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MEMOIRS

THE POLITIOAE AND LITERARY LIPE

ROBERT PLUMER WARD, ESQ.

VOL. II.

London :
SroTTiswooDzs and Shaw,
New-street- Square.

MEMOIRS

or THE

POLITICAL AND LITERARY LIFE

ROBERT PLUMER WARD, ESQ.
AUTHOR OP "THE LAW OF NATIONS," " TREMAJNE,"
"DE VERE," ETC. ETC.

WITH SELECTIONS FROM
HIS CORRESPONDENCE, DIARIES, AND UNPUBLISHED LITERARY
REMAINS.

" Hasc studia adolescentiam alunt, senectutem oblectant ; secundas res ornant,
adversis perfugium .ac solatium praebent ; delectant domi, non impediunt foris ;
pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur." — Cicero, Or at. pro Archia.

THE HONOURABLE EDMUND PHIPPS.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.

LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1850.

CONTENTS

THE SECOND VOLUME.

CHAPTER I.
Mr. Ward on the Ordnance Estimates. Personal Altercation with
Whitbread. Debate on the late Treaties. United Service Club.
Tour of Inspection in Ireland. Ditto in South of England.
Letters to Lord Kenyon6 The Duke of Wellington succeeds
Lord Mulgrave at the Head of the Ordnance. Letters from Mr.
W. W. Pole, Lords Bathurst and Mulgrave thereon - Page 1
CHAP. II.
Tour of Inspection to Northern District. Recommencement of
Diary. Conversation with Lord Sidmouth. Expected Riots.
Meeting of Parliament. Prince Regent insulted. Apathy of
English People. Too great Reliance on the Exertions of their
Government - - - - - 16
CHAP. III.
Illness of Mrs. Ward. Diary continued. The Duke's Kindness.
Fortifications at Hull. Death of the King. Progress of the
Queen's Trial. Conclusion of Diary - - - 45
CHAP. IV.
First Commencement of Novel-writing. " Tremaine " published
by Colburn. Reasons for preserving Incognito. Letters to

VI CONTENTS.
and from Mr. and Mrs. Austen, Robert Southey, the late Dr.
Copleston, Bishop of Llandaff, and others. Odd Consequences
of his Incognito. Visits Mulgrave Castle. Letters thence to
Mr. and Mrs. Austen. Other fashionable Novelists in the
Field. Criticism on " Vivian Grey." " De Vere." Letters
thereon from Canning, from an anonymous Correspondent, and
from B. D'Israeli, Esq. - - - Page 103
CHAP. V.
Break-up of the Liverpool Government. Extracts from Letters
of the late Duke of Buckingham to Mr. Ward, and from Mr.
Ward to Mrs. Austen. Mr. Ward's Marriage with Mrs. Plumer
Lewin. Office of Auditor of the Civil List, held by him,
abolished. Correspondence with the late Lord Althorpe
thereon - 267
CHAP. VI.
Mr. Ward's Family Afflictions. Death of his two elder Daughters
and of Mrs. Plumer Ward. Declining Health of younger
Daughter. Goes to Brighton. Marriage with Mrs. Okeover.
Passes Winter at Wiesbaden. Letters from thence. Recon
ciliation with an old Friend. Various Letters - - 185
CHAP. VII.
Publication of « De Clifford." Mr. Ward's Remarks on the Re
volution of 1688. Letter of the Right Honourable C. W. W.
Wynn. Continuation of Correspondence with Mr. and Mrs.
Austen. Increasing Infirmity of Health. Removal to the
Lieut-Governor's House at Chelsea Hospital. His Death.
His miscellaneous unpublished Works - - . 203

CONTENTS. vil

SELECTIONS FROM MR. WARD'S UNPUB
LISHED WORKS.
THE DAY-DREAMER ;
OR, A SERIES OF PAPERS ON MEN, MANNERS, ' AND THINGS, PROM
THE COMMONPLACE BOOK OF AN IDLE OBSERVER.
PART I.
No. I. — Introduction - Page 231
H — Different Effects of Spring in Town and Coun
try upon a Man of the Town, who is also a
Man of many Impulses - - 237
III. — The Man of Impulses - 244
IV  A Parish Priest - - 255
V. — The Rector's Story - - - 266
VI. — Modern Criticism - 284
VII — Ambition of the meaner Sort - 298
VIH. — Ambition of the meaner Sort - - 312

PART II.
Illustrations op Ambition.
No. I. — Character of the first Lord Holland - - 329
n.— Character of Swift - - - - 343
III.— Bolingbroke - - - - 373
IV— Atterbury - - 389
V — Cowley - - - - 396
VI  Sir John Harrington - - 402
VII  Sir William Temple - - - - 407
VIII.— Lord Townshend - - 418
IX. — Lord Waldegrave - - - - 421

Vlll CONTENTS.
No. X— Pope. White of Selborne. Warton - Page 426
XI. — Mordaunt: or'the Garden Picture of an elegant
Mind, equal to high Employment, but free
from Ambition, and preferring Privacy - 440
XII.— The Retreat - - - - - 449
XIII — The Letter of Mordaunt - - - 451
XIV— The Priory  458
XV  The Garden  473
XVI. — The Effects of different Dispositions upon
Old Age - - - - 480

MEMOIRS

OF

ROBERT PLUMER WARD, ESQ.

CHAPTER I.
MR. WARD ON THE ORDNANCE ESTIMATES. — PERSONAL ALTERCATION
WITH WHITBREAD.  DEBATE ON THE LATE TREATIES. — UNITED
SERVICE CLUB. — TOUR OF INSPECTION IN IRELAND. — DITTO IN
SOUTH OF ENGLAND.  LETTERS TO LORD KENTON. — THE DUKE
OF WELLINGTON SUCCEEDS LORD MULGRAVE AT THE HEAD
OF THE ORDNANCE. — LETTERS FROM MR. W. W. POLE, LORDS
BATHURST AND MULGRAVE THEREON.
For a considerable period Mr. Ward, fully occupied
with the business of his office, which was greatly in
creased for the next three or four years by alternate
prospects of peace and war, and by the labours of
determining upon the very sweeping reductions which
were to take effect when peace was finally reesta
blished, took very little part in the House, except to
bring forward officially the Ordnance Estimates. In
these he upon the whole managed either to avoid all
opposition, or alternately to disarm it by his good-
humour, and to check it by the spirit with which he
VOL. II. B

2 PERSONAL ALTERCATION [Chap. I.
met undeserved attack. Upon one of these occasions,
however, namely, in 1815, he got into a somewhat
warm personal altercation with Mr. Whitbread, who
attacked him for having just a week before the battle
of Waterloo, called Bonaparte the " ablest captain in
the world." " It was to have been expected," said
Mr. Whitbread, " that at least a rival should share
that name with Bonaparte ; and that even if the
honourable gentleman was desirous of ranking him
as the first captain of the world, he would associate
the Duke of Wellington with him in the title, and so
make out two first captains in the world ! " If Mr.
Whitbread had been satisfied with his triumph at
this slip of the tongue in one who had no undisguised
enthusiasm in favour of the Duke, all would have
been well ; but he next proceeded upon the old fallacy
which flourishes even to the present day, viz. that
because any one has written a book he can be fit for
nothing else, and at once ceases to be qualified to
give an opinion upon any other point. He thought
fit to allude to Mr. Ward as one " whose time had
principally been devoted to the study of the law of
nations, to the investigation of that which ought to
prevent war." Mr. Ward's reply was calm and cut
ting,—" The hon. gentleman had," he said, " (as his
custom was), mixed up a great number of matters in
his speech which had nothing to do with the question
before the House. In every speech he made, the
hon. gentleman was in the habit of indulging in
personal allusion and attack. With all the respect
he felt for the hon. gentleman out of the House, he

Chap. I.] WITH MR. WHITBREAD. 3
must inform him that these attacks, whether arising
from the feebleness of the public grounds on which
he opposed Ministers, or arising from rashness of cha
racter, or impetuosity of temper, were perfectly un
important to him, and were heard with the utmost
indifference; knowing that the hon. gentleman was
in the habit of making attacks on all sides, recollect
ing how egregiously he had failed in all his attempts
this Session, he almost felicitated himself on becoming
the object of his animadversions on this occasion."
Mr. Whitbread's rejoinder (after some prefatory re
marks still less ceremonious) was, that " He wished
to make no observation that was not founded in
good humour and sincerity ; and however he might
respect the hon. gentleman, he was really of opinion
that persons might be found more fit to fill the situa
tion he at present held than he was." Mr. Ward con
tented himself with again repeating, " that the attack
of the hon. gentleman, who was so fond of making
charges, did not offend him." Later in the evening
some further angry expressions were interchanged,
which it is not necessary, nor, at this distance of time,
seemly to revive, the whole matter being put an end
to by the usual interference on the part of other
members and the Chairman of Committees ; not, how
ever, until after a vague threat on the part of Mr.
Whitbread, that the hon. gentleman, who was desirous
of being attacked, would, from the manner in which
the estimates were brought forward, be pretty sure to
be gratified ; as he, Mr. Whitbread, should find it
very inconsistent with his feelings or principles to
B 2

4 DEBATE ON THE [Chap. I.
sink, like some hon. gentlemen, into perfect silence
with a good grace. Notwithstanding this, it does not
appear that Mr. Ward's estimates were exposed to
any further attack from the same quarter.
In the year 1816, before the period for bringing
forward the Ordnance Estimates, which were this year
postponed for the purpose of affording time to model
them with reference to a peace establishment, he took
part in the debates on a subject less alien from his
former studies, viz., on an amendment moved by Lord
Milton condemnatory of the late treaties with foreign
powers. On the second evening to which the de
bate had been adjourned, Mr. Ward was the first to
undertake, on the Ministerial side, the defence of these
treaties in reply to a clever speech by the present
Lord Ellenborough, then Mr. Law. There followed
one of the most interesting debates of that period, in
which Mr. Horner and the present Lord Glenelg par
ticularly distinguished themselves.
It may, perhaps, cause a smile if I allude to a
debate, in which Mr. Ward took part, a few days
afterwards, upon the formidable danger to the con
stitution arising from the establishment of what is
now called the Old United Service Club. So great
was the jealousy of opposition lest the military en
thusiasm, generated by the late victory, should
jeopardise the liberties of this country, that extreme
apprehension was manifested at the establishment
of, what subsequent experience has shown to be,
a very harmless association for enjoying over tem
perate repasts, the society of old comrades. A formal

Chap. I.] UNITED SERVICE CLUB. 5
petition was presented against it from the wiseacres
of the town of Leominster, lately so famous for
their discriminating doubts on the merits of rival
candidates; and although General Gascoigne explained,
that it was merely " an Institution to which half-
pay and other officers, when in town, could resort —
where they might be provided with a cheap ordinary,
and have an opportunity of associating with genteel
company," Mr. Brougham "regretted that any thing
like ridicule was attempted to be thrown on those
who felt jealous on the subject, because he felt
considerable jealousy himself; acting on a maxim
of ancient prudence he wished to withstand be
ginnings;" Mr. Western "thought it a fair subject
for constitutional jealousy;" Ld. Milton asserted
"that the military spirit that must be unavoidably
excited, was an object of terror in this case;" while
Col. Foley stated that his constituents had petitioned
against the club, not on account of any ill that had
hitherto resulted from it, but in order that the House
might watch against any danger that might arise!!
The conversation appears to have here dropped, without
any substantive steps being taken, or any Parlia
mentary Inspector of the United Service Club being
appointed. On the 8th of April, Mr. Ward, in bringing forward
the Ordance Estimates, had the pleasure of announcing
that the peace establishment admitted of a reduction
of 3,000,000?. upon the average estimates of past
years, and that even since these estimates were pre
sented to the House in the. early part of the session,
B 3

6 • TOUR OE INSPECTION. [Chap. I.
a reduction to the extent of 137,000?. had been
effected. Unluckily, however, that great event, the
rejection of the income tax, had occurred in the
intermediate period, and this farther reduction was,
by the opposition, ascribed to necessity and not
choice, and was received with about the same
amount of gratitude as even similar reductions in
the year 1848, after a similar refusal to furnish, through
the income tax, the increased means required. In
vain did Mr. Ward announce the fact, that the in
creased reductions were only in pursuance of an
original intention ; his opponents refused to be con
vinced, and reductions which had been the result
of continual labour and a real desire for economy,
were grudgingly received as forced on by the hard
necessities of opposition triumphs. It would not be
interesting to the general reader to pursue in detail
Mr. Ward's personal share in the discussions in Par
liament, consisting, as it generally did, of matters
connected with his own particular department. To
the Finance Committee that satin 1817 he presented,
by order of the Master-General, a very able and
compendious memoir upon the accumulation of stores
at the conclusion of the war. A much more elaborate
work, however, was his report upon the state of
the Ordnance Department in Ireland, addressed to
the Right Honourable Robert Peel, on the 9 th of
November, 1816. In order to prepare this report
he had visited personally, and made an extensive
survey of, all the different establishments under the
control of the Ordnance in Ireland, having passed three

Chap. I.] TOUR OF INSPECTION. 7
months upon this tour of inspection and travelled
1,700 miles. The object of his mission could not
be a very pleasant one to those whom he was going
to visit, as it was to discover what reductions could
be made in their several departments ; but his brilliant
conversation and hearty kindness made his tour of
inspection a tour of triumph, and procured for his
name a lasting popularity in Ireland, notwithstanding
the formidable list of reductions which he thought
it his duty to recommend. *
A mission of a similar nature to the eastern coast
of England, is alluded to in the following extracts
of letters from Mr. Ward to his old friend Ld.
Kenyon, under date of Tunbridge Wells, whither he
had taken Mrs. Ward, whose state of health had
already excited apprehensions in his mind.
In a letter, dated Tunbridge Wells, August 17,
1817, after deploring the little benefit his invalid
appeared to be deriving from the change, he says, —
" I cannot say a very great deal for this place. It
is not zmpretty, the neighbourhood has some lovely
rides, and if a very keen air will give health, it is
healthy. But to me it is by far the coldest and least
genial climate I ever was in, and this always benumbs
* Some Irish wag celebrated his popularity in the following doggerel : —
" The Ordnance Board, on economy bent,
Sent an envoy across to affright us ;
But, so charming his talk, that wherever he went,
He managed to cheer and delight us."
That they had no substantial cause for delight, may be inferred from the
formidable list of snug places of which he recommended the reduction or
abolition.
b 4

8 TOUR OP INSPECTION. [Chap. I,
my heart in all its feelings, and my genius in all its
pursuits. Of gaiety too (another to me very freezing
want) there is absolutely none, either as to company
or amusement. Yet we did not come to such a place
for retirement, Ccelum non animum muto, and there
fore, when I tell you there are no men to entertain
one with conversation, and no women to attract
together beauty or fashion, that so many of them
squint that we are afraid to drink the waters, and
so many have thick legs, that the only thing to make
up for a cold blowing wind is wanting ; when I add
that the water is brackish, the butter salt, and the
donkies bad, you will not wonder that I sometimes
agree with Captain Morris's song on the delights of
the country, and if I must have a villa, wish for the
shady side of Pall-Mali. I would beg even here,
though in August, to make a correction, — for shady
read sunny. In short, my blood is what blood used
to be thought before Dr. Hervey looked at the flea in
the candle, without circulation. I wish my money
was so too ; not that this is an expensive watering-
place. There are rooms indeed, but nobody goes to
them; plays, but not fit to be seen; ponies, but not
fit to be rode ; libraries, but no books to read. If the
place will suit you, pray come away directly, for I
shall go (no wonder) in a few days and try if I can
find amusement by endeavouring to save a few
thousands, perhaps only hundreds (but the smallest
donations will be thankfully received) at Harwich,
Tilbury, Chatham, Sheerness, Dover, Martello Towers,
and Portsmouth. I go on horseback, so hope to have

Chap. I.] TOUR OP INSPECTION. 9
a warmer circulation and a little better humour than
at present."
A month later he writes, —
" I am just returned from a five-and-twenty days'
inspectional tour, spending a little of the nation's
money in endeavouring to save a great deal. That
is a great deal to say after last year's savings ; but as
both the House and the Treasury ordered us to make
a survey with this view without delay, I have been
obedient in taking to my share the eastern coast, from
the Thames to Cromer, and am proceeding to the
southern from Dover to Portsmouth. I have done
something, though not a very great deal, at least have
the conviction that more cannot be done ; and having
performed the whole tour on horseback, have also
done much for myself, for my health is astonishingly
improved. My mental health has also been much
gratified by the sight of the improving condition of
all ranks of people, and an agricultural district in this
most glorious of agricultural weather which I had
never happened before to have visited, for never had
I before been in Norfolk or Suffolk. I must say they
have richly repaid me, for never did I see more quiet
or contented, yet obvious usefulness than every where
.seemed to belong to all I did see. There is nothing
grand or striking in the face of the country, nothing
like your Wales, but every where a succession of
pleasant villages and farms, exhibiting comfortable,
if not happy, industry in a year blest by Providence
with unusual plenty.

10 THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON [Chap. I.
" At Norwich there was not a single loom unem
ployed. Throughout where I have been, what struck
me most was the great civility and subordination of
the people ; and though party ran high in Norfolk, it
was from mere county politics."
The importance of giving employment at home in
the public service to the active mind of the Duke of
Wellington appears to have occurred to Lord Mul
grave, and the office he himself held seemed to him
that to which the attention of the Duke might be most
naturally transferred. It was that with which during
the operations of the war he had been in constant
communication, and on which the success of his
operations had often materially depended. Without
a suggestion, therefore, from any quarter, did Lord
Mulgrave offer to the Earl of Liverpool that the ap
pointment to the office which he himself held should
be tendered to the Duke ; an arrangement to be com
pleted whenever the exigencies of the public service
should admit of his coming home. This arrangement
was ultimately carried out with this modification,
that by the express desire of the Prince Regent, Lord
Mulgrave still continued to hold a seat in the Cabinet.
The opinion formed at the time of Lord Mulgrave's
conduct, will be best seen by the following extracts
from letters addressed to him when his determination
was first known —
While the Duke of Wellington was still at Aix la
Chapelle, on the 1st of November, 1818, Lord Mul
grave received his assent to the proposed arrange
ment, with the assurance that he was " thoroughly

Chap. I.] SUCCEEDS LORD MULGRAVE. 11
sensible of the kindness towards him" which had
dictated Lord Mulgrave's conduct, and that he was
" too well aware of the benefits which the Ordnance
Department has derived from his superintendence,
and had himself received too much benefit from it to
think of altering any thing of which the course of
time may not render an alteration necessary."
The Duke's brother, the Right Hon. W. W. Pole,
spoke still more warmly as an old friend, adding —
" Your conduct has been upon the present occasion
what I have always found it, most romantically
honourable, and full of consideration for others and
contempt for your own interests. I enter into all the
delicacy of your feelings towards the Duke of Wel
lington, which must strike every man for their mag
nanimity, and much as I must naturally rejoice at the
Duke's coming into the Cabinet of which I am a
member, yet I own I cannot but regret your retiring
from office. It is some consolation that you remain
of the Cabinet."
A letter from Lord Bathurst to Lord Mulgrave, in
which, after saying, " We are two of the oldest of
Mr. Pitt's friends now belonging to the Cabinet, and
when I recollect the time which we passed with him
at Bath, when we were all out of office," he had
added, " I cannot bring myself to allow your resigna
tion to pass by, without lamenting on the one hand
that your health should have rendered this measure
advisable, and without, on the other, expressing my
very sincere delight in finding that you have con
sented not to withdraw from us altogether, but that
I may still consider you a colleague, and united in

12 LETTER FROM LORD MULGRAVE. [Chap. I.
the same political engagements," called forth from
Lord Mulgrave the following explanation of his
feelings: —

The Earl of Mulgrave to Lord Bathurst.
" Mulgrave Castle, Nov. 2.
" My dear Bathurst,
" Few circumstances in my life have given me more
satisfaction than the uniform friendship which I have
experienced from you, manifested in very substantial
proofs when the Government was forming in 1807,
and now manifested in the very kind tenor of your
letter just received. It is no small addition to that
satisfaction that it connects itself with the remem
brance of the admiration and affection with which we
both estimated all the qualities of the heart and un
derstanding which endeared Mr. Pitt to those who
had the happiness of enjoying his society and regard.
You will, I am sure, be glad to know that my resigna
tion of the Ordnance has not arisen from any con
sideration of health, but originated in my persuasion
that it would be of important advantage to the
Government that the Duke of Wellington should hold
an efficient office in the Cabinet, and from a convic
tion that such an arrangement would meet with the
approbation of the public. With these impressions
on my mind I did not hesitate in resigning my de
partment, at the same time accepting with satisfaction
a seat in the Cabinet, that ill health, or still less any

Chap. I.] LETTER FROM MR. WARD. 13
difference of opinion with my colleagues, might not be
considered as the ground of my resignation.
" Believe me, with great regard,
" Ever, my dear Bathurst,
" Yours most sincerely, " Mulgrave."

B. Ward to Lord Mulgrave.
" Pall Mall, Nov. 26. 1818.
" My dear Lord,
" The great wish I have had to prevent the intrusion
of business upon you not of the first consequence, has
kept me silent since you left London. Not the less
have I been mindful, however, of every thing con
cerning you here or at Mulgrave. At the latter I
hear with pleasure that you have enjoyed yourself
with amended health. Here I have often heard your
name and the late transaction mentioned in various
quarters, and always with honour. Though I ab
stained from glancing at the subject myself, yet of
course it was known to many, those of the Cabinet,
and at the door of the Cabinet, at Carlton House, and
at the Horse Guards, and I at least had the satis
faction of witnessing the universal and uniform im
pression which your disinterestedness had made.
Pole's prophecy that you would not be thanked, but
be soon forgotten, has, in truth, failed ; for you are
both praised and remembered. I understand that the
Duke of York has expressed himself most flatteringly
about it ; and Sir B. Bloomfield, to whom I went on

14 LETTER FROM MR. WARD. [Chap. I.
business, told me before we began any thing, that the
Regent was full of admiration and full of regret. It
was he who told me too, that you were invited not to
quit the council (as I understood him) at the Prince's
express desire. This last arrangement I think must
be the more agreeable to you, because it must prove
to the world what your true motive has been. To
myself personally it is at least a consolation, but your
leaving the office 1 shall never cease to deplore. Of
the Duke we hear nothing, but that he will be here in
the middle of next month. The news of the offer and
his acceptance was first bruited from the people about
him. Lord Beresford told Chapman yesterday, that
he some time ago said to him the Ordnance was the
only office he would accept, if ever it was vacant.
The news of the actual arrangement came from his
staff, and in particular was promulgated at Woolwich
by Lord George Lennox. It is now nowhere a secret,
though we do not talk of it."
After alluding to some official arrangements en
attendant the Duke's arrival, he continues : —
" While writing I learn that the Duke was to leave
Paris for London yesterday, and not being to stop,
may be expected the beginning of next week. This
is in a letter from Sir John Campbell to his brother.
You will be sorry to hear that Croker is most seriously
taken down, and that Baillie has a very bad opinion
of him. " I am ever
" Your Lordship's affectionate and grateful,
" R.Ward."

Chap. I.] THE DUKE AT THE ORDNANCE. 15
It is fortunately at this interesting moment, and
probably on that account, when the change in his
department we have just noticed had brought him in
contact with the hero of the day, that Mr. Ward re
commenced his Diary. He was fond of relating that
soon after the Duke's appointment, he was leaving his
office at the usual hour, when, on coming out at the
Park entrance, he perceived his new chef just in the
act of getting on horseback. He went up to the Duke
and mentioned that there were some matters con
nected with the department on which he would like to
communicate with him when he had time. " No time
like the present," said the Duke, and at once dismissing
his horse, returned with Mr. Ward into the Ordnance
Office. There, then, he remained closeted with the
Duke till past eight, listening to and answering his
pertinent queries upon manifold points connected
with the department; from that moment the Duke
appeared to be au fait of the business in hand, and
ready to cope with the details as they from time to
presented themselves.

16 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.

CHAP. II.
TOUR OF INSPECTION TO NORTHERN DISTRICT. — RECOMMENCEMENT
OF DIARY.  CONVERSATION WITH LORD SIDMOUTH.  EXPECTED
RIOTS.  MEETING OF PARLIAMENT.  PRINCE REGENT INSULTED.
 APATHY OF ENGLISH PEOPLE  TOO GREAT RELIANCE ON THE
EXERTIONS OF THEIR GOVERNMENT.
In the year 1819, while the movements of the Radicals
(as the Chartists of those days were called) were ex
citing considerable uneasiness in the Government,
Mr. Ward was again sent on a tour of inspection to-
the northern parts of England. His duties were, of
course, not to report upon them in a military point of
view, but to inquire into the state of their stores, the
additional votes that might be necessary for those
that had been neglected, and the money that might
be saved upon others. It was soon after his return
from this tour, that he called at the Home Office, and
held the interesting dialogue with Lord Sidmouth,.
with which the Diary is again resumed.
Oct. 27th, 1819  Called upon Ld. Sidmouth. He
admitted me directly, though up to the eyes in papers,
thinking I had business, I told him I had none, and
would leave him as he was so occupied ; but he de
sired me to stay, and we immediately fell upon affairs.
The designs of the Radicals of course. I told him I
had just been through their country, as well as all
over the north ; which for the most part I found very

Chap. II.] ME. WARD'S DIARY. 17
peaceable, and even civil, and very anti-Radical. He
shook his head, and pointing to volumes of papers,
said, if I knew their contents I would not say so, for
the pictures were frightful. I told him what I had
done at Carlisle Castle, and what I meant to propose
for Hull and Chester. He said they were most im
portant points ; and from all I told him of the depdts
in general, my tour must have been very useful as
well as interesting. I said the spirit was good, except
among the lowest mob ; but that as to the measures
for which Parliament was called, I thought there was
a feeling against the Habeas Corpus suspension ; not
because, if necessary, it ought not to be carried, but
because (though it would equally irritate) it would
not accomplish the object which would require some
thing stronger. He quickly replied, I was right, and
that he was glad to tell me the measure was not in
contemplation. I said I hoped the Seditious Meeting
Bill of Mr. Pitt in 1795, was equally out of the ques
tion, for that it was mere milk and water. He said
that was very true ; and that such meetings, and the
power to call them, must absolutely be put down.*
What was doubtful must be put out of doubt ; and
what was not law, be made law. As to Mr. Pitt's Bill,
having been Speaker at the time, he remembered all
the violence of the debates upon it ; and said we must
expect something very wicked from the Whig oppo
sition, who would so far join the Radicals as to make
their resistance an instrument of party. This made
* The bill introduced required a requisition from seven householders,
and forbade the attendance of persons not actually inhabiting the place.
VOL. II. C

18. EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. li
me observe upon Ld. Fitzwilliam's dismissal, which
I told him seemed to me to have given great satis
faction to our own friends, as indicating proper vigour
on the part of Government. He seemed interested,
and with some solemnity of manner asked if he could
have done otherwise ? I said I thought not ; and
that, not because the measure was one of punishment
or intimidation, as is foolishly argued, but from the
mere natural course of things, because in a situation
where confidence was necessary, all confidence was
destroyed. It was obvious, I added, that Ld. F. had
a right to maintain what opinions he pleased ; but if
they militated against those measures of police, which
he was bound to support, not destroy, the natural
course was to resign or be dismissed. The head of
the police in a county had in a perilous time done
what all must agree might have endangered the peace
of that county in an eminent degree. Ld. S. said,
that was the true way of putting it, and was glad to
think that Ld. F. had received the dismissal in a
handsome manner — he had asked no reasons, and
entered into no explanations, but said he received the
intimation with proper submission. This brought us
to the Manchester transaction ; on which he said I
should be glad to hear that the Chancellor, and all
the law-officers without exception, had, from the very
first, been of the clearest opinion that all was legal
and that the assembly itself was unlawful. I asked
if I was right in my understanding of the facts stated
by the magistrates to Government, that the police
could not execute the warrant, had called in the

