tanner,

remarkable for having been made enormously rich against his will. During

the seven years’ war, the French, being at this place, had collected all

the cattle in the environs, the skins of which they had to sell. The

tanners of Halberstadt had but little power to buy, one alone excepted.

To him the French applied; but, not understanding speculation after a

certain quantity, he absolutely refused any more. Conquerors are not to

be trifled with; and finding that their persuasions, which indeed were

numberless, could not prevail, they resorted to the _argumentum

baculinum_, and the tanner was at last beat into compliance. It was

however under the condition that the other tanners would, at a fair

price, lend him their tan-pits; and for this the argumentative French

very readily undertook. The tanners were summoned, refused, and the

rhetoric of the bastinado was again employed. It was resistless; the

tanners let out their tan-pits. The tanner, who bought the hides at

one-sixth of their value, parted with the dollars he had been so

desirous to retain; and, in a few years afterward, became the wealthiest

tanner in Germany.

I will give you another example of the caprice of this said Madam

Fortune.

In Germany there are lotteries of various construction. Of one of these

the law is, that he who draws a first prize, a second, and a third,

shall the fourth time be one of the five that are to draw for the

capital lot of I know not how many thousand dollars. A cooper, who loved

to tap the barrels he hooped, bought a ticket, which came up a prize

once, twice, and thrice; but the foolish fellow was thirsty; and being

offered drink for the present, and money to buy more for a fortnight to

come, he could not resist the temptation, and sold his ticket, which was

a fourth time the fortunate number. He comforted himself with his can;

and made a second venture, with exactly the same good and ill success.

To another man this would have been horribly vexatious; but the jovial

cooper let it pass; and when the next lottery came, made another

purchase. The third time it had arrived at the third stage of winning,

and he was again on the point of parting with his chance. By something

of persuasion, and something of force, the reckless fellow was

prevented. ‘Fortune,’ said his friends, or perhaps his wife, though this

is the kind of husband a wife knows least how to manage, ‘Fortune

absolutely persecutes you to accept her favours: why do you so

perversely cast them from you?’ For once the sot heard reason; and the

doctrine of chances proved how dangerous it is to lay the long odds; for

the cooper’s ticket again gained the great prize.

From us Fortune is flying; and we are now in pursuit. The sequel will

shew how perverse a jade she is, and how determined not to be overtaken.

On the first of July, 1799, we went on board the Kennet, Captain

Thomson. All was confusion, all hurry. Barges, loaded with prodigious

bales, lay beside her; a dozen men were straining every nerve to raise

them over her side, and stow them between her ribs. It excited attention

and surprise to see these cumbrous packs wedged with such contrivance as

scarcely to leave a vacancy. Every thing that suppleness of limb, thews,

sinews and muscular force could effect, was in continual exertion. The

vessel was to fall down the river the next tide; which seemed

incompatible with the labour to be performed.

With what additional wonder do I recollect scenes like these in my

native country, having compared them with the inattention I since have

witnessed. Here every man was active and intelligent; and one even

supremely above the rest. Indeed it was prodigious. He was the mate; he

directed the whole; his eye was every where; and his arm seemed to work

miracles. He was full six feet high; and when the ponderous load seemed

to defy their collected strength, he came, applied his giant force, and,

at the first pull, it began to move. His agility was no less surprising,

and almost irreconcilable to such bulk; for his wrist would doubly

measure that of an ordinary man. His understanding was equal to his

bodily power; he instantly saw what was wrong, and the way in which it

was to be rectified. Give but his faculties another circle of action,

and an epic poet might have made this man his hero: yet he was but the

mate of a ship, subject to a captain who, though no fool, was far indeed

from his equal; and when I asked him if he did not mean to be a captain

himself, answered with a sigh—‘I wish, Sir, I may ever have so much good

fortune.’

In what a traverse and frequently ludicrous manner does accident arrange

the place and office of man, and the affairs of this poor world!

The mate’s name was Baird; and he and his commander were both Scotchmen.

In the invoice, he was written captain, and the captain supercargo; a

falsehood to which the infamous practice of pressing has given birth; a

mate, like a foremast man, being liable to be pressed.

When I came on board, and saw the work that was still to do, I concluded

it was impossible it should be accomplished. The mate himself doubted,

but hoped, and worked like legion. Yes; we were at Gravesend the next

day, where we were examined at the Alien Office; and on the evening of

the third, anchored at the Nore.

The ocean was before us; the evening was calm; the expanse vast; the

shores of Essex and of Kent were to the right and left; and the fleet

with which we were to sail, with our convoy, and the admiral’s ship that

guards the Nore, were all in view. The silence that reigned was suddenly

interrupted by the eight o’clock bell, that rang from vessel to vessel;

and, much more agreeably, by the admiral’s military band. We were at a

proper distance; and the music came so softened to our ears that it was

delightful.

The captain went on board our convoy; received his sailing instructions;

and the next morning the fleet, about thirty in number, was under weigh.

Owing to the closeness with which the ship was stowed, the decks were so

belumbered, that it required the catlike activity of a sailor to pass,

without a fall, to the forecastle. I supposed they were so to continue.

How much was I mistaken! No sooner was the business of setting the sails

performed, than the active Baird began a clearance. All hands were at

work; the hatches opened; room for stowage still was to be found; cables

were coiled; and, in less than half an hour, no signs of disorder or

incumbrance were to be seen. In some things, how full of caution is a

sailor! How active is he, and how orderly on the approach of storm or

battle! What contradictions are there in his habits! The least

appearance of defect in his shrouds, braces, or rigging, must be

repaired: his decks must be daily washed; to every thing that regards

the safety of the ship, the strictest attention must be paid. He must

not sleep more than four hours at a time, and never soundly: the least

alarm must bring him upon deck. His eye must alternately be upon the

watch; his apprehension of danger must never cease. Meanwhile, his own

convenience is utterly neglected. Being at sea, he puts on any dirty or

ragged jacket, sleeps upon boards or ropes, and feeds on the coarsest

fare. Our cook was half covered with grease and tar; his hands were

uncommonly large, and chapped; and he washed his dishes with a cable’s

end. It often happens that the sailor’s beef is half putrid, his butter

and cheese the same; his biscuits swarming with maggots; and his water

stinking. To this he is sometimes by necessity reduced; and the landsman

is astonished at the habits which such hard necessities have taught. But

a voyage to Hamburgh is seldom of so much severity; and the pampered

passenger as seldom goes to sea unprovided.

LETTER V

Our convoy was sluggish, and we were off the Norfolk coast on the fifth.

We gave it some few parting sighs, remembering the relations and friends

that were there; and who, perhaps, had they known the incident, would

have brought down their telescopes, to have taken a last view. Was it

affection or vanity that gave me this thought? Let it be permitted to

hope the best.

He that makes a voyage and meets with no adventures, using the common

phrase, must be greatly in or greatly out of luck; unless indeed we

suppose him fast asleep, which, with the convenience of a close

carriage, is the way that most travellers see the world. A watchman,

shut up in his box at midnight, without the aid of his candle and

lantern, sees it as well. We were willing to keep awake, and were not in

want of stimulants. I had been to sea before more than once, yet had

numberless things to remark: especially as I had never before sailed

with a convoy. The Kennet was a good sailer; but if we ran before our

guardian, we were liable to have a ten-pounder sent, with a possibility

of hitting us, as a warning order to _keep astern_. If we were too

close, the peril was that of _running foul_ of the ships _under the

Commodore’s lee_. If the weather _fell_ hazy, this danger increased. If

it was a calm, we must no less carefully keep our distance. Should you

have supposed that, being on the boundless ocean, you must always have

sea room enough, the above hints may help to rectify your mistake.

On the sixth, we were off the Texel; on the seventh saw Lord Duncan’s

fleet; and on the eighth were still upon the Dutch coast. I repeat what

the mariners and their charts told me; for I could not see land. The

sailing under the protection of cannon balls, the _look-out_ that was

kept for the approach of an enemy, and the hostile fleets of Britain

proudly riding on a threatened shore, inspired thoughts which——I will

take another time to tell you what these thoughts were. We caught

gurnels, a pretty but cruel warfare. The wretched animal was generally

an hour gasping for the medium in which, till then, he had breathed, and

dying with difficulty.

