OF David Mallet, having no written memorial, I am able to give no other
account than such as is supplied by the unauthorised loquacity of common
fame, and a very slight personal knowledge. He was by his original one
of the Macgregors, a clan that became, about sixty years ago, under the
conduct of Robin Roy, so formidable and so infamous for violence and
robbery, that the name was annulled by a legal abolition; and when they
were all to denominate themselves anew, the father, I suppose, of this
author, called himself Malloch.
David Malloch was, by the penury of his parents, compelled to be
_Janitor_ of the High School at Edinburgh, a mean office of which he did
not afterwards delight to hear. But he surmounted the disadvantages of
his birth and fortune; for, when the Duke of Montrose applied to the
College of Edinburgh for a tutor to educate his sons, Malloch was
recommended; and I never heard that he dishonoured his credentials. When
his pupils were sent to see the world, they were entrusted to his care;
and having conducted them round the common circle of modish travels, he
returned with them to London, where, by the influence of the family in
which he resided, he naturally gained admission to many persons of the
highest rank, and the highest character—to wits, nobles, and statesmen.
Of his works, I know not whether I can trace the series. His first
production was, “William and Margaret;” of which, though it contains
nothing very striking or difficult, he has been envied the reputation;
and plagiarism has been boldly charged, but never proved. Not long
afterwards he published the “Excursion” (1728); a desultory and
capricious view of such scenes of nature as his fancy led him, or his
knowledge enabled him, to describe. It is not devoid of poetical spirit.
Many of his images are striking, and many of the paragraphs are elegant.
The cast of diction seems to be copied from Thomson, whose “Seasons” were
then in their full blossom of reputation. He has Thomson’s beauties and
his faults. His poem on “Verbal Criticism” (1733) was written to pay
court to Pope, on a subject which he either did not understand, or
willingly misrepresented; and is little more than an improvement, or
rather expansion, of a fragment which Pope printed in a miscellany long
before he engrafted it into a regular poem. There is in this piece more
pertness than wit, and more confidence than knowledge. The versification
is tolerable, nor can criticism allow it a higher praise.
His first tragedy was _Eurydice_, acted at Drury Lane in 1731; of which I
know not the reception nor the merit, but have heard it mentioned as a
mean performance. He was not then too high to accept a prologue and
epilogue from Aaron Hill, neither of which can be much commended. Having
cleared his tongue from his native pronunciation so as to be no longer
distinguished as a Scot, he seems inclined to disencumber himself from
all adherences of his original, and took upon him to change his name from
Scotch _Malloch_ to English _Mallet_, without any imaginable reason of
preference which the eye or ear can discover. What other proofs he gave
of disrespect to his native country I know not; but it was remarked of
him that he was the only Scot whom Scotchmen did not commend. About this
time Pope, whom he visited familiarly, published his “Essay on Man,” but
concealed the author; and, when Mallet entered one day, Pope asked him
slightly what there was new. Mallet told him that the newest piece was
something called an “Essay on Man,” which he had inspected idly, and
seeing the utter inability of the author, who had neither skill in
writing nor knowledge of the subject, had tossed it away. Pope, to
punish his self-conceit, told him the secret.
A new edition of the works of Bacon being prepared (1740) for the press,
Mallet was employed to prefix a Life, which he has written with elegance,
perhaps with some affectation; but with so much more knowledge of history
than of science, that, when he afterwards undertook the “Life of
Marlborough,” Warburton remarked that he might perhaps forget that
Marlborough was a general, as he had forgotten that Bacon was a
philosopher.
When the Prince of Wales was driven from the palace, and, setting himself
at the head of the opposition, kept a separate court, he endeavoured to
increase his popularity by the patronage of literature, and made Mallet
his under-secretary, with a salary of two hundred pounds a year; Thomson
likewise had a pension; and they were associated in the composition of
_The Masque of Alfred_, which in its original state was played at
Cliefden in 1740; it was afterwards almost wholly changed by Mallet, and
brought upon the stage at Drury Lane in 1751, but with no great success.
Mallet, in a familiar conversation with Garrick, discoursing of the
diligence which he was then exerting upon the “Life of Marlborough,” let
him know that in the series of great men quickly to be exhibited he
should _find a niche_ for the hero of the theatre. Garrick professed to
wonder by what artifice he could be introduced: but Mallet let him know
that, by a dexterous anticipation, he should fix him in a conspicuous
place. “Mr. Mallet,” says Garrick, in his gratitude of exultation, “have
you left off to write for the stage?” Mallet then confessed that he had
a drama in his hands. Garrick promised to act it; and _Alfred_ was
produced.