Chap. II.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 19
military, who had made no attack till they themselves
were assailed ? He said, yes ; that Nadin, the Head-
Constable, who was one of the most resolute men
alive, had been ordered to serve the warrant, con
fessed he could not venture it without assistance ;
upon which the magistrates ordered Col. L'Estrange,
who commanded that day, to furnish help ; I forget
whether Ld. S, said distinctly from the regulars ; but
Col. L'Estrange, after deliberating which description of
force to supply himself, and without communications
with the magistrates, made choice of the yeomanry as
the most eligible. These advanced first in single file,
which the D. of Wellington had pointed out to the
Cabinet proved they had no intention then to attack ;
but they were themselves assailed, not only with stones
and brickbats, but by four shots fired ; upon which, and
not before, they formed, and began the attack. This
was the case upon which he, as the proper Minister,
went to the Prince with a report, and requested him to
sanction a communication of his approbation to the
magistrates. From this it should seem, that these
thanks were not originally a measure of Cabinet. He
went on to say, that the information as to the assembly
showed it to be of a treasonable nature in the opinion
of the Chancellor, whose authority no one disputes ;
and that he had had the pleasure of learning that many
of the most determined Whigs thought the Govern
ment case was better than people were aware of, and
that it had so been stated at a dinner some days ago.
I asked if it was fair to inquire who was to succeed
Ld. Fitzwilliam. He said it was not quite settled ;
c2

20 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.
but he had no scruple to tell me, the compliment
would be paid Ld. Harewood, who, from his age,
would probably decline it, in which case it would be
given to * * * *. I observed I had feared it, for I
was sorry for it. He looked a little surprised ; upon
which I said it was not because any one would doubt
Ld. * * * *'s attachment to the Constitution, and as
little his personal courage or determination to check
these rascals, but we all knew that he was politically
timid ; and that he saw every thing in the worst light.
Ld. S. immediately agreed ; and said it was true he
viewed every thing in the gloomiest colours his appre
hension could supply, and shrunk from responsibility,
as many excellent and high couraged people, friends
of his, had done before, — such as Charles Yorke and
the first Ld. Gardener. Charles Yorke's personal
courage, he said, was remarkable ; that he believed
no one would sooner, if ordered, march to the mouth
of a cannon, but that give him responsibility and
he shrank : that he remembered in his (Ld. S.'s) Ad
ministration, he took him from the War Office and
made him Home Secretary, he said, there you have
spoiled a good Secretary-at-War, and made a damned
bad Secretary of State ; and that as to Ld. Gardener,
one year more of the Channel Fleet would have killed
him outright, and just so it was with * * * * ; but
that, from property and consequence, he was the
fittest man.
Nov. 15th, 1819 — As I was about to leave the office
at half past five, the Duke sent for me. He said he
had been applied to by Ld. Buckingham to order car-

Chap. II.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 21
riages to be made for two field pieces which he had of
his own, and which he designed for the militia, and
asked if it could be done. I told him, yes, upon pay
ing for them, which the Duke said he would allow.
He then said he had just seen Ld. Sidmouth on the
subject of the militia arms, upon which he had had
different reports from the Lds.-Lieutenants ; some say
ing they were satisfied with the security, some not.
Upon inquiring, said the Duke, I was anything but
satisfied, for those even that were supposed secure,
were placed only in a strong house with the locks
taken off, and concealed under the care of the Militia-
Staff. Now if a mob got possession of a town, the
staff could not defend the arms ; and if threatened with
their throats being cut, they would soon discover the
locks. I therefore urged the necessity of the locks
and bayonets being taken into our stores ; and pro
mised to send him a disposition for them, upon which
I wish to consult you, as I mean to send as much as
I can of it to Ld. Sidmouth to-night. He then fell
upon the general subject ; said the Radicals no longer
concealed their true object and opinions, that the
gentry had possessed their estates long enough, and
it was now their turn. This object they might carry
had they arms, which we know, said the Duke, they
have not, and must take care to prevent their getting
them. He said public opinion was every thing* ; and
* Note by Mr. Ward.— This was Bonaparte's maxim also, "Cest T opinion
qui fait tout" He applied this to the D. of V., who abused a cuirass at
which B. himself and his generals were firing, by way of experiment, and
which his ball had penetrated. c St-

22 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.
if a piece of cannon, or 1500 stand of arms were once
taken by the mob, no matter with how little exertion,
it would go far to produce a revolution at once. I
said I thought so too, if the public opinion was really
against us ; but there seemed a great reaction, and
people were everywhere crying for strong measures.
Yes ! said he quickly, strong measures which they
won't support. What signifies it to propose strong
measures, when one says, I am for them, but don't
touch the liberty of the press ; another, don't pretend
to keep people from meeting ?
He then sat down, took a pen and drew up a dis
tribution of the counties, according to the position of
the dep6ts which I marshalled from the map, and said
he would send it that evening to Ld. Sidmouth. We
only went over the English counties. Asking about
the Scotch castles, I owned I was ignorant of their
state, and he said he was too. I got him a map, and
proposed Stirling and Dumbarton castles. He ap
pointed to-morrow to consider them, and desired Gen.
Mann to be sent for to inform him of their state of
security. He said Ld. Sidmouth was more anfraid of
the Scotch mob than the English. I am more than
ever desirous about Weedon, and shall entreat him
to-morrow to order some defences for it.
Nov. lQth, 1819 — Saw the Duke again with Gen.
Mann. He was more than ever impressed with the
necessity of taking measures of defence ; said the time
was impending, nay, fast approaching, that a few days
even would determine whether this insurrectionary

Chap. II.} MR. WARD'S DIARY. 23
spirit was to subside, or that we were to fight for it ;
that he should not wonder if there were to be great
rioting in London on the 24th, after the Regent's
speech was known ; that the meeting of the Radicals
might have been fixed on that day for that very pur
pose. We then proceeded to business, and Gen. M.
reporting the security of Dumbarton, Sterling, and
Edinburgh castles, and the Scotch forts, we went
through the distribution of Scotland. He afterwards
asked me about Ireland, as I had been all over the
country, and we settled a distribution for that king
dom also. He wished the dep6ts there in general
to be considered, many not being fortified, which he
thought ought to be suppressed, and settled to consi
der them with me to-morrow. We entered fully upon
Weedon, and I was pleased to find he ordered deci
sive measures for its security, by planting cannon
and raising field-works, to be instantly taken. His
promptitude, decision, intelligence, and manner, were
charming. Nov. 19th, 1819.— Met old Fleming. He said the
Whigs had not yet determined what line to pursue.
You wall be very strong, added he, you will have
all us neutrals, all the Grenvilles, perhaps some of the
Whigs, the Hamiltonians, &c, but use your power
moderately. Unless the power of meeting is regu
lated every thing is gone. H e said, Finlay had been
elected Ld. Rector of Glasgow, but wrote full of un
easiness and fear.
Nov. 20th.— Dined at Wharton's — a small and
agreeable party. Ld. Westmoreland and Lady Geor-
c4

24 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.
giana (Ld. W.'s daughter), Becket (Judge Advocate
General), and Lady Ann (formerly Lady A. Lowther),
Ld. Beauchamp, and Dr. Ainslie. The discourse
chiefly about the Radicals. Ld. W. said the advices
from Manchester were of a better complexion, and
that things had so subsided that the magistrates had
been able to collect evidence. Becket said, one of
his former scouts (when he was Under-secretary in
the Home Department) had called upon him to tell
him how things were going on, that London was least
to be depended upon of all the Radical places ; that
some delegates from the North had been just seen here,
having only left town a day or two ago disgusted and
angry at their little success ; that they could not
count upon more than a thousand men here. The
Ld. Register (Colquhoun) writes from Glasgow that
things had had the very worst aspect, but people were a
little more assured from their having been able to set
up a volunteer force. The D. of Hamilton frightened
out of his wits and full of sorrow for his foolish com
promising letter. The answer to it by the Radicals
was, to survey his park, and to ascertain, that shared
among them, it would give the weavers nine acres
apiece. Nov. 21st, 1819. —Walked with Peel. He asked,
how I thought we were as to strength in the House.
I said, very strong. But, added he, shall we have
any of the Whigs ? They mean, I understand, to
rally on the dismissal of Ld. Fitzwilliam ; I said, I
thought that signified little; that there seemed a
great reaction, and the loyal population preponderated

Chap. II.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 25
ten to one. True, said he, but don't you think
the public opinion among the lower orders has un
dergone a change within these few years, as to the
constitution of Parliament ? I said, that could not
be denied, but still, they wished not an invasion of
property, by fellows with no property. He asked
about the Duke of Wellington, and said, he heard
he took a very gloomy view of things ; I answered,
he was on the alert, but not gloomy ; and told him
what we had been doing as to the dep6ts and militia
arms. He approved it very much. He was in high
spirits, and seemed to think we should do very well
on Tuesday (the 23rd, when Parliament was to open) ;
that the Whigs had a difficult card to play; all the
Grenvilles would be with us. I mentioned * * *
He laughed, and said, he was not a Whig. No !
said I, he is himself, for he finds fault with every
body and everything, but is afraid of his acres.
P. said, that would fix him ; but he remembered
when he was so strongly disposed to Government, that
Perceval was going to send to him to move or
second the address. Peel thought Hunt a clever
fellow. Not so I.
Called on Ld. Mulgrave, who is only just arrived.
Grieved to find him so feeble. He, however, walked
with me to Sir Thomas Liddel's (Ld. Normanby
had married Sir T.'s eldest daughter) ; bad accounts
from the north. The miners about Ravensworth,
to the number of fifteen hundred, all ready to rise.
Their gardener had met some of them, who said, "Ah !
we know where you come from, we shall soon pay

26 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.
Ravensworth a visit." This looks like guerre aux
chateaux. The lower orders at Newcastle had with
drawn all the silver they could lay their hands on,
all that belonged to them in the Benefit Clubs, so
that there was not a shilling in the shops. Wooler,
it seems, had told them, that after the 24th no paper
would be of any value.
Went home with L d. Mulgrave, who was so weak
as to want my support. He said there could be
no doubt things were critical, from the extraordinary
organisation of the disaffected ; that if there was
the same spirit in other parts of the country, it
could not stand for a moment. I asked, as much
as I could, of the measures. He said, they were
general, and he thought not strong enough. I men
tioned what Ld. Sidmouth had said to me, that he
wished he could get Ld. Liverpool to consent to
local measures of severity and power, such as there
were in Ireland. Then he has not succeeded, said
Ld. M., for it was my wish too, and I said so to
Ld. Liverpool on my arrival, but he replied, that,
though he agreed in the wish, there were obstacles.
Ld. M. lamented more than ever the having lowered
the army, and complained again of the niggardly
narrow system pursued. A volunteer force, he said,
which might give play to a military spirit on the
right side, would alone save the country; but mi
nisters ought not to allow the expense of it to fall
upon the loyal or private individuals; they should
make it a public burthen.

Chap. II.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 27
Nov. 22nd, 1819. — Ld. Kenyon called upon me.
He had just arrived from Gridlington ; of course
full of politics. He had been most active in his
anti-Radical labours, and very instrumental in setting
on foot the volunteer and yeomanry force of Flint,
Denbighshire, and Cheshire.
* • • ¦ .
I told Ld. K. what Ld. M. had said of the expense
not falling upon individuals ; he said, he thought
him right, and that his exertions had already cost
him (Ld. K.) 500Z. We canvassed the expected
measures. He agreed with me as to the necessity
for summary powers in the disturbed districts, but
it will not be. He wished that a certain number
of magistrates (a very large number) might have
the power of proclaiming districts, as in Ireland.
I told him what Ld. Sidmouth had hinted, of having
been ready to resign, previous to this storm breaking
out. He said, in that case, he supposed Peel would
be the new Secretary, which would be an immense
step for him, but nobody so fit for it. I agreed,
for his best years had been given to the domestic
peace in Ireland. Ld. K. thought Ld. Sidmouth
very stout. Ld. Grenville, it seems, is at Fife House,
in communication with Ld. Liverpool as to the
measures, which he is to state to Ld. Lansdowne,
who, it is supposed, will not support, on account
of Ld. Fitzwilliam.
Dined at Ld. Castlereagh's. A numerous and
brilliant party. The Speaker, Cocks, and Cust (the one

28 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.
son of Ld. Somers, the other brother of Ld. Brownlow,)
who move and second the address ; all the Ministers
in the H. of Commons (except Canning), Lds. Fitzroy
Somerset, G. Beresford, Palmerston, Clive, Lowther,
Binning, Ancrum, and a long et coetera of office
people, Privy Counsellors, Heads of Departments,
and Law Officers, the only persons out of office,
besides the mover and seconder, being Ld. Clive,
Peel, Halford, and Col. Wood, Ld. Castlereagh's
brother-in-law. The dinner magnificent, but badly
served; horribly profuse, yet not comfortable. I
observed to Ld. Clive, to whom I sat next, that a
mob was an uncomfortable thing, whether Radical
or noble. He agreed, and said, he wondered what
thing in the world could tempt him to be a Mi
nister, forced one moment to give such a dinner
as this, and the next to be slandered, abused, and
condemned by wilful and ignorant blackguards. Ld.
Castlereagh, however, looked remarkably well, and
was in gay spirits. In the few words I had with
him, I thanked him for sending my son * to Wellesley,
at Madrid. He expressed himself very handsomely
about it, and I think (for there was much noise)
added, that Wellesley had written to him, that he
was satisfied with him. I observed we should have
a warm struggle. He said, it would be fuller of
interest, and that it was always much better to have
a great object to fight for, than to be lingering on
* Henry G. Ward, late Secretary of the Admiralty, and now Governor
of the Ionian Islands. In the diplomatic career with which he com
menced public life he was at Stockholm, Madrid, and Mexico, in which
latter place he particularly distinguished himself.

Chap. H.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 29
mere general business. Nothing can be more true;
Canning was fatigued and could not come. He has
rattled home from Italy to attend the meeting of
Parliament, and having been up the three last nights,
was reposing. He is right. We must meet this
storm, but, I own, I feel out of humour with this
sudden break up of the calm, happy, domestic life,
I was leading. In fact, I suppose I am tired with
seventeen years' politics.
The speech was read before dinner, and very in
teresting. It will speak for itself. Ld. Castlereagh
did not tell us the exact measures, but said they
would come forward in the shape of five Bills —
three in the Commons, and two in the Lds. ; that
information would be laid on the table and printed on
Wednesday, and on Friday the Bills moved ; that all
must see the propriety of never leaving the subject
till finished ; there must, therefore, be no recess, ex
cept a couple of days at Christmas, otherwise the
meetings would go on with fresh violence during the
interval. He begged we would impress this upon all
our friends, and if this was followed up he hoped we
might adjourn about the 6th of January till the 1st of
February. All this is wise. I was introduced to the
new Ld. Advocate of Scotland (Rae). He said the
D. of Hamilton was frightened out of his wits, and
now regretted his letter ; that he was active in arming,
and Glasgow might now be thought secure. They had
enrolled 5000 names for a volunteer force, of which
3000 were regimented, and there were the yeomanry
cavalry besides. The Radicals, indeed, seem every-

30 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.
where to have missed the opportunity of doing the
mischief they could by seizing arms, &c, and perhaps
were as wise to do so, for they have neither money nor
leaders, or they would have been up long before.
They must have been crushed in detail. I talked
with the Attorney and Solicitor-Generals. We agreed
some of the measures were not strong enough, par
ticularly as to the press, which, they told me, was
merely to lay a tax upon the cheap political publica
tions.* The summary power to seize arms is, however,
good, as well as the limitation of the right of meeting
to meetings under magistrates, who might also put an
end to them.
Mr. Bathurst (Chancellor of the Duchy) thanked
me for some official attentions I had shown him. I
asked if he had taken the hint I had ventured to give
him in my letter, and turned Colonel Williams, the
Radical Justice of the Peace, out of the commission.
He said, " No, for that the Chancellor could not turn
out Sir Chs. Wolseley, which he much wished to do."
I asked, why not? He said, " leaving out, and turning
out, were very different;" that if there was a new
commission they might be left out, but the Chancellor
thought that to turn them out would be too strong.
This provokes me ; for is not every thing too strong
for us, and must we not meet strength with strength?
Ld. Fitzwilliam is turned out, who recommends all the
magistrates of his district, and yet to dismiss one of
them is too strong. Wolseley accepts an illegal ap-
* It also punished with transportation a. second conviction for seditious
libels.

Chap. II.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 31
pointment, of Parliamentary Agent from a place that
has no right to send one, in the very teeth of the
Constitution* — he is under indictment for sedition —
openly professes himself an advocate for revolution —
yet he is allowed to remain in the commission of that
peace he is doing all he can to overturn. If this is
not cowardice I don't know what is.
Nov. 2Brd, 1819. — The D. of Wellington passed
me in Pall Mall going to the H. of Lds. to the speech.
He stopped his coach, and asked me if he should take
me. When I got in, I saw him busy about the doors,
which he was locking with a key in the inside. I
asked what that meant. He said, that ever since
he had been shot at in Paris he had used that pre
caution. I knew, said he, the conspiracy was pretty
extended, and thought they might be at me again in
a less bungling way. Their way ought to have been
to have killed my coachman, and then, if my doors
could have been opened, what should I have done ?
Now they are secure, and by leaning back you may
fight a window better than a parapet wall. This he
accompanied with the appropriate action. As we
were in the midst of a very Radical-looking mob, I
only hoped, I said, we should not be tried. He
said, there was no danger of that to-day, or any thing
happening to the Prince ; it might happen the next
day, after the speech was known, particularly as there
was a Smithfield meeting. The mob, however, looked
better, and we found the Prince had been much
cheered in the Park, all the women waving their
* He was elected for unrepresented Birmingham.

32 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.
handkerchiefs ; but there were some hisses. The Duke
then asked me if I had heard the speech at Ld. Castle-
reagh's, and what I thought of it. We agreed it
was very stout, and what it ought to be ; but I ex
pressed a fear that the measures would not be strong
enough. He said they would, however, do good;
and mentioned particularly the confinement of all
meetings called by individuals to parishes, and the
increasing the punishment to transportation for the
second offence. The publishers of cheap political
works are also to give security to answer for any
illegal matter. In this conversation we arrived at
the H. of Lds. He was much observed by the people,
who looked with interest at him, but there was no
cheering. The House was very brilliant and numerous ; the
Court and Ladies looked well; and the speech ex
ceedingly well delivered. The interest, however,
seemed more as to out of doors than within. Ld.
Fitzroy Somerset said, he would rather watch the
Park than attend the House ; and going home I met
Ld. Bridgewater, who had been mixing with the mob
the whole time, and was quite satisfied. He asked if
I had heard whether there was to be any amendment,
I said, yes, but it was to be a very mild one. He
made a face and a sarcastic bow, repeating " a mild
one;" we are much obliged to them.
Saw Ld. Erskine at dinner ; he was very anti-
Radical, but not the less anti-Government. Said as
to the mob, he had stood within the Temple gates in
1780 with a field-piece, and a match in his hand, re-

Chap. II.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 33
solved to blow the mob to the devil, and would again
if necessary; but was against all changes giving
more power to Government. From what he knew of
the amendment to be proposed, he added, he was sure
there must be a long debate. He then talked of my
brother, for whom he expressed the highest regard,
and wished him happy in his beautiful place, North-
wood House, Isle of Wight. The Prince was insulted
in returning through the Park, the lower orders
having got head, but still not so much as has often
been, and there was also much applause. How
ridiculously eager we all are about a thing which all
affect to despise, and which is in reality despicable —
the " fond many!"
The debate was high Tory in both Houses, and the
spirit pronounced anti-Radical on all sides. The Ad
dress was therefore not opposed ; only an amendment
attempted, which was pure Whig, and agreed upon at
Burlington House, in compliment to Ld. Fitzwilliam,
as well as with a view to embarrass Government.
They were, however, outnumbered and outspoken. I
never remember Government to have put themselves
so high, or show so high game. The amendment,
moved by Grey in the Lds. and Tierney with us, so
as to give all possible importance to it, changed no
thing in the Address to support the Throne, but only
added the propriety of an inquiry as to the Manchester
transaction. This was met manfully by Ministers, who
broadly stated the meeting of the people then to have
been illegal, upon which the Chancellor said he would
stake his reputation. They also asserted the fact, be-
VOL. II. D

34 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.
yond contradiction, that the attack was commenced by
the mob, and all that was done by the yeomanry was
in self-defence. Wortley, in our House, particularly
distinguished himself by a bold and manly declaration
of principles which it was impossible to beat down.
The Opposition lawyers carefully eluded both law and
fact, and (particularly Mackintosh) wrapt themselves
in general ethics. The boldest thing was said by
Castlereagh, who, after speaking politely of Ld. Fitz
william, affirmed that, however respectable, he (Ld.
C.) was bound to say " that by the conduct of the
noble Ld. in lending himself to a Radical mob, and, for
the sake of a temporary advantage over political an
tagonists, rejecting the offers of a great body of loyal
and honourable men, and joining or countenancing the
opposers of all loyalty, he had made it impossible to go
on with him — he had therefore been justly dismissed,
and he hoped it would be a lesson to great men how
they kept bad company." The House rung with ap
plause at this, so as to be decisive of the future mea
sures. An adjournment was proposed at three o'clock,
which was rejected by 453 against 65 ; it was, how
ever, afterwards wished by both sides, and agreed to.
Many of the Opposition voted with us against adjourn
ing. From the want of argument, Tierney said that
the answer of the D. of Wellington and Ld. Malmsbury
to the Sheriff of Hampshire, that to summon a meeting
to petition the Regent to assemble Parliament was
trenching upon his prerogative, was a breach of privi
lege of that House. In the Lds. the amendment was
rejected by 159 to 34. I heard Ld. Liverpool, who was

Chap. II.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 35
particularly good. Ld. Sidmouth was firm and clear,
and the Chancellor remarkably able. So great was
the interest, that several ladies stood squeezed behind
the throne and against the wall the whole night. Ld.
Binning, who called upon me, said it must be owned,
our old friend the Doctor (alluding to our having
opposed Ld. Sidmouth so much under that name) has
been very stout throughout the Avhole affair.
Nov. 2\ih, 1819. — Talked to the Duke of Tierney's
imputation. He said Pole had told him, and treated
it de haut en bas. He was full of business, having five
Cabinet boxes before him, yet stopped to talk of a long
report I had made him upon shells (only the day
before), all which he had read, though so busy a day.
He talked of the debate, and thought the Chancellor's
speech very able.
The debate in our House resumed, and lasted till
half-past five in the morning. Canning spoke at
great length (two hours and three quarters), though
feeble from indisposition, and with extreme ability.
Brougham answered him also at great length, but
heavy for him. He made, however, very good fun of
Wynne, of whom he spoke as a man so devoted to the
forms of the House, that it was supposed he came
down every morning at ten, because it was the hour
to which we adjourned, though nobody met till four ;
that he consumed the light of day and the midnight
oil in studying the Journals ; nay it was actually said,
so great was his zeal, that he had got them all by
heart, emulating in this one of his ancestors of the
D 2

36 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.
same taste (we supposed G. Grenville), of whom it was
said, that, when he had fainted from fatigue of busi
ness, and somebody proposed a smelling-bottle, an
other, who knew him better, said, " Bring him an Act
of Parliament, and let him smell to that, that will
revive him sooner."
The speaking and the impression all with us, and
Tierney's amendment finally rejected by 381 to 150.
Sir Wm. Scott, who is a terrible alarmist, shook his
head, and said they had too many.
Nov. 25th, 1819.— The Duke talked much of the de
bate, part of which he had heard. He thought Canning's
speech remarkably good in every point but length. I
said it was very eloquent, particularly in the eulogy on
the constitution of the magistracy of England. He
agreed, but said it would have been better had he
finished three quarters of an hour sooner. It was,
however, he said, an excellent debate for the Govern
ment ; and as to the Manchester case, I told you, he
added, it would be all set right the moment Parliament
met. I observed, I thought Radicalism had received
its death-blow. He looked significantly but doubt-
ingly, laying an emphasis on the words " Do you?"
I could not help thinking of his reception by the mob
in going to Guildhall on the Ld. Mayor's day. It
seems, at the same time, that these insults were con
fined to a particular set, the rest having applauded
Ministers ; but this set stopped every carriage, oblig
ing those within to pull down glasses, and say who
they were. The Duke told them they were very po
lite, and drove on. His brother, Pole, on giving his

Chap. II.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 37
name, was greeted with, " Then you are a damned
rascal, and ought to be ashamed to show your face
among an honest public." The D. of York was re
proached for his 10,000Z. a year. One of the mob laid
his hand on the carriage-door, upon which a footman
behind said he would break his arm if he did not let
go. The mob called out, " Kill him ! " and were pro
ceeding to violence when the police came up. I was
amused with a characteristic account of Ld. Harrowby.
Being asked his name, he answered very firmly, Ld.
Harrowby. The assailants did not seem to know
any thing about him and were puzzled, so they con
tented themselves with saying, " Are you not ashamed
of being Ld. Harrowby?" to which he answered with
stoutness, but also with his usual precision of voice,
" Not at all."
Nov. 26th, 1819. — In a note from Ld. Kenyon,
who said he would dine with me to-morrow, he
adds a wish that I would get my "great chief"
(the D. of Wellington) to infuse a little spirit into
his colleagues, in hastening the Bills, particularly
as to the seizure of arms. This, he says, after the
public assertion of Watson to the people in Smith-
field, that there were 800,000 Radicals armed, Mr.
Pitt would have passed in a day.
Nov. 27th. — Lowndes, member for Bucks, showed
me a letter from Ld. Buckingham, who said, that,
as he was going up with the Oxford Address, Ld.
Kenyon had told him, he had heard with great
concern that there were doubts of the loyalty of
the Buckinghamshire yeomanry, they were supposed

38 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.
to be tainted. Ld. B. asked his authority, which
Ld. K. very readily gave him. It was Stockdale,
the bookseller. Ld. B. immediately sent for S., who
confirmed what he had said to Ld. K. Ld. B. said
it was absolutely false, and asked his authority. S.
refused to give it, upon which Ld. B. said, " Then
the responsibility lies upon yourself, and I tell you,
Mr. S., you are circulating scandalous falsehoods."
My regard for the reputation of the corps, adds
Ld. B., makes me acquaint you with these circum
stances, as a member of the corps, in order that
its honour may be vindicated ; and you are at liberty
to make what use you please of this letter. Lowndes
said, he meant to send the letter to various officers
of the corps, and then print it with their answers,
and asked my opinion. I said, Stockdale was so
known to be a gossiping, talking man, that I won
dered Ld. B. should give him any authority ; never
theless, if it would kindle a little zeal, and proper
indignation on the right side, I thought the agitation
of it might do good ; that indifference was what
we had most to dread. The corps is one thousand
strong. Nov. 30th, 1819  Ld. Lansdowne's motion in
the H. of Lds., and Ld. Althorpe's in the Commons,
to consider the state of the country. In the first,
Lds. Wellesley and Grenville particularly distinguished
themselves on our side. This the great feature of
the night. Ld. Grey, in answer, never to my mind
spoke so ill. The House was crowded, and many
ladies behind the throne.