A more animating incident occurred. Perhaps you are ignorant that

smugglers, if pursued, will sink their cargoes of gin, and leave a buoy;

by the aid of which they are sometimes recovered. From one of these, as

it was supposed, a keg was seen to come swimming among the fleet. The

sight awakened two passions at once—drunkenness and ambition. To what

dangers do they expose the thirsty, the daring, and the rash! The fleet

was under sail; and the keg swam in a contrary direction. We perceived a

consultation was held on board a ship but little distant. In a moment,

one of the sailors began to strip. We watched his proceedings with

surprise and apprehension; we saw him plunge into the sea, and stem the

waves with such eagerness that it seemed impossible for his strength not

to be presently exhausted. How impatiently did the eye pursue him, his

head now hidden, and now seen dancing among the waves, till we could no

longer catch a glimpse. It was a fearful distance. There was something

so daring in the attempt, and so vigorous in the execution, that he

became a kind of hero; in whose dubious fate every heart was interested.

Meanwhile the sailors, who first discovered the prize in question, _lay

to_; that is, turned the ship so that the sails did not catch the winds:

and hoisted out their boat. In this they went in search of the swimmer

and the keg. We could not discover their proceedings; but we learned,

after their return, that the sailor had overtaken and seized the object

of his wishes; and they brought him and his prize once more on board of

the ship to which he belonged in triumph.

A rash action, when successful, never fails to be admired. To people who

live on shore, the remarks, language, and adventures of mariners are

often amusing. The answers, however, which the latter return to

passengers, are frequently surly, and expressive of contempt. Sailors, I

assure you, are as pragmatic, and full of pedantry, in their way, as any

Doctor the Universities can afford. Men are always surprised at, and

diverted by each other’s ignorance; forgetting their own.

The seaman, however, has a feature common to us all; he is pleased with

those who will listen to his complaints. One of our men told me how long

he had served on board a man of war, the sufferings he there endured,

and painted the despotism of naval officers, in the anecdotes he

related. A Captain, who perhaps had read Culpepper, or some such erudite

author, thought proper to physic his crew regularly once a month; and to

take care the doses he prescribed were actually swallowed. This was not

all; if the men were sick afterwards, they were put in the bilboes, to

convince them they were well; and one poor fellow, who was extremely

weak, was flogged for not running fast enough up the shrouds.

Another of these commanders having given a man three dozen lashes on the

starboard of the vessel, ordered him two dozen more on the larboard;

that, as he said, one side might not laugh at the other.

The man cited many more incidents of a like kind; adding, that when on

board a king’s ship, he many a time wished himself dead. Observe, I can

only be answerable for my own veracity; I faithfully repeat what I was

told.

I shall be equally accurate in what I am going to relate; though it is

on a subject which some naturalists have treated as absurd. The Captain

and Mate of the Kennet, had both navigated the Coast of Norway, the

Northern Ocean, and the Atlantic; and I questioned them concerning the

Kraken. They neither of them pretended to have seen this supposed

stupendous monster of the waters: but they immediately expressed their

firm conviction of its existence. I asked their reasons; and they

affirmed it had been twice seen within the last four years.

The first instance they cited was that of a Captain coming from

Archangel, or Greenland, through the Atlantic; who was surprised at the

appearance of rocks unknown to the chart of mariners, and immediately

ordered out his boat, to have them examined; meanwhile the Kraken, that

is, the imaginary rocks, disappeared, and he sailed over the place; but

forgot, during his astonishment, to sound.

Their second instance was more circumstantial. About two years and a

half before the time at which they spoke, a Dane, sailing through the

Firth of Forth, on the coast of Scotland, was so terrified, at the

appearance of rocks in such a place, that he _lay to_; being for some

time persuaded that he had lost his reckoning, and had arrived he knew

not where. After consideration, he took courage, and sailed past them;

and when he arrived at Dundee, gave a relation of what he had seen.

Finding himself at first disbelieved, he and his crew made oath of the

fact; either at the Custom-house or before a Magistrate of Dundee. The

narrators were both Scotchmen; and affirmed they spoke of the

attestation being thus made from their own knowledge. Persons, who shall

deem it worth their trouble, may easily make an inquiry whether any such

attestation exists at Dundee.

My informants confirmed, unquestioned, the usual accounts, fabulous or

not, that fishermen find plenty of fish on the back of the Kraken; as

they do on sand banks, at a certain distance below the surface; and that

these fishermen hasten away, as soon as they perceive the Kraken

beginning to rise; because when it goes down, it occasions a dangerous

whirlpool. These, you will recollect, are the old stories of

Pontoppidan.

Finding this Leviathan so familiar to their belief, I next inquired if

they had heard, or knew any thing of the sea-snake, by some called the

sea-worm? To this question I received a still more direct answer. The

Mate, Mr Baird, who certainly was not a liar by habit, whatever mistake

or credulity might make him, assured me that, about the midway in a

voyage to America, in the Atlantic, he had himself seen a fish,

comparatively small in the body, of from forty to fifty fathoms in

length; and that it had excited great terror in the Captain, who was

well acquainted with those latitudes, lest it should sink the ship.

They both related other stories, concerning the appearance of this

sea-worm: asserting that it will rise out of the water as high as a

common main mast.

Should you ask, do you repeat these things because you think them

credible? I answer, no. But who can affirm he can mark out the

boundaries of possibility? Some mariners treat these tales as absolutely

false and ridiculous: others seriously affirm them to be true; and I

think it a duty to collect evidence, and to remain on this question as

on many another, in a certain degree of scepticism.

They spoke of another fact; which, supposing them to speak truth,

deserves attention. The waves in the Western Ocean are sometimes so

oily, from dead whales, as it is imagined, that they are not much

disturbed by a brisk gale. The sailor’s brisk gale, observe, by you and

me would be called a high wind.

LETTER VI

Remember I left you in a gale at sea, and a high wind on shore: but what

would you think of a stiff breeze? I heard one described by a sailor,

who swore that it shaved him; that he could not keep his hair safe on

his head; and that it made the ship sneeze. His metaphors, and the

composure with which he spoke of a tempest, that to a landsman would

have been so full of terror, were amusing.

Our voyage was performed by the aid of gentle gales; and we got in view

of Heligoland on the morning of the 9th. Being now out of danger from an

enemy, the ships were allowed to part company, and each make the best of

her way. To people weary of the qualms and inconveniences of a

sea-voyage, and impatient to arrive at the place of their destination,

with the latent hope of unknown pleasures from unknown sources, this was

welcome news. The Captain was teazed with our questions; and we were

much disappointed to find there was little hope we should yet see

Hamburgh, within four and twenty hours.

It was late in the day before we arrived at the red buoy, where usually

the pilot comes on board. We now entered the Elbe, the navigation of

which is both difficult and dangerous, if circumstances are

unfavourable; and I could not but admire and most sincerely applaud the

precautions taken for safety, and augur favourably of the industry and

understanding I should find in Hamburgh. These, however, are the labours

of sea-faring men; and such are the dangers of the waters, that sailors,

who speaking of them as a class, are far from being the most

intelligent, exert very sagacious means to guard against these dangers.

The apparent width of the Elbe is great; but the bed of the navigable

channel is comparatively small: buoys therefore have been placed, and

distinguished by colour and numbering, to mark out the course of the

stream, which winds exceedingly.

The eye of the traveller is always caught by those objects which differ

greatly from such as he has been accustomed to see; and the appearance

of our pilot was to us highly original. His figure was diminutive, yet

so bundled up in jackets and breeches, that it was swelled out to a very

respectable bulk. His breeches, far from being small clothes, were large

and loose, and had pockets, or rather paunches, at the sides, in which

he put his pipe, his tobacco, his bread and cheese, and other

necessaries. I suppose he wore half a dozen pair; for he unbuttoned

three, with great unconcern, before us all, to come at a fourth. His

face was thin, his forehead contracted, his chin peaked, his nose large,

his mouth wide, his teeth black and decayed, and his eyes small and red.

Having given his directions, as soon as he had leisure he dressed, or

rather undressed himself, that he might look respectably before the

ladies; that is, he pulled off two jackets, the first exceedingly thick

and weather proof, two pair of trowsers, and his boots, which hung loose

about his legs. He then appeared in a grey damask doublet, made probably

from his great grandmother’s holiday gown, long quartered shoes, and a

pair of pewter single-tongued buckles, extravagantly large, and diamond

cut. He had a gigantic kind of sleeve-button to fasten his waistband,

and another of the same form but less, at his shirt collar; these, by

their embossing, equalled his buckles in splendour: and in his now

reduced size, he accurately resembled the wooden men cut in Dutch toys.

I found amusement in studying this figure, it being the first of the

kind I had seen. His language was low Dutch, but he spoke broken

English; and I endeavoured to make him talk: but as he knew nothing, he

could say nothing. The office of pilot frequently requires great

presence of mind, activity, and courage: this man had certainly no such

qualities.

