‘_As you do sometimes?_’ After this sentence the following passage

occurs in the _Magazine_:—‘But the thing that provoked me was, I

knew West was only thinking of the engraving of Wolfe, who had

already a monument erected to him in the most select part of

Westminster Abbey, and West thought, if he could get a monument

to Woollett there also, he should come in between them.’

_Round his gallery._ Add the following from the _Magazine_:— ‘And

yet,’ said N.—,’he thought in his pictures he had accumulated an

invaluable property, and that they would be caught up at his

death like so many Correggios. It was this that kept him alive.

If he could have seen how much he wanted, he would, perhaps,

have done nothing.’

360. _The death of poor —._ The _Magazine_ gives the initial F,

which indicates, in all probability, Thomas Foster, Irish

portrait-painter (1798–1826), who committed suicide.

_C—._ John Wilson Croker (1780–1857), who was appointed Secretary

of the Admiralty in 1809, for his services to the Duke of York.

_Poor Bird._ Edward Bird (1762 or 72–1819), _genre_ painter, who

began life as an ornamenter of tea-trays.

_If — was likely to have succeeded._ The _Magazine_ gives the

initial F. See first note to this page.

_Mr. Locke (of Norbury Park)._ William Locke (1732–1810), a

wealthy art amateur, on whose estate at Norbury, near Mickleham,

Surrey, Fanny Burney built ‘Camilla Cottage.’ His son, William

Locke (1767–1847), was an amateur artist, and his grandson also,

William Locke the third (1804–1832).

_Old Dr. Moore._ Dr. John Moore (1729–1802), physician, and author

of the novel, _Zeluco: Various Views of Human Nature, taken from

Life and Manners, Foreign and Domestic_ (1786), which suggested

to Byron the idea of _Childe Harold_ (see Preface to this

latter).

361. _The wrapt soul sitting in the eyes._ _Il Penseroso_, 40 [rapt].

362. _Old Alderman Boydell._ John Boydell (1719–1804), engraver. His

book of plates of views in England and Wales was the first book,

so he said, that ever made a Lord Mayor of London. He was a good

friend to young artists, and greatly furthered the art of

engraving in England.

_Sir R. P—._ Sir Richard Phillips (1767–1840), author, bookseller

and publisher. He established _The Monthly Magazine_ in 1796.

363. _Annibal Caracci._ Annibal Caracci (1560–1609), the decorator of

the Farnese Palace, Rome, and painter of the celebrated picture

of ‘Christ being taken down from the Cross.’

_Ludovico Caracci._ Ludovico Caracci (1555–1619), uncle of the

above.

_Angelica Kauffmann._ Maria Anna Angelica Catharina Kauffmann

(1741–1807), portrait painter and etcher.

364. _Simple Story ... Nature and Art._ Elizabeth Inchbald’s

(1753–1821) books were published in 1791 and 1796 respectively.

_Mrs. Centlivre._ Susannah Centlivre (_c._ 1667–1723), the

authoress of nineteen vivacious plays. See _The Dunciad_, Book

II. 411 and note: ‘wife to Mr. Centlivre, Yeoman of the Mouth to

His Majesty. She writ many Plays, and a Song (says Mr. Jacob)

before she was seven years old. She also writ a Ballad against

Mr. Pope’s Homer before he began it. P.’

364. _Old Baxter._ Richard Baxter, the Nonconformist Divine

(1615–1691). The same illustration is used in _The Plain

Speaker_, p. 243.

_A Dissenting Minister (a Mr. Fox of Plymouth)._ John Fox

(1693–1763). He was given in charge of his father’s first

cousin, Isaac Gilling, minister at Newton Abbot, to see if

Gilling could remove his objections to the ministry. After many

shifts he got his license on Oct. 17, 1717, and he began to

preach, but apparently he was never ordained. He gave up the

ministry after his father’s death, married Isaac Gilling’s

daughter and turned biographer.

365. _An early picture of H—’s._ Haydon’s. The _Magazine_ gives this in

full.

366. _Malone._ Edmond Malone (1741–1812), the editor of Shakespeare.

_Old Mr. M—._ Given in the _Magazine_ as Mudge. The Mudges of

Plymouth were the family by whose means Northcote was introduced

to Sir Joshua Reynolds. Zachariah Mudge (1694–1769), divine, Sir

Joshua described as the wisest man he had met in his life, and

he painted his portrait three times. His ‘character’ was written

by Dr. Johnson in the _London Chronicle_, June 2, 1769. He

taught at a school kept by John Reynolds (grandfather of the

painter), at Exeter, hence the acquaintance between the two

families. He was a friend of Smeaton’s, the builder of the

Eddystone lighthouse, and it was he who joined Smeaton in the

lantern, upon its completion, in chanting the Old Hundredth. The

first Mrs. Mudge was the lady who remonstrated with Dr. Johnson

when he proceeded to his eighteenth cup of tea. ‘What, another!’

she said; and the Doctor replied: ‘Madam, you are rude,’ and

proceeded to his twenty-fifth. John Mudge (1721–1793),

physician, was the fourth and youngest son of the above.

_I heard no more of the Life._ Add the following from the

_Magazine_, p. 85:—‘for it contained stories of Mudge having run

away from the Academy where he was brought up, because Moll

Faux, the housemaid, would not have him; of his sleeping in a

sugar-cask all night at Wapping, finding a halfpenny in the

street, with which he bought a loaf to prevent himself from

starving, and returning home in the greatest distress, where he

soon after left the dissenters to go over to the church, because

the former would not give him some situation that he wanted.’ N—

said, ‘Sir Joshua took no further notice, and I believe he

burned my MS., for it was not to be found among his papers at

his death, though Malone at my request had made every search for

it. The truth is, they were mortified to find one whom they had

been in the habit of crying up not only as a person of the

highest capacity (which he was) but as a saint and the model of

a Christian pastor, turn out little better than a vagabond and

mountebank. It was besides an imputation on their own sagacity.’

366. _Kneller._ Sir Godfrey Kneller, Bart. (or Kniller), 1646–1723. He

painted portraits of nearly every person of importance in his

day.

_It would do for anybody._ Add the following from the _Magazine_:—

‘N— then showed me a print of him after Sir Joshua, which

appeared to me a complete high-priest, bullying and insincere.

His wife (the same Moll Faux, whom he afterwards married, and

who continued a violent Dissenter to the last) used to

say—“There he gets up into the pulpit, and prates away as if he

knew all the secrets of heaven and earth, and all the time does

not believe one word of it.” My father who knew him, said there

was always to him a look of insincerity in his very high-flown

orthodoxy, for once when Smeaton, the great engineer, was making

a remark on some circumstance in the Old Testament, he cut him

short by saying, “Oh! if you give up any part, the whole must

follow!” He used also to say, in speaking of the arguments on

natural religion, that in an infinity of chances everything was

possible. If he had been at Rome, he would have got to be a

Cardinal as sure as I am standing here. He had ambition and

abilities enough for any thing. Yet it was like pride in a

corner too. His wife would always put a brick behind the fire to

keep it low, and would come in and boil the saucepan by his

study-fire, just as when they had been in poverty and mean

circumstances, and yet he never objected. He grew indolent at

last, and spent his time in playing at cards with old ladies who

were rich and pious. He hated writing sermons (though it was

what he was chiefly admired for), and preached the same set over

and over again, till the congregation nearly had them by heart.

I said it was what he did not feel, and he therefore set about

it reluctantly.’

367. _Dunning, Gay, Lord Chancellor King._ John Dunning, first Baron

Ashburton (1731–1783), Solicitor-General in 1768, and one of the

most powerful orators of his day.

John Gay (1685–1732), of Barnstaple, the poet.

Peter King (first Lord King, Baron of Ockham in Surrey) 1669–1734,

lord chancellor 1725.

_Pope’s Lord Lansdowne, ‘What Muse for Granville,’_ _etc._ George

Granville or Grenville (1667–1735), follower of Waller in

English verse. He was created Lord Lansdowne in 1711. He was a

descendant of Charles I’s general, Sir Richard Granville

(1600–1658). See Pope’s _Windsor Forest_.

_Foster, the celebrated preacher._ James Foster (1697–1753) who

was appointed in 1728 Sunday Evening Lecturer at the Old Jewry.

_Lord Chancellor Hardwicke._ Philip Yorke (1690–1764), first Earl

of Hardwicke.

_Let modest Foster._ Pope’s _Epilogue to the Satires_, Dialogue,

lines 131–2. After the couplet the following passage may be

inserted from the _Magazine_:—‘I had made,’ said N—, ‘a pretty

picture of the worthies of the Devon, till — spoiled it by

making me stick his ugly boy in it, and would not have it after

all.’ ‘I asked if the family of the Mudges still continued; and

he said they did, but were not equal to the two that he had

mentioned, old Zachary Mudge, and Dr. Mudge his son, who was a

physician. The last had been his father’s most intimate friend,

and he remembered him perfectly well.’

368. _Warburton ... Dr. Doddridge ... the Divine Legation of Moses._

William Warburton (1698–1779). _The Divine Legation of Moses_

(1738–40) was described by Gibbon as ‘a monument, already

crumbling in the dust, of the vigour and weakness of the human

mind.’ Philip Doddridge (1702–1751), eminent nonconformist

divine and twentieth child of an oilman.

_Female Seducers._ One of the _Fables for the Female Sex_ (1744)

published by Edward Moore (1712–1757), the fabulist. This

particular Fable was the work of Henry Brooke, author of _The

Fool of Quality_.

369. _Mr. Agar._ Welbore Ellis Agar, referred to by Boswell (ed. G. B.

Hill, III. 118 note), in a note to a letter to Johnson (July 9,

1777). In the _Magazine_ the name is given as Ellis only.

_An expression of Coleridge’s._ The remark seems to have been made

in a lecture delivered by Coleridge on Jan. 27, 1818, on the

‘General Character of the Gothic Mind in the Middle Ages.’ See

‘Mr. Green’s note taken at the delivery’ in Coleridge’s

_Literary Remains_ vol. I., p. 69, 1836.

370. _The beautiful Mrs. G—._ Mary Horneck, the ‘Jessamy Bride’ of

Goldsmith, married to Colonel Gwyn. Her elder sister Goldsmith

nicknamed ‘Little Comedy.’

_Ninon de l’Enclos_ (1616–1706). A famous French beauty, who lives

in her letters to St. Evremond. She had many lovers and read

Montaigne at the age of ten.

371. _The description of Cymon._ ‘Cymon and Iphigenia, from Boccace.’

_Mr. P—._ Peter George Patmore (1786–1855), journalist, author

and father of Coventry Patmore. See his _My Friends and

Acquaintances_ (1854).

372. _As Swift said._ ‘But principally I hate and detest that animal

called man, although I heartily love John, Peter, Thomas, and so

forth.’ Letter to Pope, Sept. 29, 1725.

_The same complaint was made of the Academy in Barry’s time._

James Barry was not able to agree with his brother Academicians

and he was expelled in 1799.

373. _Lord G.—_ ? Robert Grosvenor, second Earl Grosvenor and first

Marquis of Westminster (1767–1845). He shocked the House of

Commons in his first speech by quoting Greek and he added the

Agar collection of pictures to the Gallery at Grosvenor House.

