The individual next in succession was, and perhaps is, (for he may yet
survive) a man of unquestionable genius; capable of high undertakings,
both in prose and verse; but it is only with his qualifications and
claims as a poet, that we have anything here to do.
Strange to say, but such is the perverseness of human nature, that the
wisest among us, are sometimes apt to mistake our talents, and to plume
ourselves most, upon those qualities, from the exercise of which, in the
opinions of the more discerning and judicious, we are least entitled to
applause.
This remark is in some degree applicable to our present subject. The
person to whom the attention of the reader is now invited, had certainly,
when very young, a great taste and talent for poetical composition,
and produced, almost before manhood, a poem which obtained the strong
commendations of Dr. Johnson. This valuable praise, added to the delight
which every youthful poet feels from the exercise of so agreeable an
accomplishment, induced him probably to persevere in this particular
pursuit.
Nevertheless, his talents of this kind, however exercised, cultivated,
and improved, would never have placed him in the first rank of British
poets; whereas, by study and by discipline, he might have rivalled the
best of our historians.
This was manifestly proved by the execution of a work which will
outlive all his poetry. A subject was proposed to him, by a great and
accomplished character, long since no more, with which he was not in
the smallest degree acquainted, except as a man of general information.
It presented itself to him, clouded and perplexed with obscurity and
difficulty; but he sat sturdily to work, and produced at intervals an
historical performance of several volumes, which, as it richly deserved,
was exceedingly well received by his countrymen.
When once the subject had occupied his mind, and fixed his studious
attention, it is really wonderful with what sagacity, acuteness, and
effect, he pursued it in all its ramifications. Nothing relating to
it was unexplored, and the result of the whole will perpetuate his
name. Yet would it have excited no surprize in him who made the above
observations, to have been told, that his old friend, (and we may add one
of his oldest) was by no means satisfied with the above determination
with regard to his literary claims. The appellation of poet, first given
him among his school-fellows, was dear, as it was familiar from his
boyhood. It grew with his growth. It was universally bestowed upon him
through the progress of life, as an acknowledged Prænomen, and it is more
than probable that he considered it at least of equal value, with any
other which could possibly have been conferred, from his most successful
prosecution of any different branch of literature.
Subjoined to the above observations is the following apostrophe:—
Yes! my old friend ⸺ was a character of no ordinary calibre, eccentric
as a boy, eccentric as a man; nor at all less so, as life appeared to
decline. But his eccentricity was injurious only to himself. His heart
was warm, perhaps too susceptible, and too prone to yield to first
impressions. But he was generous even to excess, nor could any length
of time obliterate his sense of favours received. His hospitable spirit
could hardly be circumscribed within any limits; his cheerfulness almost
always uninterrupted. The most untoward incidents threw no more than a
transient cloud over his countenance, and he frequently could observe of
himself, with the greatest good-humour, that he never was unhappy after
dinner. Of his failings, nothing will here be observed. Such would not be
the office of a friend, who for a long series of years had received from
him the most affectionate attention, had passed the most pleasing hours
and days in his society, delighted with his good-humour, cheered by his
vivacity, and perhaps not unimproved by the collision of their mutual
talents and interchange of the knowledge, in which they were severally
proficient.
Of his talents, perhaps, sufficient may have been said; of these,
he, who knew him for the space of no less a period than forty years,
who was generally acquainted with his mode of occupying his time,
his studious pursuits, and literary employments, may be supposed no
incompetent judge. He was acute, prompt, active, and persevering, in
all he undertook; perhaps somewhat to be censured for not more duly
observing the Horatian axiom, of submitting for a longer period, the
productions of his pen to the last examination of his judgment. He
thus exposed himself to the attacks of the critical tribe, of whom the
greater number are alike acute in detecting, and severe in censuring,
the errors of authors. Notwithstanding this, however, and other checks
and impediments, he pursued the usual tenor of his way, unintimidated
and undisturbed, dividing his time as usual, between poetry and prose
compositions, cheered as he went along by a numerous circle of friends
and acquaintance; nor when he who wrote the above withdrew from his ken,
had there existed any occasion to whisper in his ear the warning which
Gil Blas felt it his duty to suggest to the Archbishop of Salamanca.
Et vitula tu dignus et hic.