Under his guidance, however, we entered the Elbe; and the shores of

Holstein on the left, and Hanover on the right, began to close upon us.

I know not when or how it came there, but the picture I had in my mind

of Holstein, was that of one of the rude and naked countries of the

North; and I felt surprise as we approached its banks to see them

frequently adorned with houses built of brick, and the gable ends

painted green. This, however, as I afterwards found, is by no means the

general style of building in that province; but it appears that men

every where take delight in having pleasant habitations on the banks of

rivers. At this part of the Elbe the left hand shore had a flat and low

appearance; while in Hanover we could see, not mountains, for there are

none in these parts of Germany, but high lands. I know not why, but the

traveller appears to have a latent expectation that every thing which he

is to see, is to be unlike every thing he has seen; and is almost

disappointed to find that trees are trees, and that the banks of rivers,

in foreign countries, are as verdant as those of his native land. It is

true, there are in reality marking differences; but these must be sought

for in the minuter parts, and not in the grand features of Nature; some

few and singular instances excepted.

The Elbe cannot be navigated in the dark; for the buoys and pilot marks

cannot be discerned; and at twilight we cast anchor. At this the sailors

did not repine; it was a necessity to which they knew they must submit;

but we, impatient passengers, heard with regret that the wind blew

peculiarly fresh and fair. In the middle of the night it strengthened,

and opposed the tide; in consequence of which the waves rose, and the

ship rolled violently. Doors flew open, boxes and bottles tumbled from

their places, and there was a great clatter in the cabin. It seemed

strange to be so much disturbed, having now passed the sea, and safely

arrived in the river. Trifles, to which we are unaccustomed, excite

surprise.

LETTER VII

The anchor was weighed as early as possible; for it was still doubtful

whether we should arrive at Hamburgh before the close of day.

According to regulation, the pilot from the red buoy has a right only to

proceed to a certain distance; after which another, if he be in

readiness, comes on board and takes charge of the vessel. Our little man

was very anxious in his hopes that a successor would not appear; and

that he should have the whole profit of proceeding to Hamburgh. But he

was disappointed. At the proper station his rival came; and he returned.

The second pilot was no less characteristic in manner and appearance

than the first; though very different. His dress, indeed, was nearly the

same; but instead of the insignificance of the former, he had an

assuming deportment; which, agreeing with the costume, made me imagine I

was actually in company with ancient Pistol. With his pipe in his mouth,

his wide, straddling gait, and his hands in his breeches’ side-pockets,

commanding with a kind of bluff authority, and speaking a half

unintelligible jargon, the picture was almost complete. His son was with

him; a young boy, the likeness and the ape of his father. The decayed

state of this man’s teeth, made me conjecture that smoaking might be a

principal agent in producing this defect; which I afterwards found to be

common among the Germans.

This man, however, had activity in his profession; and it was fortunate

that he, instead of the former, was our pilot: for, in going up the

river, had not he and all the crew strongly exerted themselves, we might

have been run down by the sluggish neglect of a Dane; which danger we

escaped with great difficulty.

As we proceeded, the appearance of the opposite shores considerably

varied; we lost sight of the distant high lands in Hanover, and saw

nothing but a dead and low flat; while the Holstein bank became

elevated, the number of the green-ended houses increased, and the town

and fortifications of Gluckstadt came in view. It is low, and we could

see little of the palace of which our pilot vaunted. We discerned

nothing that in the least approached magnificence; but saw many things

that had a charming air of rural calm and cleanliness. These pleasing

appearances became more frequent as we approached Altona; but we could

not sufficiently enjoy them, for it was now once more the close of day.

Being at Altona, we were glad, though surprised, to find ourselves

within a gun-shot’s distance of Hamburgh: but our joy on this occasion

was short; for we heard, with vexation, that the gates of Hamburgh, as

well of the port as of the city, were regularly shut at dusk; and that

admission, even for a prince, was then impossible.

Altona, like Hamburgh, is a seaport town; and it may safely be

prophesied, that at no very distant period, they will form but one

place. The number of shipping at Altona, was considerable, though small,

when compared to those that crowded the harbours of Hamburgh. But the

appearance that catches the eye, and distinguishes these cities from all

that I had before seen, was the excessive quantity of windows in the

houses; the front surfaces of which are nearly one half of glass. I had

remarked the upper stories of certain manufacturing houses in London,

that have rows of windows in the same manner; and inquired if the houses

I now saw were all manufactories? It was a question the sailors could

not answer, but I afterwards found that every house was thus

constructed.

About nine o’clock, we came to moorings in the river, without the

harbour; exceedingly mortified at being obliged to sleep another night

on board; knowing that every thing to give us a pleasant reception had

been prepared by our friends on shore. Expectation is whetted by

difficulty and delay: yet expectation, without these stimulants, is

generally too high. We were soon to be on German ground; and Germany is

one of the grand divisions of Europe; renowned for its ancient

resistance to the Roman arms, and claiming in modern times, not only the

destructive honours of war, but a high rank in every department of

science and belles lettres; we should therefore find it peopled with the

learned, the polite, and the brave. With these, and a thousand other

grateful images, we appeased our impatience, and once more waited the

return of day. How eager is man for the future,—how insensible to the

present!—Had he the power, how would he lend wings to time, and wish his

life away!

LETTER VIII

The morning came, the Captain ordered out his boat, and we had scarcely

patience to descend into it with care. The fleet that had arrived had to

find berths in the harbour: ships must change their stations; some to

depart, others to load, or unload: the boats and barges employed seemed

almost as numerous as the ships themselves: multitudes of the peasants

that inhabit the banks of the Elbe, who, from necessity, are both

watermen and farmers, were arriving, male and female, in their skiffs,

to provision the devouring city: all was life, all was motion; and we,

rowing in the midst of the scene, had our faculties wholly absorbed by

the countless novelties that at once invaded them. The animation of the

Elbe cannot indeed be said to equal that of the Thames: but then the

objects were so different, and their appearance generally was so uncouth

and boorish, that the eye was bewildered, and unable to examine them

individually.

We were stopped at the entrance of the harbour by the voice of a

sentinel, and questioned concerning who we were, and what our trunks

contained; but this is rather a form than a scrutiny; for few ports are

so free of access, or give so little trouble with respect to

Custom-house duties, as that of Hamburg. The government of Hamburg,

comparatively, has laid but few restraints upon trade: that is, it has

practised fewer of the vices of finance, common, more or less, to all

governments; which absurdly rob, by their endeavours to enrich

themselves. We landed on the _Vorsetzen_, at the principal stairs of the

harbour, and were immediately struck by their inconvenience: they were

narrow, steep, and dangerous, especially to persons carrying luggage.

The _krahnziehers_, or city porters, perceiving we were English, and

unacquainted with the place, pressed their service upon us, which we

eagerly enough accepted; and having landed our trunks on the quay, one

of them went for a coach, and another for a car, to remove us and our

effects. We intreated them to make haste, which they promised; and

though they kept us waiting in vexation above half an hour, they might

still be said to keep their word: as Germans, they were quick. We had

indeed heard much of the inflexible phlegm of this people, but as yet we

were novices in its practical effects. While we stood watching our

luggage, gazed at and gazing, the appearance of those around us strange

to us, and ours to them, among other things that attracted attention

were two waggons, if they might so be called, that met; and though the

street, speaking of Hamburg, was tolerably wide, could scarcely pass.

Each was drawn by four horses, two abreast, the driver riding on the

near or left hand shaft-horse; each had four wheels, and not two feet

broad at the bottom, though both were uncommonly long, the axle-trees

projected above a foot on each side; in short, nothing could be more ill

constructed for turning and passing in narrow streets. The convenience

which would have resulted from their small width, was wholly destroyed

by the projecting axle-trees; the rope harness was so long, and the

horses drew at such a distance from each other, as at once to employ the

space of drawing abreast, and what was nearly sufficient to have drawn

lengthways. This, added to the length of the waggon, the awkwardness of

the drivers, and the lazy unconcern with which they sat and looked, when

they had embarrassed each other, before they determined how they would

act, combining and harmonizing with other appearances around us,

immediately gave birth to much surmise and meditation on national

character. It was heightened too by the contents of one of the waggons,

which was loaded with the filth and ordure of the city, as offensive

almost to the sight as to the smell. Let us not, however, be too hasty

in our conclusions, the detail of facts as they arise will best explain

the real state of things: individually they may mislead, but collected

and compared, they must elucidate.