_Nollekens._ Joseph Nollekens (1737–1823), who modelled busts of

nearly all the ‘persons of importance’ in his day.

_Giardini._ Felice Giardini, a Piedmontese musician, who

flourished in England in the latter half of the eighteenth

century. Northcote seems to have been much impressed with

Giardini’s statement. He repeated it to James Ward. See

_Conversations of James Northcote, R.A., with James Ward on Art

and Artists_ (1901) p. 219.

_Mr. P. H._ Here and elsewhere, Mr. Prince Hoare.

374. _Dance._ See _ante_, note to p. 359,

375. _W—._ Probably West.

376. _R—, the engraver._ Samuel William Reynolds, mezzotint engraver

(1773–1835).

_Lord John Boringdon._ See _ante_, note to p. 349. Lord Boringdon

added many valuable pictures to the collection at his family

seat, Saltram, near Plymouth.

_Sir John Leicester’s._ Sir John Fleming Leicester, First Lord de

Tabley (1762–1827), art patron. He often allowed the public to

see his fine collection of British pictures, in his house in

Hill Street, Berkeley Square.

378. _Life of Chaucer._ Published 1803.

379. _Mrs. Radcliffe’s Italian._ ‘The Italian’ (1797) by Ann Radcliffe

(1764–1823).

_Wilson._ Richard Wilson, landscape painter (1714–1782). He

inherited a small estate in Wales from his brother and died

there.

380. _Barrett._ George Barret (1728/32–1784) landscape painter and

decorator of the great room at Norbury Park. His son George ‘the

younger’ (1774–1842) was one of the first members of the Water

Colour Society.

_Pirated by an Irish bookseller._ The copyright act was not

extended to Ireland until the Union.

CONVERSATION THE NINTH appeared in the _London Weekly Review_

(Richardson’s), under the heading ‘REAL CONVERSATIONS,’ March

14, 1829, from the beginning of the Conversation to ‘to obtain

redress’ on p. 384. The names are disguised, Northcote as A; G

as F.

_H—._ Haydon.

_Admiral Blake._ Robert Blake (1599–1657) one of the greatest of

English Admirals and a supporter of the Commonwealth, hence the

reference.

_G—._ Godwin and on the next page also.

381. _Baretti._ Giuseppe Marc Antonio Baretti, (1719–1789) Italian

lexicographer and friend of Dr. Johnson.

383. _Zara, Mahomet._ Voltaire’s tragedy _Zaïre_ (1733) was Englished

by Hill in 1735 and his _Mahomet_ (1738) by Miller in 1740.

384. _‘We pay,’ continued Northcote._ This forms the beginning of ‘REAL

CONVERSATIONS’ in the _London Weekly Review_, April 11, 1829.

The names are disguised as before, Northcote under A. I—’s, on

p. 385 is given in full, Irving’s. The failure of a great

bookseller is, briefly, ‘Constable’s failure.’

_Poor Goblet._ Alexander Goblet, Nollekens’ carver.

_Oh! ho, quoth Time to Thomas Hearne._ Thomas Hearne (1678–1735),

a dull but learned antiquarian, of whom Gibbon wrote: ‘His

minute and obscure diligence, his voracious and undistinguishing

appetite, and the coarse vulgarity of his taste and style, have

exposed him to the ridicule of idle wits.’ See _The Dunciad_,

III. 185.

385. _Mr. Moore (brother of the general)._ Sir Graham Moore, admiral

(1764–1843).

_The Pilot._ James Fenimore Cooper’s (1789–1851) novel was

published in 1823.

_I—._ Washington Irving (1783–1859). His _History of New York_,

_Sketch Book_, _Bracebridge Hall_ and _Tales of a Traveller_,

had appeared when this criticism was uttered. See also vol. IV.

_The Spirit of the Age_, p. 367.

386. _Mr. Alderman Wood._ Sir Matthew Wood (1768–1843), M.P. for the

City from 1817 till his death—notorious as the champion of Queen

Caroline.

_Suffered a sea-change_, _etc._ _The Tempest_, Act I. Scene 2.

[rich and strange].

_He did not do so well._ Add from the _London Weekly Review_—‘But

the whole was so thoroughly _Yankee in grain_ (even the hardness

and dryness), that I was surprised to find the writer was the

son of the celebrated Cooper of Manchester. The father was

himself, however, of a very stern republican genius.’[99]

386. _Horrors accumulating on horror’s head._ _Othello_, Act III. Scene

3.

_Brown’s Romances._ Charles Brockden Brown (1771–1810), said to be

the first American who adopted literature as a profession. His

novels (_Wieland_, _Ormund_, _Arthur Mervyn_, _Edgar Huntly_,

_Clara Howard_ and _Janet Talbot_) are full of imagination.

_Zoffani._ Johann Zauffely or Zoffany (1733–1810), portrait

painter, especially of actors in character.

_The Queen’s trial, and the scenes at Brandenburg House._ Lord

Liverpool’s bill of pains and penalties against the Queen was

abandoned in 1820 much to the people’s delight. Brandenburg

House, which was formerly on the banks of the Thames, where the

Middlesex entrance to Hammersmith Bridge now is, was occupied by

Queen Caroline, who died there in 1821.

387. _Our maid’s aunt of Brentford._ _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act IV.

Scene 2.

_Mr. R—, of Liverpool._ The name is given in full in the _London

Weekly Review_ as Roscoe, but Mr. W. C. Hazlitt says it should

be Railton.

_His book was burnt by the common hangman._ The grand jury of

Middlesex ‘presented the book as a nuisance,’ July 1723.

388. _Dignum the singer._ Charles Dignum (1765?–1872). He was connected

with Drury Lane nearly all his life.

_B—._ Sir William Beechey (1753–1839), portrait painter.

389. _Dressed in a little brief authority._ _Measure for Measure_, Act

II. Scene 2.

390. _Andrew Taffi._ Andrea Tafi, a fourteenth century Florentine

painter.

393. _He that can endure._ _Antony and Cleopatra_, Act III. Scene 3.

394. CONVERSATION THE ELEVENTH. This is the first of the ‘REAL

CONVERSATIONS’ which appeared in the _London Weekly Review_,

March 7, 1829. After the title occurs the following explanatory

note:—‘The Conversations here presented to the reader are _real_

not ‘Imaginary.’ How we became possessed of them, it is not

necessary to disclose. Suffice it that they are set down almost

exactly as they passed from the lips of the speakers; and that

those speakers are living persons, sufficiently distinguished

from the crowd by their name, talents, and acquirements, to

render whatever they may have to say worthy attention, on

whatever topic their talk may turn. We will only add, that the

Conversations here reported were entirely unpremeditated, and

consequently spoken without the remotest view to anything but

their immediate effect on the person addressed.—ED.’

Northcote is disguised as usual under A.

_Kendall’s Letters on Ireland._ ‘Letters to a friend on the State

of Ireland,’ 1826. By Edward Augustus Kendall (? 1776–1842),

founder in 1819 of _The Literary Chronicle_, which was

afterwards incorporated with the _Athenæum_.

_A thing no more difficile._ Butler’s _Hudibras_, Part 1. Canto I.

ll. 53 and 54.

395. _Old Mr. Tolcher._ Henry Tolcher, alderman of Plymouth and friend

of Northcote’s father. Northcote left an unfinished portrait of

him.

_Canning’s assertion._ In a debate in the House of Commons, on

March 1st, 1826, on a Petition for the Abolition of Slavery in

the Colonies (Hansard’s _Parl. Deb._ XIV. 973, _et seq._).

396. _Smites us on one cheek._ _S. Luke_, vi. 29.

397. CONVERSATION THE TWELFTH. No. IV. of ‘REAL CONVERSATIONS’ in the

_London Weekly Review_, April 18, 1829. Northcote as usual is A.

397. _B——._ Beechey.

_M——’s, the landscape painter._ Given as ‘Martin’s’ in the _London

Weekly Review_. John Martin, landscape and historical painter

(1789–1854), whom Lytton characterised as more original than

Raphael and Michael Angelo. He had a lifelong struggle with the

British Academy and was one of the founders of the Society of

British Artists, at whose gallery he exhibited for many years.

398. _X——._ Almost certainly Haydon, who married in October, 1821, a

beautiful widow, Mary Hymans (See p. 399).

_Sir Peter Lely._ 1617–1680, painter of the beauties of the Court

of Charles II.

399. _Brambletye-House._ By Horace Smith (1779–1849): it was published

in 1826.

400. _Maria Cosway._ Maria Hadfield, wife of Richard Cosway R.A. She

also was an artist.

401. _Mrs. G——._ Gwyn, see note to p. 370.

‘_Retaliation._’ Goldsmith’s poem (1774) wherein, amongst other

‘characters’ are the famous lines on Burke:—

‘Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind,

And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.’

403. _Grandi, the Italian colour-grinder._ Sebastiano Grandi, who was

imported from Italy to be Sir Joshua Reynolds’s colour-grinder.

He is ‘Warwick’ in the ‘Death of Cardinal Beaufort.’

_L——._ Sir Thomas Lawrence, (1769–1830) portrait painter and

President of the Royal Academy.

_Some demon whisper’d._ Pope’s ‘Epistle IV. to Richard Boyle, Earl

of Burlington,’ l. 16.

404. _Raphael Smith._ John Raphael Smith (1752–1812), painter and

mezzotint engraver. His _Life and Works_ by Julia Frankau have

recently been published in two vols. by Messrs. Macmillan.

_Signora Cecilia Davies_ (1750?–1836). After a brilliant career,

especially abroad (she was the first Englishwoman to appear on

the Italian stage), she died ignored, deserted and forgotten.

_Madame Catalani._ Angelica Catalani (1779–1849) retired from the

stage in 1827.

_Storace._ Anne Selina Storace or Storache (1766–1817), a

favourite singer and actress. Her brother Stephano Storace

(1763–1796) was composer to Drury Lane Theatre.

405. _Cried up in the top of the compass._ Cf. _Hamlet_, III. 2. ‘You

would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass.’

_Sheridan’s beautiful lines._ ‘Verses to the Memory of Garrick,

spoken as a Monody, at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane.’ Dated

March 25, 1779.

406. _The Duchess of ——._ Possibly Elizabeth Chudleigh, afterwards

Countess of Bristol and _soi-disant_ Duchess of Kingston.

Reynolds told Northcote he had never seen so delicate a beauty.

_The Three Tuns._ A famous tavern in Guildhall Yard. See Webster’s

_A Cure for a Cuckold_, Act IV. Scene 1.

_The Judge (Lord Kenyon)._ Lloyd Kenyon, First Lord Kenyon

(1732–1802) Master of the Rolls. It is said that no judge who

presided so long in the King’s bench has been as seldom

over-ruled.

407. _Bitter bad judges._ Gay’s _Beggar’s Opera_, Act I. Scene 1.

_A poem with engravings of Dartmoor._ Possibly Noel and Thomas

Carrington’s ‘Dartmoor, a Descriptive Poem’ with notes by the

late W. Burt, Esq., and twelve prints, 1826. [W. C. H.].

407. _The Panorama of the North Pole._ Possibly at Burford’s

‘Panorama,’ now the Catholic Church in Leicester Square. It was

erected in 1793 and was originally Robert Barker’s (d. 1806).