The long retardation of the life of the Duke of Marlborough shows, with
strong conviction, how little confidence can be placed on posthumous
renown. When he died, it was soon determined that his story should be
delivered to posterity; and the papers supposed to contain the necessary
information were delivered to Lord Molesworth, who had been his favourite
in Flanders. When Molesworth died, the same papers were transferred with
the same design to Sir Richard Steele, who, in some of his exigencies,
put them in pawn. They remained with the old duchess, who in her will
assigned the task to Glover and Mallet, with a reward of a thousand
pounds, and a prohibition to insert any verses. Glover rejected, I
suppose, with disdain, the legacy, and devolved the whole work upon
Mallet; who had from the late Duke of Marlborough a pension to promote
his industry, and who talked of the discoveries which he had made; but
left not, when he died, any historical labours behind him. While he was
in the Prince’s service he published _Mustapha_ with a prologue by
Thomson, not mean, but far inferior to that which he had received from
Mallet for _Agamemnon_. The epilogue, said to be written by a friend,
was composed in haste by Mallet, in the place of one promised, which was
never given. This tragedy was dedicated to the Prince his master. It
was acted at Drury Lane in 1739, and was well received, but was never
revived. In 1740 he produced, as has been already mentioned, _The Masque
of Alfred_, in conjunction with Thomson. For some time afterwards he lay
at rest. After a long interval his next work was “Amyntor and Theodora”
(1747), a long story in blank verse; in which it cannot be denied that
there is copiousness and elegance of language, vigour of sentiment, and
imagery well adapted to take possession of the fancy. But it is blank
verse. This he sold to Vaillant for one hundred and twenty pounds. The
first sale was not great, and it is now lost in forgetfulness.
Mallet, by address or accident, perhaps by his dependence on the Prince,
found his way to Bolingbroke, a man whose pride and petulance made his
kindness difficult to gain or keep, and whom Mallet was content to court
by an act which I hope was unwillingly performed. When it was found that
Pope clandestinely printed an unauthorised pamphlet called the “Patriot
King,” Bolingbroke in a fit of useless fury resolved to blast his memory,
and employed Mallet (1749) as the executioner of his vengeance. Mallet
had not virtue, or had not spirit, to refuse the office; and was
rewarded, not long after, with the legacy of Lord Bolingbroke’s works.
Many of the political pieces had been written during the opposition to
Walpole, and given to Francklin, as he supposed, in perpetuity. These,
among the rest, were claimed by the will. The question was referred to
arbitrators; but, when they decided against Mallet, he refused to yield
to the award; and, by the help of Millar the bookseller, published all
that he could find, but with success very much below his expectation.
In 1775 [_sic_], his masque of _Britannia_ was acted at Drury Lane, and
his tragedy of _Elvira_ in 1763; in which year he was appointed keeper of
the book of entries for ships in the port of London. In the beginning of
the last war, when the nation was exasperated by ill success, he was
employed to turn the public vengeance upon Byng, and wrote a letter of
accusation under the character of a “Plain Man.” The paper was with
great industry circulated and dispersed; and he, for his seasonable
intervention, had a considerable pension bestowed upon him, which he
retained to his death. Towards the end of his life he went with his wife
to France; but after a while, finding his health declining, he returned
alone to England, and died in April, 1765. He was twice married, and by
his first wife had several children. One daughter, who married an
Italian of rank named Cilesia, wrote a tragedy called _Almida_, which was
acted at Drury Lane. His second wife was the daughter of a nobleman’s
steward, who had a considerable fortune, which she took care to retain in
her own hands. His stature was diminutive, but he was regularly formed;
his appearance, till he grew corpulent, was agreeable, and he suffered it
to want no recommendation that dress could give it. His conversation was
elegant and easy. The rest of his character may, without injury to his
memory, sink into silence. As a writer, he cannot be placed in any high
class. There is no species of composition in which he was eminent. His
dramas had their day, a short day, and are forgotten: his blank verse
seems to my ear the echo of Thomson. His “Life of Bacon” is known, as it
is appended to Bacon’s volumes, but is no longer mentioned. His works
are such as a writer, bustling in the world, showing himself in public,
and emerging occasionally from time to time into notice, might keep alive
by his personal influence; but which, conveying little information, and
giving no great pleasure, must soon give way, as the succession of things
produces new topics of conversation and other modes of amusement.