It is true the next I have to relate is of the unfavourable kind. Three

of the _krahnziehers_ harnessed themselves to the car that drew our

luggage; the distance they had to take it might be six or seven hundred

yards, and a porter in London would willingly have done the whole work

for three shillings; but their demand was twelve. It is true three of

them thought proper to employ themselves, and they rendered that which

might have been easy and expeditious, laborious and slow. Neither was

their demand complied with; one third was abated: but then they supposed

themselves paid no more than their due, and were dissatisfied that

strangers were not taxed higher. It is said indeed, and I suppose truly,

that throughout Germany labour is no where so extravagantly paid as in

Hamburg: but a comparative estimate of the rate of labour is much

wanted; for it is a subject on which there are many and gross mistakes.

In proportion as the inhabitants of the country are ignorant, labour is

supposed to be cheap: the very reverse is generally the truth.

_To Mr Freeman,

Bath._

SIR, I had once the pleasure of receiving a very humane and sensible

letter from you on the part of my father. After the character he has

given of you, I do not wonder at it. Benevolence and wisdom frequently

are, and ought always to be united. I am now to address you on his

behalf. He informs me he is indebted to you to the amount of ten pounds,

which was lent to him in necessity, and which I assure you is remembered

by him with gratitude: it is an affair, that if I am not mistaken, does

honour both to you and him. He is very anxious to have you satisfied

that you shall not suffer for your generosity. I have it not in my power

without great inconvenience to discharge the debt just at present,

though it is a burthen which I wish to take from my father. I shall be

enabled within this year, that is, at the beginning of next November, to

pay it. I am secretary to a society which allows me that sum; and which,

if you will accept of my note, or a draft payable at that time, shall be

appropriated to this use. I shall be glad if you will favor me with a

line respecting the affair, and after begging you will accept my most

sincere thanks for the obligations I owe you on my father’s account,

take the liberty to subscribe myself, &c.

_January 9, 1779._

_To Mr Richard Hughes.

Barnstaple._

SIR, I shall execute with pleasure any little commands you will please

to favour me with, and beg you will not suppose it any obligation. I

have enquired concerning a first singer, but hear of none except Mr

Cubit. I have not applied to him, because I am told he has been with you

before, and that he seldom visits one company twice. If you want a

capricious hoyden, who values herself upon her character and virtue, yet

walks about the town in men’s clothes, with a long stride, and a fierce

cocked hat; who has more spirits, and as many antics as an ape or a

tumbler; who is a coquet this minute, and a prude the next; raps out a

great oath now, and anon reads you a lecture upon propriety and decorum;

talks _to_ herself, _at_ herself, _of_ herself, and never for five

minutes together upon any other subject; who affects the girl, and whose

wrinkles are as apparent as her vanity; who yet does every manager she

is with, considerable service, by the singularity of her character, and

the free airs she gives herself among the men; who on the stage, has

considerable merit in breeches’ parts, coquets, etc., but who will be

Wall and Moonshine, or haunt you both sleeping and waking; in short, if

you want a person who is sentimental, dissipated, reserved, obliging,

talkative, sullen, laughing, pouting, and all in less time than I could

copy this period: who has many indications of strong sense, and more of

absolute insanity: whose heart would direct her to do right, but whose

vanity will not permit her: I say, if such a person pleases you, then

take Mrs. H——. If you suspect me of pique or ill-nature while I have

been painting this picture, you wrong me. I have not, nor is it probable

I ever should again have, occasion to associate with Mrs. H——. If she

should say it were a bad likeness, I will mend the copy when she mends

the original. We have a new afterpiece of Mr Sheridan’s coming out this

evening, ‘The Critic,’ from which we expect great things. Pray give my

best respects to Mrs. Hughes, and believe me to be sincerely yours.

_T. H._

_Oct. 30th, 1779._

_To Mr Holcroft._

MY DEAR FATHER, I am glad the trifle I sent came safe to hand. Mr

Freeman’s receipt is sufficient. You did not mention whether Mr Freeman

still continues your friend. I wish you would be kind enough to let me

know whether you have all your garden ground, and your bed of asparagus

still, and what you chiefly depend on for your livelihood. Let me beg of

you not to be unhappy. When you can no longer make up your payments,

give up your all and come to me. I have told you frequently, and I

cannot repeat it too often, I will never see you want. I am afraid you

think the little I have hitherto done for you an obligation: I think I

discover it in your letters. Let me intreat you, do not consider it in

this light. You cherished me in infancy, and I should be very wicked to

see you perish in age: you loved me then, and I love and reverence you

now. I will shew you how sincere I am in my professions, the moment I

have it in my power. I am exceedingly concerned for my poor mother’s

afflictions, I hope she endures them with patience and fortitude, which

alone can alleviate and make them lighter. I was not at home when your

friends from Bath called, I should have been happy to have seen them,

but they never came again. I hope you bear the burthen of old age

cheerfully: nothing but indifference to the accidents of life can make

them supportable. Life itself is to the wisest, happiest, and longest

lived, short, uncertain, and chequered with good and evil; a kind of

dream that ends in a profound sleep. You are travelling towards the

grave, and I am following you very fast, nay, possibly may finish the

journey before you; but let us not be unhappy on that account: we shall

rest from our labours, while our sons and daughters in numberless

succeeding generations shall toil in the same steps, have the same hopes

and disappointments, and sink at last into the same forgetfulness. Life

is an April day; if we are impatient and out of humour, it is overcast

with tempests, clouds, and rain; but if we bound our desires and are

cheerful, sunshine and serenity prevail. Mrs. Holcroft and the three

little ones are all well, as are all friends, who frequently inquire

after you. You would be delighted with the children, especially the boy,

who is a fine little fellow, reads well, and is learning French and

Latin.

_To Mr Holcroft.

King’s Mead Square, Bath._

My dear Father, I take great pleasure in hearing of your welfare, and

that you are not likely to become unsettled again, which, if I had not a

house to invite you to, would give me great pain to reflect on, more

especially at your time of life. I cannot tell you how much I respect Mr

Freeman, he certainly must be a very benevolent, worthy man, and I beg

you will assure him from me that he shall be certain not to lose the

least part of the sum he has lent you: and that I am ready to give him

my notes, if he pleases to accept of them, for the payment at such

stated periods, as I find myself able to pay them at. Your property in

your garden, and your own integrity, dear Sir, are sufficient security;

but I would willingly remove every burthen from your shoulders, as well

as give Mr Freeman every certainty in my power. I am every day more

esteemed, and I believe, if I have life and health, there is little

doubt of my success. I hope, Sir, you will not think me rude in

cautioning you not to be too eager in increasing your stock; as by

having more affairs on your hands than your small capital can supply,

you may easily lose the whole; besides that you bring a degree of

trouble and anxiety on your mind that your health cannot now support

perhaps. I am exceedingly glad to hear that my mother is better. We are

all in good health, our relations dine with us on Sunday, and we always

speak of you. Mr Marsac is not arrived. My comedy is to be played next

season. God bless you both, and make you happy. I am, dear father, etc.

_March 31st._

_To Fulke Greville, Esq._

SIR, Before I proceed to any other subject, permit me to assure you that

I not only think myself greatly honoured by your correspondence, but

greatly obliged by your remarks, and more especially by the candour and

liberality with which they are made. Indeed, Sir, these sensations have

made too powerful an impression to be soon, or easily forgotten. Your

ideas of consistency, however I may have failed, agree entirely with

mine; for which reason, whenever you find absurdities or

inconsistencies, I shall be glad if you will freely point them out. Your

objection to the Two Knights is well founded. I will make Sir Harry, a

Lord, or Sir Hornet, a Mr ——. Vandervelt is in the same predicament. A

large fortune, and the illiterate manners of Turnbull, are sufficiently

improbable, unless what Osborne says, when he draws his character in the

first act, reconciles it to truth. I think your hint, however, a good

one, and worth attending to. If any phrases, words, or other alterations

of that nature, occur to you in reading, I beg you will not scruple to

write them on the blank leaf, being convinced that you have too much

candour to take offence if I should happen to differ with you

occasionally. If you understand that Sir Hornet sends the Turnbulls to

his nephew’s house as a residence, I have erred in expressing myself,

and must correct. The last thing you have noticed I confess affects me a

good deal. I thought I had contrived the plot so as to keep the audience

in suspense relative to the real character of Osborne; if I have failed

in this the error is a capital one indeed. It is true I could not make

Osborne a rascal so palpably as to take away all probability of the

contrary, because the mind would have been too much shocked at the want

of poetical justice in the denouement; the point to be hit was that

perplexity which must arise in the mind on seeing a worthy person likely

to be betrayed by an unworthy one; but yet to preserve a possibility of

his salvation by having a possibility of your suspicions of the supposed

unworthy one ill founded. Now to certain minds who are intimately in the

mechanical secret of plot and catastrophe, &c. I hardly know how this is

to be effected. You, Sir, know that a comedy must end happily, because

critics have made it an inevitable rule. You see as you proceed there is

no way of doing this, but by making a certain character (Osborne for

instance,) not what he appears to be: you foresee, therefore, this will

happen, and your concern for the distress of another vanishes. But in

what labyrinth shall the poet bewilder you, Sir, who are possessed of

this clue. If the whole audience see as far as you, Sir, my play loses

half its merit. The work in question was to be a comedy, the auditors

were to laugh; wit, humour, variety of character, of manners, of

incident, were absolute requisites for a good comedy, and as entirely so

as instruction and reformation from the fable and moral. The poet’s

attention must, therefore, inevitably be divided; he must bestow a part

on each. If the catastrophe of my play is not more moral, more forcible,

and more affecting, than that of any late production, it is worse than

any of them, because the plot has greater capabilities, but the nature

of the work would not permit it to be as much so as if it had had but

one whole and undivided intention, that is, as if it had been a Tragedy.