Views of famous places were printed on the inner surface of a

hollow cylinder, the spectators occupying a central platform.

408. _The Fables._ Northcote’s (and Hazlitt’s) _Fables_ were published

in 1828. See the beginning of these notes, p. 504.

_Like the enchanted money in the Arabian Nights._ ‘The Story of

the Barber’s Fourth Brother.’

_Caleb Williams._ William Godwin’s novel (1794).

410. _Lavender._ A Bow Street runner. See vol. VII. _The Plain

Speaker_, p. 83.

411. _So Johnson cried up Savage._ See his _Life of Richard Savage_

(1744).

412. _Savage the architect._ James Savage (1779–1852) architect of St.

Luke’s Church, Chelsea (where he is buried) and many other

churches.

_As the showman says in Goldsmith’s comedy._ _She Stoops to

Conquer_, Act I.

413. _The Seven Champions of Christendom, Guy of Warwick._ ‘The Seven

Champions’ by Richard Johnson (1573–1659?) published 1596–7; Guy

of Warwick, the hero of many romantic adventures: see Drayton’s

_Polyolbion_.

_Richardson (Sheridan’s friend)._ William Richardson (1743–1814)

author of ‘Essays on Some of Shakespeare’s Dramatic Characters’

(1774–1812). See vol. I. _Characters of Shakespear’s Plays_, p.

171.

Note, _a paper ... in the Tatler_. No 95, November 17, 1709.

414. _Vanbrugh._ Sir John Vanbrugh (c. 1666–1726) dramatist and

architect. His comedy _The Provoked Husband_ was left

unfinished. He built Castle Howard in Yorkshire.

_Richards (the scene painter)._ John Inigo Richards (born first

half of eighteenth century, d. 1810). He was one of the original

members of The Royal Academy. His reputation was greatest as

scene painter at Covent Garden and especially in one of the

scenes for _The Maid of the Mill_ which Woollett engraved.

‘_The City-Wives Confederacy._’ The _Confederacy_ was first played

at the Haymarket in 1705.

‘_The Trip to Scarborough._’ Sheridan’s adaptation (acted 1777,

printed 1786) of Vanbrugh’s _Relapse_.

_Let loose the grey-hound._ _The Relapse_, Act III., Scenes 3 and

4.

_Lord Mansfield._ William Murray Earl of Mansfield, (1704–1793)

Lord Chief-Justice.

415. _Mademoiselle Brocard._ Suzanne Brocard (1798–1855) a popular

French actress at the Odéon and at the Comédie Française.

_A certain poet._ Robert Southey, whose _Curse of Kehama_ was

published in 1810.

‘_The Artist._’ A weekly periodical edited by Prince Hoare.

‘_No Song no Supper._’ A farce of Prince Hoare’s with music by

Storace. First acted at Drury Lane, April 16, 1790.

_Madame Storace._ See _ante_, p. 404 and note.

‘_My grandmother._’ A musical farce by Prince Hoare and Storace

produced at the Haymarket, Dec. 16, 1793.

417. _O’Keefe._ John O’Keeffe (1747–1833).

_Bowkitt the dancing-master._ In O’Keeffe’s _Son-in-Law_ (1779).

See under Edwin in _The Dictionary of National Biography_ for a

tale of his acting in the part.

_Edwin._ John Edwin the elder (1749–1790).

_Lingo._ In O’Keeffe’s comedy _Agreeable Surprise_.

417. _Mrs. Wells._ Mrs. Mary Wells, afterwards Mrs. Sumbel (fl.

1781–1812). She was the first actress of ‘Cowslip’ in O’Keeffe’s

_Agreeable Surprise_, Sept. 3, 1781.

‘_Peeping Tom of Coventry._’ A Comic Opera by John O’Keeffe, a

success at the Haymarket, 1784.

_B—._ John Bannister.

‘_Lenitive in the Prize._’ A musical farce by Prince Hoare,

produced at the Haymarket, March 11, 1793.

_Liston._ John Liston (1776–1846).

418. _Munden._ Joseph Shepherd Munden (1758–1836). See Lamb’s _Elia_,

ed. Ainger, p. 201, ‘On the Acting of Munden.’

_Weston._ Thomas Weston (1737–1776).

_Scrub._ In _The Beaux Stratagem_ (1707) by George Farquhar

(1678–1707).

_Dr. L._ Foote and Bickerstaffe’s farce, _Dr. Last in his chariot_

(1769).

_Abel Drugger._ In Ben Jonson’s _The Alchemist_ (1610).

_Mr. Theodore Hook’s ‘Sayings and Doings.’_ Theodore Hook’s

(1788–1841) ‘Sayings and Doings’ fill nine volumes (1824–8).

_Curll._ Edmund Curll (1675–1747), the bookseller of whose

biographies Arbuthnot said ‘They add a new terror to death.’ He

was best known as a publisher of ‘curious’ literature and has

his place in the _Dunciad_.

_President Bradshaw._ John Bradshaw (1602–1659), who presided over

the ‘trial’ of Charles I. That post led to his being made

President of the Council of State.

419. _Dr. M—._ Mudge.

_Rosa de Tivoli._ Philipp Peter Roos (1657–1705), called Rosa da

Tivoli from his having established himself at Tivoli, ‘where he

kept a kind of menagerie, for the purpose of drawing animals

with the greater correctness.’ (Bryan.)

_A whimsical production._ Possibly Amory’s _John Buncle_; See vol.

I. _The Round Table_, p. 51 _et seq._, and notes thereto.

‘_Lazarillo de Tormes._’ The authorship of this romance (?1553)

is generally attributed to Don Diego Hurtado de Mendoza

(1503–1575), the representative of Charles V. at the Council

of Trent. An English edition appeared in 1576.

_Cheats of Scapin._ Otway’s version (1677) of Molière’s farce

(1671).

_Scarron._ Paul Scarron (1610–1660), author of _Le Roman Comique_

(1651–7), the ‘only begetter’ of the novels of Le Sage, Defoe

and their successors, one of the brightest, bravest cripples who

ever lived. His works were translated by T. Brown, Savage and

others in 1700. The sentence reads as though Molière’s comedy

were attributed to Scarron.

420. CONVERSATION THE SIXTEENTH. This Conversation to ‘his infirmity’

on p. 422, was published in _The Atlas_, April 19, 1829, as No.

1 of ‘Conversations as good as Real’ (following the ‘Real

Conversations’ in Richardson’s _London Weekly Review_, No. IV.

of which had appeared the day before). See note to p. 397. N is

J and H is T throughout. The rest of the ‘Conversation’ appeared

as No. 11 in the issue for April 26, 1829.

_Ramsay._ Allan Ramsay (1713–1784), portrait painter, son of the

poet.

_J—n._ John Jackson, portrait painter, (1778–1831).

_W—._ ? Wilkie.

421. _To make assurance doubly sure._ _Macbeth_, Act IV. Scene 1.

421. _Johnson had his Lexiphanes._ A parody of his style, published

1767: ‘its author was one Campbell, a Scotch purser in the

Navy.’

_The L— poets._ The Lake poets.

422. _You’re not so far out._ Add, from _The Atlas_, after this

line:—‘K— wanted him to sit on the Sunday as he was hurried for

time, and I proposed it to him with some hesitation—he answered,

“Oh! yes; you ‘re not to suppose that I am such a Presbyterian

as to refuse to sit for my picture on the sabbath-day, I’ll sit

with the greatest pleasure—after divine service.” And so he

came.’

_A devoted enthusiast notwithstanding._ Add, from _The Atlas_:—‘It

is not his Toryism neither, that I object to, but his manner of

defending it. Neither party has a right to use poisoned weapons,

or to resort to under-hand means. If the Whigs or reformers were

to deal in wholesale calumny and squalid abuse against their

opponents, they would be scouted as blackguards; but the Court

party think themselves screened from this imputation (Sir

WALTER, I am afraid, among the rest), and that they have a right

to say and to do what they please, _cum privilegio regis_.

J. I can’t agree with you on that subject. Whenever politics are

concerned, your passions run away with your understanding. I

don’t believe Sir WALTER had ever any thing to do with the

_Blackwood_ set.

T. Nor with the _Sentinel_?[100]

J. I never heard of that.

T. Never mind, then. There are two things,’ etc.

_All Europe rings with them from side to side._ Milton’s Sonnet to

Cyriac Skinner, II. (_i.e._ ‘To the same.’)

423. _His Grammar?_ William Cobbett’s (1762–1835), _A Grammar of the

English Language in a Series of Letters_ was published in 1818.

_Peter Pindar._ John Wolcot (1738–1819), physician, satirist and

poet.

_Bastards of their art._ Cf.

‘Thought characters and words merely but art

And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.’

Shakespeare, ‘A Lover’s Complaint,’ ll. 174–5.

424. _Not one, but all mankind’s epitome._ Dryden’s _Absalom and

Achitophel_, Part I. l. 546.

_When Rousseau stood._ _Les Confessions_, Partie I. Livre iii.

(ed. _Garnier_, pp. 81–2).

425. _And looked round on them with their wolfish eyes._ ‘The longings

of the cannibal arise (Although they spoke not) in their wolfish

eyes.’ _Don Juan_, Canto II. 72.

426. _The last._ _The Fair Maid of Perth_ published as _Chronicles of

the Canongate_ (2nd Series) in 1828.

_The cask of butter in the storm._ _Don Juan_, Canto II. 46.

_Mrs. Abington._ Frances Abington (1737–1815), flower-seller,

street singer, cookmaid and comedy-queen.

429. _Lord Exmouth (Sir Edward Pellew)._ Edward Pellew, Viscount

Exmouth (1757–1833), whose bombardment of Algiers in 1816

procured him his title.

_The Colosseum._ The Colosseum in Regent’s Park was erected in

1824–6, for a panorama of London from the top of St. Paul’s,

which occupied 46,000 square feet of canvas. It was demolished

in 1875. Rogers said the

building was ‘finer than anything among the remains of

architectural art in Italy.’

429. _Lackington._ James Lackington (1746–1815), whose ‘Memoirs of the

Forty-Five First (sic) Years’ of his life as a bookseller was

published in 1791, ‘with a Triple Dedication; 1. To the Public;

2. To respectable; 3. To sordid, Booksellers.’ His premises in

Moorfields, ‘The Temple of the Muses,’ were ‘so capacious that a

mail-coach and four was easily driven round the counters when it

was opened.’ Adam Black, the Edinburgh publisher, gained his

early experience in the house of Lackington, Allen and Co.

_E— the architect._ ? James Elmes (1782–1862), architect, and

contributor to art and antiquarian periodicals. He was a friend

of Haydon’s.

430. _Drelincourt on Death ... till Defoe put a ghost-story into it._

Charles Drelincourt’s _The Christian’s Defence against the Fears

of Death_, 1675, a popular work by a Calvinist minister. Defoe’s

_A True Relation of the Apparition of one Mrs. Veal....’_ is

often bound up with it, but as to its influence on the sale see

G. A. Aitken’s Introduction to Defoe’s ‘Due Preparations for the

Plague,’ etc., 1895.

_W—l._ Westall, and on the next page also.

