more fearless sect, who, mingling the dogmas of materialism with certain
visionary notions of the perfectibility of the human species, assailed
without disguise all the received opinions upon which the duties of
individuals or the institutions of the State had been hitherto founded
or defended. These doctrines were not confined to metaphysical works;
they were purposely and studiously insinuated in novels, plays, and
productions of imagination.
Mr. Godwin[414] was in some sense the father of that school. If known at
all to posterity, it will in all probability be as the writer of _Caleb
Williams_, not as the author of _Political Justice_, which is already
nearly forgotten. He was himself a strange compound of simplicity and of
design, of talent and of folly. He plotted against the whole frame of
society, but was the easy dupe of his own affections or the professions
of his pupils. After a short season of equivocal celebrity, he sank into
a hacking writer and concealed partner of the booksellers. The good
little books in which our masters and misses were taught the rudiments of
profane and sacred history, under the name of Baldwin, were really the
composition of Godwin, branded as an atheist by those who unwittingly
purchased, recommended, and taught his elementary lessons. Lord Grey (I
write in 1834) has recently, by an act of good-nature, relieved this man
of genius from penury and drudgery, and bestowed on him some small place
under Government.
The strange and disgusting story of his marriage with Mrs.
Wollstonecraft, together with the adventures and death of that wild but
extraordinary woman, is in print and accessible to all the world. Soon
after her death Godwin consulted Curran[415] about marrying again, and
Curran warned him against making youth and beauty the chief object, and
earnestly exhorted him to select a “_woman with something_.” Curran, on
his return from Ireland some years afterwards, visited his friend, and
found that he had married a widow. “Well, and has she anything?” was his
first question. “Aye, indeed has she!” replied Godwin. “She has eight
children!”
Holcroft,[416] one of his least successful disciples, though cursed with
the vice of mediocrity which, even in his plays, novels, or travels, a
love of paradox could not animate, has left one book which is a great
exception to such a censure, and of a nature to render all further notice
of him unnecessary. This is his own life—the most curious picture of
self-education in an authentic shape which our language possesses. It
affords abundant proof of the enjoyment which an access of knowledge can
afford to the humblest orders of society, and is a practical exposure of
the error as well as selfishness of that philosophy which would confine
it to the opulent. This Holcroft was one of the reformers singled out
for prosecution and punishment by the proceedings of 1794. He married,
I believe, the widow of Mercier, author of the _Tableau de Paris_, and
their daughter married Mr. Kenney,[417] an author of some interesting
melodramas and lively farces.
There was at the period of which I am now speaking another knot of yet
younger enthusiasts. They were soon afterwards generally designated by
the name of “the Lake Poets,” because several of them settled in the
romantic districts of Cumberland and Westmoreland. They were, at their
outset, scarcely less extravagant in their principles, and much more
so in their projects, than the materialists of Godwin’s school, though
they had the good-fortune to escape all legal persecution. Southey, the
destined champion of the Church and Poet Laureate of three successive
Sovereigns; Wordsworth, in time the _protégé_ and supporter of Toryism
in the North and the pattern, in the judgment of many, of purity both
in language and thought; Coleridge, the hireling of every illiberal
publication in its turn—were one and all, together with a host of young
comrades and admirers, smitten with visionary notions of impracticable
liberty, busy in translating or imitating the mystic philosophy and
poetry of the Germans, and actually preparing to colonise on the Back
Settlements of America for the purpose of establishing an entire
exemption from all religious restraints or ceremonies, an equal division
of property, and a community of wives. The press, in the meanwhile,
teemed with their productions, all inculcating the wildest maxims of
German metaphysics, and all combating the principles upon which the
institutions of property, as well as the distribution of political power,
are founded in society. They escaped, as I have observed, the Crown
Lawyer’s prosecutions, but they fell under the more appropriate lash of
the ridicule of _The Anti-Jacobin_.[418] The Sapphics of Southey were
parodied in a poem entitled _The Needy Knife-grinder_, and Mr. Frere and
his coadjutors in their happiest vein exposed the sickly sentimentality
and real immorality of the whole school, in a supposed German play, which
combined nearly all their absurdities.