Chap. II.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 39
Ld. Grenville extremely impressive in vindication
of the Manchester magistrates, lofty and convincing
from beginning to end. Several peers in passing
through us, in and out of the House, observed this
to us.
In our House, Ld. Lascelles (the new Ld. Lieute
nant for the West Riding) spoke better upon Yorkshire
affairs than ever I remember him upon any subject.
He had no uncouthness of language, and what was
better, no hesitation as to opinions, in short spoke
out. • • • • • •
Dec. 1st, 1819. — Saw the Duke, who immediately
began upon general affairs. He said Ld. Grenville's
was the finest speech he had ever heard in the
House of Lds., and had put the Manchester case
much higher than it was put by the Government.
I observed upon Ld. Wellesley's, which he said was
very good too. He seemed, however, more to lean
to practical arguments, than generals, especially as
to effect, and hence to me his preference, or rather
his dwelling on the one more than the other. He
said the case had now been put out of all doubt
with every one, there would still be a great deal
of barking, but the thing was done.
Dec. 2nd. — At the House on the second reading
of the Seditious Meetings Bill. New ground, and
an attempt to make a stand on its duration; many
of the Opposition promising to vote for it if only
for a time. This overruled by an immense majority
D 4

40 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.
of 351 to 128. In the debate, Peel, who had been
ill and could not attend before, was remarkably good,
particularly in the detail of the proofs, and convinced
many. Several of the Whigs joined us. Lyttelton
of Worcestershire, Grenfell, Lds. A. Hamilton and
Stanley, W. Lamb (just returned for Hertfordshire),
&c. In the evening Ld. Harrowby drank his tea with
me at the same table, and nobody being by we had
some talk. He fell upon Ld. Grenville's speech, which
he praised as a model of high and dignified argument,
and said Ld. Grey had in vain attempted to answer
it. I said I had never heard Ld. Grey so weak
before, that he did not grapple with the question.
He observed that was exactly so, he did not grapple,
but went beside it picking holes where he could.
I said I thought Radicalism had received its quietus ;
he feared not, or at least that there would be a
rising in the north among the colliers before the
Bills were passed. He asked about our Ordnance
measures, and seemed satisfied. We then talked of
Sandon (Ld. Harrowby's village), which I had visited
in the summer, and he seemed pleased with what
I said of it. I was very sincere, for I think that
whole country, though not so magnificent, perhaps
not so beautiful as some parts, is yet very picturesque
and, as a calm, happy, agricultural landscape, un
equalled almost in England.
Dec. Brd, 1819. — The Duke sent for me and
showed a letter from the Marquis of Salisbury,

Chap. II.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 41
pointing out the danger of allowing large guns to
lie upon the beach near Aldborough, with no guard
but a single invalid, and asked if it was so. I told
him it was strictly correct, not only at Aldborough
but all along the south and east coasts. He asked
where the carriages were. I said, In safety ; but I
wished he would consider the subject of these cannon
which had been left there skidded on account of
the expense of moving them, and proposed going
to that expense though it might cost 5000/. ; that
I had just been with Mr. Vansittart, and obtained
from him a promise of 30,000/. more than last year's
estimate ; and proposed he should allot part of it,
say 5000/., to this service. He assented, and said
he would not for 5000/. the Radicals should possess
themselves of any of these cannons, for though from
their weight they could not easily manage them,
especially without carriages, and though they might
only pick them up unresisted, yet the possession
of them would give occasion to a triumph, as if
they had taken them from the King's troops, and
do incalculable mischief. So much is there in opinion.
I said it would be like the effect produced in Mexico,
when the head of the first of the Spaniards that
had been killed was sent round the empire to prove
they were not immortal. He assented, and added
with quickness that it was not at all clear that
they could not and would not use these cannon, if
they knew how to set about it. He said it might
be done by means of a strong cart, and that he
himself had had recourse to such means in Spain,

42 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II.
that at Burgos he had used a heavy gun with
but one trunnion which on that account they had
called the Nelson, alluding to his one arm. He
then asked opinions out of doors, and the nature
of Brougham's attack upon him for having signed
the Counter Requisition in Hampshire, advising
the Sheriff not to call a meeting to petition the
Regent to assemble Parliament. " I am a peer,"
said he, "as well as Ld. Caernarvon, who set the
Requisition on foot, and my being a Minister does
not take away my rights as a subject." The notion
of Tierney, that it was a breach of privilege of the
House was, he said, ridiculous. Speaking of the
chances of a partial rising before the Bills passed,
I mentioned the speculations of some men, that
perhaps it might lead to good, as it would be sup
pressed, and with it much of the spirit of insurrection,
he said he was by no means one of those who wished
this ; ...... that for his part
he could not even hope that a great deal of mischief,
and the ruin of thousands, would not be effected
before it was suppressed ; that this ruin, particularly
of manufacturers, who would be the first victims,
would affect much of the innocent population, which
would spread the discontent; that the nation would
be put to the double expense of losing much in
taxes and replacing the losses, which latter, however,
would never restore the suffering to their primitive
situation ; that much blood would at any rate be
spilt, and that though the rebels themselves might

Chap. II.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 43
deserve this, yet the friends of the rebels would
not fail to profit by it elsewhere, by inquiries in
Parliament, inquests, and attacks upon magistrates
and officers, and every sort of inflammatory topic, in
short, that we should have the Manchester and Old
ham inquest over again, only multiplied tenfold, and
who could foresee the discontent this might spread,
with proper colouring, even among those who were
at present peaceable. He said if the rising broke
out anywhere, it would be at Glasgow and Paisley,
where many rich merchants and all they supported
would be sure to suffer, while no one could certainly
foretell how soon it might be put down. This led
him to his favourite notion, that the loyal should
be taught to rely more upon themselves, and less
upon the Government, in .their own defence against
the disloyal. It was this he thought that formed
and kept up a national character ; while every one
was accustomed to rely upon the Government, upon
a sort of commutation for what they paid to it,
personal energy went to sleep and the end was lost;
that in England, he observed, every man who had
the commonest independence, one, two, five, or six
hundred, or a thousand a year, had his own little
plan of comfort — his favourite personal pursuit,
whether his library, his garden, his hunting, or his
farm, which he was unwilling to allow any thing
(even his own defence) to disturb ; he therefore
deceived himself into a notion, that if there was a
storm it would not reach him, and went on his
own train till it was actually broke in upon by

44 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. II..
force. This led to supineness and apathy as to
public exertion, which would in the end ruin us;
the disposition, therefore, must be changed, by forcing
them to exert themselves, which would not be if
Government did every thing in civil war, they
nothing : hence his wish for a volunteer force. All
this was exceedingly sound, and showed the reach
of his reflecting mind as an observer of human
nature, as well 'as a statesman and soldier, more
than any thing I have yet seen.

Chap, m.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 45

CHAP. III.
ILLNESS OF MRS. WARD. — DIARY CONTINUED. — THE DUKE's KIND
NESS.  FORTIFICATIONS AT HULL.  DEATH OF THE KING. 
PROGRESS OF THE QUEEN'S TRIAL. — CONCLUSION OF DIARY.
Anxiety about the health of Mrs. Ward interrupted,
for a time, not only his Diary, but his attendance in
Parliament or even at the office. She had been long in
very delicate health, but the insidious complaint which
was to rob him in succession of so many of the near
est and dearest to him had now begun to pronounce
itself most decidedly. Change of air, under the ad
vice of the most distinguished physicians, was tried
in vain, and every means adopted to ward off that
blow which was so soon to fall on him. He alludes
to his sad trial on recommencing his Diary at the be
ginning of the year 1820.
January 8th, 1820  From the 9th of December to
this day, it has pleased God to chasten me with the
visitation of the dangerous illness of my nearest and
dearest friend, which has kept me from all intercourse
with everybody and thing. I have been excused
from Parliament, and was for some time little at the
office. The Duke once began talking of business when
she was at the worst, but I told him I was overset,
and begged off. I shall not soon forget the kindness

46 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
of his look and manner, when getting up from his
chair he squeezed my hand with friendliness, and post
poned the subject. Since that I saw him but once.
I was obliged, however, at the beginning, to move a
vote of credit of 250,000/. in the Committee of Sup
ply, upon which Mr. Hume, who seems to spend his
time in conning over figures without sense to apply
them, asked why the estimates, which this year are
above 1,310,000/. Avere not brought down to the
scale of 1792 before the French war, when he had
made the discovery that they were sometimes under
400,000/. I told him to look at the half-pay, the
consequence of five and twenty years' war, and he
would find the answer, for it amounted to the whole
sum. I could have easily added to the exposure of a
man who, though he troubles the House perpetually
with his figures, knows so little of common sense as
to have proposed to reduce the pay of the army to
one half per man, but was not in spirits. All the
measures against the Radicals passed by great and in
creasing majorities ; and I learn from my nephew, the
Bank Director (William Ward, Esq.), that Ministers
have got great credit among all ranks in the City, ex
cept the Radicals themselves, and the vain and vulgar
coxcomb, Waithman, for their firm, wise, and mode
rate conduct.
Called upon Wellesley Pole, who had been confined
a week with a cold. I found him in his library 
candles lighted, a roaring fire, and his readino--desk
most like a statesman, but his book was " Ivanhoe "
(a popular romance of Scott's). We laughed but im-

Chap. III.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 47
mediately fell upon other business. As Master of the
Mint he talked of the Bullion question, and said, if
the Ministry only continued as steady upon it as they
had been, the prosperity of commerce was insured,
and the Bank might command the gold market. He
agreed that Radicalism had been already put to flight,
merely by Parliament's showing itself, that Ministers
had much gained, and the Opposition lost. The latter,
he thought, had been greater fools than ever in
playing their own cards, which is true. The Gren
villes, he said, wanted to come in, which I could have
told him ; not, indeed, Ld. Grenville, but the Marquis
of Buckingham: there was, however, no room. I
mentioned to him Ld. Sidmouth's hint of his willing
ness to retire when it might be thought advantageous
to his colleagues ; but added his feeling that he was
bound in honour to go through with the Radical
measures. Pole said, laughing, " That will at least
give him five years, if he pleases " (the duration of
the principal measure). He added that he had heard
the same of Bragge Bathurst ; and that, as Vansittart
had come in for 100,000/. by the death of his mother,
he might probably not be anxious to remain. I said,
I did not think that would operate, for Vansittart's
heart and pleasure seemed to be in office. He replied,
he was afraid he was doing ill, and was not much
approved by the moneyed interest ; but whether they
made room or not, he observed, Peel was first to be
provided for, and probably Canning would look to a
change before new people came in. He thought Peel
had done ill in quitting Ireland as he did, when he

48 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
had such a following. I said, I believed what he had
told me, that he was tired of it. He answered that
might be, but he should not have risked what had
happened — the falling off of the Irish Members.
Thinking he only quitted Ireland to become a greater
Minister, they all addressed and flattered him with
their regrets and professions ; but, his promotion being
delayed, he now could not command a vote among
them, and was reduced, as a leader of party, to the
few votes of his own family and Fitzgerald ; in short,
it was a foolish thing to think of influence without
office, let the ability be ever so great. I said Ld.
Bath had found it so, when he thought the whole
kingdom had been at his heels. As to Fitzgerald,
Pole said he had put himself too high, and was there
fore nothing, nor would he allow him much merit as
Chancellor of the Exchequer for Ireland. I thought
there was here a little bias against his successor, even
with his high and honourable mind. When I asked
why more was not done for him, he replied, that
having refused the Vice-Treasurership, Ministers
thought they had done enough in offering it, and
were not bound to do more : the reduction of it by
the H. of Commons from 3000/. to 2000/. a year, was
not their fault. N.B. Fitzgerald was supposed to
have been designated Clerk of the Pleas in the
room of Ld. Buckinghamshire, with a regulated salary
from the fees of three or four thousand a year. It is
now rendered an efficient office, and its purpose as a
sinecure recompense service done away, and this by
Ministers themselves. Yet the senseless, and in some

Chap. III.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 49
people wicked, cry of corruption in the times con
tinues. The times never were so pure.
January 28th, 1820 — The Duke arrived from Nor
folk, and sent for General Mann and me about
Hull. He was very vehement against giving up the
ditch of the citadel to the corporation, to which
they claimed a right under the Hull Dock Act. But
he denied the right, observing that the citadel
must mean the defences of the citadel too, the chief
of which was the ditch. He was very eager upon
this. I told him I had held the same argument a
week together, but was beaten out of it from this,
that the act gave the corporation a specific number
of acres of land, and land covered with water, which
could not be done unless the ditch was counted in it,
and that, accordingly, our predecessors had so ad
mitted it by actually surrendering the ditch to them,
and afterwards resuming only a part of it under the
threat of the Defence Act. This altered him, but he
deplored the false policy of diminishing the few secure
places in England, so necessary in times like the
present. I said that was true, but that Mr. Pitt, who
approved the bargain in 1 804, could not then dream
of insurrection. He admitted this, but said the present
time so much demanded strong places, that he would
speak to Ld. Liverpool to ascertain whether it would
not be worth while to purchase the ditch again before
we parted with it; desired General Mann to prepare
plans for fortifying the blockhouses within the walls,
in case we give up the ditch. General Mann went
away, and the Duke fell upon the situation of the
VOL. II. E

50 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
King. He said he could not survive above a day or
two. I feared that might occasion much disturbance
at such a time, from the necessity of assembling a new
Parliament within the six months. He differed, and
said he thought if it was to happen, the sooner a new
Parliament was summoned the better ; that Radicalism
was for a time completely got under, that the public
were pleased with Ministers for it, and were in toler
able humour, and as there was nothing on the score
of finance to detain us, the present Parliament might
be dissolved as soon as the Meeting Bill could pass.
That, said he, with an air of decision, is my opinion,
and as he had just, I believe, come from a Cabinet, I
concluded he had been giving it there; it certainly
seemed sound. He was very alert, talked of his
shooting at Gunton, but that Ld. Castlereagh was a
good shot and had beaten him. He is a good shot, I
said, with a pistol as well as gun. His eye sparkled,
and he laughed. Seeing he was hurried and covered
with mud (for he had rode many miles), I left him
with a promise from him that he would write to me
from Strathfieldsaye, whither he was going for ten
days. Never was a more active person.
January 29th, 1820. — At half-past eight this even
ing the King died.
30^. — The sensation is beyond all expectation,
considering how much and how long this death has
been looked for, and how entirely withdrawn from
public observation his Majesty has lived for years.
81st — The whole town and country seem moved
with regret and a feeling amounting almost to grief.

Chap. III.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 51
All this is owing to his just, amiable, and virtuous
character, without a spot on his virtue or goodness
during the long life of nearly eighty- two years. All
the discontents of his reign (we know how many
and great) seem forgotten. The reason is they were
not really well-founded, but for much the most part
excited and fomented by faction, for which the de
mocratic press of our constitution gives ample op
portunities. On the other hand his firmness and
genuine principle show themselves without alloy, now
that faction in regard to him has so long been for
gotten. There seems but one opinion and one feeling
about him from the peer to the lowest tradesman.
After all there is a great deal of loyalty innate in the
nation, which will, I trust, always keep it right.
Though Sunday, all the members that could went
down to the House and met the Speaker the day after
he died ; but, the Ld. Steward being out of town,
nobody could be sworn in, and nothing was done.
February 1st, 1820. — Sworn in and took my seat.
No business done, but all expect adjournment till after
the funeral. Calcraft asked me if we meant to hurry
the Meeting Bill ; if we did before the funeral, he said,
it would be scandalously indecorous. I was glad to
see so violent an opposer so fond of decorum, and told
him he might be easy, as no such thing would be at
tempted. He said the report of it was strong.
3rd. — The House adjourned till after the funeral.
Dined at Ld. Mulgrave's, a family party; Captain
Maling, Sir Richard Jackson, just made Dep. Quar
termaster-General, Col. Vigoreux. E 2

52 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. IH.
9th. — Dined at Ld. Westmoreland's, almost en fa-
mille ; Lady Georgiana Becket and Lady Anne, Mrs.
Wharton and Cray Grant. Some politics, chiefly on
the elections, and of those chiefly the Northumberland.
February 10th, 1820. — Pole called and asked me to
walk with him through the Park. He was going to a
Cabinet on the dissolution, which it seems is not yet
decided, but is to be to-day. I saw Pole was for the
speediest dissolution possible.
Dined at Ld. Mulgrave's.
11th. — I had not seen the Duke to have any con
versation with him some days; I had said to him
three days ago, I supposed he could not have talked
to Ld. Liverpool of Hull or other departmental bu
siness. No, said he, with a serious air, yet half
smiling, we have had enough to do to take care of the
nation at large. He, perhaps, alluded to the King's
critical situation, the financial measures, and perhaps
to something concerning the Queen still more im
portant. I now spoke to him on a request of Ld.
Mt. Edgecumb's, which he granted, and was going
away when he stopped me and asked what I heard
out of doors. I observed it seemed to me that Go
vernment never were better, and that they would gain
by immediate dissolution. He said he thought so too,
but asked if I heard anything about the Princess
(meaning the Queen). I replied, her misconduct
seemed admitted by everybody, but nevertheless I
thought she would be made a strong instrument by
many of the opposition.
May 4th, 1820. — Dined with Wellesley Pole en

Chap. HI.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 53
famille. Nobody but Mrs. Pole ; an easy chat. After
she was withdrawn we fell on politics. Pole as usual
complained of the want of warmth in Ld. Liverpool,
that power of mixing himself with others so necessary
to every public man. He said he shut himself up
with clerks, was very honest and very able in his way,
but was totally ignorant of the arts of party govern
ment ; all were left to themselves or to chance. This
reminded me of his brother's (the Duke's) opinion
that we were a Government of Departments. Pole
said our only strength was our antagonists' weakness ;
they could not form an Administration if they would,
if they could he doubted the King, who hated Liver
pool, but could not get rid of him without losing the
rest. He agreed with me that Ld. L. could not exist
out of office, and never would resign ; but even if he
were willing, and were to state to his colleagues that
he thought the King would be more inclined to them
without him, they would not permit it, and would all
think it right to follow him. He added that the
King was fond of Castlereagh.
Some time after this, seeing Yansittart on business,
and conversing on finance and the House of Commons,
he used the remarkable expression, we shall do very
well if we can but keep Brighton in order. This al
luded both to finance and * * *.
May 16th, 1 820. — Dined with the Duke, who never
was so pleasant.
19th.  At the House. The Civil List Bill passed
without an observation. Tierney had, a few evenings
before, said, that finding the sense of the House was
E 3

54 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
against him, he never meant to open his lips upon it
again. He is not usually so moderate, there had been
only one great division, the majority only ninety, and
previous to our meeting the storm ran high against
all those who would not vote for diminishing the Civil
List. It is easy to see the reason of all this ; they
are coquetting with the King, and afraid to shut the
door by offending him. They use * * * as their
go-between, and, knowing that Ld. Liverpool is dis
liked by the King, are quiescent in the hope that
their turn is coming.
May 27th, 1820.— Dined with Mr. Alexander. A
pleasant party and entertainment. Present, the D. of
Montrose, Ld. Graham, and Lady Caroline, Ld. * * *,
Ld. and Lady Caledon, the Bishop of Down (A.'s
brother), his wife, a mild Irish woman, Sir H. Mont
gomery, Charles Grant (Secretary for Ireland), Irving
Dashwood, and his handsome sister ; the conversation
easy, jocose, and social, the Duke particularly so.
A little politics, high praises of Ld. Liverpool's and
Ld. Lansdowne's speeches last night, and the whole
debate as one of statesmen, men of principle and
moderation, seeking truth, just as it should be. We
soon, however, talked of Ireland, Edgeworth's life by
himself and daughter, just published ; afterwards of
Scott and Rob Roy, particularly interesting to a
Montrose. The women joined and were pleasant,
and we staid late.
Summoned to a meeting at Ld. Castlereagh's, on
the Queen's business ; after which Ld. Cranbourn took
me aside and said he had a message for me from

Chap. HI.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 55
his sister, Lady Georgiana Wellesley, who was just
arrived from Madrid. It regarded my son (attached
to that embassy), and whom they had had the
kindness to take into the house with them. The
message was of the most flattering kind, regarding
his abilities, temper, conduct, and popularity, and
rejoiced my very heart. It concluded with a kind
message from Sir Henry, that he was glad to have
the son of an old friend with him. Some days before
this I met Giles (of Hertfordshire, formerly member
for St. Alban's), who brought me the same sort of
message from Lady Georgiana, upon the strength of
all which I thought it right to wait upon her, and
was most graciously received. She spoke of my
son before Ld. Sefton, who was there, in the plea-
santest manner, and said both she and Sir Henry
thought him all I could wish. If ever he sees this
he may suppose my pleasure.
July 6th, 1820. — Rode with the Duke in the
Park. He entered upon the conduct of the Guards,
and said the hurrahs from the party on Saturday
proceeded from a few recruits just off drill, who
had never seen the Queen, and joined the mob
merely to get a sight of her. They then, as was
not unnatural, joined in the cry. He seemed to
mean that the old soldiers would not have done it
However, said he, I do not disguise that in the whole
constitution of Guard discipline there is something
awkward. Met Ld. * * * coming out of the House of Lds.
and we walked home through the Park together.
E 4

56 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. III.
Sebright joined us ; none of us spared the Queen,
if, indeed, all were not abusive, they were more so
than myself; to such is Majesty reduced. Sebright
said he blamed us for the previous conduct towards
her, but there was now nothing to do but proceed.
She was ***** and wanted to raise a rebellion,
and those who made such speeches and motions
in the House (alluding to Creevy, Bennet and
Fergusson) would play into her hands. He would
never support them. Ld. * * * (whom I always look
upon as a most honest man) said it was rather hard
upon him to have to present her petitions, but he
could not refuse, being so intimate with Brougham.
But they were brought to him at a minute's notice,
and he knew nothing about, consequently could
not support, them. In the present instance, he
thought she was taken in, in pressing for trial within
four and twenty hours. She thought we would
not take her at her word, and might bully as she
had done before; that she was a bold, dangerous,
impudent woman, as full of revenge as careless of
crime, and that if we did not take care might play
the part of Catherine the second, who, by means of
the Guards, murdered her husband and usurped the
throne. I was struck with this coincidence between
him and myself. He went on to say he hoped the
coronation would be put off, for he feared the mob
would bring down the Queen during the ceremony;
that she would certainly come and a tumult would
ensue, in which probably the Guards would not act.
He said, Don't be too sure of the Guards ; and then

Chap. HI.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 57
talked of what Tyrwhitt had said of them before
Carlton House. He added that his brother, Col.
* * * (of the Guards), had written him word from
Brighton, that the Serjeants of the 51st had given
a dinner to celebrate the anniversary of Waterloo,
and had invited a serjeant of the Guards, who,
after the King's health had been drunk, proposed
the Queen, with three times three, upon which the
Serjeants of the 51st turned him out of the room ;
that he returned with a mob and assailed the 51st
and beat them out of the house in his turn. This
last, he said, was not told him by his brother, but
all looked ill. Alluding to the report of the Q.'s
defence as to Bergami, he thought it a hoax. We
then turned upon the character of the H. of Lds.
in contrast with the Commons. He said it was to
tally different, there was a want of impetus, and from
attention to the decencies and civilities of debate
there could be no play for such men as Creevy
and Bennet. Nobody could bite as in the Commons,
and that it was dull. It is certainly true nobody
can call rogue and blackguard in terms there as
with us. He observed, however, that the gentle
men of dignity in their ribbons were the most ma
noeuvring of the set. Talking of Ld. Liverpool, he
said he was very able, and the honestest man that
could be dealt with. You may always trust him, he
stated, and though he may be going to answer you
after a speech, you may go out and leave your words
in his hands and he will never misrepresent you ; he
owned he had quite got the better of Ld. Grey.

58 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
Oct. 14th, 1820. — Dined with the Speaker en
famille. We had more murders and ghost stories
than politics. He thought Ministers in a bad way,
that the popular clamour prevailed, and that the
upper orders were panic struck. Had no doubt of the
Queen's guilt, and that it was morally proved. He
was much amused with an account he had had of
the conversation of two women in the Park, on
the Wednesday before, when they seemed to have
been up with the Address to the Queen. Lord!
said one to the other, what do you think? Lord!
I don't know! Why only think of Mrs. Simmons,
she went up without a wail (veil). Why you don't
say so ! why if I had been Mrs. Simmons, if I had
put a tablecloth round my head, I would have
gone up with a wail ! This is a pretty fair specimen
of the accomplishments of the addressers.
Oct 15th, 1820. — Called upon Ld. Lonsdale. He
was vehement as to the proved guilt of the Queen, and
thought the Bill must pass the Lds.
• ¦•••¦•
Oct. 16th  Walked with Sir * * * * *. He
said he had no doubt that the Queen was guilty, but
would never vote for the Bill, as unconstitutional. At
the same time ready to admit that Ministers had proved
such a case as perfectly justified them in bringing it
forward. From so determined an opposition man I
thought this a great deal, but asked if he would say
this on his legs ? That, he said, was a different thing ;
but added, that some of the most violent friends of

Chap. HI.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 59
the Queen and enemies of the Government felt the
proof sufficiently to say, that if the Bill could be
modified into a divorce, a mensa et thoro, leaving out the
degradation from title, &c, they would support it;
and, if carried, whatever allowance was granted she
would accept it and leave the country. He went so
far as to inform me that he had been requested to hint
this in proper quarters, in order that it might be acted
upon. I asked if it was with this view he mentioned
it to me, and whether I was at liberty to relate
this conversation to any of my friends in Government.
He said, " Yes," and begged me to do so. I told him
I would ; but before we parted, I gathered that his
principal friend was Sir * * * * * , which, as
to value, very much alters the authority.
Saw Wellesley Pole and the Duke at the office, to
whom I related this conversation. P. thought it
ought to be entertained : the D. who was just come
from the H. of Lds., and tired and disgusted, if not
resentful, at all the factious and insolent spirit that
showed itself there, doubted whether it could be worthy
of notice, but said he would mention it.
Dined afterwards with Lord Mulgrave, who thought
the thing worth pursuing, as was any honourable mode
of terminating the business.
Oct. 17th. — House met in pursuance of the adjourn
ment. Going to the House, met James M'Donald.
He said he had not a doubt of the Queen's guilt, and
never had, but he thought the legal proof had failed.
I asked what he thought of Brougham's own opinion
of the facts. He said he would tell me what he had

60 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
said (I think) two evenings before that : at first, he
did not think it possible that she could be innocent ;
but the more the case had opened, the more had her
innocence appeared, and that now, in his conscience,
he believed her guiltless. I said he might think
himself sincere, but was so vehement and rash in every
thing he said, that he spoke generally with a perverted
mind. His incorrectness on a thousand points had
been manifest. As to the Bill, he (M.) felt quite sure
it would not pass the House of Lds., and that many
of our best friends thought so too, witness his uncle
the Archbishop of York (Vernon), who had told
him he had written to his son that he need not come
to Parliament, for he was sure the Bill would never
go through the Upper House. I mentioned * * *
notion. He said, perhaps Brougham might advise
such a thing, but he had in fact very little influence
with the Queen.
Oct. 18th, 1820. — Sat a long time with Pole, and
discussed many things confidentially. He complained
strongly of Canning, not for standing neuter, if he had
a reason and had mentioned, but for having gone the
whole length with the Cabinet in all the measures
against the Queen up to the very first speech he made
upon the subject, and then to make that speech, that
she was * the ornament and pride of society, and
* Mr. Canning's speech does not appear to accord with Mr. Pole's re
collections of it. With respect to the Queen and the reasons why he had
wished her to continue abroad he says, " Of fascinating manners, of easy
access, of an open, generous, and unsuspecting disposition, she would in-

Chap. III.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 61
that he never would be either her accuser or her
judge. That his offer to resign after this was no
thing ; he should have made his sentiments known
and resigned beforehand. As to the Queen's case, he
(Pole) thought there was nothing left for it but to go
through and show her infamy ; which done, it did not
signify what became of the Bill. He was about to
leave town, and begged me to write to him.
Went to the House of Lds., where all had gone off
to a collateral point, — the conduct of the Milan Com
mission. This, if pursued, will detain them six months
before the Bill can come to us.
The opinion seems to gain ground that a resolution
of guilt might be come to, and the Bill then given up
as inexpedient. Lord Kenyon came out to me, and
invited himself to dine with me on Monday. We are
as wide as ever as to the Queen. Had some conver
sation with Tierney, who looked serious and down.
He said every thing was worse and worse out of doors,
and he saw no remedy. I observed, the only remedy,
the only possibility of things returning to their former
state, was a rebellion, and the troops' standing by us
and quelling it with a high hand. He replied, that
was the disease. I said, neither he nor I should live
to see society where it had been and ought to be ; to
sensibly have become the rallying point of disaffection and of political in
trigue ; " while of himself, while adopting to the full the responsibility of
the course adopted by his colleagues, he says, " If there had been any
injustice meditated towards her Majesty, no consideration on earth should
have induced me to be a partner to it, or to stand where I at this moment
stand."

62 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. III.
which he assented. I have no doubt he is sincere ;
yet he and his party are the real authors of the spirit
we deplore.
At six with the Duke and Pole again. The D. as
vehement as ever that the case is proved, and the Bill
ought to go on : this is his straightforward way. 7/
ne sqait pas menager. Never had any man more of
the simplicity of honesty. I asked him if he would go
on if not sure of his friends.
We then discussed how any resolution of guilty with
out pursuing the Bill could be come to, and he said it
would be the most difficult thing in the world. His
mind, however, seemed on it, and Pole's very much.
Walked home with Pole, and met in our way a pro
cession of two thousand sawyers coming from Bran-
denburgh House, with music, banners, and favours.
P. who had been long out of town, seemed to me
rather struck. He goes to-morrow, and asked me to
come to him in the country, which I promised, if pos
sible. We had talked before this of the King. I said,
the misery was he seemed without a friend — nay,
was hated. P. replied, it was worse, and he was
despised. Oct. 19th, 1820. — Was some time with the Duke,
who was very confidential. He had just come from
the Lds., where, he said, they had made some way
towards a close in shutting out the strange pro
position laid down by Brougham, — that general re-

Chap. HI.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 63
port in Italy that money was to be got by swearing
against the Queen was or should be evidence. I
said I would rather live at Constantinople than under
such law.