_Jack T—._ John Taylor (1757–1832), proprietor of _The Sun_, a

Tory paper, from 1813 to 1825. The editor (William Jerdan), he

bought out in 1817.

_Payne Knight._ Richard Payne Knight (1750–1824), numismatist,

miscellaneous writer, and art connoisseur. His collection of

bronzes, now in the British Museum, to which he bequeathed it,

obtained for him from Walpole the name of ‘Knight of the Brazen

Milk-pot.’

431. _I—g._ Irving.

432. _As Mr. Locke observed._ _An Essay concerning Human

Understanding_, Book IV. chap. XX.

_Ramsay’s picture of the Queen_, _i.e._ Queen Charlotte. The

picture is in the National Portrait Gallery.

_Shield ... Flitch of Bacon._ Composed (1778) by Henry Bate,

afterwards the Rev. Sir Henry Bate Dudley (1745–1824), with

music by William Shield (1748–1829). Its success brought the

latter the post of composer to Covent Garden Theatre.

_Dignum._ See _ante_, note to p. 388.

_Come unto these yellow sands._ _The Tempest_, Act I. Scene 2.

433. _The rhyming echoes in Hudibras._ Part I. Canto III. 199–220.

_Slender’s Mum and Budget._ _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act V. Scene

2.

434. _Boydell._ See _ante_, p. 362 and note.

_Farquhar’s comedy._ _The Recruiting Officer_, 1706.

435. (_After a pause._) From this paragraph to the end of the

‘Conversation’ appeared in _The Atlas_, June 28, 1829, as ‘A

Discursive Dialogue on Arts and Artists.’

_Somerset-House._ The rooms of the Royal Academy of Arts were here

from 1780–1838, under the vestibule on the right as you enter.

The last of Sir Joshua Reynolds’s Discourses was delivered here

in the great room of the Academy.

436. _Low Bartlemy-fair._ Bartholomew Fair was held at West Smithfield,

1133–1855; it was a famous place for theatrical shows.

437. _Lord Gwydir._ Peter Burrell (d. 1820), created Lord Gwydyr in

1796. He married (1779) Lady Priscilla Barbara Elizabeth

Bertie, daughter of the Duke of Ancaster. Wraxall (_Historical

and Posthumous Memoirs_, ed. Wheatley, III. 352–4) refers to

the ‘prosperous chain of events’ which happened to the Burrell

family. Gwydyr House in Whitehall, the habitation of the

Charity Commissioners, was named after him. See Wheatley and

Cunningham’s _London, Past and Present_.

437. _Mr. Peel._ The great Sir Robert Peel (1788–1850) the best part of

whose fine collection of pictures (including The Snake in the

Grass) is now in the National Gallery.

_Gainsborough._ Thomas Gainsborough (1727–1788), one of the

greatest of English landscape and portrait painters.

_Watteau._ Antoine Watteau (1684–1721), painter of idyllic

landscapes.

438. _An eminent counsellor._ This appears in _The Atlas_ as

‘Loughborough,’ Alexander Wedderburn, 1st Baron Loughborough

(1733–1805), Lord Chancellor 1793–1801.

_C—._ Sir Augustus Wall Callcott, R.A., fashionable landscape and

marine painter (1779–1844).

_Marchant._ Nathaniel Marchant (1739–1816), gem engraver and

medallist. He was engraver of gems to the Prince Regent.

440. _Virtue may choose._ Pope, _Epilogue to Satires_, Dialogue I.

_When Sir Joshua._ From these words to ‘Sir Walter Scott

frequently,’ on p. 443, appeared in _The Atlas_ for August 16,

1829, as No. X. of ‘Conversations as good as Real: The Immodest

in Works of Art.’

_Guido._ Guido Reni, of the school of Bologna (1575–1642). The

‘silvery’ nature of his colouring was a characteristic of the

third period of his art.

441. _Albano._ Francesco Albani, also of the school of Bologna

(1578–1660). He was a fellow student of Guido Reni’s, and the

faces of his twelve children, who were gifted with great beauty,

may be seen in his subjects.

_J—, of Edinburgh._ ? Jeffrey.

442. _Sir W. W._ Given in _The Atlas_ as Lord C—. But in all

probability Sir Watkin Williams Wynn (1749–1789), 4th baronet,

is meant, for whom Reynolds painted St. Cecilia and Dance

Orpheus. See Leslie and Taylor’s _Life of Reynolds_, II. 74.

_A remark of Coleridge’s._ Hazlitt sat up all night at Tewkesbury,

reading _Paul and Virginia_, when he was on his way to visit

Coleridge. See ‘My First Acquaintance with Poets,’ where

Coleridge’s remark is again quoted. No doubt he made it during

Hazlitt’s visit.

443. _C—._ George Colman ‘the Elder’ (1732–1794).

444. _Brother Van._ See Swift’s verses on Vanbrugh’s house:—

‘Now, poets from all the quarters ran

To see the house of brother Van.’

_Richards, the scene painter._ See _ante_, p. 414, and note.

‘_The Journey to London._’ The name by which Vanbrugh’s unfinished

comedy, _The Provoked Husband_ (1726), was first known. It was

finished by Colley Cibber.

‘_Lord Foppington._’ In Vanbrugh’s _The Relapse_ (1696).

‘_Devin du Village._’ Rousseau’s successful opera (1753), which

contains the air now known as ‘Rousseau’s Dream.’

_Beattie._ James Beattie, poet and essayist (1735–1803). His

_Essay on Truth_ (1770), which was enormously popular, was an

attack on Hume.

445. _Cibber._ Colley Cibber (1671–1757), actor, dramatist and Poet

Laureate (from 1730).

_The Margravine of Bareuth._ An English translation of the amusing

‘Memoires de Frederique Sophie Wilhelmine de Prusse, Margrave de

Bareith Soeur de Frédéric-le-Grand, écrits de sa Main’ appeared

in 1812. The Duchess of Kendal is attributed to George II. in

_The Atlas_. ‘Conversations as good as Real,’ No. IX., begins

with this sentence in _The Atlas_ for August 9, 1829. And the

following passage after ‘new situation’ may be added:—‘A great

person is said to mimic George II., and make sport of his bad

English (though it can only be from hearsay); he used to call

out when he was provoked at any thing—“God d—mn what I am, God

d—mn what you be.” He laid great stress on the minutest trifles,

and insisted on wearing his shirts in the order in which they

were numbered, and flew into a violent passion if they brought

him the wrong number. “Why am I to wear No. 16, when I have not

had No. 15? Why am I to do nothing that I like? Am I king of

England, or am I not? That is what I want to know.” And then he

would fall to kicking his hat about the room to vent his anger,

and rating any of the ministers that came in in his outlandish

jargon. Once he was going to kick the Duke of ARGYLL, who laid

his hand upon his sword, and withdrew in high dudgeon. Meeting

Sir ROBERT WALPOLE on the staircase, he complained of what had

happened, to which the other replied, “Oh! that’s nothing, he

has treated me so a hundred times.” “Yes, but” (said the Scotch

peer) “there is some difference between JOHN, Duke of ARGYLL,

and ROBERT WALPOLE.”’

447. _Sir Edward Pellew._ See _ante_, p. 429, and note.

448. _The Life of Sir Joshua._ Allan Cunningham’s ‘Lives of the most

Eminent British Painters, Sculptors, and Architects’ appeared in

1829–1833 in six vols. This is No. XII. of _The Atlas_

‘Conversations’ (August 20, 1829)

449. _Old Mr. Tolcher._ See _ante_, note to p. 395.

_The famous Pulteney._ William Pulteney, later Earl of Bath

(1682–1764), Walpole’s bitterest antagonist in the House of

Commons.

_Mr. Lamb ... Hogarth._ See the essay ‘On the Genius and Character

of Hogarth’ in _The Reflector_, No. 3, 1811.

_Dr. Tucker, Dean of Gloucester._ Josiah Tucker (1712–1799), the

recipient of Butler’s remark that nations, as well as

individuals, may go mad. He was a writer on Economics.

450. _Sparing of his wine._ Add, ‘But Sir JOSHUA was fond of the bottle

himself; and no one that is so ever stints others.’

_Dr. Johnson’s speech ... the Miss Cottrells._ See Boswell’s

_Johnson_ 1752.

452. _The newspaper critic._ Conversation No. XII. in _The Atlas_ had

ended with ‘rational account of,’ four lines above, and No.

XIII. began here, entitled ‘The St. Giles’ in Art,’ in the

number for Sept. 13, 1829.

_Sir John Hawkins_ (1719–1789), writer on music and predecessor of

Boswell in a life of Johnson.

_Bright particular star._ _All’s Well that Ends Well_, Act I.

Scene 1.

_Tyke._ John Emery’s (1777–1822) greatest part, a character in

Morton’s comedy, _The School of Reform, or How to Rule a

Husband_ (1805). See Hazlitt’s _Dramatic Essays_.

453. _Dollalolla._ Queen Dollalolla, wife of King Arthur, in Fielding’s

Comic Opera, _Tom Thumb_.

_Capella Bianca._ Bianca Cappello, Grand-duchess of Tuscany, d.

1587; mistress and then wife of Francesco de Medici, both of

whom are supposed to have been poisoned by his brother

Ferdinand.

_Morton._ Thomas Morton (1764?–1838).

453. _Such persons._ Or, more specifically, ‘Mr. Lamb,’ as in _The

Atlas_.

_Fawcett._ Joseph Fawcett (1768–1837).

_Lewis._ William Thomas Lewis (1748?–1811), the ‘gentleman’

comedian.

_Lord and Lady Townly._ In Colley Cibber’s version of Vanbrugh’s

_The Provoked Husband_.

_The History of a Foundling._ The sub-title of _Tom Jones_.

454. _T. M._ Tom Moore.

_Of defects we wish to balance._ Add:—‘I have known a man turn

Tory to prove he was not a bastard. Lord NELSON probably

performed such prodigies because, as he passed along the quay to

take command of his ship, the mob sneered at him, and said, “Is

that poor wisen-faced thing going to fight the French?” Do you

suppose,’ etc.

454. _Lady Sarah Bunbury._ Lady Sarah Lennox (1745–1826), daughter of

the second Duke of Richmond, married, 1762, Thomas Charles

(afterwards Sir Thomas Charles) Bunbury, from whom she was

divorced in 1776. In 1782 she married George Napier (son of the

fifth Lord Napier), by whom she became mother of Sir Charles

James and Sir William Napier. George III. was in love with her

in 1761. Her _Correspondence_ has recently been published in two

vols. by Mr. Murray.

_Gilray._ James Gillray (1757–1815).

_Lord Macartney._ George, Earl Macartney (1737–1806). He was the

head of the first Embassy from England to China (1792–4).

CONVERSATION THE TWENTY-FIRST. This, to ‘briefs pour in’ on p.

459, is ‘Conversation XVII.’ in _The Atlas_ for November 8,

1829.

456. _Abraham Tucker_ (1705–1774). His _Light of Nature Pursued_

Hazlitt abridged and prefaced. See vol. IV. p. 370 _et seq._

_Marquis of Stafford’s gallery._ Stafford House, in St. James’s

Park, and its private collection of paintings.

