H⸺ W⸺.
The series of biographical sketches is for a time interrupted, to
revert to the more immediate object of this narrative. Another work of
considerable magnitude, undertaken by the writer of these Fragments, was
proposed to, and accepted by, those most effectual patrons of literary
men—the booksellers. This occasioned on his part a survey and examination
of those more distinguished personages, to whom an introduction had
been obtained from the claim of literary attainments, with the view
of selecting a patron for this new work. After due deliberation,
the individual fixed upon was H⸺ W⸺, of whom more hereafter. He was
accordingly solicited for the honour of his permission to prefix his name
to the meditated publication, and this honour was graciously conceded. A
difficulty now presented itself. An author rising slowly from obscurity,
is apt for a while to be dazzled with the splendour of elevated rank,
and to feel his powers somewhat depressed and awed, in the presence of
rank and grandeur. There must, however, be a dedication to this great
man, the composition of which seemed more difficult and more formidable,
than the execution of the proposed work itself, though of the extent of
several volumes. It was, therefore, after many vain and unsatisfactory
attempts, finally determined to call for external aid. This aid was at
hand, and a Dedication was written by a powerful and friendly hand.
As the Dedication itself, and the manner in which it was refused, seem
to form no incurious literary anecdote, the reader, it is hoped, will
be amused with what follows, and may employ himself, if he shall think
proper, in endeavouring, from a comparison and analysis of the style, to
discover who the friend was that supplied the
DEDICATION.
My Lord,
Men of learning will see at a glance, and men of sensibility
will strongly feel the propriety of the permission which I have
requested, to dedicate such a work as ⸺ to such a nobleman as
the Earl of ⸺.
From the curious researches into antiquities, and the elegant
disquisitions in criticism which adorn the work I have now
the honour to lay before the public, under the protection of
your exalted name, their minds will naturally be turned towards
those numerous writings, with which you have enlightened and
charmed your contemporaries, and in which posterity will
acknowledge, that the most various erudition is happily united
with judgment the most correct, and taste the most refined.
Like the worthies of whom we read in Greek and Roman story,
you find in old age a calm and dignified consolation from the
continuance of those studies, which, with the lustre of high
birth, and amidst the fascinating allurements of ambition, you,
my Lord, have devoted a long and honourable life to the calmer
and more ingenuous pursuits of literature.
Perhaps, my Lord, you feel new affiance in the wisdom of your
choice, when you reflect on the peculiar circumstances of the
times, which, big as they have been with awful events, and
fatal as they may be to the fairest forms of society, leave[3]
in the sacred retreats of science some shelter to the human
mind, disgusted with the view of human crimes, and damped with
the prospect of human woes.
I have the honour to be, &c. &c.
But all this would not do. The noble Lord declined all these fine things,
in the following letter. _Oh si sic omnia._
I do beg and beseech you, my good Sir, to forgive me, if I
cannot possibly consent to receive the Dedication you were
so kind and partial as to propose to me. I have, in the most
positive and almost uncivil manner, refused a Dedication or two
lately. Compliments on virtues which the persons addressed,
like me, seldom possessed, are happily exploded, and laughed
out of use.
Next to being ashamed of having good qualities bestowed upon me
to which I should have no title, it would hurt me to be praised
for my erudition, which is most superficial, and on my trifling
writings, all of which turn on most trifling subjects. They
amused me while writing them, may have amused a few persons,
but have nothing solid enough to preserve them from being
forgotten with other things of as light a nature.
I would not have your judgment called in question hereafter, if
somebody reading your work should ask, “What are these writings
of Lord Orford which this author so much commends? Was Lord
Orford more than one of the mob of gentlemen who wrote with
ease?” Into that class I must sink, and I had rather do so
imperceptibly, than be plunged down to it by the interposition
of the hand of a friend, who could not gainsay the sentence.