We fell upon the general situation of things, which
the Duke allowed was almost as bad as could be, nor
could he see the remedy, if the upper and middle ranks
would not stir. But all, he continued with some
sadness as well as indignation, seem struck with
panic — ourselves and all; and if the country is lost
it will be through our own cowardice. Every thing,
said he, audacity and insolence on their side, and
tameness on ours. We go to the House seemingly
on purpose to be insulted ; the opposition know it,
and act accordingly. I said, I feared it was particu
larly so in the H. of Commons, where the ministerial
bench, with the exception of Ld. Castlereagh, seemed
like victims, especially since Canning was away.*
I mentioned Mr. Pole's speech on the 17th, as pro
per, if only to show that they would not be bullied,
especially by such a speech as Calcraft's, whose attack
on the Chancellor (not there to defend himself) was
one of the most illiberal things I had ever heard.
The D. agreed to this. I said I wished some one
had answered by asking him what he would himself
* Note by Mr. Ward. — Canning had got leave from the king and his
colleagues to go abroad during the queen's question.

64 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. III.
have said to the Chancellor if, merely because he had
the power of doing so in his (C.'s) absence, he had
stated his opinion of his worthlessness ; as a man who,
with reform in his mouth, sold his seats in Parliament
for 5,000/. a piece ?
And yet, continued he, was not this always so ? Is
it worse now than at the commencement of the late
reign ? He had been looking into those transactions,
and had found the spirit, he thought, both in doors
and out, quite as bad as now. I said, in London it
might, but not in the country ; the mischief was not
so wide. He allowed this was true, but hoped things
were a little better in the country ; at least his letters
from Yorkshire made them so : and even in town, he
thought, since the last Sunday's paper announcing
Flynn's and * * * evidence, the mob were less
violent, and had not insulted him so much. But,
continued he, with some vehemence, the mischief is
we are no Government, but afraid of using our own
power, or this spirit might be put down in the House
and out of the House; — in the House, by retorting
upon our enemies what they deserve ; and asserting
ourselves, out of the House, by executing the laws.
Last Parliament we passed laws and got power enough,
and now we are afraid to use it. I believe, added
he, with warmth, every one of these meetings for
addresses are contrary to the Act, and yet we are
tame. Libel upon libel comes out, which the law
might lay hold of, yet nobody is touched. .
. I said, the question was come to this,

Chap. III.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 65
Would it be governed by any administration? He
replied, By none that could be formed. I told him,
what was true, that many looked to him, as one who
could command and lead, and that there were many
members who saw things as he did, and only wanted to
be well led. I alluded, too, to Brougham's declaration
in the House, that nothing could save the country but
an Administration formed on the broadest possible
basis. He replied, Even that will not do, for there
will be no leader and no submission. It is a mistake
to suppose I can be the man. Since the days of
Mr. Pitt there has been no individual who could com
mand such confidence as to rally people round him
with implicit devotion, so as to sacrifice their own
opinion to a leader's ; and when every man is to follow
his own counsel, or think it ought to be followed, we
know what that is. No ; there is no one man in
the state, of whatever party, who can command the
spirits of others. I mentioned what I had said to
Tierney in the H. of Lds. about a rising, and the
troops standing by us, as the only event that could
restore order. He said he did not now think so much
of a rising ; he believed the spirit was evaporating ;
people must grow tired: his lamentation was, that
no Government, such as it should be, could be made
by any party.
With regard to the Queen, our fault, he went on, was
in not believing she would ever leave Italy, and our
unwillingness to look the thing in the face. Every
one had his secret persuasion and his wish, that with
such a case against her she would never come here,
VOL. II. F

66 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
I said they were blamed for not having investigated
the character of the evidence more, by examining, as
far as they could, the servants friendly to the Queen.
He considered this was all owing to the disbelief of
her coming which he had mentioned. Till she arrived
in France, added he, the evidence was not even ordered
to be copied. While it was going forward in Italy, to
examine the people about her was impossible; but
after she resolved to come home, I think we might
have examined some of her servants before the Privy
Council, as in other affairs of state.
October 23rd, 1820.— With the Duke. He said the
Attorney-General had made a most excellent argu
ment, though in the end he had got tiresome from
repetition, and had fatigued their attention ; but that
he had put the case right, and it would do very well.
At the same time there was a great deal of caballing at
the House as to the issue, and that all had resolved
itself in the usual arts of party on the side of Opposi
tion ; that the retiring rooms were full of cabal
where both sides met, but for his part he never went
amongst them ; he thought it right to avoid them.
October 28th, 1820. — Called on Ld. Lonsdale, and
found Sir John Byng there, the restrainer of Radical
ism in the north.*
They were earnest upon the trial, and both high in
praise of the Attorney-General's speech, which seems
to have made a great impression everywhere. Ld. L.
* Note by the Author. — He was an officer of great activity, and had
the important command of Manchester. Ld. Sidmouth told me he had
assured him, if it did come to blows, there should be no trifling.

Chap.IH.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 67
said it had altogether puzzled Opposition; that Ld.
Grey knew not what to do ; and Ld. Erskine, the vi
olent champion of the Queen, seemed totally changed.
I asked, if he thought it would affect their votes ? He
said, he did not know, but that the fact was evident,
that Ld. Erskine was in manner totally altered. I
suppose, said Ld. Lonsdale, he felt it difficult, holding
out as he does that he stands upon the law, to go
against the sense of all the law in the House, and
almost out of the House. Lds. Grey, Lansdowne, and
Holland had resolved not to speak when delivering
their votes, thinking it unbecoming as judges. I said
this might be very well, if they could not confute the
Attorney-General; that it was at least not thought
unbecoming the Judges on the Bench, who always
when they differed delivered their reasons with their
opinions. Ld. L. was sanguine as to the result of the trial ;
thought there could be but one opinion as to the guilt,
which perhaps is very true; but perhaps, also, he
overrates the disposition to act upon opinion against
private motive. He deprecated all middle course,
such as a vote of censure, which some Lds. talked of.
Ld. Lonsdale has purchased the whole of Ld.
Gwidir's property at Haslemere for 12,000/. by private
contract, which renders the seats there for ever*
* " For ever" is a term that will, in the present day, be more spa
ringly used as applicable to any thing which depends on political
changes. r 2

68 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. III.
secure from opposition merely to harass, such as we
have lately experienced.
October 29th, 1820. — Dined at Ld. Mulgrave's.
He was feeble, but in good spirits, and his mind with
its usual quickness. He said, the Chancellor had ob
served, that he never in his life had heard so able an
analysis of such a mass of conflicting evidence as by
the Attorney-General. Ld. M. agreed as to the effect it
seemed to have, and augured an addition to it from the
Solicitor-General*, who, he said, laid about him with
a cudgel. Ld. Ellenborough is to propose the mezzo
termine, in the shape of an address to the King, em
bodying a resolution criminating and censuring the
Queen, but not degrading her from dignity, &c.
In the morning I saw Ainslie (of the Bar), a good
judge, who said he heard the whole of Gifford's speech,
and it was the ablest thing he had ever witnessed.
He had seen him also five minutes before, and no
young Counsel, who had a brief for the first time put
into his hands, was ever in such a fright !
October 30th, 1820  Met William Hill (brother of
Ld. Berwick and Envoy to Turin f) actually canvass
ing against the Bill, which was not at all necessary in
them., because Canning's opinions were merely personal
to himself, from his former intimacy, and had nothing
to do with his party. Hill added, that the pro-Crown
* Note by Mr. Ward. — Sir J. Copley, a quick, spirited speaker, sound
lawyer, and agreeable man.
f Note by Mr. Ward. — He said we were all doing better, and that the
second reading would be carried, after which a mezzo termine would be
attempted by some Lds. friendly to Government, but who wished the
Bill not to go to the Commons. He complained of Canning's friends.

Chap. III.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 69
lawyers had really made such an impression, that Ld.
Grey himself did not know how to act.
How can people be so little wise, though nursed in
the experience of party !
Hill then talked of family and historical pictures,
which he understands, perhaps, better than party
politics. Returning from riding in the Park, I joined the
Chancellor, who was walking home after the House.
He asked me what people thought ; and hoped they
at least gave him credit for impartiality in the con
duct of the trial. I told him (as I could truly) what
satisfied him on that point. He then talked of the
Attorney and Solicitor's speeches; said they had
made the greatest impression, and he expected a
majority of from from forty-five to fifty. But I
don't tell you, he added, what will happen afterwards,
for nobody can tell. As for Ld. Ellenborough's Re-.
solutions of Censure, he said, perhaps the Duke
of Wellington had told me his (the Chancellor's)
opinion, that they could not be entertained ; for what
had the House of Lds. to do with Resolutions of
Censure, distinct from a legislative measure? Of
course he must be right, but I saw not the difference
between the two Houses in this respect. I congratu
lated him upon his health, notwithstanding his fatigue.
He said, he was pretty well, for a man in his seventy-
first year, but professed he was tired, and desired
nothing so much as to retire, which he would do as

r 3

70 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. III.
soon as possible, after this affair was over. I asked
who there was to replace him ? He said that was not
his business. I wished to pursue the conversation,
which he seemed willing to do, notwithstanding I
was on horseback he on foot ; but, recollecting this,
I felt forced to take my leave. Never was there a
man of more urbanity and less ceremony.
November 2nd, 1820  Called upon Pole. He was
at breakfast, and we had a long chat. He thought
every thing very bad — Ministers, Opposition, King,
Queen, country, and what was more, no prospect of
getting right — all ties were loosened. Insolence and
insubordination out of doors, weakness and wicked
ness within. The Whigs, he said, were already half
Radicals, and would be entirely so, if we did not give
way. I said his brother, the Duke, felt this too, but
would not give way, nevertheless. He replied, that
the issue would soon be tried, for the Queen's question
must determine it, and asked how I calculated it
would be? I said, I could not hope for a majority of
more than thirty, so many friends of Government
were against us on the policy, though they had no
doubt of the guilt.
Pole said, they put the majority higher than I did,
and talked of fifty at the least. I observed, a large
majority would puzzle them more than a small one,
as it would perhaps force them to go through with
the Bill and send it to our House. This he deprecated
as well as I, and inclined to an honourable mezzo
termine, if it could be found. I told him what the

Chap. HI.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 71
Chancellor had said upon Ld. Ellenborough's motion,
which surprised him. Coming to names, he would
scarcely believe that Lds. * * * and * * *
convinced, as they professed to be, of the Queen's
guilt, could vote against the Bill.
• • • • • • •
Still he thought the Chancellor must by this time know
the House, and Ld. Liverpool perhaps still better,
and they put the majority higher. I doubted Ld.
Liverpool's knowledge of the House, thinking that
that and the general power of governing by a party
was what he failed in. He is too honest, I said,
to take pains this way. No man can lead the House
or the Cabinet so well; on all subjects every one
looks up to him in debate ; but he trusts too much
to this, and takes his account of minor, yet neces
sary, points from others. Pole said he agreed with
me as to his coldness and inattention (he does
not love him), but he thought him better acquainted
with trifling occurrences than I did. There is hardly
a thing said or done, hardly a conversation, or even
a joke, that is not carried to him. I should not be
surprised, added Pole, if he knows that we are
conversing together at this moment.
• ¦•¦•••
I told him I thought he attributed more management
to Ld. L. than he was disposed even to think of;
that his mind was too much in his office and in
the H. of Lds., and too little attentive to anything
else. As a manager of public opinion, as a mean
of Government, it was what we accused him of.
r 4

72 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap.IH-
Pole, however, disagreed. Reverting to our imme
diate subject, he said there was to be a Cabinet
that night, but he saw no middle measure to get
rid of the Bill. When I talked of it, said he, I
reasoned this way : No one can expect that a Mi
nistry can be immortal, there must be some question
by which they must stand or fall; this is, perhaps,
the most important measure we ever had, we knew
what it was when we embraced it, and we must
go through.* He agreed with me that if the second
reading was carried it would be a complete defence
of Ministers, and he would then be indifferent about
the third, which, if lost, he thought Parliament
would be prorogued, which would get rid of the
immediate proceeding, but then there would be a
violent attack to sustain at the next meeting, and
meantime there would be addresses against us from
all parts of the country, and asked my opinion. I
told him that as to addresses they had lost all their
force, and as a mode of expressing the real public
opinion had become even ridiculous. They were
carried by force, by the introduction of mobs and
people who were not what the titles of the addresses
called them ; that the majority of people staid at
home from fear of turbulence, so that it had now
become a contest between meetings usurping a cor
porate name and the opinions of individuals. We
were not bound literally or morally to consider
* Well would it be for all political parties, if such manly and enlarged
views were acted on by successive administrations.

Chap. III.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 73
such addresses, under leaders, whether Whigs or
Radicals, whose arts and sometimes whose downright
falsehoods were well known ; that the House would
be much more formidable, indeed, after all, the
only thing that was formidable, but with a verdict
of Guilty, which the second reading must amount
to, I did not fear it. I thought the country gen
tlemen would stand by us ; Creevy, Bennet, and
the Radicals might mouth, and the Whigs might
support them, but these latter never gained one
inch of ground, and we should triumph as we had
done before. The great thing I feared was the
King. The King, to use his expression, was as
merry as a grig. At first he had been annoyed,
but was now enjoying himself at Brighton ; he wished
he would show himself more.* What he feared, how
ever, in the House was a motion to restore her name
to the Liturgy, in case the Bill did not pass the Lds. ;
I said they had been beaten upon this before, and the
Queen herself had waived it for an equivalent, but
even an equivalent, if she was pronounced guilty,
no fair man, I thought, would insist upon. We
then fell upon Brougham and Canning.
• • a • • • •
On leaving Pole I met Hammond, my quondam
colleague, when we were Under-secretaries of State
together. He told me it was certain Ld. Grenville
would support the Bill, and then asked me, with
* Note by Mr. Ward. — There might be another fear of him, as he knew
we would not imitate Opposition if we were out of office.

74 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. III.
much concern, whether the report was true, that if
it did not pass Ministers had resolved to resign.
I answered that what they had resolved in their
own minds no one could tell, but that I thought
I could answer that no such resolution had been
made a Cabinet measure. He said he was very
glad. I related this to * * *, who said with
some vehemence there was no reason on earth why
they should resign. They had been right and straight
forward from the beginning, and for one he never
would consent to it. * * * said, Hammond being
the mouthpiece of Canning, he had no doubt this
was set on foot by his party. I thought this was
going too far, nevertheless it is surprising what
industry they are showing against the Bill. Hill
(Ld. Berwick's brother), whom I walked with af
terwards in the Park, properly enough observed upon
this, that, as to party, it was downright opposition,
not being at all called for by Canning's individual
feeling, or former situation with the Queen, which
was altogether personal.
At the House of Lds., where the debate after
lasting all day was adjourned. The Chancellor was
clear and forcible for the Bill, but short though an
hour long ; he only spoke to the points about which
there was no contest. Ld. Erskine had intended
to advocate the Queen at length ; but it was above
his power, for soon after he began he was taken
ill and fell upon the table. His powers seem going,
as they may at 74. " Solve senescentem mature sa-
nus equum." Ld. Lauderdale was preeminently

Chap. III.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 75
shrewd, acute, and independent — independent of
the public clamour.*
I walked from the House with Ld. Selsey, who
means to vote against the Bill, though a determined
friend of Government. He said too, there was a
strong feeling that way in many other Lds., who
thought either the case not sufficiently proved, or
the measure inexpedient. He said Ld. Ellenborough
had been forced to give up his mezzo termine, as
inconsistent with form, which he was sorry for.
Nov. 3rd, 1820  The debate went on. Ld. Grey
made the great argument for the Queen, and was
thought very brilliant. I did not hear it, but it
was much lauded by his friends to his face. Ld.
Fitzroy Somerset told me some went down the bench
where he sat, squeezed his arm, and said " Beautiful ! "
Ld. Liverpool answered with great ability, and the
House adjourned in the middle of his speech which
is to proceed to-morrow. I tried to see the Duke
after the debate, but he was busy.
Nov. 4th, 1820  At the Lds., though chiefly in
the Long Gallery for I was lame. The fireplaces,
however, were crowded by members coming occa
sionally from the debate, and we gossiped on what

* Note by Mr. Ward. — For this he was the next day abused of course,
by his brother Whigs, in the Morning Chronicle. He was of course
accused of corrupt motives, such as a wish to go Governor-General to
India. This is mere system.

76 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
was passing. Wallace came out very sanguine for
a large majority, which he said would have great
weight with people out of doors, and bring them
round. It may the thinking part of them, but
by far the greater proportion are too corrupt
with other views to make them care for the question,
except as a vehicle for spreading discontent with a
view to rebellion. As to the majority, I always
thought, and think still, thirty will be the outside.*
The Duke of Newcastle, having been alluded to by
Ld. Grey, has just avowed that he had been present
at the evidence for the prosecution, but not for
the defence, having been called away from domestic
causes, yet having given his deepest attention to
the evidence in the Minutes, he felt himself com
petent to pronounce sentence, and could conscien
tiously vote the Queen guilty. He was particularly
strong, too, in characterising her guilt as infamous
and degrading. This was sharply animadverted
upon by Ld. Lansdowne, and it is certainly incon
sistent with the genius of the English law to judge
without hearing as well as reading the evidence.
We thought, therefore, it would make a great noise.
Lords Yarborough, however, and Ashburton mean
to vote against the Bill without having heard the
evidence on either side. Ld. Ashburton is but just
arrived from Paris. They set up a flimsy defence,
that their objection is to the policy of the measure,
and they care not what the evidence is. To this
* This opinion, several times repeated, was in the end amply justified ;
as, on the first division, the majority was only 28.

CHAp.m.] mr. ward's diary. 77
it is answered, that the evidence might alter their
views as to the policy.
Ld. Ellenborough was to me and many of us quite
incomprehensible. He bestowed the most vilifying
epithets on the Queen, said he viewed her conduct with
" unutterable disgust," that her guilt had been proved,
and that if she escaped it would be a . . . * triumph
of falsehood over truth, that she was, as Queen, a
public functionary, and like other public functionaries
the King might remove her. Yet with all this he
was against the second reading.
Nov. 6th, 1820 — The second reading carried by
123 to 95, majority 28; this was less than had been
expected, Ministers talked at one time of from 40 to
60, Brougham himself on Saturday gave us 40. The
Canning party, particularly Ld. Morley, have been
very active in canvassing against the Bill. Hill,
whom I walked with in the Park, said this was not
fair, as his having got leave to be neutral, and yet
desired to retain his place, by no means amounted to
a license that while he was neuter his friends should
be hostile and actively so.f
• • • • • • •
Ld. Grenville voted for the second reading, and
spoke very ably, but so as to make us regret he had
* Blank in the original. The words were: "the most disgraceful
triumph obtained by falsehood over truth that the world ever wit
nessed." f It is not, however, easy to see how a permission to Canning to re
main neutral, which his peculiar position might justify or the necessities
of the Ministry require, could in any way shackle the personal proceedings
of his friends.

78 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
not spoken earlier. What, however, was thought to
have made an impression was a few words from Ld.
Arden, a Ld. of the Bedchamber, a high Tory and
devoted courtier. He said, as I understood, that he
thought it his duty by voting against the Bill, to spare
the Crown the odium of such a measure.
The Divorce clause was not left out ; Ld. Harrowby
(President of the Council) said he was of the same
opinion, which moved some wonder. It is clear,
however, that Ministers themselves mean to leave out
the Divorce clause ; Ld. Lonsdale asked this before
the last adjournment, and Ld. Liverpool in reply said
the King sought no relief for himself, and it was the
last thing he should insist upon. This created so
much impression in favour of the Bill, that the Whigs
according to their admirable policy of questioning
motives, and attributing everything in office, or
friends to office, to corruption, by which they have
nearly destroyed the very roots of society, began to
abuse Ld. Lonsdale in the Morning Chronicle, and
called him Ld. Liverpool's convenient friend. How
little do they know this high-minded man ! The
Duke told me they did not mean to insist on the
clause. Nov. 7th, 1820. — At Pole's. He said he had heard
that the Queen meant to address the Committee in
person, which could not be refused.
We conversed long upon the misfortune of the
ferment's continuing; and now the second reading

Chap. HI.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 79
was carried, which was a complete justification of
Ministers, hoped it would never go to the Commons.
At the H. of Lds. in Committee on the Bill ; they
found the Preamble without a division ! This will
for ever be fatal to the Queen. Ld. Grey, her great
champion against the Bill, confessed that the second
reading alone stamped her with a verdict of guilty.
What can now be said when the words of this Pre
amble are considered ? They are fearful.
With the Preamble the clause of Degradation was
voted, but the debate on the Divorce clause was ad
journed till to-morrow. Lds. Liverpool and Har
rowby opposed it, in order to satisfy, the first the re
ligious scruples of others, the last of himself. The
Chancellor spoke ably, and as Calcraft observed to
me, beautifully for the clause, but reserved his opinion
till he had heard the Bishops. This called up the
Bishops who were in the House, of whom three spoke
for, and three against the clause. * * * f for, * * *
against. The Queen sent down an impudent protest,
which, as a protest, was rejected, but admitted as an
address, which in this stage, like Atterbury, it seems
she would have had a right to make in person.
Dined at Ld. Lonsdale's with the Duke of Grafton,
Marquis Camden, Arbuthnot, Becket, and Lady
Anne. Ld. L. could, hardly hold up his head with a
feverish cold ; he was, however, as sanguine as ever
in expecting the measure to go through even both
* Blank in the original. The Archbishop of York and Bishops of
Chester and Worcester were against, the Archbishop of Canterbury
and Bishops of London and Llandaff for the Divorce clause.

80 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
Houses, the evidence was so clear. We had a lively
conversation on the Queen, her protest, counsel,
judges, &c. &c. D. of Grafton very moderate; he
had voted against the Bill, but had no doubt of her
guilt. All seemed now to think the Bill would go
through the Lds. and come to us. The talk with the
Chancellor was that we should meet at twelve and
sit till six. Arbuthnot said, in answer to an ob
servation of the Duke, that the Chancellor had been
so stiff in impartiality, that he would not see the
Attorney and Solicitor-General during any part of
the trial, and Ld. Liverpool would not converse with
a single peer out of the Cabinet on the line he wished
to take.*
We asked the D. of Grafton why they had not
divided on the Preamble, and he fairly c onfessed be
cause most on that side agreed with us as to the fact,
and they did not wish to swell our triumph. Talking
of the cross-examination of Flynn by the Solicitor-
General, who detected that the notes which he first
swore had been written in Sicily three years before
by his own clerk, had been written only a few weeks
before by Schiarini the Queen's steward, it turned out
that this discovery was a mere accident, first set in
motion by the sagacity of the D. of Wellington.
When the notes were first produced by Flynn, the
Duke (who has a very long sight), though some yards
* Note by Mr. Ward. — Another informant of mine some days afterwards
went farther, for he told me Ld. Liverpool had never mentioned even to
the Cabinet anything of the management of the trial. The Attorney-
General sometimes saw him, and him alone ; but what he communicated,
or Ld. L. directed, never went farther.

Chap. HI.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 81
off, said he was sure the paper on which they were
written was English, and probably therefore had not
been procured in Sicily, but the notes written since.
He did not like to go himself to the counsel at the
bar to mention this, but seeing Arbuthnot near, sent
him to intimate his suspicions. When the notes came
into the Solicitor-General's hand, this proved correct,
and the writing being shown to Maule, the Solicitor
of the Treasury, he said it was exactly like a note he
had in his pocket written by Schiarini. On what
trifles sometimes the most important events depend,
and how remarkable seems the all-pervading influence
of one man's character. After all what is in the
womb of time respecting this man? He is daily
hooted and reviled by his countrymen, and what may
await him, one thinks of a Robert Stewart* or Ra-
vaillac, and trembles to ask.
The Chancellor's speech was discussed and eulogised
as a speech, but Ld. Camden complained that he was
not decisive. In truth they are puzzled how to act
on Ld. Liverpool's declaration to Ld. Lonsdale as to
his indifference to the Divorce clause. Ld. Lonsdale
grew more and more ill, so as to be forced to leave
the table, and we separated early. Arbuthnot went
home with me, hoped the Bill would not now go
through, and said we should do very well.
Nov. 8th, 1820. — Went to Pole's by appointment.
In the way met Ld. Mansfield ; as it was not twelve
* Note by Mr. Ward. — Robert Stewart, a Scotchman and Reformer
in the sixteenth century, was at best a visionary and a murderer upon
principle at the battle of St. Denys.
VOL. II. G

82 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. IH.
o'clock I was astonished at their being so soon re
leased, and still more at what he told me, that they
had passed not only the Degradation, but the Divorce
clause almost without debate, by a majority of 12 to
6, and that all the Ministers had been in the minority.
All this it seems was a trick, unworthy a judicial pro
ceeding, and contemptible enough.
The clause was found to be distasteful to many who
would be otherwise for the Bill, and it was thought
that by carrying it the third reading would be lost.
Ld. Mansfield said it was calculated the third reading
would be carried by about 13. He was himself against
it in toto. When I mentioned this calculation to
* * *, he said with some eagerness, " That will do,
for the Bill will then be withdrawn." I asked if that
was determined upon, for I should rejoice if it was.
He answered, "Yes ; it was agreed, if the majority was
no more than 10 or 12, that Ld. Liverpool should with
draw the Bill. This might give a sort of triumph to
the Radicals, but would be infinitely better (now the
guilt was decided, which nothing could alter) than
hazarding the long state of excitement and tumult
which would be produced by a protracted inquiry in
the Commons." I entirely agreed with him, and we
dilated much upon the pernicious effects of almost any
judicial proceeding before this worst of all tribunals,
composed of 600 judges, all more or less inflamed by
interest or passion, and dealing with witnesses not
upon oath. In a proceeding which was in fact political
as well as judicial, it might be fatal ; the business, as

Chap. HI.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 83
well as quiet, of the country would be overturned, and
revolution would come in good earnest. We then
discussed the effect of giving up the Bill upon the
Government, and agreed, if they were firm, they
would have nothing to fear. The voting the Pre
amble would be a justification everywhere, and the
withdrawing the Bill after three readings would only
be a sacrifice to expediency, not innocence. All,
however, might depend upon the firmness of the
King, who would, no doubt, be assailed on all sides
by addresses to withdraw his confidence. * * * said
he should not fear this, except in one contingency
which might happen, though he did not think the
King was equal to it. He might, said he, reason
thus : — my Ministers are unpopular, because such is
the wickedness and corrupt pride and insubordination
of the times, that all Government is unpopular. The
Whigs, perhaps, would be more unpopular than those
I have, but those I have would not in opposition, like
the Whigs, fan the public discontent on all occasions
into a flame to serve their own purposes. I said the
King might certainly and fairly reason this way, but
none of us were known till we were tried, and I re
minded him of our own conduct in opposition in 1806,
which was so harassing under Perceval, Canning, and
Castlereagh, that we divided fourteen times on one
question in one night, which, as it was said, killed
Fox. I reminded him, too, of what Fox himself said
of Ld. Grenville when they joined in opposition to
Mr. Pitt. Plumer of Hertfordshire, the oldest member
in the House, who always had hated Ld. Grenville,
G 2

84 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
exclaimed against the junction, observing that no
good could be expected with a man so accustomed to
power. Wait, said Fox, till you see him in opposition,
he will be as factious as your own heart can desire.
* * * laughed, and, reverting to the hope that the
Bill might be withdrawn, we feared the same ma
noeuvre and trick played in the Committee might be
renewed in the House, and the third reading forced,
for the purpose of embroiling the country the more
in the H. of Commons.
In the evening with * * * ; he was very indig
nant at Ld. Grey's tactics, and said he had no doubt
they would represent the vote of Ministers against the
Divorce as a trick on their part. He is so honest,
that he was quite earnest in impressing even to me,
that they would not deserve this. Nothing, he said,
could be more clear or sincere than their conduct. Ld.
Liverpool had been sincere in what he had said to Ld.
Lonsdale, upon his legs, in regard to the Divorce. He
felt he had given a pledge, and was resolved to stand
by it ; that they had had three Cabinets upon it, and
had at last resolved to go with him. They had then
to submit it to the King, who, after a great deal of
consideration, had permitted them to pursue this line,
which they all thought for their honour. They
thought it so to stand by the head of the Government,
although they might some of them differ ; and they
abided by their resolution. " Now," said * * *,
" suppose we had determined differently, and all voted
and spoke for the clause, see what the Opposition
would have done ; they would all, to a man, have

Chap. III.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 85
voted against it." This is true. We then fell upon
the future, and he agreed that it would be much the
best for the country to withdraw the Bill, if they
could do it with honour. But he saw nothing for it,
he said, but to go on : they knew what they under
took when they embarked, and must encounter a great
deal of obloquy end as it might, and whatever the
end they must go through, it was the only way to be
satisfied with themselves. I observed upon the danger
of going on with such incendiaries in the House, and
at the doors of the House, unless there was a much
larger majority in the Lds. He agreed, but thought
there was no alternative, which I was sorry for.
I told him, even if the Bill were withdrawn, and
withdrawn with honour, he must expect very violent
attempts by the Opposition, perhaps by the people,
to censure and remove the Government. He said
he expected it, and had no doubt addresses would
be attempted in all quarters ; he knew that it was
even expected by many, that if the Bill did not
pass Ministers must resign, as if it was a thing of
course. They will, however, find themselves mis
taken, said he, at least for one I shall oppose such a
notion. He seemed to think it would be playing
the game of an enemy he was little disposed to respect
or gratify ; and besides, as he observed, their honour
was concerned not to leave the King, and put him
and themselves, by such an admission, so much in the
wrong. I said there was a point which, if carried in
the Commons, where they would attempt it, might
puzzle Ministers, who were pledged upon it, and that
G 3

86 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
was the restoration to the Liturgy. He replied, I
have no doubt they will attempt it, but, after what
has been voted, I don't believe the majority of the
Commons would themselves suffer such a thing.
How could they, when all the allegations had been
found proved, even without a division, by voting the
Preamble as they did ? It would defend them against
every thing.
November 9th, 1820. — In the House of Lds. on the
report and third reading, the report was agreed to
without a division ; and the interest was to know how
many of the Bishops would fall off in consequence of
Ld. Grey's trick. To his astonishment, I believe, as
many were still for the Bill as against it. But the
great incident was the passion he was put into by Ld.
Lauderdale, who had been against the clause, and who
in terms accused him of carrying it by trick and
manoeuvre, voting against his opinion for the purpose,
and though in a judicial proceeding, influencing all
those whom he could influence to vote generally
against the Bill. He did this in no measured terms
towards " his noble friend," in short, with sharpness.
Ld. Grey, in reply, rose, he said, to repel the accu
sation with indignation and disdain, and added he
had almost used another word, which we supposed
was contempt. He avowed the doctrine, that such
tactics had always been been allowed in practice
when the end proposed was known.* All he had for
* His words were : " That to be accused of tricking and manoeuvring,
when he openly avowed the object of his conduct, appeared to him the
most extraordinary charge ever made in the House."