_Which was the greatest man._ The alternative to Sir Isaac Newton

in _The Atlas_ is ‘Jack Davies, the racquet-player.’

457. _W—’s poetry._ Wordsworth’s.

_Holcroft._ Thomas Holcroft (1745–1809), whose ‘Memoirs’ Hazlitt

completed. See vol. II. of the present Edition.

458. _Joseph Andrews._ Fielding’s novel was published in 1742, not

1748.

—. Possibly Bewick.

459. _The election of the new Pope._ Pius VIII. was elected in 1829.

_Monmouth-Street finery._ Monmouth Street, St. Giles’s, was noted

in the eighteenth century for its second-hand clothes’ shops.

‘On Lord Kelly, a remarkable, red-faced, drunken lord, coming

into a room in a coat much embroidered but somewhat tarnished,

Foote said he was an exact representation of Monmouth Street in

flames.’ Prior’s _Life of Malone_.

460. _What do you think of that portrait._ This begins ‘Conversation

XIII.’ in _The Atlas_ for Oct. 25, 1829.

461. _The mind has still a link ... the beloved object._ For this

sentence substitute from _The Atlas_:—‘It was she who sat and

sang to me as I painted the portrait of her son that died.’ (See

p. 391).

_The Miss B—s._ Mary Berry (1763–1852) and her sister Agnes, who

lived together for nearly eighty-eight years. Horace Walpole

described Mary as ‘an angel both inside and out’ and both as his

‘twin wives.’ Their names are given in full in _The Atlas_.

462. CONVERSATION THE TWENTY-SECOND. ‘The last’ in _The Atlas_ for 15th

November 1829, entitled ‘Mutual Confessions and Explanations.’

_The Country Girl._ Garrick’s comedy, based on Wycherley’s

_Country Wife_, itself an adaptation of Molière’s _L’École des

Maris_, and _L’École des Femmes_.

464. _The milk of human kindness._ _Macbeth_, Act I. Scene 5.

_Shadwell._ Thomas Shadwell (1642?–1692), dramatist and

poet-laureate.

_Dennis._ John Dennis (1657–1734), Pope’s antagonistic critic. See

his _The Advancement and Reformation of Modern Poetry_ (1701)

and _The Ground of Criticism in Poetry_ (1704).

465. _Other things between heaven and earth._ _Hamlet_, Act I. Scene 5.

_Ugolino._ The story of Ugolino, leader of the Guelfs in Pisa, and

of his imprisonment in the ‘Tower of Famine’ will be found in

Chaucer’s _Monk’s Tale_. See also Dante’s _Inferno_, XXXIII.

-----

Footnote 1:

There is a passage in Werter which contains a very pleasing

illustration of this doctrine, and is as follows.

‘About a league from the town is a place called Walheim. It is very

agreeably situated on the side of a hill: from one of the paths which

leads out of the village, you have a view of the whole country; and

there is a good old woman who sells wine, coffee, and tea there: but

better than all this are two lime-trees before the church, which

spread their branches over a little green, surrounded by barns and

cottages. I have seen few places more retired and peaceful. I send for

a chair and table from the old woman’s, and there I drink my coffee

and read Homer. It was by accident that I discovered this place one

fine afternoon: all was perfect stillness; every body was in the

fields, except a little boy about four years old, who was sitting on

the ground, and holding between his knees a child of about six months;

he pressed it to his bosom with his little arms, which made a sort of

great chair for it, and notwithstanding the vivacity which sparkled in

his eyes, he sat perfectly still. Quite delighted with the scene, I

sat down on a plough opposite, and had great pleasure in drawing this

little picture of brotherly tenderness. I added a bit of the hedge,

the barn-door, and some broken cart-wheels, without any order, just as

they happened to lie; and in about an hour I found I had made a

drawing of great expression and very correct design, without having

put in any thing of my own. This confirmed me in the resolution I had

made before, only to copy nature for the future. Nature is

inexhaustible, and alone forms the greatest masters. Say what you will

of rules, they alter the true features, and the natural expression.’

Page 15.

Footnote 2:

It is at present covered with a thick slough of oil and varnish (the

perishable vehicle of the English school) like an envelope of

gold-beaters’ skin, so as to be hardly visible.

Footnote 3:

Men in business, who are answerable with their fortunes for the

consequences of their opinions, and are therefore accustomed to

ascertain pretty accurately the grounds on which they act, before they

commit themselves on the event, are often men of remarkably quick and

sound judgments. Artists in like manner must know tolerably well what

they are about, before they can bring the result of their observations

to the test of ocular demonstration.

Footnote 4:

The famous Schiller used to say, that he found the great happiness of

life, after all, to consist in the discharge of some mechanical duty.

Footnote 5:

The rich _impasting_ of Titian and Giorgione combines something of the

advantages of both these styles, the felicity of the one with the

carefulness of the other, and is perhaps to be preferred to either.

Footnote 6:

Leonardo da Vinci.

Footnote 7:

Titian.

Footnote 8:

Michael Angelo.

Footnote 9:

Correggio.

Footnote 10:

Annibal Caracci.

Footnote 11:

Rubens.

Footnote 12:

Rafaelle.

Footnote 13:

If we take away from _the present_ the moment that is just gone by and

the moment that is next to come, how much of it will be left for this

plain, practical theory to rest upon? Their solid basis of sense and

reality will reduce itself to a pin’s point, a hair-line, on which our

moral balance-masters will have some difficulty to maintain their

footing without falling over on either side.

Footnote 14:

A treatise on the Millennium is dull; but who was ever weary of

reading the fables of the Golden Age? On my once observing I should

like to have been Claude, a person said, ‘they should not, for that

then by this time it would have been all over with them.’ As if it

could possibly signify when we live (save and excepting the present

minute), or as if the value of human life decreased or increased with

successive centuries. At that rate, we had better have our life still

to come at some future period, and so postpone our existence century

after century _ad infinitum_.

Footnote 15:

In like manner, though we know that an event must have taken place at

a distance, long before we can hear the result, yet as long as we

remain in ignorance of it, we irritate ourselves about it, and suffer

all the agonies of suspense, as if it was still to come; but as soon

as our uncertainty is removed, our fretful impatience vanishes, we

resign ourselves to fate, and make up our minds to what has happened

as well as we can.

Footnote 16:

Sentiment has the same source as that here pointed out. Thus the _Ranz

des Vaches_, which has such an effect on the minds of the Swiss

peasantry, when its well-known sound is heard, does not merely recal

to them the idea of their country, but has associated with it a

thousand nameless ideas, numberless touches of private affection, of

early hope, romantic adventure, and national pride, all which rush in

(with mingled currents) to swell the tide of fond remembrance, and

make them languish or die for home. What a fine instrument the human

heart is! Who shall touch it? Who shall fathom it? Who shall ‘sound it

from its lowest note to the top of its compass?’ Who shall put his

hand among the strings, and explain their wayward music? The heart

alone, when touched by sympathy, trembles and responds to their hidden

meaning!

Footnote 17:

I do not here speak of the figurative or fanciful exercise of the

imagination, which consists in finding out some striking object or

image to illustrate another.

Footnote 18:

Mr. Wordsworth himself should not say this, and yet I am not sure he

would not.

Footnote 19:

The only good thing I ever heard come of this man’s singular faculty

of memory was the following. A gentleman was mentioning his having

been sent up to London from the place where he lived to see Garrick

act. When he went back into the country, he was asked what he thought

of the player and the play. ‘Oh!’ he said, ‘he did not know: he had

only seen a little man strut about the stage, and repeat 7956 words.’

We all laughed at this, but a person in one corner of the room,

holding one hand to his forehead, and seeming mightily delighted,

called out, ‘Ay, indeed! And pray, was he found to be correct?’ This

was the supererogation of literal matter-of-fact curiosity. Jedediah

Buxton’s counting the number of words was idle enough; but here was a

fellow who wanted some one to count them over again to see if he was

correct.

‘The force of _dulness_ could no farther go!’

Footnote 20:

Sir Joshua Reynolds being asked how long it had taken him to do a

certain picture, made answer, ‘All his life.’

Footnote 21:

The late Lord Thurlow used to say that Cobbett was the only writer

that deserved the name of a political reasoner.

Footnote 22:

Mr. Cobbett speaks almost as well as he writes. The only time I ever

saw him he seemed to me a very pleasant man—easy of access, affable,

clearheaded, simple and mild in his manner, deliberate and unruffled

in his speech, though some of his expressions were not very qualified.

His figure is tall and portly. He has a good sensible face—rather

full, with little grey eyes, a hard, square forehead, a ruddy

complexion, with hair grey or powdered; and had on a scarlet

broad-cloth waistcoat with the flaps of the pockets hanging down, as

was the custom for gentlemen-farmers in the last century, or as we see

it in the pictures of Members of Parliament in the reign of George I.

I certainly did not think less favourably of him for seeing him.

Footnote 23:

Quarto poetry, as well as quarto metaphysics, does not always sell.

Going one day into a shop in Paternoster-row to see for some lines in

Mr. Wordsworth’s Excursion to interlard some prose with, I applied to

the constituted authorities, and asked if I could look at a copy of

the Excursion? The answer was—‘Into which county, Sir?’

Footnote 24:

These fantastic poets are like a foolish ringer at Plymouth that

Northcote tells the story of. He was proud of his ringing, and the

boys who made a jest of his foible used to get him in the belfry, and

ask him, ‘Well now, John, how many good ringers are there in

Plymouth?’ ‘Two,’ he would say, without any hesitation. ‘Ay, indeed!

and who are they?’—‘Why, first, there’s myself, that’s one:

and—and’—‘Well, and who’s the other?’—‘Why there’s, there’s—Ecod, I

can’t think of any other but myself.’ _Talk we of one Master

Launcelot._ The story is of ringers: it will do for any vain, shallow,

self-satisfied egotist of them all.

Footnote 25:

The celebrated Peter Pindar (Dr. Wolcot) first discovered and brought

out the talents of the late Mr. Opie, the painter. He was a poor

Cornish boy, and was out at work in the fields, when the poet went in

search of him. ‘Well, my lad, can you go and bring me your very best

picture?’ The other flew like lightning, and soon came back with what

he considered as his masterpiece. The stranger looked at it, and the

young artist, after waiting for some time without his giving any

opinion, at length exclaimed eagerly, ‘Well, what do you think of

it?’—‘Think of it?’ said Wolcot, ‘why I think you ought to be ashamed

of it—that you who might do so well, do no better!’ The same answer

would have applied to this artist’s latest performances, that had been

suggested by one of his earliest efforts.

Footnote 26:

If two persons play against each other at any game, one of them

necessarily fails.

Footnote 27:

Written at Winterslow Hut, January 18th–19th, 1821.

Footnote 28:

Webster’s Duchess of Malfi.

Footnote 29:

Shenstone and Gray were two men, one of whom pretended to live to

himself, and the other really did so. Gray shrunk from the public gaze

(he did not even like his portrait to be prefixed to his works) into

his own thoughts and indolent musings; Shenstone affected privacy,

that he might be sought out by the world; the one courted retirement

in order to enjoy leisure and repose, as the other coquetted with it,

merely to be interrupted with the importunity of visitors and the

flatteries of absent friends.

