[We find the clever and curious sketches of Shelley, in the _New
Monthly Magazine_, concluded with the following interesting
anecdote.]
That Shelley gave freely, when the needy scholar asked, or in silent,
hopeless poverty seemed to ask, his aid, will he demonstrated most
clearly by relating shortly one example of his generosity, where the
applicant had no pretensions to literary renown, and no claim whatever,
except perhaps honest penury. It is delightful to attempt to delineate
from various points of view a creature of infinite moral beauty,--but
one instance must suffice; an ample volume might be composed of such
tales, but one may be selected, because it contains a large admixture of
that ingredient which is essential to the conversion of alms-giving into
the genuine virtue of charity--self-denial. On returning to town after
the long vacation, at the end of October, I found Shelley at one of the
hotels in Covent Garden. Having some business in hand he was passing a
few days there alone. We had taken some mutton chops hastily at a dark
place in one of the minute courts of the city, at an early hour, and we
went forth to walk; for to walk at all times, and especially in the
evening, was his supreme delight. The aspect of the fields to the north
of Somers-Town, between that beggarly suburb and Kentish-Town, has been
totally changed of late. Although this district could never be accounted
pretty, nor deserving a high place even amongst suburban scenes, yet
the air, or often the wind, seemed pure and fresh to captives emerging
from the smoke of London; there were certain old elms, much very green
grass, quiet cattle feeding, and groups of noisy children playing with
something of the freedom of the village green. There was, oh, blessed
thing! an entire absence of carriages and of blood-horses; of the
dust and dress and affectation and fashion of the parks: there were,
moreover, old and quaint edifices and objects which gave character to
the scene. Whenever Shelley was imprisoned in London,--for to a poet a
close and crowded city must be a dreary gaol,--his steps would take that
direction, unless his residence was too remote, or he was accompanied by
one who chose to guide his walk. On this occasion I was led thither,
as indeed I had anticipated: the weather was fine, but the autumn was
already advanced; we had not sauntered long in these fields when the
dusky evening closed in, and the darkness gradually thickened. "How
black those trees are," said Shelley, stopping short, and pointing to
a row of elms; "it is so dark the trees might well be houses, and the
turf, pavement,--the eye would sustain no loss; it is useless therefore
to remain here, let us return." He proposed tea at his hotel, I
assented; and hastily buttoning his coat, he seized my arm, and set off
at his great pace, striding with bent knees over the fields and through
the narrow streets. We were crossing the New Road, when he said shortly,
"I must call for a moment, but it will not be out of the way at all,"
and then dragged me suddenly towards the left. I inquired whither we
were bound, and, I believe, I suggested the postponement of the intended
call till the morrow. He answered, it was not at all out of our way.
I was hurried along rapidly towards the left; we soon fell into an
animated discussion respecting the nature of the virtue of the Romans,
which in some measure beguiled the weary way. Whilst he was talking with
much vehemence and a total disregard of the people who thronged the
streets, he suddenly wheeled about and pushed me through a narrow door;
to my infinite surprise I found myself in a pawnbroker's shop! It was
in the neighbourhood of Newgate Street; for he had no idea whatever in
practice either of time or space, nor did he in any degree regard method
in the conduct of business. There were several women in the shop in
brown and grey cloaks with squalling children: some of them were
attempting to persuade the children to be quiet, or at least, to scream
with moderation; the others were enlarging upon and pointing out the
beauties of certain coarse and dirty sheets that lay before them to a
man on the other side of the counter. I bore this substitute for our
proposed tea some minutes with tolerable patience, but as the call did
not promise to terminate speedily, I said to Shelley, in a whisper, "Is
not this almost as bad as the Roman virtue?" Upon this he approached the
pawnbroker: it was long before he could obtain a hearing, and he did not
find civility. The man was unwilling to part with a valuable pledge so
soon, or perhaps he hoped to retain it eventually; or it might be, that
the obliquity of his nature disqualified him for respectful behaviour.
A pawnbroker is frequently an important witness in criminal proceedings:
it has happened to me, therefore, afterwards to see many specimens of
this kind of banker; they sometimes appeared not less respectable than
other tradesmen, and sometimes I have been forcibly reminded of the
first I ever met with, by an equally ill conditioned fellow. I was so
little pleased with the introduction, that I stood aloof in the shop,
and did not hear what passed between him and Shelley. On our way to
Covent-Garden, I expressed my surprise and dissatisfaction at our
strange visit, and I learned that when he came to London before, in
the course of the summer, some old man had related to him a tale of
distress,--of a calamity which could only be alleviated by the timely
application of ten pounds; five of them he drew at once from his
pocket, and to raise the other five he had pawned his beautiful solar
microscope! He related this act of beneficence simply and briefly, as if
it were a matter of course, and such indeed it was to him. I was ashamed
of my impatience, and we strode along in silence.
It was past ten when we reached the hotel; some excellent tea and
a liberal supply of hot muffins in the coffee-room, now quiet and
solitary, were the more grateful after the wearisome delay and vast
deviation. Shelley often turned his head, and cast eager glances towards
the door; and whenever the waiter replenished our teapot, or approached
our box, he was interrogated whether any one had yet called. At last the
desired summons was brought: Shelley drew forth some bank notes, hurried
to the bar, and returned as hastily, bearing in triumph under his arm a
mahogany box, followed by the officious waiter, with whose assistance he
placed it upon the bench by his side. He viewed it often with evident
satisfaction, and sometimes patted it affectionately in the course of
calm conversation. The solar microscope was always a favourite plaything
or instrument of scientific inquiry; whenever he entered a house his
first care was to choose some window of a southern aspect, and, if
permission could be obtained by prayer or by purchase, strightway to
cut a hole through the shutter to receive it. His regard for his solar
microscope was as lasting as it was strong; for he retained it several
years after this adventure, and long after he had parted with all the
rest of his philosophical apparatus.
Such is the story of the microscope, and no rightly judging person who
hears it will require the further accumulation of proofs of a benevolent
heart; nor can I, perhaps, better close these sketches than with that
impression of the pure and genial beauty of Shelley's nature which this
simple anecdote will bequeath.
[In parting with this very ingenious series of papers, we beg to concur
in the well-expressed wish of the Editor of the _New Monthly Magazine_,
"that their author could be tempted to give the world a complete history
of one whose peculiar and subtle nature he so well comprehends."]
* * * * *