Chap. III.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 87
it was, that he had given notice of his intent, but it
is thus sealed by his own testimony, that this Ld.'s
vote and opinion may not be the same. Ld. Lau
derdale, in explanation, by no means retracted, but
contented himself with observing, that he meant only
Parliamentary tricking. The debate was adjourned,
after exhibiting Ld. Donoughmore as the champion
of the integrity of Ministers on this whole question.
Nov. 10th, 1820. —Was with * * * early in my
way to the House. He was exceedingly anxious as
to the event, hoping the majority would be so
small that the Bill would be given up. I said Ld.
Melville had been quoted as professing that if the
majority was but one they would go on to the
Commons. He smiled ironically, and said Never
mind that ; and, in fact, I collected that if ever that
had been determined upon it was now given up.
He admitted he had been outvoted upon it in a
former Cabinet. He dilated much upon the danger
to the country of allowing it to go to the H. of
Commons, out of which he was sure it would never
come. If once, too, it got there, such was the increase
of Radicalism and all its atrocities, that he would
not insure Ld. Castlereagh's life for a day. I said
there was another life about which he might be
equally anxious, and which when I thought of the
immense consequence it was of, it often made me un
easy. I could not disguise to myself the danger
the Duke ran, nor my grief at the scoundrel spirit
of the times, that such a man should meet with
the treatment he did. All this, he said (and truly),
G 4

88 EXTRACTS FROM [Chat. HI.
was merely because he was in office, which according
to the precious system of the day, was immediately to
stamp a man all over with wickedness, and degrade
instead of elevating him.
On this subject, I said, I almost regretted the Duke
had ever taken office, his only crime. * * * im
mediately assented, and said, You saw what he was,
idolised and the saviour of his country, now insulted
and even abandoned. The first he said was of little
consequence, being by rascals or ignorant people,
but the last was to him unaccountable 
. . And such is the world. There was
a time when I should have felt such things acutely;
but with many feelings as warm, nay as romantic as
ever, to political feeling, I am almost dead, and the
nil admirari is to me, not only the most just, but
the only maxim by which I wish to govern myself.
There is not a leader left in the State capable of
swaying parties with proper authority, nor do I
think (such is the change on the side of personal
vanity throughout all ranks) Mr. Pitt himself could
now lead as he did. Every one is for himself —
of course every one differs. Authority is gone.
Going to the House I met Mr. Serjeant Cross
coming from the Common Pleas. He said, If you
don't curb the press the nation is gone. I replied,
We will do so when you are ready to suppress the
rebellion, which will instantly be the consequence,
by coming out at the head of a troop of cavalry.
He answered, I am ready. And yet, said I, you

Chap. IH] MR. WARDS DIARY.

89

were the defender of Brandreth, the rebel and
murderer, not merely by giving him the benefit
of the law, but by all popular topics, no doubt upon
the principle that a lawyer is only to consider his
client, though he may ruin the country. He laughed,
but had nothing to say.
I found the House full, every body on the stretch
with expectation. The Long Gallery was crowded
with members of the House of Commons, who
conferred in groups according to their parties, hopes,
and wishes. All expected the third reading to be
carried, but by what majority was the constant
question. This varied, as word was brought how
different Lds. had spoken. The Bishop of Glou
cester (Ryder, Ld. Harrowby's brother) made a
fair and manly speech. He said he felt bound to
vote against the Bill, but not to shrink from ex
pressing his opinion upon the main and real question,
the guilt or innocence of the Queen, and, after having
given a most painful attention to the evidence, he
felt obliged to pronounce her guilty. If, therefore,
he voted against the punishment of that guilt,
it was solely on account of the Divorce clause being
left in, which he could not on religious principles
approve or support. Creevy, the most bitter of
all the mountain, observed to Tierney, by whom I
was standing, that his speech was admirable. He
did not like the Bp. of Chester (Law) so well. He
also disapproved the Divorce clause and therefore
would not vote for the Bill ; but he would not vote
against it. He said his conviction was perfect that

90 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
the Queen was guilty. If, as she had protested before
her Maker, she was innocent, never in the world
had innocence been so accompanied with corrobo
rations of guilt. He had heard with abhorrence his
Sovereign compared with the most sanguinary tyrant
of antiquity, that Sovereign whose annals, when
Regent, would compare with the best and most glo
rious periods of our history. He had heard with
shame a declaration from another peer (Grosvenor)
that he would have thrown the Liturgy in the
King's face. All this made him regret the more that
he could not vote for the Bill, but determined him
not to give it any impediment, he therefore should
give no vote at all.
Standing by the throne with Tierney, he told
me there was a talk that the Bill was not to be
pressed, and it was supposed would be withdrawn
either at or after the third reading, and asked me
if it was true. I told him I should be glad if it
was. Creevy, Wilson (Sir Robert), and other Ra
dicals were all eager upon it, but I did not, and
indeed could not, satisfy them; rather hoping
than being sure of it myself. I said that perhaps,
from the number that had spoken against it, the
third reading itself would not pass. They held
that to be impossible, but Tierney said that Ld.
Harrowby could not possibly remain in the Cabinet,
and offered to lay a wager he was that moment
out or would be to-morrow. He was bound to go.
I asked, Why any more than Canning ? He replied

Chap. III.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 91
that C. had tendered his resignation, only it was
not accepted. I asked, And why not Ld. Harrowby?
which silenced him. Reverting to the debate, he
said the third reading must be pushed to a vote.
I replied, Yes; for the sake of consistency; it is
impossible to abandon it after all that had been
done. I do not count much upon their consistency,
observed he, laughing, but for the sake of escaping
in another quarter, meaning the King. If it is
lost, however, or withdrawn, continued Tierney,
there must be a change. Then, as if recollecting
himself, he added, I do not mean a general change,
but Ministers cannot remain as they are, but Lds.
Liverpool and Harrowby must go out. I said with
the confidence I felt, You will find yourself mistaken.
Maberley, who had betted high that Ld. Liverpool
would not be Minister when the Commons met
again on the 23rd, came up at this instant, and
Tierney said, You will win your wager. I offered
to add to it, but M. declined. The debate was
now drawing to a close, and most of the peers who
were speaking, whether for or against the third
reading (the Duke of Northumberland very em
phatically), were declaring their conviction that the
Q. was guilty. At length the division was called,
and Ld. Gage enforced the standing order, that
each peer should give his vote in his place seriatim.
The result was the small majority of 9 ; the numbers
being 108 to 99. Ld. Liverpool then got up and
withdrew the Bill ; resting it upon so small a majority
in the circumstances of the country. This seemed a

92 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. 1H.
confession that Radicalism had triumphed by the
threats and clamour out of doors, and so far is
melancholy. But it is the wisest thing that could
be done. There was some cheering, but chiefly
if not entirely by Opposition. It is not true, as
reported, that there was a general acclamation, or
that there was cheering from the Ministerialists.
On the contrary, the Duke of Montrose protested
against the abandonment on his legs, and the D. of
Northumberland and Ld. Sheffield in a protest in
form. This example will probably be followed if
there is time, but as we shall probably be prorogued on
the 23rd (before any business can be done), there
will not be time. As might be expected there was
much sensation in the House, and Ld. Grey got up,
but the interest was all split and diverted, and he
was little minded ; all were speculating upon the
probable event what was to happen next, and what
done with the Queen. Creevy said to me it was
most wise conduct, and affected to deplore that
now the Bill should come to our House. I replied,
I should have thought you would have liked
it; you would have had such a glorious opportu
nity to abuse Ministers. To-day's result will have
spoiled your sport. Sport ! said he ; it is no sport
to me to abuse the Government when the country
is so much endangered. Brougham sent off imme
diately to inform the Queen, who was in an ad
joining room, and he and others seemed to rest
much upon the majority of nine being the exact

CHAr.IH.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 93
number of the Cabinet Ministers who are peers,
inferring that their votes should go for nothing,
and if they were abstracted the numbers would
have been equal. The inference is false, for there
are at least as many voices on the other side to
the full as much interested as the Ministers, viz.,
all those who want to get into their places. But
the fact itself is also false, for Ld. Harrowby was
not there, so all the fine thought is lost. Several
Lds. on each side did not vote who had voted
before, twenty-one in number. Ld. Lonsdale was con
fined by illness, and Ld. Harewood had retreated to
Yorkshire from the time of his memorable speech.*
Finding Tierney in the Long Gallery amid a crowd
of speculators, he said again he would bet anything
Ld. Liverpool would go out. I offered to take him to
any small amount not exceeding twenty guineas. He
drew in from the bet, though not from his opinion,
saying it would not be proper for his name to be
coupled with a bet on such a subject, in which he was
right. At a board with the Duke, who came from the
House; I saw by his manner he was in high good
humour, and after business he motioned me to go
down stairs with him, where Arbuthnot was wait
ing for him. Well, said he, we have done exceed
ingly well, and have avoided all sort of mischief, I
* He had in this intimated a wish that, without proceeding further
with the bill, the evidence should be allowed to operate on the good sense
of the country.

94 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
think, with safety and without dishonour. The votes
put the question of guilt or innocence out of doubt ;
the withdrawing is grounded upon mere expediency,
and has nothing to do with the verdict ; had we given
up before the third reading, it would have been
different. I was too happy to concur, and said that
all would now gradually, I hoped, subside ; that all
that sober people wanted was an end one way or the
other, and that in the City, in particular, I found
from my friends there it was an opinion that trade
and adventure would again open if there was only a
decision. He said there were many questions yet to
come, but they were of minor importance. I told
him what Congreve had said, that if Ministers left
the King it would drive him frantic, which seemed to
strike him, and he agreed that Congreve was not un
likely to have heard this. Arbuthnot being upon
business, I then left him.
The triumph in the streets was not so great as
might have been expected, considering that it is in
the streets that the Queen's party is chiefly to be
found. Ld. Fitzroy told me he had heard that Ld.
Blessington brought a report to the Lds. that the
Guards on duty had huzzaed the moment the news
was known. Seymour, Bathurst, and all the officers
on duty, contradicted this in the most positive manner,
and said there was not a semblance of it. Yet this
lie will, I have no doubt, be spread by Wood and
others, and embodied in all the Radical papers whose
existence is lie. In the evening saw Pole, who was
in great spirits. At night there was an illumination

Chap. HI.] MR. WARDS DIARY. 95
and some rioting. The Duke would not light up,
and sat at home all the evening, and so quiet, he
said, that he began to think he was a popular Minister.
The Duke of Montrose and Ld. Sheffield, it seems,
have protested against the withdrawing the Bill, and
ground their reasons upon the clearness of the proofs
of guilt that had swayed the House.
Ld. * * * dined with me. He had been very
active in the House in every stage against the Bill,
and, in a letter he wrote me, called it an unnecessary
and unjustifiable measure. To-day he had been par
ticularly eager, and obtained a vote in Ld. Ports
mouth, which he had not meant to give. Ld. P.'s
weakness of intellect might perhaps, too, have pre
vented him from attending the trial ; however he had
done so, voted for the second reading, and intended
to vote for the third. His infirmity sometimes re
quired that a friend should tell him the time for
voting, and the words he was to use. Ld. de Dun-
stanville was about to do this, when Ld. * * * called
"Order! " loudly and repeatedly; and Ld. P., frightened
and nervous, said Not content instead of Content as he
intended. I reproached Ld. * * * with this, but he
laughingly gloried in it, and thus the most honest,
honourable, virtuous man that perhaps ever lived, is
not exempt from being hurried into injustice when
heated by a particular object. He was loud against
what he called the meanness of those Bishops who,
objecting to the Divorce clause, yet declined voting
against the Bill. With all this he thinks the Queen
decidedly guilty ; and when I said, I suppose you mean

96 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. IH.
to present * * * at Brandenburgh House, he, with
a sudden change to solemnity, and with great em
phasis, exclaimed " Never." His feeling is caused by
his notion of the Scripture doctrine of divorce, in
which I think him totally wrong, and his sense of the
King's early treatment of the Queen, in which he is,
perhaps, not far from being right. This, however,
does not affect the real question. We looked at his
button-hole for the order of St. Caroline, &c, all
which he bore with his usual good humour. Yet
from not mixing, perhaps, a great deal with the
world, how much is this excellent man mistaken !
Nov. 11th, 1820. — Vansittart called upon me on
business ; he, too, thought the Bill wisely given up,
and told me Parliament would be prorogued. There
was no truth in the supposition that any negotiation
was on foot with the Queen relative to her going
abroad. Indeed, said Vansittart, I know not that the
H. of Commons would give her 50,000/. a year on any
terms, after the proofs of infamous conduct that have
been given. People begin to canvass the propriety of
withdrawing the Bill, and criticise the reasons drawn
from the smallness of the last majority. Questions
of the most immense and vital importance have been
carried into laws, and acted upon for ever after, upon
smaller majorities than that upon the third reading.
Nov. 16th, 1820. — At Vansittart's by appointment
on business. After it was over, I asked if there was
any truth in the report that an important commu
nication was to be made to Parliament on the 23rd,

Chap. HI.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 97
I did not believe it. He said certainly not); and he
he hoped Black Rod would be so close upon the
Speaker's heels, that there would not be time for a
single word to be said. We discussed prorogation to
January, which he thought wise, because it would
give time for spirits to cool, and the excitement about
the Queen to subside. In the course of conver
sation he said that Ministers were bound in honour,
at whatever expense of struggle and courage, to
stand by the King as long as he was firm to them.
That he was very firm and in good spirits, but not
very well.
There was a Cabinet to-day, but the prorogation
not decided.
Saw Ld. C. Somerset, who seemed full of fears at
the giving up the Bill, and thought the Whigs and
Radicals would triumph so as to force us out.
Nov. 17th. — Another Cabinet. I hear the Queen
has written to Ld. Liverpool to demand a Palace, as
if she was an innocent person. This the Cabinet
have resolved to refuse, being determined, at all
hazards, to act upon their conviction of her guilt.
They have, therefore, resolved to stand or fall upon
this and her restoration to the Liturgy. They do
not mean by this to oppose a liberal allowance for
her comfort, and had accordingly told her that she
might have what money she chose to provide herself
a house ; but I am not prepared to say the refusal of
the Palace is a proper measure. I am at least much
swayed with the notion that not to enhance her conse-
VOL. II. H

98 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. HI.
quence, by opposing her in trifles, would be the wisest
way to let the subject dwindle.
• •••••*
Nov. 18th, 1820.— Called upon Becket (Judge- Ad
vocate-General), Lady Ann was low about Ld. Lons
dale, and B. feared his case had been mistaken. As
to politics, he rejoiced in the decision on the Palace,
and thought there was a change appearing against the
Queen. He said that by January he would bet the
King was uppermost, which he would not be if Par
liament met now. I see no signs of it. There has,
however, been a considerable difference between the
Cabinet and the King on the meeting of Parliament,
in which after a struggle the King yielded. It seems
the King always yields if firmly opposed. On this I
cannot help calling to mind a conversation with Sir
Thos. Tyrwhitt, my old college acquaintance, and who,
with a thousand little vanities and odd peculiarities,
was perhaps the fairest man the King had about him
when Prince.
With Courtenay at the India Board. Canning
arrives in town this evening from Paris.
November 20th, 1820 — Heard from Lord Kenyon,
who had got to Gridlington. He gave a ludicrous
account of his distresses on the way. The mob, it
seems, at* . . . , not understanding his real sen
timents of the Queen, and taking him (as well they
might) for one of her partisans de bon coeur, like
Alderman Wood or Sir R. Wilson, had attempted to
draw him through the town, and prepared flags, with
* Blank in the original.

Chap. HI.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 99
" The Queen and Kenyon for ever !" Nothing on earth
could have annoyed him more, and he was forced to
run for it through the town and escape. We were
much amused. He implores peace, and that this bad
woman, by being no more noticed, may be allowed to
drop with her infamy into oblivion,
November 21st. — Rode with the Vice-Chancellor
(Sir John Leach) in the Park. He did not like
things, of course. He said there had been a blow
given to the morals of the country, in inducing people
to believe that adultery and the grossest licentious
ness might yet be thought innocence, and triumph.
That Ministers ought to have gone on with the Bill
to the House of Commons, where he thought (to me
most erroneously) that it would have passed. He
could not conceive a reason for Ld. Liverpool's opi
nion, if he would have gone on with the original
majority of twenty-eight why not with nine ? The
difference was nothing. I expected him to talk of
the small majorities at the Revolution, but he did
not. He said Wilberforce and the saints were all
for the Bill; there would have been a great deal of
sedition, but it would have passed; that the King
had been greatly annoyed, but was much recovered.
Speaking of the Opposition, he said nothing could
have begun better, but they could not resist their old
leaven of striving to take advantage of popular ex
citement against duty, and now nothing could be
worse ; he could not comprehend the change, particu
larly in such a man as his good friend, Ld. Essex,
whose sentiments now were the reverse, in the ex-
H 2

100 EXTRACTS FROM [Chap. III.
treme, to what they had been in the beginning of the
affair. It was needless to tell him I thought dif
ferently from him as to the House of Commons, par
ticularly as to Wilberforce; he said, the case would
have been made out much more strongly than in the
Lds. by fresh witnesses that had arrived. When I
told him Ministers meant to stand or fall by what the
Commons might decide as to the Liturgy and the
refusal of the Palace, he said, he did not see how any
set of men could support the King through the affair
so well as the present ; that the Whigs, from their
latter conduct, certainly could not. All this I un
derstood, and it confirmed to me what we had so often
heard, that at first the Whigs were flirting with the
King through Sir John himself, probably by means
of Ld. Essex. When I asked upon whom he could
build, when such a man as Ld. Arden spoke so churl
ishly, and voted so totally against all that was ex
pected from his principles, he observed, " That was a
mere tribute to Perceval his brother's memory, who
had been the friend of the Queen, when really per
secuted by the Talents."
Sir Colin Campbell, who commands at the Tower,
told us the mob insulted, and had even beaten some
of the soldiers who were out on leave. Six of the
mob against two soldiers. They began by asking
if they were the King's men or Queen's men. They
not answering, the mob thrashed them. The soldiers
complained to their comrades, who conferred together,
and said, if this was to be, they would come out in
parties and see who would have the worst.

Chap. III.] MR. WARD'S DIARY. 101
November 22nd, 1820. —Was with Vansittart by
appointment. We had some politics. He hoped and
believed things would cool after the prorogation on
the 23rd; and, as to next session, had more fear about
the Palace than the Liturgy. He grounded this on
Wilberforce, and those who had been most for the
restoration before, giving it up for the reasons stated.
What would they now after such evidence? Met the
Duke just come to town. He took me under the arm,
and walked me to Ld. Bathurst's. He was in excellent
humour, and asked what news ; having, as he said,
been a country gentleman for two days. I said I
thought the heat a little, and but a little, subsiding.
He observed he thought so too, and that it would more
after to-morrow, the prorogation. He was more con
vinced than ever of the wisdom of that measure, and
of withdrawing the Bill."

The remaining portion of Mr. Ward's diary, though
embracing many curious and interesting political de
tails, and professedly intended for publication, appears
to me to comprehend a period too recent to make its
continuance expedient. It will be seen by the extracts
already given, that he both entertains and expresses
very decided opinions as to the political conduct of
his opponents, and even occasionally of his own party.
I know, too, from the warm kindliness of his nature,
he would have been the last to wish that any pain
h 3

102 MR. WARD'S DIARY. [Chap. IH.
should be given to their surviving connexions, through
expressions of opinion which he considered justified,
and even required, by the events upon which he was
commenting. It is upon this principle that many
omissions of names and of particular anecdotes have
been determined on, and it is with the same views
that I have stopped short at a period when such
omissions would too frequently interrupt the con
tinuity of the journal.
As a party politician, taking strong views and ex
pressing them openly, brought in contact, as we have
seen, with men of both sides, both in and out of the
House, and put forward on many occasions to receive
and repel official attacks, I believe few have retired
from the political arena with more cordial feehngs of
personal good-will.

Chap. IV.] RETIRES FROM BOARD OF ORDNANCE. 103

CHAP. IV.
FIRST COMMENCEMENT OF NOVEL-WRITING.  "TEEMAINE" PUB
LISHED BT COLBURN.  REASONS FOR PRESERVING INCOGNITO. —
LETTERS TO AND FROM MR. AND MRS. AUSTEN, ROBERT SOUTHEY,
THE LATE DR. COPLESTON, BISHOP OF LLANDAFF, AND OTHERS.
 ODD CONSEQUENCES OF HIS INCOGNITO.  VISITS MULGRAVE
CASTLE.  LETTERS THENCE TO MR. AND MRS. AUSTEN.  OTHER
FASHIONABLE NOVELISTS IN THE FIELD.  CRITICISM ON " VI
VIAN GREY." — " DE VERE."  LETTERS THEREON FROM CAN
NING, FROM AN ANONYMOUS CORRESPONDENT, AND FROM B.
D'lSRAELI, ESQ.
The death of that beloved wife to whom he had
been now united for upwards of a quarter of a cen
tury affected him deeply, and he began to think
of retiring from active public life, in which he had
been so long engaged during times of unexampled
interest and excitement. He gave up his seat at
the Board of Ordnance, and retired from Parliament
after the session of 1823, being soon afterwards
appointed Auditor of the Civil List. Before, how
ever, he took leave of the House of Commons, he
had occasion to make a reply to a vehement attack
of Mr. Hume on the Ordnance Estimates, which
called forth the following congratulatory letter from
one of his oldest college friends. h 4

104 LETTER FROM SLR M. STEWART. [Chap. IV.
Sir Michael Shaw Stewart to B. Ward, Esq.
"Edinburgh, Feb. 26. 1823.
" My dear Ward,
" I have just been reading your admirable reply
to Hume, and I feel an impulse that I cannot
resist, to congratulate you on the complete drubbing
which you so genteely gave him, and to express
the satisfaction I experienced in the ample proofs
which you so forcibly brought forward of the
fair, honourable, and disinterested conduct of all
the individuals concerned in the appointment he
so illiberally attacked.* Nothing could be more ef
fectually done ; and, recollections of former times
occurring, I really felt as if I had a share in the
triumph of my old and valued friend. But what a
beautiful and unprecedented epoch in parliamentary
history this is ; when in our annals was ever
an expose of a Chancellor received as the last ?
Clouds and darkness did indeed seem to rest
upon us ; partly from actual distress, but more from
the dismal croakings and exaggerated statements of
the agricultura] meetings ; when, at once, the sun
burst forth in splendour, an unchallenged, uncon-
troverted display of our wealth and prosperity is
made manifest, and Opposition itself is disarmed.
Long may this ' new feeling,' as Ld. Milton calls
it, last; and long may the plan and principles of
* The appointment alluded to is that of Lord Beresford as Lt.-General
of the Ordnance. The debate was also graced by a brilliant speech from
Mr. Canning, who refused to allow the motion to be withdrawn. It was,
therefore, rejected by 200 to 73.