Footnote 30:

‘Plut. of Banishment. He compares those who cannot live out of their

own country, to the simple people who fancied the moon of Athens was a

finer moon than that of Corinth.

—_Labentem cœlo quæ ducitis annum._

VIRG. GEORG.’

Footnote 31:

When Buonaparte left the Chamber of Deputies to go and fight his last

fatal battle, he advised them not to be debating the forms of

Constitutions when the enemy was at their gates. Benjamin Constant

thought otherwise. He wanted to play a game at _cat’s-cradle_ between

the Republicans and Royalists, and lost his match. He did not care, so

that he hampered a more efficient man than himself.

Footnote 32:

A thorough fitness for any end implies the means. Where there is a

will, there is a way. A real passion, an entire devotion to any

object, always succeeds. The strong sympathy with what we wish and

imagine, realises it, dissipates all obstacles, and removes all

scruples. The disappointed lover may complain as much as he pleases.

He was himself to blame. He was a half witted, _wishy-washy_ fellow.

His love might be as great as he makes it out: but it was not his

ruling-passion. His fear, his pride, his vanity was greater. Let any

one’s whole soul be steeped in this passion, let him think and care

for nothing else, let nothing divert, cool, or intimidate him, let the

_ideal_ feeling become an actual one and take possession of his whole

faculties, looks, and manner, let the same voluptuous hopes and wishes

govern his actions in the presence of his mistress that haunt his

fancy in her absence, and I will answer for his success. But I will

not answer for the success of a ‘dish of skimmed milk’ in such a case.

I could always get to see a fine collection of pictures myself. The

fact is, I was set upon it. Neither the surliness of porters, nor the

impertinence of footmen could keep me back. I had a portrait of Titian

in my eye, and nothing could put me out in my determination. If that

had not (as it were) been looking on me all the time I was battling my

way, I should have been irritated or disconcerted, and gone away. But

my liking to the end conquered my scruples or aversion to the means. I

never understood the Scotch character but on these occasions. I would

not take ‘No’ for an answer. If I had wanted a place under government,

or a writership to India, I could have got it from the same

importunity, and on the same terms.

Footnote 33:

A poor woman at Plymouth who did not like the formality, or could not

afford the expence, of a will, thought to leave what little property

she had in wearing-apparel and household moveables to her friends and

relations, _vivá voce_, and before Death stopped her breath. She gave

and willed away (of her proper authority) her chair and table to one,

her bed to another, an old cloak to a third, a night-cap and petticoat

to a fourth, and so on. The old crones sat weeping round, and soon

after carried off all they could lay their hands upon, and left their

benefactress to her fate. They were no sooner gone than she

unexpectedly recovered, and sent to have her things back again; but

not one of them could she get, and she was left without a rag to her

back, or a friend to condole with her.

Footnote 34:

The law of primogeniture has its origin in the principle here

stated—the desire of perpetuating some one palpable and prominent

proof of wealth and power.

Footnote 35:

It is as follows:

‘_The Will of a Virtuoso_,

‘I Nicholas Gimcrack, being in sound Health of Mind, but in great

Weakness of Body, do by this my Last Will and Testament bequeath my

worldly Goods and Chattels in Manner following:—

_Imprimis_, To my dear Wife,

One Box of Butterflies,

One Drawer of Shells,

A Female Skeleton,

A dried Cockatrice.

_Item_, To my Daughter _Elizabeth_,

My Receipt for preserving dead Caterpillars.

As also my preparations of Winter May-Dew, and Embrio Pickle.

_Item_, To my little Daughter _Fanny_,

Three Crocodiles’ Eggs.

And upon the Birth of her first Child, if she marries with her

Mother’s Consent,

The Nest of a Humming-Bird.

_Item_, To my eldest Brother, as an Acknowledgment for the Lands he

has vested in my Son Charles, I bequeath

My last Year’s Collection of Grasshoppers.

_Item_, To his Daughter _Susanna_, being his only Child, I bequeath my

_English_ Weeds pasted on Royal Paper,

With my large Folio of

_Indian_ Cabbage.

* * * * *

Having fully provided for my Nephew Isaac, by making over to him some

years since

A Horned _Scarabæus_,

The Skin of a Rattle-Snake, and

The Mummy of an _Egyptian_ King,

I make no further Provision for him in this my Will.

My eldest Son _John_ having spoken disrespectfully of his little

Sister, whom I keep by me in Spirits of Wine, and in many other

Instances behaved himself undutifully towards me, I do disinherit, and

wholly cut off from any Part of this my Personal Estate, by giving him

a single Cockle-Shell.

To my Second Son _Charles_, I give and bequeath all my Flowers,

Plants, Minerals, Mosses, Shells, Pebbles, Fossils, Beetles,

Butterflies, Caterpillars, Grasshoppers, and Vermin, not above

specified: As also all my Monsters, both wet and dry, making the said

_Charles_ whole and sole Executor of this my Last Will and Testament,

he paying or causing to be paid the aforesaid Legacies within the

space of Six Months after my Decease. And I do hereby revoke all other

Wills whatsoever by me formerly made.’—TATLER, Vol. IV. No. 216.

Footnote 36:

Kellerman lately left his heart to be buried in the field of Valmy

where the first great battle was fought in the year 1792, in which the

Allies were repulsed.

Footnote 37:

How careful is Sir Joshua, even in a parenthesis, to insinuate the

obligations of this great genius to others, as if he would have been

nothing without them.

Footnote 38:

If Sir Joshua had had an offer to exchange a Luca Giordano in his

collection for a Claude Lorraine, he would not have hesitated long

about the preference.

Footnote 39:

Written in 1788.

Footnote 40:

Gainsborough.

Footnote 41:

Sir Joshua himself wanted academic skill and patience in the details

of his profession. From these defects he seems to have been

alternately repelled by each theory and style of art, the simply

natural and elaborately scientific, as it came before him; and in his

impatience of each, to have been betrayed into a tissue of

inconsistencies somewhat difficult to unravel.

Footnote 42:

He had been before speaking of Boucher, Director of the French

Academy, who told him that ‘when he was young, studying his art, he

found it necessary to use models, but that he had left them off for

many years.’

Footnote 43:

These are Sir Joshua’s words.

Footnote 44:

I do not know that: but I do not think the two passions could be

expressed by expressing neither or something between both.

Footnote 45:

‘As for politics, I think poets are _tories_ by nature, supposing them

to be by nature poets. The love of an individual person or family that

has worn a crown for many successions, is an inclination greatly

adapted to the fanciful tribe. On the other hand, mathematicians,

abstract reasoners, of no manner of attachment to persons, at least to

the visible part of them, but prodigiously devoted to the ideas of

virtue, liberty, and so forth, are generally _whigs_. It happens

agreeably enough to this maxim, that the whigs are friends to that

wise, plodding, unpoetical people, the Dutch.’—Shenstone’s Letters,

1746, p. 105.

Footnote 46:

To give the modern reader _un petit aperçu_ of the tone of literary

conversation about five or six and twenty years ago, I remember being

present in a large party composed of men, women, and children, in

which two persons of remarkable candour and ingenuity were labouring

(as hard as if they had been paid for it) to prove that all prayer was

a mode of dictating to the Almighty, and an arrogant assumption of

superiority. A gentleman present said, with great simplicity and

_naïveté_, that there was one prayer which did not strike him as

coming exactly under this description, and being asked what that was,

made answer, ‘The Samaritan’s—“Lord, be merciful to me a sinner!”’

This appeal by no means settled the sceptical dogmatism of the two

disputants, and soon after the proposer of the objection went away; on

which one of them observed with great marks of satisfaction and

triumph.—‘I am afraid we have shocked that gentleman’s prejudices.’

This did not appear to me at that time quite the thing, and this

happened in the year 1794. Twice has the iron entered my soul. Twice

have the dastard, vaunting, venal crew gone over it; once as they went

forth, conquering and to conquer, with reason by their side,

glittering like a faulchion, trampling on prejudices and marching

fearlessly on in the work of regeneration; once again, when they

returned with retrograde steps, like Cacus’s oxen dragged backward by

the heels, to the den of Legitimacy, ‘rout on rout, confusion worse

confounded,’ with places and pensions and the Quarterly Review

dangling from their pockets, and shouting ‘Deliverance for mankind,’

for ‘the worst, the second fall of man.’ Yet I have endured all this

marching and countermarching of poets, philosophers, and politicians

over my head as well as I could, like ‘the camomoil that thrives, the

more ’tis trod upon.’ By Heavens, I think, I’ll endure it no longer!

Footnote 47:

Troja fuit.

Footnote 48:

‘If an European, when he has cut off his beard and put false hair on

his head, or bound up his own natural hair in regular hard knots, as

unlike nature as he can possibly make it; and after having rendered

them immoveable by the help of the fat of hogs, has covered the whole

with flour, laid on by a machine with the utmost regularity; if when

thus attired he issues forth, and meets a Cherokee Indian, who has

bestowed as much time at his toilet, and laid on with equal care and

attention his yellow and red oker on particular parts of his forehead

or cheeks, as he judges most becoming; whoever of these two despises

the other for this attention to the fashion of his country, whichever

first feels himself provoked to laugh, is the barbarian.’—Sir Joshua

Reynolds’s Discourses, Vol. I. p. 231–2.

Footnote 49:

This name was originally spelt Braughton in the manuscript, and was

altered to Branghton by a mistake of the printer. Branghton, however,

was thought a good name for the occasion, and was suffered to stand.

‘Dip it in the ocean,’ as Sterne’s barber says of the buckle, ‘and it

will stand!’

Footnote 50:

A lady of quality, in allusion to the gallantries of a reigning

Prince, being told, ‘I suppose it will be your turn next!’ said, ‘No:

I hope not; for you know it is impossible to refuse!’

Footnote 51:

‘_Girtred._ For the passion of patience, look if Sir Petronel

approach. That sweet, that fine, that delicate, that — for love’s

sake, tell me if he come. Oh, sister Mill, though my father be a

low-capt tradesman, yet I must be a lady, and I praise God my mother

must call me madam. Does he come? Off with this gown for shame’s sake,

off with this gown! Let not my knight take me in the city cut, in any

hand! Tear’t! Pox on’t (does he come?) tear’t off! _Thus while she

sleeps, I sorrow for her sake._ (Sings.)

_Mildred._ Lord, sister, with what an immodest impatiency and

disgraceful scorn do you put off your city-tire! I am sorry to think

you imagine to right yourself in wronging that which hath made both

you and us.

_Gir._ I tell you, I cannot endure it: I must be a lady: do you wear

your quoiff with a London licket! your stamel petticoat with two

guards! the buffin gown with the tuftafitty cap and the velvet lace! I

must be a lady, and I will be a lady. I like some humours of the city

dames well: to eat cherries only at an angel a pound; good: to dye

rich scarlet black; pretty: to line a grogram gown clean through with

velvet; tolerable: their pure linen, their smocks of three pound a

smock, are to be borne withal; but your mincing niceries, taffity

pipkins, durance petticoats, and silver bodkins—God’s my life! as I

shall be a lady, I cannot endure it.

_Mil._ Well, sister, those that scorn their nest, oft fly with a sick

wing.

