Another individual of the society was a Member of Parliament, of
elegant connections, elegant manners, and elegant accomplishments. He
had travelled a great deal, and was familiarly acquainted with most
European languages, but he more particularly directed his attention to
the literature of his own country. In this he was pre-eminently skilled,
and has transmitted proofs of his knowledge and taste in this way, which
will probably endure as long as the language. His society was peculiarly
agreeable; he had seen a great deal of the world, was acutely observant,
had much to communicate, which he always was prompt to do, and which he
always did with vivacity, eloquence, and a considerable degree of _dry_
humour.
In earlier life he had attached himself to that party of which Mr. Fox
was the head, and he exercised his satirical vein at the expence of the
leading members of administration, in the miscellaneous volume of poetry
known by the name of “the Rolliad.” His first, however, and greatest
delight, was in old English poetry, which in the manner of Headley, he
collected, illustrated, and it may be said, adorned. His biographical
sketches are remarkable for neatness, precision, and accuracy. He
abounded in anecdote, which, when required, he detailed with great
felicity.
He was for some time in Russia, and had lived on terms of much
familiarity with Prince Potemkin; of whose luxurious and voluptuous style
of living, he would often relate many extraordinary particulars. This
Prince would have the fish called the Strelitz, a great delicacy of the
table, brought alive from the Crimea to Petersburg, in relays of fresh
water, stationed at different distances, by which means, and by the time
of their arrival, they must have cost a most prodigious sum of money.
It is not impossible that this gentleman’s health might somewhat suffer
from the above intimacy. He was a great valetudinarian, and obliged to
live with the extremest circumspection with regard to his diet, and to
abstain altogether from wine.
He used to tell a facetious story of himself in an adventure which he met
with in the north of Germany.
He was returning from Petersburg, when by some accident, he and his
servant were detained on the road, and with much difficulty reached a
miserable village late in the evening. They were almost famished, but
neither the master nor the servant could make the host comprehend their
wants. They tried all the languages of which they had knowledge, but none
could my host understand. At length, on looking out of the window, the
servant saw some poultry; on which he seized the landlord by the arm,
and, as loud as he could, imitated the crowing of a cock. The man took
the hint, and immediately twisted off the necks of two chickens, on which
the travellers supped deliciously.
His health continuing to decline, Mr. ⸺ found himself obliged to withdraw
from the different societies of which he was a member, and altogether
resided at an elegant retirement within twenty miles of the metropolis.
Here he died very prematurely, leaving behind him a strong impression of
some of the best and most pleasing qualities, which can and which ought
to characterize the English gentleman.
He was particularly partial to the Symposium, of which a brief account
is here given, and never failed, as long as it subsisted, to attend its
meetings. He used facetiously to call it his “Petit Baton.”
C’est la qui fait peur aux esprits de ce tems,
Qui tout blancs au dehors, sont tout noirs au dedans.
Ils tremblent qu’un censeur, que sa verve encourage,
Ne vienne en ses ecrits demasquer leur visage,
Et fouillant dans leurs mœurs en tout liberté,
N’aille du fonds du puits tirer la verité.