Chap. IV.] COMMENCEMENT OF NOVEL- WRITING. 105
Ministers make it a pride to their opponents to
abandon their enmity to Government
"My three sons, who are here, all participate in the
feelings of their father, and my wife, who is ' no
politician,' sympathises most cordially in our general
joy at your success.
" If you have a spare moment I shall be most
happy to hear from you, and of your family ; your
son I know is well disposed of abroad. Adieu, my
dear Ward, and, with the united best wishes of me
and mine, believe me ever
" Most sincerely yours,
" Mich. Shaw Stewart."
It was at this time that Mr. Ward began an un
dertaking upon which his reputation and the inter
est that attaches to his name will mainly depend.
The political events of the day are soon fogotten,
and still sooner the names of those who took any
except the principal part in them; but long after
this will live the memory of him who, having amused
and instructed in his day, can still continue to call
forth a reader's sympathies in after time by any
sterling literary performance of permanent interest.
Mr. Ward had before now done great service
with his pen, and had exercised it upon the most
varied topics. History, law, poetry, and jurisprudence ;
questions, personal and national, connected with the
politics of the day; official reports and financial
calculations, had all in turn employed his energies:
but, having now retired from the turmoil of politics,
he was induced to devote the restless energies of

106 REMARKS UPON MODERN NOVELS. [Chap. IV.
an active mind to the composition of a novel. He
had ever mixed in a society where he could note
down the refinements, as well as the follies, of
the great and fashionable; he had been a not
unobservant spectator of the game of politics; he
had also most sedulously directed his less em
ployed moments to the consideration of the various
arguments on either side, on the all-important
question of the evidences of natural and revealed
religion. He determined to write a book in which
he should avail himself of his experience, his
speculations, and his opinions upon all these points,
and that he would do so in that form most attractive
to general readers — a novel.
It could not be denied that the English school
of novel-writing (in more modern times) had many
merits. It had the not least important one of being
adapted for the perusal of all, without offending
the delicacy of any; it could further boast, as its
characteristic, the natural development of an in
teresting and seldom improbable story, a correct
and original conception of individual character, a
skilful adaptation of the events of history, the en
forcement of a wholesome moral, and a certain
elegance in the style of composition. Such, it cannot
be denied, were the ordinary characteristics of the
best of the modern English novels at the time
Mr. Ward began his task. It will be seen, however,
from this enumeration, that there is not to be as
cribed to them that for which fiction may be more
peculiarly made the vehicle, viz. any depth of philo
sophical reflection, any complete development of

Chap. IV.] REASONS FOR PRESERVING INCOGNITO. 107
peculiar types of character, any such epigrammatic
terseness of diction as should lead the reader to
return again and again to the opinions of his author,
for the sake of their depth, their originahty, or the
happy terms in which they were expressed.
If any one had perused such productions, pencil
in hand, with a view to revert to his favourite
passages, he might have marked here a pretty de
scription of scenery, there an animated dialogue,
in another place a striking situation, but he could
rarely have found a gem that would sparkle when
placed by itself, or which could be transferred to
a fresh setting.
Another defect that was found almost universally
in these productions was, a perversion (unintentional
no doubt, but still not the less constant) of the
manners, vices, feelings, and actions of the upper
classes of society, who were made alternately heroes
possessed of every noble virtue, or insolent profligates
ever ready to make an unfair and base use of the
power given them by their position. The fact was,
that the descriptions were given at second-hand, till
what was considered in this respect natural in a novel,
became as complete a piece of traditional convention
alism, as the interviews between a master and his valet
de chambre are allowed to be on the stage.
It was with a purpose of supplying some, if not all
these defects, and of affording, along with food for
the thoughtful mind, the necessary relaxation which
all require, that Mr. Ward began his novel. He had
determined to preserve the strictest incognito, moved
partly by an anxiety to have the genuine and un-

108 PUBLICATION OF " TREMA1NE." [Chap. IV.
biassed opinion of the reader, partly by the excite
ment of the mystery attendant upon it, but prin
cipally urged by considerations arising out of the
two very opposite subjects which were to be com
bined in the same book: viz. first, sketches of fa
shionable society, with strictures upon its occasional
emptiness and insolence ; and, secondly, a discussion
of some of the most important questions that can be
presented to reasoning beings.
As his handwriting was sufficiently peculiar to be
easily recognised, every page when written was re-
copied, and in this he had most willing and useful
assistants in his daughters ; so great was the interest
taken by them in his book, that he used to boast how
on one occasion, when a portion of the manuscript con
taining a long chapter had been lost, they were able to
resupply the whole of it from memory, without (as
even the author himself confessed) so much as an
error in a word.
The work once ready for publication, his grand
difficulty was to arrange with a publisher without
running the risk of betraying his authorship, and for
this purpose he fortunately bethought himself of his
friend and personal solicitor, B. Austen, Esq. By his
cooperation he was enabled to preserve for some time
his incognito, amid the curiosity which " Tremaine "
so generally excited.
He now commenced a correspondence with a lady
whose own talent, and whose ready appreciation of
that of others, induced him to an exertion of his epis
tolary powers, such as cannot fail to render his letters

Chap. TV.] LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. 109
(for which I am indebted to her kindness) an in
teresting feature in these Memoirs. Mrs. Austen,
in consequence of the interest excited in her by
each progressive arrangement for the publication of
"Tremaine," in all of which her husband bore so
active a part, had kindly undertaken to convey to
the author a resume of remarks upon it made by a
literary conclave assembled at her own table. She
had upon this occasion an opportunity of embracing
in her report the approval of so high an authority as
Mr. D'Israeli, sen. ; to this he alludes in the following
letter. B. Ward, Esq., to Mrs. Austen.
" Chester Street, Saturday, (April, ) 1825.
" My dear Mrs. Austen,
" Your kind, flattering, and gratifying letter greeted
me last night on my return home from Sir George
Beaumont's, where I had dined, and where there had
been much of dilettanti discussions, and much on litera
ture ; but though there had been some talk upon " Tre
maine," nothing so pleasing as yours. I do assure you
it is no affectation to say, that, though I felt all Mr.
D'Israeli's praises much, I felt your good-nature in
recording them more, and I was even lost in grateful
surprise at the trouble you have condescended to take
to give me the pleasure your letter inspires. How I am
to thank you I really do not know, nor should if I were
even broad awake, which I am not, for I got up exceed
ingly early because I would not let an unnecessary
minute pass without telling you how much pleasure

110 LETTER FROM MR. WARD [Chap. IV.
your kindness gave me. Your husband had left me
much his debtor before, what am I to do now when his
wife gives a charm to it which those only who know the
value of a woman's kindness can appreciate ? But I
must stop, or I shall get as sentimental as Tremaine
himself, for it is very certain I cannot with common
feelings tell you how much the kind interest which
prompted so much trouble has impressed me. As to
the communication itself, it would be great affectation
to say that it did not very much please me. The
critic is himself too well known not to make me feel
that his is no mean praise, and it would go far to
dispel any doubts or fears I might have for the re
putation of the work. What I am pleased with as
much as anything, is the penetration of the remark
that it must have been a pet work, kept always at
hand, always in mind, and recurred to at every pos
sible interval of leisure. This is the exact account,
and describes the interest both of me and my girls in
it for the last two years, most precisely. Even all of
us (the girls quite as much as myself) considered
Evelyn, Georgina, and Jack, not merely as friends,
but as relations and parts of the family at Hyde
House, so that Julia used sometimes to think she
would meet them in the walks when she went out, or
waiting for her at the tea-table when she returned
home. Tremaine himself was too great a man to be
an inmate, but was a constant visitor. By the way,
it is both curious and interesting to me to hear how
much this same fastidieux is admired by your sex.
I have been sometimes quite amused by hearing many

Chap. IV.] TO MRS. AUSTEN. Ill
young ladies say he was not a bit too old, and that
they could not have refused him hke Georgina, but
would have married him first for the sake of convert
ing him afterwards. My incognito makes all this
quite entertaining. But I must release you, my dear
Mrs. Austen, nor will I revert again to the subject of
thanks, for I should never have done, I will only say
that I am your grateful friend and servant, " R. W."

B. Ward, Esq., to Mrs. Austen.
" Chester Street, Tuesday, May 13. 1825.
" My dear Mrs. Austen,
" All you tell me is important ; the prospect as to
the Quarterly seems quite inviting, or at least to lose
many of its horrors. Yet what would you have said
if you had heard, as I did yesterday, from * * * at
his own table, that he thought the work, particularly
the third volume, very heavy indeed. This, too, im
mediately after telling me he had heard, but could
not believe, I was the author. Upon this I begged
to say, what was true, that I had heard Sydney Smith
(who was there) was the author. Nobody else seemed
to have read it but Sir S. Shepherd, and he did not
agree with * * *, but the impression left certainly
was that it was very stupid. I had heard in the
morning that a determined "exclusive," an earl's
daughter, had said it was vulgar, and gave Jack
Careless as an instance. This was too contemptible,
so in return I told her aunt (who had told me) that

112 LETTER FROM MR. WARD [Chap. IV.
I had heard she had sat for Lady Gertrude, which of
course will be told her again. You see, however,
that I am not so rich in honour as your kindness may
have thought me, so that I still want a little dream of
confidence. You see what it is to have shown your
self so obliging a writer. " Yours,
" R. W."
The strict incognito which had been so successfully
kept up gave rise to curious scenes, as it very often
happened .that the author was present when his own
performance was discussed. Nothing, however, can
excel in absurdity the event detailed in the following
letter; unless indeed we may be permitted to sup
pose an ingenious piece of waggery on the part of
one who well knew how to " sport in season," and
who might have hoped, by the ingenuity of his con
ception, to throw the real author off his guard.
B. Ward, Esq., to Mrs. Austen.
" Guildford Street, May, 1825.
" What I chiefly called for was to tell you some
thing I think will amuse you. I met Sydney Smith
yesterday at the Attorney-General's, and he said, I cer
tainly did suspect you, but the author of " Tremaine "
has at length disclosed himself, and it is not you but
a Mr. Ogle, son of the late Bishop of Winchester ; and
I think, he added, he was a clergyman, at any rate
till now, he said, unknown to fame. Of course I
asked how he knew all this ; to which he answered, in

Chap. IV.] TO MRS. AUSTEN. 113
the best possible way, from his own confession, or
rather from his claiming it. In short Mrs. * * *
(wife of the M. P. ) has had a letter from him, as she
assured me, in which he says, " / am the author of
' Tremaine,' and as I have no means of knowing in the
country, I wish you would tell me how it has gone off."
So far Sydney Smith. Now if this is not a hoax of
Mrs. * * *, is it not one of the best things you ever
heard. You may tell it where you like, and that
Smith believes it. Lady S. Bathurst told me why
Lady Holland was so desirous of knowing the author,
she wishes the third volume had been made a work
by itself. So I would have made it, had I suspected
her Ladyship, or any other lady, would have read it
in that shape. Col. Ponsonby told me his fourteen
reasons for being sure who was the author." f
The success of " Tremaine," as well as the interest
about the author, had been very great. Speculations
at dinner tables, leading articles in newspapers, and
comparisons of style among literary men, had been
directed to the solution of the mystery, and yet it
still remained one. A second edition was in pre
paration early in April, in the progress of which the
author, with an impartiality not very common, an
nounced to Mr. Austen that he had " cut out fifty
f He was betrayed to one who knew him well, but who had com
menced the perusal of "Tremaine" without the slightest suspicion as to
its author, by his raptures about rooks. In her letter to him she re
marks : " The rooks betrayed you first. You say they can converse with
one another ; you might have gone a step further, for I can assure you
they told us your secret."
VOL. II. I

114 LETTER FROM MR. WARD [Chap. IV.
pages of the first volume, with as little damage to
the whole, as thinning any plantation." The publisher
expressed himself "highly satisfied with the sale,"
and already was " a new work suggested " to the
happy author. His friends, as enthusiastic admirers
of " Tremaine," remonstrated against so wholesale an
abandonment of passages which, if not equally pleasing
to all, had been adapted to particular tastes ; and Mr.
Austen suggested, instead of an omission in the second
edition of so much in a work that had already ac
quired popularity, the correction of many verbal in
accuracies, and of some opinions which a clever friend
of his had suggested as requiring reconsideration.
The following letter to Mr. Austen notices both these
requests.

B. Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
" Chester Street, Tuesday, April 24. 1825.
" Dear Austen,
"I got all your packets and your friendly letter
safe, I shall probably on your representations curtail
my curtailments, and have sent for Colburn's first
volume which I had returned to him. His " friend's "
castigation did not amount to an eighth part
of mine, and he had left in almost the whole
story of Eugenia, not because he liked it, but
because the world did, which I did not know. I
shall leave its insertion or alteration to him, and
will retrench some of my prunings in the other
places. I am very much flattered by your friend's
opinion. He is evidently from all his annotations

Chap. IV.] TO MR. AUSTEN. 115
eminently qualified to give one, and I am much
obliged to you for sending them. With almost
all of them I agree. Indeed those on the mangled
state of the quotations are obvious to any one,
and were all corrected by me when I saw the
proofs ; yet, most strange to say, such was the obs
tinate stupidity of the printer, particularly of the
first volume, that new errors came forth when the
work was finally printed, in addition to many uncor
rected ones. These were chiefly where one would
not wish them to be, in the Latin quotations, most
of which were distorted, and even in those from
Shakspeare. " Chewing the cud," for example, was
light in the proof, and changed to chewing the food in
the final print. So in almost all the quotations
from Horace: and the punctuations are wretchedly
mangled. Even, therefore, had I had the benefit
of your friend's valuable assistance in correcting
the press, so miserably ill have I been served,
that I probably should not have reaped the ad
vantage of it. In some of your friend's remarks
I think he mistakes me. I agree with him (e.g.)
that nothing can be happier than Johnson's il
lustration, that a small and large glass many be
equally full, but not equally capacious. If my
meaning, therefore, had been that Careless was as
happy as a more refined man, because each was
only as happy as he could be, your friend would
have been right; but my position was, that the
very quantity of his happiness, though occasioned
by smaller things, was equal to that enjoyed by
i 2

116 LETTER FROM MR. WARD [Chap. IV.
more cultivated people. In this I agree with Hume,
that a school-girl miss at the first ball where she
is admired is quite as happy as an orator com
manding the senate. I have myself sometimes
had the cheers of the House of Commons, and
been congratulated both by Ministers and Opposition
on what I had done, but neither my vanity, nor
better feelings combined, made the sum of my hap
piness equal to [that resulting from] the applause I
remember I got when acting in a school play; and it
was certainly less, much less, than I have sometimes
enjoyed when sitting alone in a calm evening, scenting
the bean-flower, and hstening to a blackbird. If
this finds you in Gray's Inn, probably I shall get
laughed at ; if in Mrs. Austen's boudoir, I hope she
will not draw me in caricature. Some of your friend's
remarks, though strictly just, I think are too severe
for the nature of the work. He may be right that
whipping John Hodges for stealing turkeys is in
correct. I will not say that, with so fine a mind
as he shows, this puts me in mind of the anecdote
of Sergeant B. in the third volume. His criticisms,
however, before the MS. went to press, would
have been of the greatest possible advantage in
detecting the minutest faults, and I am sure I
ought to add in the support and confidence which
his good opinion gives. With that power to detect
faults, his praise is of the highest kind, and I beg
you to believe how flattered I am by it. It will
console me almost for what I had the fate to hear
from so great a critic as Lord Binning, at the

Chap. IV.] TO MR. AUSTEN. 117
dinner at the Ch. of the Exchequer's on Saturday.
Nobody had read "Tremaine " but himself ; and his
account was, that it was written by somebody
who had a great deal of knowledge, but he thought
" it a dull book." Lord G. Seymour said he had
heard otherwise. But as nobody had seen it, and
/ could not assure them that it was remarkably
the reverse, the sentence passed, and will remain
in force. Adieu, for I have plagued you enough.
I will return your books as soon as I receive
Colburn's back again, into which I mean to transpose
your friend's notes, and between us all I hope for an
improved edition. I need not beg to be remembered
to Mrs. Austen, or say how much " I am yours, "R. Ward."
The controversial part of his work (upon which,
as the result of greater thought upon subjects of a
higher character, he bestowed more of his partiality
than on the mere narration of imaginary events,
however graceful the style) was now to receive the
honours of a lengthened notice from one of the
greatest authorities, even in Oxford. It was forwarded
to him as "author of Tremaine," his distinguished
correspondent having no knowledge of his name. I
shall precede it by the following extract from a letter
of his own to Mr. Austen, and by communications
from the celebrated authors of "the Doctor," and of
" the Man of Feeling."

i 3

118 LETTER FROM MR. SOUTHEY. [Chap. IV.
B. Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
" Chester Street, April 27. 1825.
" Dear Austen,
" I have again sent back C.'s first volume with
castigated castigations, leaving Eugenia to his friend.
I trust we shall be perfect at last. What has been the
greatest satisfaction of all I have received, is a
letter from Dr. Copleston, the most eminent divine
and scholar of Oxford, to whom you know I sent
the book, though without my name. His letter
sets me quite at rest as to the character and success of
the work, for where he differs from me, it is only
because he differs from Locke and Clarke, and
confesses he undervalues Natural Religion from the
evident fear that it may depreciate Christianity.
On the other hand he bestows all the approbation
I could ever wish (much more than I could ever
fancy) upon the execution and ability of the book,
and where he agrees, which is with by far the
greatest part, his suffrage is given in the most
flattering manner. This relates to the third volume
only, and he even begs I will go on with the
Theology. As to the two first vols., he is almost,
if not more so, as gratifying as D'Israeli himself."
Robert Southey, Esq., to the Author of " Tremaine."
" Keswick, May 16. 1825.
" Sir, " I thank you for your book. You have done
well in writing it. Men who would not be induced

Chap. IV.] LETTER FROM MR. SOUTHEY. 119
to read Skelton or Berkeley may find themselves
engaged unawares in your volumes, and be reclaimed
from infidelity. I have derived that pleasure from
them which we all feel whenever we see our own
opinions ably and successfully supported. You have
surprised me by your assertion that the brain is
dissolved once in every forty-eight hours. It is by
no means likely that you should have advanced
it without good authority. Nor should I hesitate
at believing it upon the mere ground that, though
I have lived much with medical men, I never heard a
statement in any way approaching it, for no man
ought to argue from his own ignorance against
another's knowledge. But I doubt it for this reason,
that I do not see how it is possible for any such
fact to have been ascertained.
"I am pleased with the manner in which you
speak of Mr. Perceval. His death was the greatest
misfortune which this country has sustained in our
days. So I thought at the time, and so we now
find it.
"You mention the murderer of the Bonars, as having
acted under a sudden impulse of madness. Perhaps
you may not have heard that that impulse was
occasioned by a vindictive feeling at hearing them
rejoice because the Catholic Bill was thrown out,
and that great pains were taken to prevent him
from publicly confessing this by the priest who
attended him to the last moment. I believe no
doubt was entertained of this by the persons who
were most interested in ascertaining the fact.
I 4

120 LETTER FROM DR. COPLESTON. [Chap. IV
" I have not lately been enough in the world (as
the phrase is) to hear whether you are as much an
incognito in London as at Keswick. But if you
are not, or if at any time you should cease to
be so, should you be a stranger I should think
myself fortunate in making your acquaintance, should
you be an acquaintance in improving it.
"I remain, Sir,
" Your obliged and obedient servant,
" Robert Southey."
In presenting the following very interesting extracts
from the long letter with which he was favoured
by the late eminent bishop of Llandaff, Dr. Copleston,
I have most sensibly to regret that event which
has had, however, the effect of removing the scruples
I should have felt as to publishing in his lifetime
his opinions upon such deeply interesting subjects
as those on which he treats. Now, however, that
this shining light is quenched, his views upon
points which have puzzled, and in all probability
will continue to puzzle, the wisest and the best,
till that day when all shall be made clear, cannot
but be regarded with affectionate interest.
Dr. Copleston to the Author of " Tremaine."
"  The first two volumes were quickly
dispatched; and the charm which you have thrown
over the story, by the beautiful delineation of cha
racter, the variety of manners, the knowledge of

Chap. IV.] LETTER FROM DR. COPLESTON. 121
life, and the glow of virtuous sentiment, and of
natural feeling, purified and elevated by religion,
which it exhibits, would alone have induced me
to thank you heartily for the pleasure thus afforded
me — a pleasure more lively, I think, and purer
than any I ever received from a work denominated
a novel. It is, however, of the argument in the
third volume that I am aware you wish me to
speak. And I will speak without reserve, but in a
desultory manner, of some points connected with it.
"In the first place, then, I must express my
dislike of the order adopted by many writers, an
order the nature of your plot seems to require,
but which appears to me inverted, that of making
natural religion the introduction to revealed. That
there is such a thing as natural religion, I do
not dispute ; and, even now that we have better
evidence of its truths than mankind formerly pos
sessed, it may still be useful at times to pursue
those reasonings which the wisest of the heathens
have anticipated. But those reasonings are full
of difficulty and perplexity. They never produced
a firm and steady faith ; and as far as the doctrine of
a future state goes, which is the most important
¦of them all, they are, I am compelled to say, most
nnsatisfactory. " Indeed, my own conviction is, that it was never
the design of Providence that mankind should have
that expectation of a future state which amounts
to faith, or positive belief, till the coming of our
Lord. And a sufficient reason for this dispensation

122 LETTER FROM DR. COPLESTON. [Chap. IV.
is admirably demonstrated by Warburton in his
unfinished ninth book — a train of thought which
I have more than once pursued in sermons preached
before the University. Immortality without a Re
deemer is a notion incompatible with Christianity.*
" Hence you will not wonder that my own judgment
should always direct me to ground a behef in
religion upon the moral evidence of the truth of
Christianity, and to revert to the argument for natural
religion, for the purpose only of satisfying doubts
and answering objections and confirming positions
already established in a more direct way.
" My method indeed would be this. First, to
instruct a person in the doctrines of the Bible,
as if their truth was unquestionable. Then to teach
natural theology, as Paley taught it ; it can hardly
be better done. Then the positive evidences of
Christianity ; and, lastly, to press Butler's' admirable
argument against the objections of the Deist, or
against those uneasy surmises which spring up in
active and inquiring minds. This argument, as
against the Deist, appears to me irrefragable. I
cannot say so much of his argument for natural
* The word " Christianity " in the original is probably written inad
vertently instead of some other word; for as it stands at present the
sense is by no means clear. The faith of a Christian, or in other words,
" Christianity itself," holds that not only by Jesus Christ came " immor
tality," but also " redemption." To suppose, then, immortality without
a Redeemer, is to suppose that which is not merely "incompatible" with
Christianity, but which is excluded " ex vi termini; " therefore, to assert
that such an idea is incompatible with " Christianity " is, in fact, to
assert a self-evident truth. He probably means that it is incompatible
with the exalted idea of God's goodness to which the Christian man has,
by God's grace, been brought.

Chap. TV.] LETTER FROM DR. COPLESTON. 123
religion, or that directed against the Atheist, an
adversary only to be combated with success, in my
opinion, by such weapons as Paley's.
" This will sufficiently explain why I do not
zealously enter into a priori reasonings. To my
mind they were always unsatisfactory. Clarke's
demonstration makes not the slightest impression
upon me. Indeed a great part may, I am sure,
be resolved, as most metaphysical reasonings may,
into a play upon words. Men affix a name which
is necessary for the guidance of their own thoughts,
and soon they treat this name as if it were a
real being.
" You will forgive me, I trust, if I do not exempt
yourself altogether from this charge. For instance,
in p. 70., do not you speak of idea as a thing,
an actual existence ; and in pp. 72. 77., of thought,
and in p. 80., of consciousness, in the same way ?
Let me add another example, the word soundness
in p. 83. This charge you will not look upon
as a token of disrespect, when I involve in it almost
all metaphysical writers, and when I speak of Locke
as the most provoking delinquent of the whole set.
For in his chapter upon words he seems to be
fully impressed with the truth of nominalism, but
in all the rest of his argument he plunges headlong
into realism, and this I find to be the universal
practice — the fertile source of error in all abstract
reasoning. " If you have done me the honour of reading the
preface to my sermons with attention, as well as those

124 LETTER FROM DR. COPLESTON. [Chap. IV.
parts of the sermons which touch upon the subject,
you will not wonder at the importance I attach to
these errors. They lie at the bottom of every ques
tion. Almost all the controversies about prescience,
free-will, contingency, certainty, probability, are resol
vable into disputes about words. And the solution
I have suggested, that contingent, certain, probable, &c.
are ideas so named, relative to our own perceptions,
and not characteristic of the things themselves, simple
as it seems, is, I believe, worth more towards the at
tainment of the truth, than whole volumes of the most
abstruse reasonings, which proceed upon the supposed
reality of those and the like qualities.
" If I were to follow up this subject much further,
I should not have time to speak of the portions of
your argument which appear to me extremely valu
able. Before I enter, however, upon these, I must
declare my opinion against the validity of the argu
ment drawn from the mental faculties of man, and
from the necessity of an immaterial principle. Al
most the whole of it applies equally to brutes, and
is defective, rather as falling under the technical de
scription of ' proving too much,' than under that
reductio ad absurdum,, to which you refer it in p. 94.
For the objector does not say that it must lead to
such an absurd conclusion, which would prove the
assumption to be false ; but that it may lead to such
a conclusion, and is therefore insufficient and incon
clusive. " Your argument for a Providence is ingenious
and powerful ; but I think in p. 227. you allow too

Chap. IV.] LETTER FROM DR. COPLESTON. 125
much to the apparent incompatibility of that doctrine
with free-will. Surely there may be a power reserved
of influencing the will, whether by presenting motives,
or immediately by secret impulse, without impairing
its freedom ; as there may be a power reserved of
modifying upon particular occasions, of abating, aug
menting, or suspending the laws of the material world,
without destroying that system, or even changing it,
which to our reason appears to be the established
order. " The view given in p. 247. is able, and I believe I
may say, original. Should I ever have the honour
of a personal acquaintance, it would give me much
pleasure to show you a sermon preached before the
University ten or twelve years ago, in which the same
idea is developed, and a similar train of thought in
dulged to that which you have introduced in this
chapter. After all, the existence or the wide pre
valence of evil must be allowed to stand an insur
mountable difficulty in the way of human reason.
Just and candid is the acknowledgment of Locke:
' I cannot make freedom in man consistent with om
nipotence and omniscience in God, though I am as fully
persuaded of both as of any truths I most firmly
assent to.' * To this I will add a singular confession,
* May not his omnipotence (which is distinguishable from ommficence,
if such a word be admissible) refrain from controlling that created being
whose free-will seems inseparable both from his state of probation and
from his responsibility ; and may not his omniscience be exercised to its
fullest extent in foreknowing that use which every such individual created
beino- -will make of his individual free-will ; such free-will being meanwhile
necessarily exercised upon such events and subjects only as the omnipo
tent and omniscient Creator permits and foresees ?

126 LETTER FROM DR. COPLESTON. [Chap. IV.
that I cannot make infinite goodness and infinite power
consistent with the extensive prevalence of evil, na
tural as well as moral, in the constitution of the
universe. Yet these truths being indisputable*, I see
a perfect accordance with them in the scheme of
Christian redemption by a suffering Messiah, and my
Deism therefore prepares me for embracing Christi
anity, although, if it were possible for me to be an
Atheist, no part of Butler's argument would have any
weight with me.
" In the last place, I come to your argument for a
future state, deduced from the universality of re
ligious impressions, from feeling of remorse, and from
the consciousness of responsibility. All these argu
ments appear to me sound and admirable. The prin
ciple, ' that nature never acts in vain,' which is well
enforced in p. 101., is beautifully and powerfully ex-
* Will it appear presumptuous to suggest, as a comment upon the text
of so great a divine, that, without physical evil, some of our most shining
virtues could not exist ; and, without moral evil, the great sources of our
most intense love for each Person of the undivided Trinity would not
have been called forth ? Without physical evil, where would be the
virtues of fortitude, patience, resignation, charity, long suffering, or,
indeed, any of those qualities which are more especially described as the
fruits of the Spirit ? And without the universal, and by man irresistible,
prevalence of moral evil, our gratitude to the First Person of the Trinity
for his gracious promise, to the Second for his inestimable sacrifice, and
to the Third for that assistance by which alone we can ever resist moral
evil, would fail. Without physical and moral evil, Job would never have
emerged from the unknown crowd of rich men, and the most intense
feelings of joy, gratitude, and love, of which our nature is capable would
have been absent. Thus, though it is impossible for our finite power to
resolve causes, it is granted to us to feel thankful for those effects which
are mercifully placed within the reach of all, and most within the reach of
those who, humanly speaking, suffer most from the existence of evil,
whether moral or physical.

Chap. IV.] LETTER FROM DR. COPLESTON. 127
hibited throughout the whole of your seventeenth
chapter, a chapter which is interesting and valuable
in a high degree, and the reasoning of which deserves
(if any thing in this latter age deserves) to be caUed
original. I cannot but entertain a hope that you will
one day, through some other medium of public in
struction, illustrate and expand this important prin
ciple. Nothing certainly was ever better said than
your remark in p. 301. : ' AVe have too much know
ledge to be quiet, too little to be gratified;' and again,
' God never gave an incitement to action, without a
proportionate end.' The whole of this chapter, as well
as the tenth, is excellent.
" The passage from Wollaston is a very old ac
quaintance of mine. I believe it was more than
twenty years ago that I produced it to some pupils
at a lecture, and I shall never forget the impression it
seemed to make. I have since heard, in conversation,
a saying of a German metaphysician (I forget whom,
but I hope it was not Kant) much to the same purport,
and which is worthy of Wollaston : ' There are two
things in nature which whenever they become the
objects of my contemplation fill me with awe — the
starry heavens above me, and the moral law within
me.' Of the the two, the last is, in my judgment, the
most awakening, and the most convincing evidence
that can be drawn from nature of the truths of
religion. " Your obliged and obedient servant,
" Edwd. Copleston."

128 LETTER FROM MR. HUMPHREY [Chap. TV.
W. Humphrey, Esq., to Mrs. Austen.
" Temple, April 27.
" My dear Mrs. Austen,
" I return you the last volume of ' Tremaine,' which
I have only just finished. I will not attempt to ex
press to you the pleasure and delight I have expe
rienced in the perusal of this fascinating work. From
the enthusiastic opinion which I know you entertain
of it, and which you took no pains to conceal, I was
induced to expect something out of the common order
of novels, but nothing more. You may imagine my
surprise and gratification at discovering it to be what
it is. I have no hesitation in ranking ' Tremaine '
among the very highest productions of the present
age. I know but one writer with whom I should
think of comparing its author, and in some particu
lars even he must yield the palm. That man is little
to be envied who can rise from its perusal without
finding himself wiser, happier, and better.
" The purity of its sentiments, the classic elegance
of its language, the deep and fervent piety of feeling,
that spirit of gratitude to Heaven and of goodwill to
man which breathes in every line, make me doubt
whether I most admire the head or the heart of its
author. That some trifling errors may be found in
this, as in every human work, detracts nothing from
its merits ; for they are like the spots which philoso
phers may discern in the solar orb, imperceptible
amid the genial influence of its warmth, and the
bright effulgence of its beauty. By the way, speak-

Chap. IV.] TO MRS. AUSTEN. 129
ing of philosophy, do tell the writer, if you see him,
that I am almost disposed to quarrel with him for
underrating Bolingbroke; not as a philosopher, for
there I give him up, but he hardly does justice to his
vast and varied powers of mind.
" I hope the author will ere long gratify us with
another work ; though I confess I tremble for his
fame; can he again write as well as he has done?
' Tremaine ' was not the work of a few weeks or even
months ; but of him who has written so well I will
not entertain even a fear. Let me add a wish that
he will preserve his strict incognitoship — that he
will continue to be the man with the mask. Do not
be very angry, however, when I tell you that I have
discovered him ; be assured that his secret is as safe
in my hands as he could wish it to be. I will give
you a token by which he will know that I have
found him out. When you have an opportunity, ask
him if he ever saw a parody upon ' Love's Young
Dream' called 'Quarter Day?' It was written in
ridicule of a certain ' Whig,' who once,
' Big with notes,
Mov'd the Committee of Supply
On Ordnance Votes.'
" Believe me, my dear Mrs. Austen,
" Yours, very faithfully,
" W. Humphrey."

vol. n.