_Gir._ Bow-bell! Alas, poor Mill, when I am a lady, I’ll pray for thee

yet i’faith; nay, and I’ll vouchsafe to call thee sister Mill still;

for though thou art not likely to be a lady as I am, yet surely thou

art a creature of God’s making, and may’st peradventure be saved as

soon as I (does he come?) _And ever and anon she doubled in her song._

_Mil._ Now (lady’s my comfort) what a profane ape’s here!

_Enter Sir_ PETRONEL FLASH, _Mr._ TOUCHSTONE, _and Mrs._ TOUCHSTONE.

_Gir._ Is my knight come? O the lord, my band! Sister do my cheeks

look well? Give me a little box o’ the ear that I may seem to blush.

Now, now! so, there, there! here he is! O my dearest delight! Lord,

Lord! and how does my knight?

_Touchstone._ Fie, with more modesty.

_Gir._ Modesty! why, I am no citizen now. Modesty! am I not to be

married? You’re best to keep me modest, now I am to be a lady.

_Sir Petronel._ Boldness is a good fashion, and court-like.

_Gir._ Aye, in a country lady I hope it is, as I shall be. And how

chance ye came no sooner, knight?

_Sir Pet._ Faith, I was so entertained in the progress with one Count

Epernoun, a Welsh knight: we had a match at baloon too with my Lord

Whackum for four crowns.

_Gir._ And when shall’s be married, my knight?

_Sir Pet._ I am come now to consummate: and your father may call a

poor knight son-in-law.

_Mrs. Touchstone._ Yes, that he is a knight: I know where he had money

to pay the gentlemen usher and heralds their fees. Aye, that he is a

knight: and so might you have been too, if you had been aught else but

an ass, as well as some of your neighbours. An I thought you would not

ha’ been knighted, as I am an honest woman, I would ha’ dubbed you

myself. I praise God, I have wherewithal. But as for you, daughter—

_Gir._ Aye, mother, I must be a lady to-morrow; and by your leave,

mother (I speak it not without my duty, but only in the right of my

husband) I must take place of you, mother.

_Mrs. Touch._ That you shall, lady-daughter; and have a coach as well

as I.

_Gir._ Yes, mother; but my coach-horses must take the wall of your

coach-horses.

_Touch._ Come, come, the day grows low; ’tis supper-time: and, sir,

respect my daughter; she has refused for you wealthy and honest

matches, known good men.

_Gir._ Body o’ truth, citizens, citizens! Sweet knight, as soon as

ever we are married, take me to thy mercy, out of this miserable city.

Presently: carry me out of the scent of Newcastle coal and the hearing

of Bow-bell, I beseech thee; down with me for God’s sake.’ Act i.

Scene i.

This dotage on sound and show seemed characteristic of that age (see

_New Way to Pay Old Debts_, &c.)—as if in the grossness of sense, and

the absence of all intellectual and abstract topics of thought and

discourse (the thin, circulating medium of the present day) the mind

was attracted without the power of resistance to the tinkling sound of

its own name with a title added to it, and the image of its own person

tricked out in old-fashioned finery. The effect, no doubt, was also

more marked and striking from the contrast between the ordinary penury

and poverty of the age and the first and more extravagant

demonstrations of luxury and artificial refinement.

Footnote 52:

‘_Girtred._ Good lord, that there are no fairies now-a-days, Syn.

_Syndefy._ Why, madam?

_Gir._ To do miracles, and bring ladies money. Sure, if we lay in a

cleanly house, they would haunt it, Synne? I’ll try. I’ll sweep the

chamber soon at night, and set a dish of water o’ the hearth. A fairy

may come and bring a pearl or a diamond. We do not know, Synne: or

there may be a pot of gold hid in the yard, if we had tools to dig for

‘t. Why may not we two rise early i’ the morning, Synne, afore any

body is up, and find a jewel i’ the streets worth a hundred pounds?

May not some great court-lady, as she comes from revels at midnight,

look out of her coach, as ’tis running, and lose such a jewel, and we

find it? ha!

_Syn._ They are pretty waking dreams, these.

_Gir._ Or may not some old usurer be drunk over-night with a bag of

money, and leave it behind him on a stall? For God’s sake, Syn, lets

rise to-morrow by break of day, and see. I protest, la, if I had as

much money as an alderman, I would scatter some on ‘t i’ the streets,

for poor ladies to find when their knights were laid up. And now I

remember my song of the Golden Shower, why may not I have such a

fortune? I’ll sing it, and try what luck I shall have after it.’ Act

v. Scene i.

Footnote 53:

Every thing tends to show the manner in which a great artist is

formed. If any person could claim an exemption from the careful

imitation of individual objects, it was Nicolas Poussin. He studied

the antique, but he also studied nature. ‘I have often admired,’ says

Vignuel de Marville, who knew him at a late period of his life, ‘the

love he had for his art. Old as he was, I frequently saw him among the

ruins of ancient Rome, out in the Campagna, or along the banks of the

Tyber, sketching a scene that had pleased him; and I often met him

with his handkerchief full of stones, moss, or flowers, which he

carried home, that he might copy them exactly from nature. One day I

asked him how he had attained to such a degree of perfection, as to

have gained so high a rank among the great painters of Italy? He

answered, I HAVE NEGLECTED NOTHING.’—_See his Life lately published._

It appears from this account that he had not fallen into a recent

error, that Nature puts the man of genius out. As a contrast to the

foregoing description, I might mention, that I remember an old

gentleman once asking Mr. West in the British Gallery, if he had ever

been at Athens? To which the President made answer, No; nor did he

feel any great desire to go; for that he thought he had as good an

idea of the place from the Catalogue, as he could get by living there

for any number of years. What would he have said, if any one had told

him, he could get as good an idea of the subject of one of his great

works from reading the Catalogue of it, as from seeing the picture

itself! Yet the answer was characteristic of the genius of the

painter.

Footnote 54:

Poussin has repeated this subject more than once, and appears to have

revelled in its witcheries. I have before alluded to it, and may

again. It is hard that we should not be allowed to dwell as often as

we please on what delights us, when things that are disagreeable recur

so often against our will.

Footnote 55:

It is not very long ago that I saw two Dissenting Ministers (the

_Ultima Thule_ of the sanguine, visionary temperament in politics)

stuffing their pipes with dried currant-leaves, calling it Radical

tobacco, lighting it with a lens in the rays of the sun, and at every

puff fancying that they undermined the Boroughmongers, as Trim blew up

the army opposed to the Allies! They had _deceived the Senate_.

Methinks I see them now, smiling as in scorn of Corruption.

—‘Dream on, blest pair:

Yet happier if you knew your happiness,

And knew to know no more!’

The world of Reform that you dote on, like Berkeley’s material world,

lives only in your own brain, and long may it live there! Those same

Dissenting Ministers throughout the country (I mean the descendants of

the old Puritans) are to this hour a sort of Fifth-monarchy men: very

turbulent fellows, in my opinion altogether incorrigible, and

according to the suggestions of others, should be hanged out of the

way without judge or jury for the safety of church and state. Marry,

hang them! they may be left to die a natural death: the race is nearly

extinct of itself, and can do little more good or harm!

Footnote 56:

William, our waiter, is dressed neatly in black, takes in the TICKLER,

(which many of the gentlemen like to look into) wears, I am told, a

diamond-pin in his shirt-collar, has a music-master to teach him to

play on the flageolet two hours before the maids are up, complains of

confinement and a delicate constitution, and is a complete Master

Stephen in his way.

Footnote 57:

His account of Dr. L— was prodigious—of his occult sagacity, of his

eyes prominent and wild like a hare’s, fugacious of followers, of the

arts by which he had left the City to lure the patients that he wanted

after him to the West-End, of the ounce of tea that he purchased by

stratagem as an unusual treat to his guest, and of the narrow winding

staircase, from the height of which he contemplated in security the

imaginary approach of duns. He was a large, plain, fair-faced Moravian

preacher, turned physician. He was an honest man, but vain of he knew

not what. He was once sitting where Sarratt was playing a game at

chess without seeing the board; and after remaining for some time

absorbed in silent wonder, he turned suddenly to me and said, ‘Do you

know, Mr. H—, that I think there is something I could do?’ ‘Well, what

is that?’ ‘Why perhaps you would not guess, but I think I could dance,

I’m sure I could; ay, I could dance like Vestris!’—Sarratt, who was a

man of various accomplishments, (among others one of the Fancy,)

afterwards bared his arm to convince us of his muscular strength, and

Mrs. L— going out of the room with another lady said, ‘Do you know,

Madam, the Doctor is a great jumper!’ Moliere could not outdo this.

Never shall I forget his pulling off his coat to eat beef-steaks on

equal terms with Martin B—. Life is short, but full of mirth and

pastime, did we not so soon forget what we have laughed at, perhaps

that we may not remember what we have cried at!—Sarratt, the

chess-player, was an extraordinary man. He had the same tenacious,

epileptic faculty in other things that he had at chess, and could no

more get any other ideas out of his mind than he could those of the

figures on the board. He was a great reader, but had not the least

taste. Indeed the violence of his memory tyrannised over and destroyed

all power of selection. He could repeat Ossian by heart, without

knowing the best passage from the worst; and did not perceive he was

tiring you to death by giving an account of the breed, education, and

manners of fighting-dogs for hours together. The sense of reality

quite superseded the distinction between the pleasurable and the

painful. He was altogether a mechanical philosopher.

Footnote 58:

‘Ils ne pouvoient croire qu’un corps de cette beauté fût de quelque

chose au visage de Mademoiselle Churchill.’—MEMOIRES DE GRAMMONT, Vol.

II. p. 254.

Footnote 59:

When I was young, I spent a good deal of my time at Manchester and

Liverpool; and I confess I give the preference to the former. There

you were oppressed only by the aristocracy of wealth; in the latter by

the aristocracy of wealth and letters by turns. You could not help

feeling that some of their great men were authors among merchants and

merchants among authors. Their bread was buttered on both sides, and

they had you at a disadvantage either way. The Manchester

cotton-spinners, on the contrary, set up no pretensions beyond their

looms, were hearty good fellows, and took any information or display

of ingenuity on other subjects in good part. I remember well being

introduced to a distinguished patron of art and rising merit at a

little distance from Liverpool, and was received with every mark of

attention and politeness, till the conversation turning on Italian

literature, our host remarked that there was nothing in the English

language corresponding to the severity of the Italian ode—except

perhaps Dryden’s Alexander’s Feast, and Pope’s St. Cecilia! I could no

longer contain my desire to display my smattering in criticism, and

began to maintain that Pope’s Ode was, as it appeared to me, far from

an example of severity in writing. I soon perceived what I had done,

but here am I writing _Table-talks_ in consequence. Alas! I knew as

little of the world then as I do now. I never could understand any

thing beyond an abstract definition.

Footnote 60:

Lord H— had made a diary (in the manner of Boswell) of the

conversation held at his house, and read it at the end of a week _pro

bono publico_. Sir J— M— made a considerable figure in it, and a

celebrated poet none at all, merely answering Yes and No. With this

result he was by no means satisfied, and talked incessantly from that

day forward. At the end of the week he asked, with some anxiety and

triumph, if his Lordship had continued his diary, expecting himself to

shine in ‘the first row of the rubric.’ To which his Noble Patron

answered in the negative, with an intimation that it had not appeared

to him worth while. Our poet was thus thrown again into the back

ground, and Sir James remained master of the field!