Do not imagine, Sir, that I am seized with the irritability of

authorship; whenever I am chagrined it will be at myself for committing

errors, not at others for telling me of them. I am afraid there is truth

in your objection, though I confess I have been told by some readers

they were entirely at a loss concerning the catastrophe till it

happened: but it is evident they either said false, or were less

discerning than you. Continue, Sir, to tell me truth. They will not

flatter me at the Theatre. I will retrieve my errors where I can. I am

concerned, however, Sir, at giving you the labour of writing, you will

be in town soon; or at Petersham, I shall be proud to wait on you; you

will give me your opinion with greater ease: I find already it will be

of much service to me, and I repeat, I think myself greatly honoured,

and indebted to that philanthropy which could prompt you so cheerfully

to the present undertaking.

I am, Sir, &c.

_September 4th._

_To Fulke Greville, Esq._

SIR, I have this moment received and read your last letter: your

attention to me is not only an honour to me, but to yourself, Sir; it

expresses the anxiety of a generous mind. I continue to think that your

suggestion of Osborne’s gratitude is a very happy improvement, and as

such have endeavoured to give it all the expression and force I could

from the mouth of Osborne. As to Sir Harry, he appears to me to be so

overflowing with passion, that is, the turn is so sudden and unexpected,

and he is so affected with Osborne’s friendship and virtue in disguise,

and at the hideous danger he had just escaped, that, if I feel right, he

_cannot_ speak, except in exclamation. The difficulty of making

impassioned characters say neither too little nor too much is, as you

observe, exceedingly great: and the plot frequently obliges the author

to say too much; but it never fails in some degree to offend. I confess,

Sir, you almost terrify me about the loss of Melissa’s fortune, but I

have no remedy; the reason is what I gave you in our last conversation.

Mr Nicholson says, were it not done, he confesses he would not do it;

and yet, as it is at present managed, the effect is such that he can

scarcely wish it undone; nor does he seem to think there is much risk in

it. He approved your before-mentioned hint concerning Osborne’s

gratitude, exceedingly, and thought it very happy. I don’t know how

enough to thank you for your kind offers concerning the prologue; but Mr

Nicholson is at present about one, and had begun it before I received

your letter; how far it may succeed in mine or Mr Harris’s opinion, I

cannot yet predict; but I am under no disagreeable concern on that

subject, because I know Mr Nicholson’s candour and good sense so well as

to be certain, should it not chance to be happy, he will not suffer the

least chagrin; not to mention, Sir, that I should be exceedingly sorry

again to subject your performance to the caprice, or ill taste, of

others, to which I myself, in this business, am entirely subjected. I

have not yet seen Mr Henderson: he was out of town.

I am, &c.

T. H.

_To the same._

SIR, I am very much concerned at not knowing where or which way to remit

the copy of the comedy to you, being ignorant of where you are, or where

this may find you. I went on Tuesday with it into Somerset Street, but

found the house entirely shut up. The trouble you have taken in reading

and advising, demands every attention from me. It is to be played on

Saturday the 13th. If you come to town, or can instruct me how to send

the comedy to you, I shall be happy. I assure you, Sir, you can scarcely

conjecture the trouble and chagrin attending things of this nature:

there have been three epilogues written before there was one to please

the speaker; and at this instant, I am not certain of finding any person

to speak the prologue. Mr Henderson said he could not please himself in

it, and therefore declined it; and Mr Lee Lewis, to whom it was

afterwards given, who fancies himself a wit and a critic, does not find

opportunities enough of regaling his acquaintance in the upper gallery;

whether he will or will not speak it, is yet to be determined. There

have been various alterations made in the play, and a very considerable

one relative to the loss of Melissa’s fortune, though your objection is

not entirely obviated. I have written a speech for Sir Harry, on the

effects of gaming, as consonant to the ideas you hinted as I could; and

I believe it will have a charming effect. Your turn too for the

denouement is exceedingly happy. I can only add, Sir, that I think

myself exceedingly obliged to you for these favours, and shall take the

earliest opportunity when you are in town, with your permission, of

thanking you in person.

I am, Sir, &c.

_To the same._

SIR, I am exceedingly happy that you do not suspect me of ingratitude:

indeed, Sir, I should detest myself had I, by my own neglect, treated

you with the least disrespect. It would have been a symptom not only of

an inflated, silly mind, but of a bad heart also. I repeat this, Sir,

because I assure you I was very uneasy till the receipt of your obliging

letter removed my doubts. I cannot help again observing to you, Sir,

that the approbation of people of known worth and undoubted abilities is

very flattering; and I hope there will be nothing wrong or indelicate in

saying that I feel myself peculiarly happy and elevated at having gained

the esteem of Mr and Mrs. Greville; and I am certain I shall neglect no

opportunity of endeavouring to improve a friendship so honourable to me,

and, at one period of my life, so seemingly incompatible. I know, Sir,

the most effectual mode of accomplishing this will be to do my duty in

society, and assiduously to cultivate such talents as accident or nature

has bestowed upon me; and this, Sir, is my most serious intention.

Respecting the play, I, Sir, was never satisfied with making Sir Harry

lose his sister’s fortune; besides that I find it is an incident in the

tragedy of the Gamester, where, as the hero does not survive the

dishonour, it is very proper and happy. However, as few are sufficiently

refined to feel properly on this occasion, it has a good stage effect.

You can hardly conceive how great the effect of the denouement was on

the first night, the whole house seemed taken by surprise; and Osborne’s

generous account of the reason of his conduct greatly heightened, or

rather gave a complete finish to their pleasure. There is another

speech, which was written in consequence of some hints I received from

conversing with you, which I think one of the best conceived in the

whole play. It is Sir Harry’s soliloquy in the fourth act, after Melissa

has put her fortune in his hands. I very much approve what you are

pleased to term the niceties of verbal criticism. An exact and well

regulated machine depends as much, if not more, upon small things, as

great; but still there must be vast labour and precision indeed, if no

particle of dust insinuates itself among the cogs and wheels; however,

when such is discovered, it would be folly not to brush it away. The

epilogue I wrote, and it has a good effect in speaking. The curtailings

have some of them been suggested at rehearsals by the performers, and

some were my own, but the greatest part were Mr Harris’s. I dislike Sir

Harry’s squeezing Clara’s hand, as much as you can do, I assure you,

Sir, it was the insertion of the actors: and I chose rather to submit to

that, and many other things I disapproved, than to appear obstinate or

opinionated. Mrs. Holcroft desires me to assure you, Sir, she is

exceedingly obliged by the kind mention you have made of her, and only

wishes it were possible to have an opportunity of expressing her

gratitude in actions both to you and Mrs. Greville: but this she

despairs of.

I am, Sir, &c.

_Oct. 28._

_To Mr Freeman._

_Bath._

To a heart like mine, addicted, both by principle and constitution, to

the glowing emotions of friendship, the philanthropy and warmth of

sentiment so conspicuous in your letters, and particularly in your last,

are very acceptable. And though I have not leisure to answer you so

fully as I wish, nor opportunity to return those many kindnesses you do

me, yet to be totally silent would be ungrateful. Let me therefore

return you my most sincere thanks for all your favours, particularly for

those done to my father: believe me, Sir, they shall never be forgotten.