Mr. Southey[419] was the nephew of Mr. Hill, long chaplain to the factory
at Lisbon, and afterwards rector of Streatham. In one of his visits to
England he found his nephew, scarce twenty years of age, on the eve of
marrying a girl without a halfpenny. To rescue him from such imprudence
his uncle offered to take him through Spain to Portugal for a year, in
the hopes that absence might cool his passion. Southey accepted the
proposal; but, to defeat the real object of it, he secretly married the
very day before he set off on his travels. The tour was not only gratis,
but lucrative to him, for the sale of his lively and flippant account of
it replenished his purse, and he embarked on a career of authorship and
politics which, though desultory and tortuous, has always been directed
to some profitable haven or another. His habits were those of an author
by trade. Stated hours set apart for his various studies. Poetry and
prose, divinity and wit, had each their distinct periods of each day
allotted to them. His handwriting was wonderfully neat, minute, and
legible, and he told me that he saved no inconsiderable sum each year by
this accomplishment, so numerous were his writings.
His vanity was inoffensive and diverting, and his enthusiasm, real
or affected, about his literary pursuits pleasant and amiable. His
confidence in his own powers was, indeed, preposterous, and his appetite
for flattery, of which his family and friends served him with a constant
and plentiful supply, was inordinate; yet, in spite of research and
ardour, a sprightly imagination, and great raciness and accuracy in his
English, he was not only a credulous and almost silly historian, but
a weak reasoner and tiresome poet, and neither in prose nor in verse
captivated or warmed his reader, though he might occasionally divert
and surprise him. His egotism was excessive. He would fain have been
arrogant; but his scorn and indignation, in spite of himself, assumed the
character of flippancy and impertinence rather than of insolence or pride.
He was a schoolfellow and friend of Mr. Charles W. Wynne, and that
gentleman procured him some small favour or pension in 1806. The touch
of Treasury gold seems to have entirely altered the character of the
man. From that time forth all his predilections have been for power,
and, in its most odious form, exclusion and monopoly; and, what was yet
more strange, most of his associates have accompanied him in this sudden
and violent apostasy from his early principles. Possibly some little
resentment, mingled with self-interest, deepened the tinge which he and
the other Lake poets received soon after Mr. Perceval’s accession to
power. _The Edinburgh Review_ had censured the peculiarities of Southey’s
and Wordsworth’s school. The sentence of that popular but stern tribunal
of literature was sensibly felt in the sale of the works. Southey openly
lamented that a man like Jeffrey,[420] who, in his self-complacency,
he said, “in physical stature did not reach his shoulder, nor in
intellectual dimensions his ankle,” should yet have it in his power to
kick away the harvest due to his industry and genius. _The Edinburgh
Review_ had, during the first years of its publication, acted up to the
stern maxim adopted for its motto,
Cum nocens absolvitur judex damnatur.
But surely it may be doubted whether the mortification and exposure of
sundry pretenders to literary merit does as much service to the republic
of letters as the lavish use of ridicule and invective does mischief,
by deterring many modest but ingenious men from encountering their
strictures.[421]
That formidable journal first appeared in 1802. The notion of it was
suggested, in a small lodging or flat up four pair of stairs, by Sydney
Smith to Mr. Jeffrey, Lord Webb Seymour, Mr. Horner, Mr. T. Thomson, and,
I think, Mr. John Murray. Sydney proposed, with allusion to the diet of
the country, to assume for their motto,
Musam meditamur avena,[422]
“We study the Muses on oatmeal”: a suggestion which he says his Northern
coadjutors vociferously rejected, though no bad specimen of the playful
humour with which he enlivened some one article of every number for
several years. Brougham was not one of the original projectors; Sydney
Smith objected to his admission. His contributions, he said, would be too
long, too many, and too political. Those of Sydney himself, often devoted
to the exposure and ridicule of bad sermons and theological works, were
ignorantly cited by parsons in England as singular proofs of the acrimony
which still distinguished the Kirk of Scotland, and led them to satirise
the writers of an Episcopal Church. Brougham, when admitted, verified one
portion of Sydney’s prediction. He overwhelmed the review with politics;
but few of his fellow-labourers were by that time disposed to lament such
an innovation, and the increasing sale produced by the introduction of
such topics might have reconciled them to the change, had they retained
more scruples about it.