130 LETTER FROM MR. MACKENZIE. [Chap. IV.

H. Mackenzie, Esq., to the Bt. Hon.W. Sturges
Bourne, M. P.
" New Edin., July 2. 1825.
" When you look at the name at the bottom of
this letter, I am afraid you will think me very in
trusive, if not impertinent, for writing it. But having
just finished the reading of that which is the subject
of it, I have got so much into the atmosphere of the
feeling of the book, that I venture (though scarcely
known to you, though merely introduced to you on
account of a piece of Treasury business in the Ex
chequer here, a good many years ago) to write to
Mr. Sturges Bourne, as the friend of the author of
' Tremaine.' I cannot resist the desire of expressing
to you, and through you to the author, my warm
approbation of that work, and I may add, a praise
much more important than mine, that of the whole
literary world here. When I called on my bookseller
to ask for a sight of it, he told me that of a large
consignment he had received from his London cor
respondent he had not one remaining, having sold
them all in the course of a few days ; and it was not
till the coming out of the second edition, that he sent
me the work for my perusal. I can assure you and
the author, without flattery (a talent which some of
my friends say I have hurt my interest by not pos
sessing), I have received the greatest pleasure from
the work, and consider it as a valuable addition to the
literature of the country. It is a novel (if it may be

Chap. IV.] LETTER FROM MR. MACKENZIE. 131
so called) of a moral kind. You will not, I hope,
accuse me of vanity, if I say that I was one of the
first to introduce that species of novel (independent
on much of story or incident), in a little book called
the ' Man of Feeling,' to which the public was very
indulgent, more from its tendency than any intrinsic
merit : ' Tremaine ' has walked in the fields of imagina
tion, without losing sight of the high road of ordinary
life, and given practical instruction in the duties and
virtues of different ranks of men, without that se
verity and hardness of advice or reproof which deters
many from attending to or obeying it. I do not
mention its religion, that being a subject too solemn
and sacred to be discussed in a hurried letter ; but I
may say that its religion seems to me most rational
and consolatory, and its arguments on the immortality
of the soul, and the continual agency of a superin
tending Power, if not new (which happily they are
not), are made both clear and more lovely by the
grace by which they are delivered, and the appro
priate illustrations by which they are enforced. Be
sides that sort of sympathetic interest connected with
the ' Man of Feeling,' above mentioned, I have another
interest of the same sort, of which the author is pro
bably not aware, having perhaps never read the
' Mirror,' a periodical paper published at Edinburgh
in the years 1779 and 1780, of which I was the editor.
In that paper there is a character, drawn by a
friend of mine with some assistance from me, under
the name of Fleetwood, very much resembling Tre
maine, which was brought under my notice by a
K 2

132 LETTER FROM MR. MACKENZIE. [Chap. IV.
literary friend, immediately after your publication of
the latter; I will candidly own, however, that the
character of our refined ' Fleetwood' is much more im
perfectly brought out, less defined in sentiment, and
not so well expressed in language, as that of ' Tre
maine.' I am a physiognomist in books as well as
faces ; though both have sometimes deceived me, I do
not wish to get rid of this propensity. Now, from
the perusal of ' Tremaine,' I am confident that its
author is a truly benevolent man, and therefore believe
that he will not be indifferent to the pleasure which
his book has given to a poor octogenaire invalid like
me, and that he will feel some degree of satisfaction
from my testimony, however unimportant, in its
favour. " When I look back on what I have written, I am
really ashamed of the length of this letter ; but old
men are allowed this privilege of talking, and even of
egotism, if not of a very offensive kind. It will give
me pleasure if the author of ' Tremaine ' shall feel
any satisfaction in your communication of it to him,
which I request the favour of your making and of
letting me know his opinion of it ; at any rate, be so
good to inform me of your receipt of this letter, and
assure me of your pardon to me for the presumption
of writing it.
" I have the honour to be, with much sincere
regard, Sir,
" Your very faithful and obedient servant,
" H. Mackenzie."

Chap. IV.] VISITS MULGRAVE CASTLE. 133
That in a book which treated of such deep ques
tions, there should be portions of the arguments less
successful than others, was only to be expected. He
himself used to describe those portions which treated
on free-will as least satisfactory, adding, however,
that it was a point upon which none had written well.
The general result, however, was, that in March it
was in every one's hands ; one circulating library,
at a period when circulating libraries were much less
liberal than at present, having fifty copies, and the
demand for them increasing every day. Early in
April his publisher had not a copy left.
Meantime, on May 5th, he says : " The guesses are
amusing, I am certainly not un frequently mentioned ;
somebody asked at Chappell's, in Pall Mall, for the
novel Mr. Ward wrote, and I am challenged about it
by every body, both by men and women. Yesterday
Spencer Perceval asked me if I was the author of the
work he did not write. Then the report goes off
again, and fixes upon Mr. Montagu, senior, Mr. E.
Montagu, and Mr. W. Montagu together ; then upon
Mr. Dyson, Mrs. Dyson, and Miss Dyson ; so that I
begin to escape."
His health being far from good this summer, he
accepted an invitation to pay a visit at Mulgrave
Castle with his daughters, and was there seized with
a serious illness, under which his great consolation
was to be " with such excellent friends, and to have
such excellent nurses as my dear girls, who are all,
thank Heaven, well ; I write lying on my back from
pain." The second edition of " Tremaine " had gone off
K 3

134 LETTER TO LORD KENYON. [Chap. IV.
so quickly, that preparation was already making for
a third, and he was strongly urged to commence a
new work, to which he says he felt disinclined, " be
cause I can never find so high a subject." Very
shortly after this, however, he announced as a pro
found secret the progress he had made in a new work.
The following letter gives a picture of his real state of
suffering, and the one which succeeds is curious as
containing the first announcement of "De Yere,"
which, unlike most second works, may be said to
have pleased a more extended circle of readers than
did his first.

B. Ward, Esq., to Lord Kenyon.
" Mulgrave, Nov. 14. 1825.
" My dear Lord Kenyon,
" Did I consult the reputation for liveliness which
I understand you are so good as to give my letters, I
should certainly not write to you yet. But I do not
like to think I am two letters in debt to one I love so
well, and whose OAvn letters to me are so very kind
and affectionate. I therefore bid defiance to the
gloom of a confinement, now protracted to its fifth
week (three in bed), and by no means I fear over.
What is more, I am writing on a little board,
stretched on my back, and almost blind with an in
flammation which, amidst other inflammations, has
attacked my eyes. When aU the body seems on fire,
why should they escape ? I am politic, however, in all
this ; for, if I can but make a good hit (but of which I

Chap. IV.] LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. 135
see not the least prospect), what merit must be mine !
If I cannot, I will retail one at least of General
Phipps's, pretty good for a sick room. I was ob
serving that I liked Dr. Campbell's prescriptions so
well, that I meant " to carry them off with me." " I
hope," said he, " they will not carry you off." Though
confined, I have not been gloomy, and console myself
with what I am told, that this complaint, though
painful, will relieve me from the mischief that has
been so long lurking about me. If I was to be at
tacked, too, never was there so fortunate a mansion
for it, and I would have willingly encountered all the
inconveniences for the sake of the kindness I receive
from this whole house. " Your affectionate friend, " R. Ward."

B. Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
"Mulgrave Castle, Whitby, Nov. 16. 1825.
" My dear Austen,
" Adverting to your letters about Colburn's notion
of a future publication, I agree with you, that should
I write again I could not well pass him over. I will
intrust you with a secret, which must go no farther
than my friend and ally at home, and imploring of
both of you that there may not be even an allusion
to it with any man, woman, or child. I have been
writing, nay, have finished something more than a
volume. The subject ambition, and its contrasts with
private life ; it is sometimes as didactic as 'Tremaine,'
K 4

136 LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. [Chap. IV.
but infinitely more dramatic. The characters taken
from actual history, though so variously composed,
that no one individual among former or present great
men can be said to be the individual represented.
As sketches, as far as I have gone I am greatly pleased ;
and my girls (even Julia, though with a sigh) say
they are of a higher cast, and the thing better done,
than anything in ' Tremaine,' till the subject of the
third volume elevates it beyond everything. That
subject of course I cannot reach again, because it
transcends every other ; but, short of this, I am told
by Lord and Lady Mulgrave and their daughters,
all as good judges as I could name, that both the
execution, style, and interest exceed everything in
' Tremaine,' with only the exception above stated. You
may think I am paying myself compliments, but I
assure you I am merely in business about it, talking
to you as a tradesman would of a sample of his own
wares, with a view to your advice as to the best mode
of disposing of them should I go on, which I dare say
I shall do. Before I leave the subject of ' Tremaine,'
pray tell me, if you can, any thing about the Quarterly.
I do not care for its not being reviewed ; but, after
the expectation raised, I wish, if I can, to know why
it failed. I have had a few pleasant obliging letters
from D'Israeli while at Hyde House, and Julia one
from Miss D. I hope I may collect from them that
they were satisfied with their sejour there. The folks
write us word that they contrived to make themselves
very much liked by their neighbours ; not so much, I
hope, as to be preferred to their old friends when they

Chap. IV.] LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. 137
return. We intend to write to the D.'s soon ; mean
time, as they seem laudably anxious for a certificate
of good behaviour, pray tell them, if you see them
before we write, that our housekeeper is eloquent in
praise of the high order in which she found things.
Miss D. tells us some of the coincidences she men
tioned to Mrs. A., but they are not conclusive. If
the said Mrs. A. will forgive a suffering man for not
acknowledging her last letter, and will give me a
little chat, which she well knows how to do, she will
be very charitable, and I shall be very much obliged ;
if she can find any more coincidences from D.'s, they
will be to me very amusing. I don't know when I can
travel, and certainly do not expect to see London till
next month. Adieu, dear A., think me as I am,
" Most sincerely yours, "R.W."
" I am surprised not to have heard from Sir Charles,
and mean to brush him up. If you write in a day or
two, direct to me here. Does Mrs. A. like 'Matilda'?
It is by Normanby ; very clever."
He still was tempted to linger at Mulgrave, where,
as he says, " we are really so happy, and lead a life so
perfectly to our tastes, among people so thoroughly
loved, and find all so delightful, that I know not how
to get away, and have at least agreed to stay till after
Christmas. My three nieces are absolutely charming ;
I am quite recovered, except as to strength, and have
a deuce of a twist. I wish you would tell me as much

138 LETTER TO COUNTESS OF MULGRAVE. [Chap. IV.
of yourself and Mrs. A., to whom mine and my girls'
very kindest regards. In haste, ever yours, "R.W."
In closing his Mulgrave letters, I must subjoin two
addressed to his hostess there, in the first of which,
while owning the authorship of " Tremaine," he gives
some of his reasons for its concealment : in the others
he alludes to the progress of "De Yere," of which,
having read aloud at Mulgrave his manuscript as he
day by day composed it, he, after his departure, con
tinued to forward portions as a subject for friendly
criticism.

Bobert Ward, Esq., to the Countess of Mulgrave.
" Spring Gardens, April 27. 1825.
" My dear Sister,
" I have for some time been intending to write to
you, to make you a little communication which I
should be sorry you should discover from any other
channel than my own. The affectionate interest vour
dear Lord, as well as yourself, have always taken in
even very trivial things concerning my welfare or
reputation, made it go against me, as it were, to con
ceal from you, though I had done so from nearly aU
the rest of the world, that I was the author of ' Tre
maine.' I told no one of my own family, and con
cealed it at first from Bourne, to whom it is dedicated,
and even from the publisher, with whom I negotiated
through a third person. But I always wished to in-

Chap. IV.] LETTER TO COUNTESS OF MULGRAVE. 139
form my dear Lord Mulgrave, or, at least, from
the time when opinions of a high nature, such as
Lord Harrowby's, the Bishop of London's, and Sir
G. Beaumont's, made me venture to suppose that he
would not be ashamed of it for me. Still, however,
as I heard you had all begun it, I thought I would
wait till you had finished it, without giving you the
bias, which your kindness for the author might have
produced, had you known him. And very glad I am
that I waited; or otherwise, perhaps, I might not
have received the delightful gratification which I own
it was to me, to see the affectionate manner in which
two letters I have lately seen describe the feelings
with which you read it. It is not here an author's
vanity that is so pleased (though pleased enough), but
to think I enjoyed, much more that I might deserve, the
kindness of your remarks, under the mere suspicions
that the work was mine, gave a pleasure to my heart
which has long been unequalled by any feelings I
have lately had. I was prouder of my book to think
that those I so loved liked it so much. Lord Mul-
grave's name was not, indeed, mentioned ; but I hope
I may include it in the word ' all,' which described
the evening's audience. But though I have no re
serve in putting an end to your doubts by this dis
closure, and though I cannot have an objection to let
the confidence pass, if you think fit, to those whom
you call your ' dear country girls, ' my nice dear
nieces, being sure of their discretion, I must earnestly
entreat that neither you nor they will let the secret
pass one step farther. I know it is often a subject

140 LETTER TO COUNTESS OF MULGRAVE. [Chap. IV.
at White's, and, though I cannot tell why, among Op
position people ; and Bourne's remark is just: 'What
ever a book may be, if written by an old and known
party-man, it cannot fail of being read with party-
feeling ' — which ' Tremaine ' ought not to be. Hence,
without the least distrust, I would particularly wish
to keep it with those at present at Mulgrave, till it
has made its own way, without help from one side, or
embarrassment from another. There is some curiosity
in the Spencer family about it, which I should like to
understand.* When it first came out, Lord Althorpe
rode up to. Bourne in the Park, and, taking him on
one side, asked him to tell him the author of ' Tre
maine;' and, at the same time, Lady Spencer wrote
to Colburn, to beg it as a favour to know. Neither
could tell it, for at first Bourne did not know it him
self. The success has been not merely beyond hope,
but all calculation. The edition was sold (1500
copies) in little more than six weeks, and anew one is
preparing. I had, in fact, no conception of the taste of
the town, having merely thrown down my own ideas
on paper chiefly to fill the leisure of my retirement
in a manner which I hoped, rather than expected,
would be approved. Perhaps you will forgive my
sending you the enclosed, as a proof of what is thought
of it by a man not inconsiderable in letters — a Quar
terly Reviewer — and whose approbation is surely
worth something. But this is not so valuable to me

* This is fully accounted for, since the appearance of Lord Brougham
and Sir Charles Bell's edition of Paley's " Theology," by the interest
Lord Althorpe is now known to have felt in discussing such subjects as
are embraced by the third volume of " Tremaine."

Chap. IV.] LETTER TO COUNTESS OF MULGEAVE. 141
as a letter I have received from Dr. Copleston, of
Oriel College, Oxford, the first divine, and every way
the ornament, of that university. From great respect
for his writings, without disclosing my name, I ordered
the work to be sent to him ; and he has condescended
to write me near eight sides of closely written pages
in return, full of valuable commentary, and in a style
of approbation and obligingness to do the heart good.
Where he differs, it is only because he differs from
Locke ; and where he approves, he is most gratifying.
He says much is even original ; hopes I will go on ;
and, at a future time, desires an acquaintance. I
trust you will excuse the vanity, if I may not rather
say the pride, of telling you this ; for I own, consider
ing what I am, and my few sources, it has made me
proud to think that the wish to mark my old age with
something that might be thought useful is not un
likely to be successful.
" Adieu, my dearest sister. My kindest love to
Lord M. and my nieces. " Believe me,
" Your affectionate,
" R. W."

Bobert Ward, Esq., to Countess of Mulgrave.
"Whitehall, Nov. 17. 1826.
" Though your letter, my dear kind sister, seems
to announce the return of my packets*, with remarks
* These were the continuation of the manuscript of "De Vere," upon the
political portions of which he was anxious for the opinion of his late chef.

142 LETTER TO COUNTESS OF MULGRAVE. [Chap. IV,
by the judgment which I most value, I may say, in
the world, and I should therefore be inclined to look
for them before I write again, yet your letter is
so gratifying, that I must acknowledge it without
loss of a moment. Take, all of you, all my thanks,
and believe that none were ever more sincere. It
is not that you have made me proud, and en
couraged my undertakings to a degree that quite
renovates me, by all you are so good as to say
of it, but that it peculiarly pleases the very heart
to think that all this is by persons whom I so much
love, that it makes their favourable opinion of ten
times more value. You guessed but well when you
thought how much I should esteem that little sen
tence of your dear Lord's, which spoke all I could
possibly wish, in saying that ' he dug deeper in the
human character,' &c. &c. 'Tis a praise from any
one I should value ; from him, invaluable. In short,
it has quite invigorated me; and I have no doubt
the next chapters will be all the better for it. You
set your evening coteries most charmingly before me ;
and it will quite delight the girls, whose remem
brances of those dear parties, as well as my own, is
most vivid. The last winter did wonders for our
stock of happiness in the way of recollection ; and
you quite delight me with the account of his state
who was the central point of the interest which all of
us felt, from the first minute to the last of that grati
fying visit. To return to the subject on which you
have been so generous. I am particularly pleased
that you coincide where I had hoped you would;

Chap. IV.] LETTER TO COUNTESS OF MULGRAVE. 143
and where you criticise you will find me observant.
I think, for example, that there is a great deal in
what you say of the abuse of the abuses of Almack's.
Certainly neither myself nor the girls can have any
personal feelings to gratify in what I have painted,
for I never Avas refused, and they never had an op
portunity, even if they had had a wish, to apply.
But people who don't know this might think as you
say, which one would wish to avoid, and I will alter
accordingly. I wish I knew as well how to alter or
omit the catastrophe of Beaufort. I would gladly
adopt the plan, if I could make it equally impressive
on Wentworth, whose whole conduct is for a time so
much affected by it ; but of this I must think. You
are not to suppose that the influence of the Mulgrave
Cabinet is at all weakened by our being 250 miles off.
In our home-readings, the general disposition is to
try any thing by ' How will Lord Mulgrave like
this ? ' or, ' Lord Mulgrave will like that.' The
girls are working hard for another batch ; and they
tell me the interest increases, and that there are some
scenes, particularly one with Cleveland, which you all
certainly will like. We are approaching, too, to a
better ambition than has hitherto employed us ; and
I hope to make Wentworth, and, by implication, our
modern Ministers, redeem all those of the old Walpole
and Newcastle school. I am vexed with the delay of
the second packet, and still more so with the state in
which it arrived : I will be more careful for the
future. " And now, dearest sister, adieu. For my hasty

144 LETTER TO COUNTESS OF MULGRAVE. [Chap. IV.
thanks this is rather a long affair, but, as it will
arrive in the morning, it will not interfere with the
' Tor Hill.' I have not seen, nor yet heard of it. As
description, I dare say it will be good ; but I own I
long more for the ' Chronicles of the Canongate.'
I am free for a week at least, and am going to find
out the General, to have a good batch of Mulgrave.
I am told he looks much better, which I rejoice at.
Thirty years' uniform kindness must now make me
value him as I ought. "Ever believe me,
" Your obliged and affectionate,
"R.Ward."
Bobert Ward, Esq., to the Countess of Mulgrave.
" Whitehall, Dec. 9. 1826.
" My dearest Sister,
" I could have wished to have sent you the accom
panying MS. before this, but the latter part was not
even written, much less copied, till a day or two ago,
and I had a desire to continue the narration to some
thing like an epoch. I fear now you will have little
opportunity to read it ; but I have no reason (at least no
very strong one) to conceal the fact of the MS. from
the dear good fellows you expect for their vacation, as,
if published, it will be ' by the Author of Tremaine,'
and so known. I cannot tell you how obliged to your
dear Lord, and all of you, I feel for the kind trouble
you bestowed upon the last packets, and all the de
lightful encouragement you gave me ; not a little in
those interesting little notes pencilled and marked

Chap. IV.] LETTER TO COUNTESS OF MULGRAVE. 145
*¦ M.' in the margin. It brought the kind critic most
interestingly to my view. Every remark seemed to
myself most judicious, and every one of the verbal
criticisms were, without exception, instantly adopted.
Of your own proposed castigation in regard to Al-
mack's I also profited, by changing the cause of mor
tification of Flowerdale, to a refusal by Lady Eliza
beth to present his wife at court. If I was glad to
do this at the time, what must I be now, since I have
read the most amusing novel of ' Almack's ' itself. It
is not worth buying, as there is much trash in it ; but
it is written for the most part (and, indeed, throughout
the satirical parts) with true point and life, and Al
mack's and all its intrigues are the things themselves.
I am a good deal puzzled about my law case, and
must settle it better than I have before I can proceed.
However I am going home, I hope for a month, and
may do something towards a finish. I only wish I
could satisfy myself about Beaufort's death. I feel
all Lord Mulgrave's fear about it, and tried the duel,
but it would not produce the strong revulsion in
Wentworth which I wished. " Your ever affectionate " R. W."
In addition to " Matilda," by Lord Normanby, to
which allusion is made in a former letter, the appear
ance of " Tremaine " was followed by that of other
novels, by authors moving in the society whose every
day manners they professed to describe. From the
periods at which they were published, it is probable
VOL. II. L

146 FASHIONABLE NOVELS. [Chap.IV.
that the idea of writing them was a coincidence rather
than a consequence upon the success of " Tremaine."
Be this as it may, the taste of the public had decidedly
set in that direction, and continued to hail with in
terest the appearance of each new " fashionable novel "
(as they were somewhat affectedly called), until, as is
from time to time the case with all markets, the sup
ply began to exceed the demand ; the excess of supply
being unfortunately too often furnished by an infe
rior article got up in a hurry, and supplied by persons
who considered £ s. d. as the noblest triumvirate in
the republic of letters. In the earlier days of fashion
able novels there appeared, however, one which, though
sketchy in its style, tranchant in its tone, and some
what extravagant in its incidents, at once attracted
the attention of all readers, gave rich promise of
future excellence, and laid the foundation of that
literary fame on which its author may now securely
repose. The following allusions of a brother author
to " Yivian Grey," upon its first appearance, will be
read with interest. The proverbial jealousy of all
authors is here tempered by a generous admiration
of what was then rising merit. It is probable, from
the tenor of one of these letters, (one addressed to
Mrs. Austen, while on a visit to Mr. D'Israeli, senior,)
that the secret, which the penetration of friends
had already guessed at, was confided in form to Mr.
Ward.

Chap. IV.] LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. 147
Bobert Ward, Esq., to Mrs. Austen. "May 6.1826.
" I write this from Sir Thomas Fremantle's, where
are Sir G. and Lady Nugent. All are talking of
' Vivian Grey.' The opinion is entirely favourable,
and the book seems regularly making its way into cir
culation and notice. Its wit, raciness, and boldness
are admired ; and you would have been not ill pleased
with the remarks upon particular passages and cha
racters : the dinner at Chateau D£sir particularly,
Mrs. Millions, all the women, the two toadies, and,
universally, Stapylton. From the Nugents' account it
is much spreading in London, excites curiosity, and also
resentment. I observed this at Lord Maryborough's
dinner on Monday, where were many public men and
some fine ladies, who all admired, but a little felt
the satire. In short, it will, I have no doubt, realise
all your expectations of its making a considerable noise,
and it is unexceptionably thought very clever. Some,
however, think the assumed biting style is too flippant,
and say it is evident the writer can write better if he
please. Others say it affects slang, which is a fault.
You see I tell you of both sides, and perhaps I am
not ill pleased with those who agree with me in hop
ing, if the authors go on, they will indulge their real
powers of nature, and quit what is evidently a dis
guise and masquerade, though a very showy one. It
certainly frightens a great many people, who expect
to be shown up ; and you must really be careful of
L 2

148 LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. [Chap. IV.
discovering the author. Vivian Grey himself is
abused as a hypocrite, though followed for his fascina
tion with intense interest. If I might venture to
submit any thing, I would say, let the author make
him more delightful by making him amiable. We
cannot make out Mrs. T. Lorraine, and some others.
The Marchioness is capital. Lord Altamont is
thought Lord Nugent. In short, you have set every
body a guessing. The lighter follies are admirably
well lashed."

Bobert Ward, Esq., to Mrs Austen.
" Hyde House, May 25. 1826.
" My dear Mrs. Austen,
"Am I not to thank you for the ' Sunday Times'
and the critique on ' Vivian Grey ? ' Since I saw you,
I have been at a dinner at Lord Gifford's, and another
at Sir Henry Hardinge's, at both of which there was
much of the beau monde, as well as graver characters,
bishops and judges. ' Vivian Grey' was amply talked
of. The opinions, as a work, were various ; but all
agreed, none but a very clever person could write it,
and equally as to its powers of amusing. The adverse
judgment was, that 'it was too impertinent, and took
too many liberties,' which perhaps will not very much
distress the authors. It is certainly more and more
read, as, no doubt, its continuation will be. Adieu,
my dear friend. I hope your husband is less alarmed
about his mother, and that you will soon put your
promised intentions in force of coming here. Spite of

Chap. IV.] LETTER TO LORD KENYON. 149
east wind every thing has been lately delightful, and
we are now drinking deep of this charming rain, to
make it more so. My girls join in kind regards and
wishes that you would come.
" Most truly I am your obliged, " R. W."
"Friday. " The above was written yesterday, and I very
wisely left it in a drawer and forgot it. I fear the
letters from Italy are too old, being published in 1817.
Suppose I write a literary pamphlet in numbers, and
call it ' A Review of the Literary Talents, Attain
ments, Characters, and Style of. various Living Au
thors: the first No. to contain * * * * *,' and so
through his works. It would be great fun; and,
but for your being full of ' Vivian Grey,' you could
give exquisite help."
Robert Ward, Esq., to Lord Kenyon.
"Whitehall, Nov. 21. 1826.
" My dear Lord Kenyon,
" I was delighted to see, and still more to read, your
letter. I have been in town but three days, and went
immediately to P. Square, to see what was become
of you. The lady guardian must have thought me
an odd fellow ; for having rung three or four times
(the said lady being at the top of the house cleaning
herself), in despair I was stooping down to push a
card under the door, which, opening at that moment,
I pushed myself in, almost upon all fours. I could
L 3

150 LETTER TO LORD KENYON. [Chap. IV.
learn little, however, (though I took such pains for
it,) when you were expected, and am, therefore, more
glad of your letter giving me such a detail of every
thing. Your good aunt is a wonderful woman, and
your kind attentions to her must go far to give her
the comfort and happiness she possesses at so great
an age. These, as well as many unostentatious
duties which you know so well how to perform, are a
lesson to poor selfish people, like one I could name, of
whose selfish enjoyments I often feel very much
ashamed. I was going to say that I sunned myself
in the eyes of the young, and never found pleasure
with the old ; but I check myself when I think of my
four old ladies in Cadogan Place, whom I still love as ,
well as honour, though I grow so much younger and
they so much older, as we live on.
"N.B. I danced quadrilles every night at Abberley
Lodge, and can now run up two stairs at once ; so
Margaret will not challenge me any more. I own I
did treat you shabbily in not at least gaining some news
for you. From your letter, however, I hope it is not
too late to tell you that the excellent Duke of York
is certainly to recover. " Ever, dear Lord, yours,
"R.W."