For your own sake, my good Sir, as well as in pity to my
feelings, who am sore at your offering what I cannot accept,
restrain the address to a mean (_sic_) inscription. You are
allowed to be an excellent ⸺. How unclassic would a Dedication
in the old fashioned manner appear, if you had published ⸺,
and had ventured to prefix a Greek or Latin Dedication to some
modern Lord, with a Gothic title!
Still less had these addresses been in vogue at Rome, would any
Roman author have inscribed his work to Marcus, the incompetent
son of Cicero, and tell the unfortunate offspring of so great a
man of his high birth and declension of ambition. It would have
excited a laugh on poor Marcus, who, whatever may have been
said of him, had more sense than to leave proofs to the public
of his extreme inferiority to his father.
I am, dear Sir, with great regard,
Your much obliged,
[And I hope by your compliance with my earnest request to be
your much more obliged]
And obedient humble servant,
⸺.
Another Dedication was submitted to the noble Lord’s deliberation, but
neither did this altogether satisfy him, as appears from the following
expression of his opinion.
Dear Sir,
I scarce know how to reply to your new flattering proposal. I
am afraid of appearing guilty of affected modesty, and yet I
must beg your pardon, if I most sincerely and seriously entreat
you to drop all thoughts of complimenting me, and my house and
collection. If there is truth in man, it would hurt, not give
me satisfaction.
If you could see my heart, and know what I think of myself, you
would be convinced that I think myself unworthy of praise, and
am so far from setting value on any thing I have done, that
could I recall time, and recommence my life, I have long been
persuaded, that, thinking as I do now, nothing would induce me
to appear on the stage of the public.
Youth, great spirits, vanity, some flattery, (for I was a
Prime Minister’s son) had made me believe I had some parts,
and perhaps I had some, and on that rock I split; for how vast
the distance between some parts and genius, original genius,
which I confess is so supremely my admiration, and so honest
is my pride, for that I never deny, that being conscious of
not being a genius, I do not care a straw in which rank of
mediocrity I may be placed. I tried before I was capable of
judging myself, but having carefully examined and discovered
my extreme inferiority to the objects of my admiration, I have
passed sentence on my trifles, and hope nobody will think
better of them than I do myself and then they will soon obtain
that oblivion, out of which I wish I had never endeavoured to
emerge.
All this I allow, Sir, you will naturally doubt, yet the latter
part of my life has been of a piece with my declaration. I
have not only abandoned my mistaken vocation, but have been
totally silent to some unjust attacks, because I did not choose
my name should be mentioned when I could help it. It will be
therefore indulgent in a friend, to let me pass away unnoticed
as I wish, and I should be a hypocrite indeed, (which indeed
I am not) if it were possible for me to receive compliments
from a gentleman, whose abilities I respect so much as I do
yours. I must have been laying perfidious snares for flattery,
or I must be sincere. I trust your candour and charity will at
least hope I am the latter, and that you will either punish
my dissimulation, by disappointing it, or oblige me, as you
will assuredly do, by dropping your intention. I am perfectly
content with the honour of your friendship, and beseech you to
let these be the last lines that I shall have occasion to write
on the disagreeable subject of ⸺.
Dear Sir,
Your obedient humble servant,
⸺.
Means were contrived to appease the apprehensions and satisfy the
scruples of the venerable Peer. The work was published under the sanction
of his name, and is now out of print.
That he did like the Dedication in its ultimate form, appears from the
following.
Dear Sir,
I beg a thousand pardons for not returning your Preface, which
I like much, and to which I could find but one very slight
correction to make, which I have marked with pencil. But I
confess I waited anxiously for an assurance from you, that you
would suppress the intended Dedication, which I should have
been extremely sorry to have seen appear. I have this moment
received that promise, and am infinitely obliged by your
compliance.
I shall be in town on Saturday, and happy to see you in
Berkeley-square, when you shall have a moment to bestow on
Your obedient servant,
⸺.
Animus quod perdidit optat,
Atque in præterita se totus imagine versat.