An article upon Cobbett and the public journals, undertaken some eight or
ten years after the commencement of the _Review_, and against the better
judgment of Mr. Horner, by Mr. Jeffrey, at the suggestion of Brougham,
stamped its character as a political publication irrevocably. Till then
several persons quite unconnected with politics, and some absolutely
adverse to the Whigs, had occasionally contributed papers—Wilberforce,
Walter Scott, Richard Payne Knight,[423] Mr. Bartholomew Frere,[424]
and many others. The number of the contributors, the facility with which
contributions were admitted, and the secrecy often enjoined and generally
observed, led to many false conjectures, and those conjectures to
consequences, literary and political, that had influence on the opinions
and conduct of individuals.
Cobbett exhibited a proof that demagogues, like Princes, when they act
on bare suspicion, lose their sagacity. He was nettled at the unexpected
exposure of his shameless tergiversation on the article above alluded to;
he accordingly directed all his resentment against Mr. Horner, who was
the only reviewer that had earnestly protested against it.[425]
Lord Strangford imagined that a severe stricture on his poetry,[426]
written, in truth, by a fellow diplomat of anti-Jacobin and Tory
propensities, was composed or instigated by me; and though assiduous
enough in his correspondence with me while the Grenville Administration
lasted, he scarcely concealed his resentment to me—and to all Whigs, soon
afterwards. A more important personage, Lord Byron himself, was swayed
in his conduct for some time from a misconception that the flippant
review of his first poems, written, in truth, by Mr. Brougham, was the
composition of George Lamb[427] at my instigation, whereas I never saw
the poems, nor did I know of the existence of the author (for I thought
the title extinct) till I read the review and expressed to some of the
reviewers my surprise and regret at the unmerited and bitter severity of
the article.[428]
Lord Strangford had not been less severely handled, but he had deserved
it by the personal conceit of his egotism and the great infidelity of
his translations. Invention, however, is more pardonable in a poem, and
even a translation, than in an official letter. His verses from the
Portuguese are creditable to his taste and ear, though they represent
Camoëns as unfaithfully as his dispatches the events on the Tagus or the
communications of the Sublime Porte. He has not, perhaps, met with the
success he had reason to expect as an author or an orator. His facility
in composing verse and prose is considerable, and his inferiority as a
speaker, though undeniable, proceeds from no deficiency in utterance,
language, or logic.
In London his acquaintance has never been much courted, either in
literary or fashionable society, nor his conversation, though not wanting
in knowledge, vivacity, or good breeding, much relished. His father
had been expelled, by a very unusual Act of Parliament, from the Irish
House of Lords, for a corrupt vote in a judicial proceeding. At his
entrance in life, moreover, the disadvantage of that recollection was
aggravated by extreme poverty, and there was nothing to counterbalance
it but distant relationship with the Percies and Lord Egremont. To the
latter, I believe, he was chiefly indebted for his first employment under
Government, and to both, for the education which rendered him capable
of discharging it. Success in his diplomatic career entitles him to a
niche in the political rather than literary monuments of the day; but
as he will not appear in any of my raising in that department to much
advantage, it is fair to observe here that he dedicated the gains of the
profession he embraced, in the first instance, to his mother and sisters,
and showed in that particular a kindness of heart and a liberality of
conduct which I much fear will not easily be inferred from other passages
of his life.