You are pleased to style yourself my friend, and I am proud of the

appellation: the friendship of good men is not to be obtained upon

slight and trivial terms: they know not only their own worth, but that

the merits or demerits of those to whom they apply that serious and

respectful word, are in a great measure reflected back upon themselves;

and this makes them cautious. For my own part, Sir, small as my

consequence is in this world, nothing but a thorough conviction of the

goodness of a man’s heart, could make me accept him for my friend. I am

convinced you think in this like me, and I esteem your friendship, Sir,

and the friendship of men like you too highly ever to wilfully make

myself unworthy of it. Men who feel the dignity of virtue are too proud

to be vicious. Excuse this, Sir, I only mean to assure you I will

endeavour to equal the good opinion you are pleased to entertain of me,

and not to write my own eulogy.

_To Mr Freeman._

DEAR SIR, I received yours of the 25th in due course, and have forborne

to answer it till now, because I had not money to pay any part of the

account before; as soon as I go out to-day I shall pay ten pounds in

part to Mr Ellis, and hope to pay as much more in a few weeks; should

you think this too tardy, be kind enough to hint as much, and I will

endeavour to quicken my motions. Had I any means of conveyance, I would

send you a book just published (by me) in French and English, very

curious,—‘Memoires de Voltaire écrits par lui-même.’ If you will be kind

enough in your next to inform me who in London sends you parcels

oftenest, I can take occasion now and then to send you such trifles as I

have any concern in. We complain in London of literary envy among

literary men, and often with reason; but our men of letters are far

behind those of France in that particular; parties there are as high

among the learned, as here among politicians. Their passions are sudden,

their wit keen, and their tongues imprudent; all these must have

exercise, and as they dare not, like us, talk of beheading prime

ministers, tell kings they are fools, and regulate the affairs of

nations; they are all judges of wit, taste, poetry, and the belles

lettres; and much in the same proportion as we are of politics: that is

to say, there are a thousand who affirm and dogmatize, for one who

discriminates and judges with temperance and taste. Their authors of the

present century, who have been famous, are most of them dead or old, and

they themselves say they have little hopes from any of the rising

generation: but this is a common-place complaint of all ages, and I have

no doubt is without foundation now as heretofore. Notwithstanding their

universal pretensions to dispute and decide in works of wit and taste,

the common people are very ignorant and ill-educated, insomuch that you

will see, in the best streets of Paris, the inscriptions on the signs

frequently misspelt; which is matter of astonishment to an Englishman,

who seldom sees such a thing even on a village chandler’s shop sign. I

have written the above sketch in obedience to a wish expressed in your

last; it is hasty and slight, for I am pressed at present for time, as

indeed I generally am. My father is at present in Manchester; but he has

taken a cottage in Cheshire, whither he and his wife are going in a few

days. In his last he desired me to give his kindest love and sincerest

thanks to you and your family, for all your kindness and goodness to

him; he likewise wishes to know who is Mr F——’s successor, and if it is

necessary he should come to Bath at the expiration of his lease. A line

when you have leisure, Sir, will be very acceptable to your sincere

friend, and obliged humble servant,

T. H.

_To Mr Professor Dugald Stewart._

DEAR SIR, I am ashamed of myself, I have treated you with seeming

disrespect, by neglecting to answer your letter. This is a thing I

should be ashamed of with any person, and especially with one who I

believe deserves the best esteem of the best men. Hear what I can urge

in mitigation, and I hope to obtain your pardon. Your letter arrived

just at the moment when my opera of the Noble Peasant was in rehearsal;

and I exceedingly hurried and teazed, not only with attending every day

at the theatre, but with alterations, writing new songs, new scenes,

making retrenchments, &c. &c. to suit the circumstances of introducing

this performer, leaving out that, and so on; by which you will readily

conjecture I was not idle: add to which the necessity of supplying

printers with copy of Les Veillêes du Chateau, which I am translating. I

even began this letter yesterday, but was cut short at the word _teazed_

in the last paragraph, _par un impertinent_, and was obliged to defer

the subject till this morning. My defence is ended in which I even plead

guilty, but hope you will find lenity not ill-bestowed. Mr de Bonneville

has been several months at Evreux. I wrote letter after letter, and

received no answer, till at last I grew very seriously uneasy. My

letters lay at Paris for him; he is returned, has written, and I am

recovered of my fears. I believe, Sir, you know how deeply I am

interested in whatever concerns Monsieur de Bonneville. At present, or

rather at the moment he wrote, he was severely afflicted with the

toothache; but this, though a terrible _evil_ while it _lasts_, is not I

hope a _lasting evil_. I shall transcribe your kind expressions

concerning him in my next, for which give me leave to thank you: I

assure you they gave me pleasure, yes, Sir, great pleasure. My delay has

had one good effect; had I written sooner I could not have told you

where he was, or if any where. I received his letter on Thursday last,

shall write in a few days, and would advise you, Sir, to do likewise:

your letter will be sure to reach him if you direct to him, ‘Chez

Monsieur Barrois le jeune Libraire Rue Hurepaix à Paris.’ You are kind

enough to say, Sir, you will call on me when you come to London. I have

a house and table, Sir; and such as they are, if you will do me the

honor of making them your own, while you stay, be it short or long, I

shall remember the favor: this is said in plain and simple sincerity,

and not in compliment. If you should see Mr Robertson, junior, pray

present my kind respects.

I am, &c.

T. H.

_To Madame de Genlis._

I have received your favor, Madam, and am happy to find the books came

safe to hand. As to the retrenchments you are pleased to notice, I will

not pretend to justify either my own false delicacy, or that of my

nation; but I can affirm, that be it false or true, it exists,

and that to an English reader, I have done the book a service, and no

injury. A person of your genius, Madam, need not appeal to the

approbation of journalists (I speak generally); however, if that were

any consolation, I can likewise plead their support on this very

subject, as you will see if you will please to read the Critical Review

for February last; but I would rather have given you satisfaction,

Madam, than fifty Reviewers. You may well imagine, Madam, I acted for

the good of the work, according to the best of my judgment, but I will

by no means presume that judgment infallible.—Permit me, Madam, to

relate a short story.—A certain young nobleman was remarkable for the

elegance of his dress, the symmetry of his person, and the refinement of

his manners. The old ladies admired him, the young ladies loved him, and

even the handsomest among the men envied him. He was the chief inventor

of modes, the leader of fashions, and the arbiter of taste and tailors:

above all, he was remarkable for a fine head of hair. Proud of his

power, and conscious of his abilities, his ambition was insatiable. One

day, while waiting for his hair-dresser, he happened by some odd

accident to be turning over the leaves of a folio, in which he saw

engravings of Eastern habits—he burst into a laugh.—What strange

figures, cried he! how little do they understand of grace and elegance!

were I among them, I would soon teach them better. Full of this idea,

and urged by a thirst of still superior fame, he determined to take a

voyage to China, in order to begin by humanizing and converting that

vast empire to the principles of good taste. Arrived at Pekin, and being

a master of his art, his first endeavour was to gain the suffrages of

the fair sex: to effect this, he assailed, and hoped to captivate the

daughter of a Mandarine, acknowledged to be the greatest beauty in all

Pekin, and, as her admirers daily swore, in all the world. Much depended

on a first impression, and this he knew: he therefore pared his nails

and powdered his hair, and some add (perhaps maliciously) painted his

cheeks. Full of the remembrance of former celebrity, and elate with the

consciousness of present perfection, he walked up to the glass, admired

the image it reflected, and with the step of ease and self-approbation,

called for his palanquin and proceeded on his visit. Thus prepossessed,

I need not describe his surprise and chagrin, when instead of meeting

the approbation he thought so certain, he heard the beauteous Chinese,

though struck with his fine form (for proportion must ever please) find

fault with that European art—that taste, which he had held so

irresistible: the smart short cut of his clothes suffered a thousand

ridiculous comparisons; and his frizzed and powdered hair, so bushy and

so full, afforded endless laughter. A circumstantial detail is needless.

The European, when he beheld the Chinese in their own country, and in

great numbers, did not find their fashions so absurd as he thought them

in an engraving. He fell desperately in love with the Mandarine’s

daughter, soon consented to cut off his fine hair, except a single lock,

to let his nails grow, and wear a long vest; for without such

condescension he found it impossible to win the affection of his

mistress—that is, he translated himself into Chinese. Truth and nature

are the same in all countries, but the mode of decoration varies in

each.—This I hope, Madam, will be a sufficient apology for any

occasional liberties I may have taken with your very estimable work; and

which, notwithstanding, I believe few people think more highly of than I

do, because few have studied its numerous excellences with such minute

attention. There is a new edition now in the press, and I shed tears

daily over the proofs as I read. I shall receive the favor of your

‘Theatre d’Education,’ with the respect and thanks such a present,

coming from such a person, deserves.