Footnote 61:

A Mr. Rose and the Rev. Dr. Kippis were for many years its principal

support. Mrs. Rose (I have heard my father say) contributed the

Monthly Catalogue. There is sometimes a certain tartness and the

woman’s tongue in it. It is said of Gray’s Elegy—‘This little poem,

however humble its pretensions, is not without elegance or merit.’ The

characters of prophet and critic are not always united.

Footnote 62:

There are some splendid exceptions to this censure. His comparison

between Ovid and Virgil, and his character of Shakespear, are

masterpieces of their kind.

Footnote 63:

We have critics in the present day who cannot tell what to make of the

tragic writers of Queen Elizabeth’s age (except Shakespear, who passes

by prescriptive right,) and are extremely puzzled to reduce the

efforts of their ‘great and irregular’ power to the standard of their

own slight and shewy common-places. The truth is, they had better give

up the attempt to reconcile such contradictions as an artificial taste

and natural genius; and repose on the admiration of verses which

derive their odour from the scent of rose-leaves inserted between the

pages, and their polish from the smoothness of the paper on which they

are printed. They, and such writers as Deckar and Webster, Beaumont

and Fletcher, Ford and Marlowe, move in different orbits of the human

intellect, and need never jostle.

Footnote 64:

The intelligent reader will be pleased to understand, that there is

here a tacit allusion to Squire Western’s significant phrase of

_Hanover Rats_.

Footnote 65:

Of the two the latter alternative is more likely to happen. We abuse

and imitate them. They laugh at but do not imitate us.

Footnote 66:

The title of _Ultra-Crepidarian critics_ has been given to a variety

of this species.

Footnote 67:

This Essay was written in January, 1821.

Footnote 68:

Losing gamesters thus become desperate, because the continued and

violent irritation of the will against a run of ill luck drives it to

extremity, and makes it bid defiance to common sense and every

consideration of prudence or self-interest.

Footnote 69:

Some of the poets in the beginning of the last century would often set

out on a simile by observing—‘So in Arabia have I seen a Phœnix!’ I

confess my illustrations are of a more homely and humble nature.

Footnote 70:

I beg the reader to consider this passage merely as a specimen of the

mock-heroic style, and as having nothing to do with any real facts or

feelings.

Footnote 71:

I have heard of such a thing as an author, who makes it a rule never

to admit a monosyllable into his vapid verse. Yet the charm and

sweetness of Marlow’s lines depended often on their being made up

almost entirely of monosyllables.

Footnote 72:

See Wilkie’s Blind Fiddler.

Footnote 73:

We sometimes see a whole play-house in tears. But the audience at a

theatre, though a public assembly, are not a public body. They are not

incorporated into a frame-work of exclusive, narrow-minded interests

of their own. Each individual looks out of his own insignificance at a

scene, _ideal_ perhaps, and foreign to himself, but true to nature;

friends, strangers, meet on the common ground of humanity, and the

tears that spring from their breasts are those which ‘sacred pity has

engendered.’ They are a mixed multitude melted into sympathy by

remote, imaginary events, not a combination cemented by petty views,

and sordid, selfish prejudices.

Footnote 74:

Mr. Munden and Mr. C— went one Sunday to Windsor, to see the King.

They passed with other spectators once or twice: at last, his late

majesty distinguished Munden in the crowd, and called him to him.

After treating him with much cordial familiarity, the king said, ‘And,

pray, who is that with you?’ Munden, with many congées, and

contortions of face, replied, ‘An please your majesty, it’s Mr. C—, of

the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.’ ‘Oh! yes,’ said the king, ‘I know him

well—a bad actor, a bad actor, a bad actor!’ Why kings should repeat

what they say three times, is odd: their saying it once is quite

enough. I have always liked Mr. C—’s face since I heard this anecdote,

and perhaps the telling it may have the same effect on other people.

Footnote 75:

The trunk-maker, I grant, in the Spectator’s time, sat in the

two-shilling gallery. But that was in the Spectator’s time, and not in

the days of Mr. Smirke and Mr. Wyatt.

Footnote 76:

Jack Cade’s salutation to one who tries to recommend himself by saying

he can write and read.—See HENRY VI. Part Second.

Footnote 77:

It is calculated that West cleared some hundred pounds by the

catalogues that sold of his great picture of Death riding on the pale

Horse.

Footnote 78:

I cannot say how in this respect it might have fared if a Mr. M—, a

fat gentleman, who might not have ‘liked yon lean and hungry Roscius,’

had continued in the theatrical department of Mr. Perry’s paper at the

time of this actor’s first appearance; but I had been put upon this

duty just before, and afterwards Mr. M—’s _spare_ talents were not in

much request. This, I believe, is the reason why he takes pains every

now and then to inform the readers of the Courier that it is

impossible for any one to understand a word that I write.

Footnote 79:

I (not very long ago) had the pleasure of spending an evening with Mr.

Betty, when we had some ‘good talk’ about the good old times of

acting. I wanted to insinuate that I had been a sneaking admirer, but

could not bring it in. As, however, we were putting on our great coats

down stairs, I ventured to break the ice by saying, ‘There is one

actor of that period of whom we have not made honourable mention, I

mean Master Betty.’ ‘Oh!’ he said, ‘I have forgot all that.’ I

replied, that he might, but that I could not forget the pleasure I had

had in seeing him. On which he turned off, and shaking his sides

heartily, and with no measured demand upon his lungs, called out, ‘Oh,

memory! memory!’ in a way that showed he felt the full force of the

allusion. I found afterwards that the subject did not offend, and we

were to have drunk some Burton-ale together the following evening, but

were prevented. I hope he will consider that the engagement still

stands good.

Footnote 80:

Sir Joshua, who was not a vain man, purchased a tawdry sheriff’s

carriage, soon after he took his house in Leicester-fields, and

desired his sister to ride about in it, in order that people might

ask, ‘Whose it was?’ and the answer would be, ‘It belongs to the great

painter!’

Footnote 81:

Sharp became a great favourite of the king on the following occasion.

It was the custom, when the king went through the lobbies of the

palace, for those who preceded him to cry out, ‘Sharp, sharp, look

sharp,’ in order to clear the way. Mr. Sharp, who was waiting in a

room just by (preparing some colours), hearing his name repeated so

urgently, ran out in great haste, and came up with all his force

against the king, who was passing the door at the time. The young

artist was knocked down in the encounter, and the attendants were in

the greatest consternation; but the king laughed heartily at the

adventure, and took great notice of the unfortunate subject of it from

that time forward.

Footnote 82:

‘It is not a year or two shows us a man.’—ÆMILIA, in OTHELLO.

Footnote 83:

The bones of the murdered man were dug up in an old hermitage. On

this, as one instance of the acuteness which he displayed all through

the occasion, Aram remarks, ‘Where would you expect to find the bones

of a man sooner than in a hermit’s cell, except you were to look for

them in a cemetery?’ See NEWGATE CALENDAR for the year 1758 or 9.

Footnote 84:

‘And surely Mandricardo was no baby.’—HARRINGTON’S ARIOSTO.

Footnote 85:

‘All men think all men mortal but themselves.’—YOUNG.

Footnote 86:

I remember once, in particular, having this feeling in reading

Schiller’s Don Carlos, where there is a description of death, in a

degree that almost stifled me.

Footnote 87:

It has been usual to raise a very unjust clamour against the enormous

salaries of public singers, actors, and so on. This matter seems

reducible to a _moral equation_. They are paid out of money raised by

voluntary contributions in the strictest sense; and if they did not

bring certain sums into the treasury, the Managers would not engage

them. These sums are exactly in proportion to the number of

individuals to whom their performance gives an extraordinary degree of

pleasure. The talents of a singer, actor, &c. are therefore worth just

as much as they will fetch.

Footnote 88:

Mr. Moore has just written a book to prove the truth of the contrary

opinion.

Footnote 89:

One of ‘the blacksmith swallowing the tailor’s news,’ from Shakspeare.

Footnote 90:

That is, a _remarkable_ man.

Footnote 91:

This very interesting letter will be found in the _Elegant Epistles_.

Footnote 92:

Now at the Dulwich Gallery.

Footnote 93:

Barry’s Letter to the Dilettanti Society, enumerating his grievances,

was published in 1798.

Footnote 94:

These people are said to be the real descendants of the ancient

Romans.

Footnote 95:

‘Shakspeare’s verses are not exactly “wood-notes wild.” He was

indebted to a most extensive reading at the same time as to a most

transcendant genius. He did not pique himself upon originality, but

sat down to write his plays for the simple purpose of the moment, and

without a glimpse or an ambition of the immortality which they were to

acquire. He made use of whatever he recollected and thought desirable,

with the contrivance of an ordinary play-writer, and only grew

original and vast and exquisite, in spite of himself. If it be true

that “he wrote not for an age, but for all time,” still there was no

one who knew less of that fact than he! He imagined himself writing

only for the day before him; and it is to this very circumstance that

we owe the ease, the flashes, and the soarings of his spirit. He was

never over-powered by the intended loftiness of the occasion. He made

no efforts that were laborious, because his mind was always superior

to his object, and never bowed down to it. He possessed, too, that

affluence of genius, which rendered him not only prodigal in its use,

but almost unacquainted with its existence. He never stood upon its

dignity; he was never fearful of its loss nor of its denial. The swan

of Avon, like the swans from which poets derive their title, was all

strength and grace and beauty, without a consciousness of either. And

this character of his genius accords with that character of facility,

of gentleness, and of unostentation, which his biographer ascribes to

the man. He knew of nothing within himself, of which he felt it worth

while to be vain. He would as soon have been vain of his power to put

one foot before another, as of his power to write the _Tempest_ or

_Macbeth_. It belongs, in the midst of abundance, to GENIUS as BEAUTY,

to be thoughtless of itself. It is only for the dull and the ugly—or

at least for those in whom the claims to beauty or to genius are

equivocal—to be forever contemplating either in themselves, or for

ever demanding the acknowledgments of others. With the plenary

possessors, the luxury is too common, too much of every-day wear, to

fix their attention. The restlessness of the remainder is the

restlessness of poverty, and contrasts itself with the carelessness of

riches.’—_Kendall’s Letters on Ireland._

Footnote 96:

See a paper on this subject in the TATLER.

Footnote 97:

The same praise may be extended to Matthews. Those who have seen this

ingenious and lively actor only on the stage, do not know half his

merits.

Footnote 98:

See _The Family Journal_; a series of papers in _The New Monthly

Magazine_, 1825, signed Harry Honeycomb (=Leigh Hunt).

Footnote 99:

The Chinese call the Americans _second-chop_ English [Hazlitt’s Note].

Footnote 100:

For Sir Walter Scott’s share in _The Beacon_ and its successor _The

Sentinel_, see chapter liv. of Lockhart’s _Life_.

Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. P. 251, changed “uneasi-” to “uneasiness”.

2. P. 469, changed “upon particular” to “upon a particular”.

3. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.

4. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.

5. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers and collected together

at the end of the last chapter.

6. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.

7. Superscripts are denoted by a caret before a single superscript

character, e.g. M^r.