APPENDIX
APPENDIX A
(See p. 10)
Lord Strangford,[429] in some _Observations_ on a note in Colonel
Napier’s book, has this year (1828) given a very different version of
the whole story. From a dispassionate consideration of the documents
he produces in his defence, and the account he gives of the whole
transaction, I am inclined to believe that some _unimportant_ particulars
in my relation of them are incorrect. It is clear that his dispatch was
_not_ written in Reddish’s Hotel, but in Bruton Street. It is possible,
and indeed probable, that it was written at Mr. Canning’s request, and
that Mr. Canning urged as a reason, _though in all likelihood_ not as the
only reason, for writing it, that “he preferred the form of one unbroken
dispatch, and that the publication of the whole of Lord Strangford’s
letters as they stood was impossible”;[430] and it is true that the
dispatch so written does not _directly_ assert, as I had imagined that
it did, that Lord Strangford had an audience of the Prince Regent
immediately before his embarkation, and had persuaded him to embark. Lord
Strangford, in his publication of this year, directly and repeatedly
acknowledges that the embarkation of the Prince Regent was not the result
_of his brief visit to Lisbon on the night of November 28, when the Royal
Family were already embarked_.[431]
Thus far the real state of the facts may be more favourable to Lord
Strangford than my representation of them in the text and the account
I collected of them from the testimony of those whom I have quoted
in the preceding note; but the main point of the charge against Lord
Strangford’s veracity and the authenticity of the dispatch remains
unrefuted. The dispatch was written in London and on December 19, not,
as the date indicates, on board the _Hibernia_ off the Tagus, November
29; and that false date, as well as the promise “to detail further
particulars in a future dispatch,” and the apology for haste at the
end, prove the intention of the writer to deceive the public reader
as to the time and place of the composition. The reasons for writing
such a dispatch and the allegation of those reasons by Mr. Canning may
be correctly noted by Lord Strangford in his _Observations_, but they
do not disprove the facts which I have stated in my text and which
I believe, namely, that Lord Strangford had arrived in London and
written the dispatch afterwards printed in the _Gazette_, before the
official intelligence contained in a dispatch really written on board
the _Hibernia_ by him had come to hand; secondly, that the original
dispatch varied in many points with that written and printed in London;
and thirdly, that Mr. Canning was thunderstruck at discovering such
variations. It is, I think, undeniable that the printed dispatch, without
positively propounding as a fact that Lord Strangford had prevailed on
the Prince Regent to embark, is calculated and apparently intended to
convey that impression to the reader, and it somewhat broadly implies
that it was “in interesting communications with the Court of Lisbon”
after November 27, that he prevailed on His Royal Highness to embark, or
at least confirmed him in his previous intentions to that effect. In the
dispatch Lord Strangford says that “on proceeding to Lisbon on the 27th,
he had immediately most interesting communications with the Court of
Lisbon,” for the particulars of which he refers to some future dispatch:
but adds, “It suffices to mention in this place that the Prince Regent
wisely directed all his apprehensions to a French army, and all his
hopes to an English fleet; that he received the most explicit assurances
from me, etc., etc.; and that I promised, etc., etc.” Nobody would doubt
in reading the above passage that the interesting communications were
immediately after Lord Strangford had proceeded to Lisbon on the 27th,
that the particulars referred to a future dispatch had occurred either
on or after the 27th, and that the expression of the Prince Regent’s
hopes and fears, as well as the explicit assurances of Lord Strangford
and his promises to the Prince Regent, were all made in an audience with
the Prince Regent, or at least with his Ministers, after Lord Strangford
had proceeded to Lisbon, and before the Prince Regent had embarked. The
fact is now acknowledged by Lord Strangford himself that the Royal Family
were already embarked during his brief visit to Lisbon, and that he saw
M. D’Aranjo and the Prince Regent for the first time after his proceeding
thither on board ship.