I am, Madam, &c.

T. H.

_To Fulke Greville, Esq._

DEAR SIR, When I returned from Blackheath, I found your kind note, in

which you speak in that mild and true spirit of philosophy, which is

worthy of a liberal and philosophic mind. Proof respecting the subject

in question (_Instinct_) is not to be had. To me the difficulties seem

less to suppose the actions of all animals the consequence of

reflection, than to suppose them _blind_ impulse. I care not a farthing,

whether my opinion be right or wrong; but while it _is_ my opinion,

however weak or absurd it may be, I will never pretend to a conviction I

do not feel: and in this I am sure to meet your approbation, because a

contrary conduct would be contemptible. A hen that has chickens, rakes

up a barley-corn on a dunghill and stands clucking over it till her

brood come round her. I could as soon suppose this an action of

instinct, viz. an action without an intention, for that is what I

understand by the word instinct; I repeat, I could as soon suppose the

hen acted from instinct, and without any idea passing in her mind, as I

could at seeing a tomtit carry moss into the hollow of a tree, for the

safety of itself and young: the action is much more complicated in the

one case, than in the other, but I do not see that it warrants me to

conclude the tomtit is acting without any intention. My mind revolts at

the idea of a bird selecting a hole just capacious enough to creep into,

remarking in what tree that hole happens to be, flying away and looking

round for materials to make its nest, placing those materials in a

certain form, leaving its mate to watch, and give notice if an enemy

approach, and going through a rational and well connected system,

without rationality, and without meaning. It seems to me much less

difficult to suppose the bird has a greater capacity than I am

habituated to attribute to birds, or that it learns to do these things

from seeing others of the same species with which it lives in society do

the like. Pray Sir, do me the justice to believe, that I mean to give

all this as mere opinion, and that I am superior to dogmatizing. The

fact you mention of the squirrel, may, as you say, Sir, if I am not

mistaken, afford deductions for either side of the question. The first

thing I should wish to inquire into would be, whether the squirrel had

never been in company with other squirrels that had the like habits;

and, if that were proved against me, I should next inquire, whether a

young squirrel that had never been in company with any other squirrel

did, the very first time it had nuts given it, go and seek for a corner

to hide them, and if even this extraordinary thing were to happen, I

should still be much more inclined to attribute it to the fears and

cunning of the animal, than to suppose it went and came and knew nothing

about the matter; for so, I think, acting from instinct or without

intention, implies. Your Wilbury horses, Sir, are surely on my side of

the question, and my very good friends on this occasion, or I am once

more egregiously deceived. They not only _choose_ to leave the heat and

retire to the shade, but they moreover select that part of the shade

which suits them best, that is, where they are least annoyed by flies.

Just so an over-roasted cook-maid retires behind her fire-screen, and if

she happens to sit down on an uneasy chair removes to another, and gives

the easiest the preference. Men play on the harpsichord and talk, as men

walk and talk; i.e. the thing is so familiar, it employs only a part of

their attention; but give them music which is too difficult for them,

that is, which employs their whole attention, and I from experience will

answer for their silence. The respect due to your friendly mode of

arguing, has occasioned me to do what I have a great aversion to, write

a long letter. But however convinced you may be of the fallacy of my

arguments, I hope I shall never give you cause to suspect the sincerity

and friendship with which I am, and shall ever remain,

Your very respectful,

Humble servant,

T. H.

P.S.—I have sent you the magazine, and a volume of the Harleian

manuscript, a very scarce, curious, and dear book, and hope it may

afford something that will entertain. I have not got the other book:

_Lord Kaimes’s Sketches of Man_ is the title.

_To the Hon. Horace Walpole._

Sir, The politeness with which I was received on my accidental visit to

Strawberry-hill, in company with Mr Mercier, and the pleasure I felt not

only in viewing so rare a collection of the works of art, but in the

very kind manner in which they were shewn, will not easily be forgotten.

As a small testimony of the truth of this, I then projected, and having

received them from the binders, now take the liberty to send you copies

of such dramatic works of mine, as have been already played and

published, which I beg you to accept, not as a task imposed upon you to

read them, nor yet with an expectation of praise, but as an

acknowledgement of as much thankfulness as I dare express. I have also

inclosed a copy of a manuscript comedy, for which I can give no better

reason, than that though every motive of delicacy would make me avoid

laying you under the least restraint, yet it may happen that the perusal

of it may afford you an hour’s amusement, which is the best return I am

at present able to make for the attention with which you were pleased to

treat me, and the invitation you gave me to revisit Strawberry-hill in a

more favourable season.

I am, Sir,

Your very respectful,

Humble servant,

T. H.

ANSWER.

_To Mr Holcroft._

_Berkley Square, Nov. 28th, 1788._

The civilities, Sir, which you are pleased to say you received from me

at Strawberry-hill, were no more than were due to any gentleman, and

certainly did not deserve such acknowledgement as you have made; and I

should be ashamed of your thanking me so much, if the agreeable manner

in which you have greatly overpaid them by the present of your works,

did not make me easily swallow my shame, though it will not dispense me

from assuring you how much I am obliged to you. I shall read them with

pleasure as soon as I am settled in town. Just at present, I live

between town and country, and should not have leisure but to read them

by snatches. It is for this reason, that if you are not in haste for it,

I shall beg leave to keep your manuscript comedy, till I can peruse it

with proper attention. If you should want it soon, I will return it, and

ask for it again, for it would be unjust to the merit of your works to

run through them too rapidly.

I am, Sir,

Your obliged, and

Obedient humble servant,

H. WALPOLE.

_To Mr Holcroft, sen._

_Aug. 31st, 1791._

MY DEAR FATHER, I have received both your kind letters, and hope you

will excuse my not having answered you sooner, my delay having been

occasioned by the intense application which I am obliged to pay to a

work I am now writing. I imagine it will be printed about Christmas, and

you shall receive an early copy. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than

to hear of your good health. I am convinced of the efficacy of

sea-bathing, and am glad you are near enough to the sea to enjoy the

benefit of it. Remember, my dear father, what I repeated to you, when I

had last the happiness of your company. Keep your mind alive; exercise

every part of your body, fingers, joints, and muscles; endeavour to

infuse spirit and vigour into them, and depend upon it you will be

surprised at the effects which will be produced. We die piece-meal, by

falling into habits of apathy and neglect; and by supposing that

debility and inactivity are the inevitable consequences of age. The mind

becomes weary of action; it loses its desires, and the body sinks into

listlessness, palsy, and universal decay. This I am persuaded is the

error of a false supposition, that death is inevitable. Not that I would

have you understand I myself think I shall not die: but I very sincerely

think, when I do die, it will be of ignorance, and of the disease I have

just mentioned; accidents excepted.

You inquire, dear Sir, whether I am married again. I cannot say what

miracles may happen in the world; but I really think I have had marriage

enough for one man. The woman whom I could truly esteem is not easily to

be found; and, if the discovery were made, it would be strange if she

were wholly disengaged. Your grandchildren are all in good health, and

inquire after you very affectionately. Mrs. Colles and family are well,

she dined with us the Sunday before last. With respect to affairs, I am

sorry for your sake, my dear father, that I am not so rich as I could

wish. The only remedy is strict economy, and hard labour; both of which

conditions I am obliged severely to comply with: but, far from being

discontented; to be able to comply with them, to be rid of the false

notions that fix felicity in the enjoyment of superfluous trifles, which

none of us want, and to have a mind industrious, active, and delighting

to produce, these things are to me happiness, which may be almost called

supreme. I shall for some months be exceedingly short of money; but you

shall nevertheless hear from me, at the usual time. Pray remember me

kindly to Mrs. Holcroft, and assure yourself that I shall always remain

Your dutiful and

Affectionate Son,

T. H.

_From Mr Shield._

_Turin, September 22nd, 1791._

DEAR HOLCROFT, * * * * * * My health, since I left England, one day

excepted, has been extremely good; but passing the Alps in the manner I

did, was too much for me. I thought it degraded the race of men too much

to suffer two of them to carry me in a sedan over this immense mountain:

in consequence of which we had mules; and after riding about one mile,

reflection told me that I was shortening the life of an animal, by

obliging it to carry me up and down so many precipices; and as I saw

women walk it, I was resolved to do the same, for I was then in

possession of the temper of the animal which I led, and would not yield

to the intreaties of my fellow travellers to remount. I was so much

exhausted when I arrived at Laneburg, that I threw myself upon the bed:

soon after which, dinner was served up in the same room; but my appetite

had entirely left me through fatigue: my heart was good, but my strength

failed me. However, after waiting for two hours for some very

indifferent tea, it revived me a little, and I got into the coach, and

was entirely recovered by the time we reached Turin. A man needs no

common share of that inestimable quality which you so eminently possess

(fortitude) to travel through the South of France and Savoy, with only a

dozen words of the language. I thought change of scene would prove the

best medicine for me, and I seem to have been right in my

prognostications, for I find myself in the full possession of my

faculties, and am determined to exert myself in my profession. A very

accomplished Russian is my chief companion. But the greatest original of

our voiture party is a Chinese, of a small stature, but of a capacious

memory: he speaks the French, Italian, Spanish, German, Dutch, Russian,

and Latin languages, so as to astonish the natives and students of the

above. His character is so uncommon that, were you to draw him for the

English stage, he must reside in London before the audience would

acknowledge your character to be natural: most people like him, for the

only indignity he has yet met with is his being taken for my valet, from

his attention to me.