APPENDIX B
THE PRINCE REGENT’S VIEWS ON THE ROMAN CATHOLIC QUESTION
(See p. 113)
(_Account of a conversation between Lord Wellesley and Lord Holland on
January 14, 1828._)
I had a conversation with Lord Wellesley. In the course of it, after
discussing many topics with his usual vivacity and ability, he was led to
speak of the King’s (George IV.) opinions on the Catholic question. He
expressed not only regret but surprise at his recently avowed hostility
to any further concessions to the Roman Catholics. He maintained that
such language and opinion were in direct contradiction to declarations
formerly made, and at variance with the principles he had repeatedly and
_solemnly_ professed to him. In support of this assertion he alleged the
following facts.
When he was Secretary of State in 1811 or 1812, and Lord Fitzwilliam
had given notice of a motion on the state of Ireland, he concurred with
his colleagues on the propriety of resisting the motion, but thought it
incumbent on him in doing so to disclaim all opposition to the measure
generally called “Catholic Emancipation,” and even to avow that he
was favourably disposed to a removal of the remaining disabilities.
Conceiving, however, that it would not become him to express an opinion
so much at variance with those professed by his colleagues, without
apprising the Prince Regent of his intentions, he waited on His Royal
Highness, and stated at length his view of the obligation imposed upon
him of avowing his own sentiments on that important question. He even
explained at some length the reasons on which they were grounded, and
the view he had taken of the whole subject. The Prince Regent distinctly,
and even earnestly, approved of his intention; first, as he said, because
it was right for him to deliver his sentiments on such a subject, and
secondly, because he, the Prince Regent, _concurred in the opinion he
intended to express_.
I interrupted Lord Wellesley, to ask him if he was confident that
he had not confounded an approbation of the manliness of expressing
his opinion with an approbation of the opinion intended to be so
expressed. “Certainly not,” was his Lordship’s reply; “the expression
was distinct—‘_he concurred in my opinion_.’ And he did not stop there;
he called in Lord Liverpool and Mr. Perceval, and repeated to them the
substance of my communication and his approbation, saying that I did
right to state my opinion without reserve, for he thought I was called
upon to do so, and that, moreover, in that opinion he entirely concurred.”
Lord Wellesley then proceeded to relate a much stranger circumstance.
When, after Lord Wellesley’s retirement from office, Lord Donoughmore
moved to refer the Catholic petitions to a Committee, Lord Wellesley
had again a communication from the Prince Regent. I forget if it was
in writing or by a message, but it was not merely an approbation of
his avowing his opinions, and of the opinions he intended to avow, but
a request, in the shape of a command, to express these opinions, and
to state to the House and the country at large that he was expressing
those of the Prince Regent as well as his own, and _that he had His
Royal commands to inform the House that he, the Regent, concurred in
all he said on the subject_. “These commands,” added Lord Wellesley,
“I took upon me, as I have frequently observed to His Majesty since,
_most implicitly to disobey_”: and he then appealed to me on the
propriety of his own conduct in doing so, on the obvious objections in a
constitutional point of view there would have been in such a declaration,
and on the injurious effects it must have had (considering all that has
since occurred) on the temper of the people of Ireland and His Majesty’s
personal character and honour.
He had, he said, subsequent to that period remarked some ill-humour to
the Catholics and their supporters, some wavering and tergiversation, and
some inconsistency in the language of his Royal Master on such topics,
but never any decided avowal of hostility to the measure on principle;
and he must, he added, moreover, remark that His Majesty’s manner,
language, and conduct when in Ireland was, even by the admission of Lord
Sidmouth and others opposed to the Catholic claims, most injudicious and
injurious to his honour and his Government, if he was really determined
to resist on principle and in all circumstances any further concession to
his Roman Catholic subjects. He assured me that the Irish Roman Catholics
would not yet believe he had deserted them, that the postponement of the
measure was generally attributed by them to some faction or intrigue in
Court or in Parliament, and not to any hostility in the King’s mind; that
he was, in truth, still popular with that class of his subjects, from a
persuasion that he was secretly friendly to their admission, and that, on
the other hand, he was far from enjoying the confidence of their enemies,
and was, in truth, an object of suspicion, if not of enmity, with all the
high Orange party and self-constituted Protestant ascendancy in Ireland.