Your’s truly,

WM. SHIELD.

P.S.—I cannot view the beautiful scenes which at present surround me,

without recollecting the strokes of Milton’s pencil in his sublime

picture of Paradise Lost.

_To Mr Shield._

_London, Oct. 11, 1791._

DEAR SHIELD, You cannot easily imagine the pleasure which your letter

gave me. The passions, hopes, and alarms of the heart are necessarily

excited in behalf of those for whom it has an affection by distance, and

by its ignorance of the good or ill health, happiness or misfortune of

those it loves. I heard of you at Lyons, and for the moment was

satisfied. I knew from the numbers who cross the Alps, that there would

be little or no danger in traversing the tremendous Mount Cenis; yet I

was anxiously desirous to hear you had passed it in safety. I have

accompanied you in imagination, and looked down from its summit on the

surrounding nations. Fanny supposes that, being placed there, the eye

has a survey, as it were, of all Europe, though in reality its powers

are too feeble to see distinctly and accurately at a few yards’

distance; but fancy delights in these deceptions, nor can the scenery be

other than sublime and astonishing. You are at present in what, perhaps,

more than any other, may properly be called the country of

contradictions. The noble works of art, of sculpture, of painting, and

the monuments of architecture, which are to be met with in almost every

city of Italy, form a surprising contrast to the ignorance, poverty,

sloth, and present depravity of its inhabitants. Men who, by the baneful

influence of priesthood and bad government, have, from the first of

mankind, become almost the lowest. Sunk in ignorance, deprived of

energy, destitute of all noble emulation, we ask with amazement, how

could a people like this produce works so magnificent; or tower, as they

have done, above the rest of mankind? You are sensible, dear Shield, I

now speak of them as a nation; there are, no doubt, individuals among

them who still possess those powers, and that genius, of which the herd

of their fellow citizens is deprived. They only wait a more happy

moment, and a return of times more fortunate, to become all that they

have been, and I hope much more. I need not tell you the infinite

pleasure it would give me, could I, at this moment, transport myself to

the palace in which you lodge, for such no doubt it is, and accompany

you in all your peregrinations: I have a very earnest desire to see

Rome, that queen of cities, and take a view of all her treasures, which

as I am told, are so immense and multifarious, as presently to satiate

the most inquisitive mind.

Do not forget, dear Shield, to fix your attention on the various works

of Michael Angelo: in painting, sculpture, and architecture, I am

persuaded he was the first of modern artists. Nor must Raphael escape

your notice. Rome, I am told, is the only place on earth to view his

pictures, for all the best of them are there. I shall ask you a thousand

questions concerning them on your return, and of the effect they

produced upon you. The remains of ancient architecture: the Pantheon,

Trajan’s Pillar, the Tower of St. Angelo, &c. &c. you will certainly not

forget. I should indeed prefer fixing my attention on a select few of

the grandest objects, to that of dividing it into too many parts, and

thus rendering it without efficacy. No passage in your letter gave me so

much pleasure as that in which you tell me you are in full possession of

your faculties, _which you are determined to exert_.—The determination

is well worthy of a mind like your’s, Shield, which to possess, and not

to employ, is, in my opinion, the true sin against the Holy Ghost; it is

unpardonable. Familiarized as your mind at present is to harmony, and

stored with musical ideas, what can be so desirable for the world, or so

delightful to yourself, as to arrange those stores, to pour them forth,

and to dig the gold from the mountain where, while it lies buried, it is

worthless. Not that any accusation of the kind can be brought against

you, yet, Shield, distance will authorise friendship in speaking a truth

which false modesty unjustly forbids us to repeat _vivâ voce_. Your

works are already an honour to your nation and your art; and had you not

been under the malignant influence of absurd prejudices, they would have

been infinitely more honourable. We are at present all, more or less,

under similar influences, and obliged to obey the dictates of necessity.

I hope, however, that you will be less so in future than heretofore; and

the end of my present very severe labours is to free myself from them if

possible. There needed not any caution relative to the newspapers; I

believe you are too generally beloved to be in danger of attack; but

should illiberality or envy shew their fangs, be certain, you will not

want a defender. Forgive me, dear Shield, for not transcribing this

letter myself; my brain is exceedingly busy, and not a little fatigued;

you will see on what, when you return to England. I am obliged to employ

every moment in that severe labour which is requisite to form a

consistent, efficacious, and excellent whole; whether the work I am

writing will be such must be left to the proof, but such at least I must

endeavour to make it, and I hope my efforts will not be unsuccessful.

All good, all happiness, all pleasure, be with you wherever you go.

T. H.

_To Mr Godwin._

_July 20th, 1797._

It was my intention to write, for I feel a kind of vacuity of heart,

when I am deprived of the intercourse of my accustomed friends; but as I

cannot write to them all, and as we have many friends in common, I think

there are few whom you may not safely assure on my part, that they have

their turn in my thoughts. I deferred this pleasant duty, however, till

I had seen your mother, whom I thought it right and respectful to visit.

My coming occasioned some little alarm; the Major, Mrs. Harwood, and

Fanny, accompanied me; we were seen from the windows as we came up to

the gate. I had my spectacles on, and your sister-in-law ran to inform

your mother that yourself and Mrs. Godwin were arrived. The old lady

stood in the portico; the young ones advanced; there was an anxious

curiosity in their countenances, and your sister said, addressing

herself to me, ‘I think I know you, Sir.’ I scarcely knew what to reply:

imagination had winged her and myself up to London, where I supposed,

some years ago, I might have seen her at your lodgings; taking it for

granted she was a relation: but as I did not answer, Major Harwood

relieved our embarrassment by announcing my name. The change of

countenance, perhaps, could not have fully persuaded her that my face

was actually yours, yet she seemed rather to trust to her hopes, than to

her recollection; and these being disappointed, an immediate blank took

possession of her features, and the rising joy was damped. Your mother,

however, very kindly invited us in, and gave us all the good things she

had, that could administer to our immediate pleasures. The expectations

which Major Harwood had raised by his description of your mother were

not entirely answered. She was neither so alert, so commanding, nor so

animated, as he and Ann had described. I think her very rapidly on the

decline: having quitted her farming business I have no doubt myself but

that her faculties will be impaired much faster than they would have

been had she continued to exert them. Her memory is good, her

conceptions, speaking comparatively, are clear, and her strength

considerable. I have seen more of the county of Norfolk, than of its

inhabitants; of which county I remark, that, to the best of my

recollection, it contains more churches, more flints, more turkeys, more

turnips, more wheat, more cultivation, more commons, more cross-roads,

and from that token probably more inhabitants, than any county I ever

visited. It has another distinguishing and paradoxical feature, if what

I hear be true: it is said to be more illiterate than any other parts of

England, and yet I doubt if any county of like extent have produced an

equal number of famous men. This is, however, merely a conjecture made,

not from examination, but from memory. As it is necessary for me to

bathe, I shall immediately depart for Yarmouth, and pass through

Norwich, which I have not yet seen. If you, or Mrs. Godwin, or both, can

but prevail on yourself or selves to endure the fatigue of writing to

me, I hope I need not use many words to convince you of the pleasure it

will give me: and be it understood that this letter is addressed to you

both, whatever the direction on the back may affirm to the contrary.

Professions are almost impertinent, and yet I am almost tempted to

profess to you how sincerely and seriously I am interested in your

happiness, but as I am sure my words would ill describe my thoughts, I

shall forbear. Pray inform me, sweet lady, in what state is your novel?

And on what, courteous Sir, are you employed? Though I am idle myself, I

cannot endure that anybody else should be so. Direct to me at the

Post-Office, Yarmouth.

_To Mr Holcroft._

_December 11th, 1794._