Chap. TV.] LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. 151
Bobert Ward, Esq., to Mrs. Austen.
" Hyde House, March 10. 1827.
" My dear Mrs. Austen,
" I have to thank you for two kind letters : the last
particularly so, because, although the first accom
panied your very welcome present of the rest of
'Vivian Grey,' the other was equally obliging and
friendly, spite what must have seemed to you a very
ungrateful neglect. The mistake as to the address,
although it retarded the delivery, did not occasion the
loss of the books ; and the only reason of my delay
in thanking you was, first, that, as you particularly
asked my opinion of the work, I wished to read it
before I answered ; next, that I thought every day I
should be able to wait upon you in person. The last
has been delayed by what you will be sorry for, the
serious illness of J * * *, which, though I trust I may
say it is disappearing, has disquieted me very sadly, and
has certainly weakened her much. She has had an in
flammation in the lungs, which has yielded to bleeding,
but is left with a most vicious cough, which, if it do
not yield faster than it does, will leave me anything but
happy. After ten weeks' confinement she is better,
but you may suppose how she is weakened. All this
left me in no spirits to play the critic, either with you
or myself; and though I have read and admired, and
in many places more than admired, for I have won
dered at ' Vivian Grey,' have not been in spirits to
tell you so. Indeed, I have felt little equal to my
own business with Colburn, and fear that ' De Vere '
L 4

152 LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. [Chap. IV.
has fared the worse for it. But I have strong and
marked opinions of 'Vivian Grey,' which I will now
endeavour to detail, and only hope that the reasons I
have given may excuse me a little in your opinion for
not detailing them before. In the first place, who
ever the principal author may be (if there be more
than one), but particularly if it is a certain friend
of ours, I am lost in astonishment, not merely at
the natural powers, but the acquisitions of one so
young ; this last more even than the first, because,
though the first are quite extraordinary, we know
what the force of genius alone, without the aid of
acquirements, will sometimes do. But here their
united force has, as I have said, astonished me, and I
have not yet done wondering at the greatness and
variety of the conceptions, the accuracy of the observ
ations, and the sometimes stupendous power, and
sometimes soft beauty, of the language in which ah, or
nearly all, is conveyed. The variety of the knowledge
displayed and made to tell throughout the scenes
and conversations described, the close observation of
manners and character, the critical disquisitions in
matters of taste, the humour, the ridicule, the pleasing
romance, the alternation between the two, the politics,
the love ; all this has, I assure you, impressed me as
much perhaps as you thought or wished me to be im
pressed, and altogether I think it one of the most ex
traordinary productions that has appeared for many
years. I think the continuation, as you may suppose,
far, far superior to the first part. If you remember,

Chap. IV.] LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. 153
of the first I expressed my regret, that one who could
write so well had not chosen to write better, for which
it only seemed necessary that he should change his
subject. He has done so here, and got rid of
that original sin which every where corroded the
first sally of the hero, his hypocritical character.
Nothing of this appears in the last three volumes,
and they are of course the better for it. But they
have the same fault which belongs to the first two,
and which, emanating entirely from the plan, could not
and cannot be got rid of — a want of story sufficient
to occasion the continuous interest which belongs to
a work which has a beginning, a middle, and an end.
I was only consoled for the death of so etherial a being
as Violet Fane, by supposing she was to come to life
again in the next volume ; and was quite sorry, and
almost angry, to find that darkness had closed upon
her for ever, and that we were to seek a new dawn
and a new day in other regions. To tell you thus
one's feelings is perhaps the best mode of criticis
ing, and this feeling was mine. There is, however,
a great deal more of the interest I speak of in the
last two volumes, in which the action sustains itself
by the mere force of his descriptions and characters
alone. Mediatised Germany is excellently well de
scribed, and Beckendorf is unique, mysterious, and
exciting. Then the Count of Rosenburg, Mde. Ca
rolina Van Astingen, and the Archduchess, all ad
mirable; not to mention Miss Spittingen, in whom
I instantly recognised * * * * ; but why brought in

154 LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. [Chap. IV.
here, or why made at first so ridiculous, who was
afterwards to be so worthy, I don't know. My ad
miration all through is very gratuitous, and therefore
sincere, for I am not bribed by knowing any of the
other characters, English or Foreign, and still less of
Germany itself. But I am fond of travels; and if this
were only a book of travels, I should say it was the
most interesting one I had ever read. I and others
guess Van Chronicle to be Mr. Smith, but Colburn
tells me I am wrong. However, resemblances to indi
viduals have nothing to do with the pleasures of the
book, which are intrinsically the author's, whose ver
satility is astonishing. For though wildness is the
character of the work, and Ave often meet with sub
limity, I like him best in his softer and more natural
moods, in his reflections on life, his criticisms on lite
rature, and his scenes of living manners. The drama
tising of the corsair, the review, the court, the ball,
the picture of a political queen (particularly this last),
are charming, while the faults (for, of course, there are
faults) seem all or chiefly to arise out of what is to
me, from want of a story, a defective plan. It is this
plan that reduces everything to a sort of magic lan-
thorn of pictures ; many of them very beautiful, some
of them very grotesque, and some which I actually
don't like, all of* them disjointed, and therefore shat
tering the interest to pieces. But then the skill, the
power, the invention, the faithfulness, and often the
eloquence redeem much, though they do not radically
cure an incurable defect. I will not stop to point out
the things I like least, or don't like at all, as the

Chap. IV.] LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. 155'
gambling scenes and many parts of Esper George, be
cause they are lost and sink to nothing before the
more numerous beauties. The style, for the most
part, is forcible as well as elegant; if there is a fault, it
is sometimes too forcible, so as to keep the mind too
much on the stretch; perhaps I better express my
self by saying, there is too much study of point. But
other tastes may differ, and prefer it ; at any rate, it
is masterly as to its object, and it is my private taste
which makes me like it best, when it is least upon the
qui vive. One grammatical turn I must point out as
being indefensible, indeed it is so dissimilar to every
thing else throughout the work, that I only wonder
how it got into it. It is such a passage as this:
' Madame Carolina was being overwhelmed with the com
pliments,' &c. This occurs some twice or thrice, no
more. You see, my dear friend, I have amply com
plied with your desire to give my opinion, and I
think you will at least say, I have done it honestly.
I don't know the opinion in town, for I have had no
opportunity of learning it, but shall know more in a
week or ten days, when I shall be there. The only
opinion I have heard is the Chief Baron Shepherd's, a
most competent one, and it is highly favourable. I
suppose the book is not finished, and I am sorry. Don't
be angry ; my reason is, that I quite long to see such
talents, powers, knowledge, and imagination employed
on something freer from the trammels which such a
plan imposes : upon a different subject, and with a
different hero, (for Vivian, from his original rascality,
can never obtain our love,) I should expect such a

156 DEDICATION OF " DE VERE." [Chap. IV..
writer to carry writing as far as it can go. The post
waits ; I can scarcely say even adieu."
The success of "De Vere" was quite as great as had
been that of " Tremaine." Indeed it was calculated to
suit better that very large division, the habitual novel
reader, while its sterling merits and sound morality
secured for it the exceptional class, that had been
attracted by the religious tone pervading " Tre
maine." A third class was attracted by its fixing
upon politics as the one great source of interest, and
by its masterly portrait of a great political leader, for
which at the time it was generally reported that Can
ning had sat. Those who have perused these memoirs
will not fail to perceive that the author could not
intend to identify that eminent statesman with any
ideal picture of perfection; but no one could have
been engaged year by year in the same arena of poli
tics with George Canning, and not retain, impressed
upon his mind, such recollection of high and earnest
purposes, overwhelming eloquence, and daring inde
pendence of opinion, as would form some of the features
that should assist to complete the beau ideal of a
statesman. " De Vere" was dedicated to the Earl of Mulgrave,
in a letter couched in the following terms, and con
veying the results of many years' study of that no
bleman's political character, by one who had been
always behind the scenes.

Chap. IV.] LETTER TO EARL MULGRAVE. 157
" London, March 8. 1827.
" My Lord,
" As the following work treats much of independ
ence of mind, and of the effects which ambition pro
duces upon the heart and character of man, I know
not that I can ask a better grace for it, than to be
allowed to inscribe it to one who has run through so
great a career as your Lordship, reaping from it
nothing but honour. But though I have been a wit
ness to the devotion of your life to public duty, per
haps no part of it inspired me with more admiring
respect than the disinterested manner in which, after
so ably administering your power, you voluntarily
laid it down. Surrounded by the friends of your
love, and who give you all their veneration in return,
you are a happy example of the better sort of ambition
treated of in this work.
" I have other reasons of private attachment, which
make me not less glad to profit by an opportunity of
marking my grateful respect for your virtues; but
with these, however they may influence individual
feeling, the world is not concerned.
" That Providence, which preserved you amid the
dangers of your earher career, may continue to watch
over you during the repose of your honourable life,
is the sincere wish of
" Your most attached friend,
" And obedient servant,
" The Author."
The foregoing was enclosed in a letter to Lady

158 LETTER TO COUNTESS OF MULGRAVE. [Chap. IV.
Mulgrave, in which, after alluding with much feeling
to the death of Sir George Beaumont, which he well
knew would be a source of intense grief to those whom
he was addressing, and giving an account of the health
of his eldest daughter, about whom he was already
anxious, he continues : " But for this illness, hoAV
happy I should have been at this dear place (Hyde
House). Secluded as it is, we have had all sorts of
occupations, and never went to bed without wishing
the night speedily over, to rise again to new interests.
You may suppose ' De Vere ' Avas not forgotten,
which brings me to the last subject of my letter ; not
the least, however, if only for the pleasure I have
always had in witnessing the interest which all of you,
and particularly your dear Lord, have taken in it.
The approbation, indeed, which you have expressed
about it has given me the greatest encouragement;
and, I am very sure, with the highest benefit to the
work ; for, after leaving Mulgrave, I scarcely ever write
a page without thinking how they would like it, and
if I thought not, it was always changed. Hence I
never rested till I had changed the death of Beaufort
into a fall in a duel ; and I think I at last succeeded
in leaving the interest quite as great and influential
in that as in the other mode.
And now, what will you say to a little request I have
to propose to your Lord. I am most earnest in it,
but you shall keep it back, or open it, as you think it
may or may not be agreeable to him. The reasons
for my wish need no explanation, when I tell you I
wish to have leave to inscribe it to him, in some such

Chap. IV.] PORTRAIT OF CANNING IN " DE VERE." 159
manner as in the enclosed paper. The honour and
credit of being his follower all through the ambition
of my life, my personal and affectionate respect, and
the advantage his opinions have afforded to the work
itself, all explain me on this occasion. But if he has
the least objection to being so addressed, or to a dedi
cation in any way whatever, I will not press it a
moment. I have tamed the address as much as I pos
sibly could. The girls say I have not said half enough,
and I think so too ; but I feared to do more, lest I
should certainly be refused."
Having come out at a moment when the probability
of Canning's becoming Prime Minister was so strong,
considerable attention was excited by the supposed
portrait of him. This was further increased by a
second notice in the " Literary Gazette," headed " Mr.
Canning from De Vere." In this article, while it was
assumed throughout, as confessed, that the character
of Mr. Wentworth was meant for Canning, the name
of Mr. Ward was introduced as (confessedly also) the
author. Every passage from the different volumes
was culled, which could go to make up a complete
portrait ; and even the then coming events were sup
posed to be foreshadowed. Mr. Ward felt an awk
wardness at this public juxtaposition of their names,
and, as he was frequently meeting Mr. Canning in
society, determined to address a letter to him on the
subject. He received the following very characteristic
reply, which will be interesting on many accounts,
and more particularly as written at the commence-

160 LETTER FROM CANNING. [Chap. IV.
ment of that bright but too short gleam which pre
ceded the close of his political career.

Bight Hon. George Canning to B. Ward, Esq.
" Tor Cliff, April 9. 1827.
" My dear Sir,
" If your letter of yesterday was difficult to write,
I assure you I find it no less difficult to answer at
once to your satisfaction and to my own.
" While I concur with you in regretting the indis
cretion of the editor of the ' Literary Gazette,' would
it be honest in me not to own, that, with the single
alloy of that regret (and that chiefly on your own
account), the feelings with which I read the extract
from ' De Vere' on Saturday were unmixed with
anything of offence or displeasure ? Would it be
honest not to add, that the avowals of your letter
of yesterday are as gratifying as the apologies are
superfluous ?
" I must be very sensitive, if, after thirty-three
years of party life, any allusions of the press, in good
or evil part, could seriously affect my equanimity;
but I must be callous beyond all stoicism if I could
affect to be indifferent to such allusions as those of
the author of ' De Vere.'
" Believe me, my dear Sir,
" Very sincerely yours,
" George Canning."
" P. S — Be assured that it is not I who betray your

Chap. IV.] ANONYMOUS LETTER TO MR. WARD. 161
secret. Your name was mentioned to me on Satur
day, before I had seen the 'Literary Gazette,' or
opened the volumes for which I am indebted to your
kindness." I will only here add a curious letter upon " De Vere"
and its author, which he received anonymously ; not,
however, without some suspicion as to Avho was his
distinguished correspondent.
" I am delighted with ' De Vere ; ' and in collecting
from its pages the good feeling, taste, and manners
of its author, the purity of his principles, the soundness
of his judgment, and the warmth and pious sincerity
of his christian faith, I am proud of being able to
trace these qualities to an early friend. The internal
evidence Avhich empowers me to do so is convincing.
Independently of Herbert, and of the collation of
a letter once addressed to me from the Pyrenees,
I can no more doubt that the author of ' De Vere '
was once my friend, than I can imagine that he
still continues to be so, or can admit that I have
deserved to forfeit, or even lose ground in, his esteem.
It surprises me, I confess, that the feeling, judgment,
and sagacity, which sufficed to produce the work
that I have been commending, should have suffered
the golden opinions of me, which you entertained,
to be filched and adulterated by mere traducers,
whose reports the hearer's own experience could have
almost refuted, and whose testimony was so obviously
liable to be warped by prejudice.
VOL. II. M

162 ANONYMOUS LETTER TO MR. WARD. [Chap. IV.
" We live in a strange world. Before my feelings
and dispositions had changed from wavering and
transient to permanent and fixed ; before the de
sultory ramblings, which almost became our age,
had terminated in a path, and that, I trust, a right
and honourable one, and from Avhich, with moderate
allowance for human inferiority, I have not deviated
since ; before my principles had attained their vigour,
and generated those correct habits which it was
their province to produce ; in short, while, like most
young men, I might be said to have as yet ' no
character at all,' I obtained your friendship. How
I lost it, I have already told you. When, remains
to tell you. I lost it when any fruits which my
youth may have promised had appeared ; lost it
all at once, under circumstances scarcely more an
noying to my feelings, than revolting to my sense
of what was right and just.
" I am not seeking to penetrate what is to me, in
deed, no secret, neither do I form the unavailing
wish that our expired intercourse should revive. C'en
est fait. A knot which has been loosened or untied,
™"-5- u- r-rmed again ; but this knot has been cut.
,— .... ¦.-:_ ___ ; :.y, I neither address you by your name,
not a^ioawribe my own. My handwriting, though
not disguised, is, like yourself, much changed ; and,
though this were not the case, you could not, after
the lapse of so much time, have recognised it.
" My regard you continue to possess, though I am
not certain of your title to retain it. But you
have, by means of your estrangement, sustained a

Chap. IV.] ANONYMOUS LETTER TO MR. WARD. 163
loss. In ceasing to entertain a feeling of esteem
and cordiality towards me, you have lost that which
is a source of soothing gratification to the mind in
which it is cherished, and which, I flatter myself, I
as well deserved to have retained with regard to
me, as any other of your early friends, be that other
who he may. Again ; though you have not lost a
friend (for my sentiments towards you continue
friendly), you have elected to lose the usual and
not unpalatable fruits of friendship in my case;
and this at a time of life (for we are much of the
same age) when old friends can the less be spared,
because new friendships are rarely formed.
"When our earliest meetings and the commence
ments of a bygone friendship are called up before
me by the letter which, I scarcely know why, I am
writing, I feel myself softened as well as depressed
by the recollection ; and, as I write fareAvell, it gives
me pain to think that I might add to it the words
— probably for ever. God bless you ! "
We cannot better conclude these criticisms, than
by the following generous tribute to the merits of
a brother author, from one whose literary efforts
(however his political views may be dissented from)
must always be admired. The extracts here given from
a letter written three and twenty years ago by Mr.
D'Israeli, then but commencing his successful literary
career, are not less valuable for their tribute to the
merits of "De Vere," than for the enlightened remarks
they contain on a too common error in criticism.
M 2

164 LETTER FROM B. D'lSRAELI, ESQ. [Chap. IV.
" Yours is a work as improving as delightful — one
which must always be remembered with profit, as it
must ever be recurred to with pleasure. The vein of
unaffected philosophy, practical Avisdom, and ennobling
morality which pervades it, will render it an object of
study, or a source of interest, when incidents however
artfully contrived, and characters however skilfully
delineated, must, from our previous acquaintance with
them, cease to engage our attention, and excite our
sympathies. I have read this morning, for the twen
tieth time, De Vere's first interview with Sir W- Flow-
erdale, and probably may read it every year of my
life with unabated pleasure, since every year of my
existence must afford a fresh commentary upon such
views of human life. It is, indeed, admirable. The
Man of Content and the Man of Imagination are a
couple of cabinet pictures ; the last is my favourite,
and is highly coloured. 'Tis in truth richly fanciful.
These episodes, too, are in the right vein, since they
develop the philosophy of the work. Indeed, without
them, the moral plot Avould be deficient. Clayton
is excellently conceived, and admirably sustained.
His sensibility was a grand hit. This character is,
if I mistake not, original in literature, though not
in human life. I, for one, have met with Clayton.
Lord Mowbray's death is actually sublime, and his
daughter becomes every page more delightful; but
she will not supersede, in my most agreeable associ
ations, the inimitable Georgina, whom I shall always
uphold, as not only the most delightful heroine,

Chap. IV.] LETTER FROM B. D'ISRAELI, ESQ. 165
but the most engaging woman, to whom I ever
had the honour of being introduced. But if I des
cant upon every character, I shall trespass most
unwarrantably upon your patience, and therefore
I say nothing of the sagacious Herbert, the classic
Wentworth, the arrogant Cleveland, and the timid
Oldcastle, nor of the dignified Lady Eleanor, nor of
the delightful Lady Clanellan. Cleveland's love for
Constance is finely discriminated, and Oldcastle's
interview with De Vere on the embassy is beyond
praise. Such passages, however, as this last are
caviare to the general ; nevertheless, time and the
cognoscenti will discover them. I mention no faults,
which may surprise you ; for Avhat critic ever bored
an author with so long a letter, without hinting at
a few blemishes, merely to prove that his previous
praises were sincere. Candidly, and upon my ho
nour, I see none. When a man has himself a little
acquaintance with the art of writing, he begins to
grow a very temperate critic. He then discovers
that, because an author has a peculiar way of con
ceiving his subject, it does not follow that that
peculiar mode is a faulty one ; but, on the contrary,
that it is the author's style, a style or manner
by which he is distinguished from other artists, and
that unless he commit what the critic may consider
faults, he never will produce what all agree to be
beauties. All works are not to be written on the
same principles, nor do I quarrel with the Flora of
Titian, because her countenance is not that of the
M 3

166 LETTEE FROM B. D'lSRAELI, ESQ. [Chap. IV.
Madonna of Raffaelle. Yet some men do ; but, after
all, there are some men who set the sundial by
their own watches.
" One thing has peculiarly delighted me in 'De
Vere,' and that is, that a writer who has proved him
self conversant above all others of the age with the
fascinations of courts and senates, should on all oc
casions, and in a manner so preeminently beautiful,
have evinced his deep study and fervent adoration
of Nature."

Chap. V.] BREAK-UP OF THE MINISTRY. 167

CHAP. V.
BREAK-UP OP THE LIVERPOOL GOVERNMENT.  EXTRACTS FROM
LETTERS OF THE LATE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM TO MR. WARD,
AND FROM MR. WARD TO MRS. AUSTEN.  MR. WARD'S MAR
RIAGE AVTTH MRS. PLUMER LEWIN. — OFFICE OF AUDITOR OF THE
CIVIL LIST, HELD BY HIM, ABOLISHED.  CORRESPONDENCE WITH
THE LATE LORD ALTHORPE THEREON.
At this period the calm which had so long prevailed in
the political world, only interrupted by an occasional
squall, was to be finally and completely disturbed by
the break-up of that ministry which, with few and
exceptional modifications, had now subsisted without
even an interchange of parts, for fifteen years. Even
before the sudden seizure of Lord Liverpool, vague
rumours of a contest between antagonistic principles
had been scattered abroad. Mr. Ward was assured by
a correspondent of high influence, that " though the
cordiahty between the Premier and the Chancellor is
weaker than it has ever been, it as yet confines itself
to D-mns on the one part, and sighs on the other."
The sudden prostration, hoAvever, of him who had so
long kept his administration together by the joint
influence of tact and character, brought matters to a
crisis. The promotion of Mr. Canning appeared inevi
table, though that necessity was but little acquiesced
in by the majority of his colleagues. What might
have been the consequence to England of the perma-
M 4

168 EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS ON [Chap. V.
nent establishment at that period of a "liberal Tory
ministry," it is useless now to discuss. Such a combina
tion appeared at that period monstrous in conception,
and impossible in execution. Could we have had those
whose administrative ability had been matured by
long practice, led by such men as Canning, Huskisson,
and Peel (the latter with his present enlarged views),
supported by the powerful aristocracy and landed
gentry which had so long identified themselves with
the Tory party, the advancement of England would
have been earlier and also more gradually effected.
The wear and tear of Canning's fine mind during the
struggles of the next five months would have been
spared, and, even if his life were destined to so early
a close, the elements of vitality would have remained
in his administration. Such speculations, however,
were not doomed to be realised. It is well known
that, for reasons which they explained more or less
satisfactorily, almost the whole of his colleagues de
serted him. The following extracts from letters ad
dressed to Mr. Ward at this period, by his friend the
late Duke of Buckingham, will show the difficulties
under which Mr. Canning laboured. "If the Whigs
do not give active support, Canning will not stand ;
and they will not give active support unless em
ployed. They will at first (as they did of old in the
case of the dear Doctor) ; but remember how soon
they deserted him : and, from particular circumstances,
Canning has not half the strength that Addington
had when he first started. Do you suppose the Ca
tholics will leave Canning quiet possession of their

Chap. V.] THE CANNING ADMINISTRATION. 169
question ? Not they ! You will find Canning and
his Protestant friends brought into collision before
the Government is a month old. ... I agree with
you that some of the Whigs Avill come in ' and make
the gruel thick and slab,' but the charm will not be
then wound up, for many adverse spirits will be
brought into activity and hfe by the introduction of
these potent ingredients. . . . The partial arrange
ment with the Whigs will at first bring strength like
a glass of gin, but weakness will follow, as one glass
of gin will lead to two, and so on until the bottle is
empty." " As to the delay on the Catholic question,
I still think it most mischievous to Mr. Canning's
views, that he has found out the danger of tampering
with the Whigs, and to avoid it is playing a fast and
loose game with the Catholic question, which may at
first induce people to take office under him, but which
cannot last beyond the first ten days after the meet
ing of Parliament, when Mr. Canning's sincerity in
favour of the Catholic cause will be tried and put to
the test, and the disposition of the Protestant part of
the Cabinet to meet his views will be ascertained.
This is so like the game of 1806, that I wonder Canning
should not see the danger." " As I now read the
Government, it is singularly weak and cannot last ;
it is made up of several ranks and deputies, with no
one powerful connection except the Duke of Devon
shire." " A mixed Government under Lord Liver
pool is a different thing from one under Mr. Canning.
Upon the former's honest ' No Popery ' opinions, the
inoculation of ever so small a portion of Catholic

170 EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS ON [Chap. V.
matter, was autant de gagne; upon the latter's avowed
Catholic propensities, the smallest introduction of Pro
testant views is autant de perdu. Lord Lyndhurst,
Bexley, and Anglesey insure the Government not
being one which will support Catholic claims as a
Government. The rest of the Cabinet insure every
attempt being made individually to carry that ques
tion. If the question is brought forward as a Cabinet
question, the Government must dissolve. Then where
will be the benefit arising to the Catholics out of the
new formation of the ministry. They have lost Lord
Eldon's opposition and the Duke of Wellington's, and
instead of them have got, at the hands of their friends,
Lord Lyndhurst, who has made the only violent speech
against them. So much for the Catholics. Then for
the Protestants, what have they to expect ? A. di
vided garrison, and a rebel governor. Constant watch
and ward against the enemy without, and no sleep
or rest within the walls. Lord Liverpool kept the
master-key in his pocket, and, while it was there, the
Protestants slept in security. But what master-key
has Canning ? The result of the last six weeks has
proved the master-key is in other hands, and yet
that he has one so like it, that it will open most of the
doors, though not all. But through those which it
can open the enemy may enter. As to the Govern
ment itself, what is to be hoped for an administration
in which the majority does not constitute the mastery,
' letting I dare not wait upon I would,' and afraid of
urging the only question to which they are pledged,
lest they should be turned out by the minority of
their own selecting ? In 1806 we got into the same

Chap. V.J THE CANNING ADMINISTRATION. 171
scrape, but the mine was sprung upon us, and we
were not aware of our danger. Mr. Canning has put
on Lord Grenville's breeches with his eyes open,
knowing the nature, size, and depth of the garment
which he has induced. I will venture to prophesy
that, before many months, he will cut a most deploy
able figure in them." *
Such were the impressions and vaticinations of a
Canningite (though it must in fairness be added, a
disappointed one) over the formation of this trans
ition Ministry, which, though followed, as might be
expected, by a short reaction, led to the prevalence
of principles of government now indeed considered
by all as matters of course, but then viewed with appre
hension and even horror. In the following extract
from a letter to Mrs. Austen, allusions will be found
to Mr. Ward's connection with these arrangements.
" You looked for mine or my son's name, you say,
in the late changes f; mine you will see no more. All
my feelings forbid it. I have noAv lost every man to
whom I ever looked up, or could ever follow, and I
would not lead, even if I could. In short, I am grown
old, and am content to be so, knowing what I know,
and feeling what I feel. The place I have J is just the
very best I could have with these feelings, keeping
me just enough in the political world to say I am not
out of it, and giving me, therefore, precisely the
* Extracts from letters during April, 1827, from the Duke of Buck
ingham to R. P. Ward, Esq.
¦j- The formation of a Ministry of which Mr. Canning was head.
\ Auditor of the Civil List, afterwards abolished (see p. 181.).

172

THE CANNING ADMINISTRATION. [Chap. V.

quantum of public interest to make me the more
relish my dear private life. Hence nothing Mr. Can
ning could have given me could have equalled what
I have. Had he doubled my public income (which
he could not), I must have spent the difference, ex
changed a certainty* for an uncertainty, and quiet
for turmoil, by no means compensated by returning
to Parliament and being Right Honourable. This I
fairly told a noble friend of mine, who came twice to
me, observing, that he believed they wanted me in
more active office. As he himself had refused the
seals of Secretary of State, he could not, and did not,
wonder at my feeling; and so we moralised very
prettily, d la De Vere, upon all that was passing. But
though I had lost all ambition as to myself, I had
occasion to observe its workings in others, with no
very raised opinions of its effects on human nature.
In one (a very high quarter, indeed) I was confiden
tially employed, and saw enough to have added a
whole volume to ' De Vere.' In short, it is no af
fectation to say, that I have realised what Tremaine
only dreamed, and view the world at a distance."
His next letters, in the summer of the following
year, are occupied with details as to arrangements
on his second marriage, which took place in July,
1828. The lady to whom he was then united, Mrs.
Plumer Lewinf, of GilstonPark, in the county of Herts,
* His post was not a political one, and the chance of its abolition never
occurred to him.
f It was upon this occasion that he received permission to adopt the
surname of Plumer, before that of Ward.

Chap. V.] DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTERS. 173
had extended her admiration for his writings to their
author, and at her beautiful seat in Hertfordshire he
was able to enjoy the sort of rural life which, from
the days when his young imagination had dwelt on
Sir Roger de Coverley, formed the great object of
his ambition. At a period when worldly prosperity
seemed showered upon him, his happiness was much
dashed by the deplorable state of the health of his
three daughters. The fatal complaint which had
caused their mother's death settled successively and
irrevocably on each. He lost first the two eldest, who
fell victims to the same insidious disease within two
days of each other. His letters at this time I forbear
to quote, as they are full of the melancholy feeling
which so many deprivations were calculated to call
forth. At this period occurred a transaction which so
deeply affected Mr. Ward, that he printed, for private
circulation among his friends, the correspondence to
which it gave rise. This event was no less than his
being suddenly deprived of the office which he had
accepted under the impression that it was for life.
His appointment to be Auditor of the Civil List has
been already alluded to, and the nature of the office
will be best understood by his oAvn account of it.
" The office of Auditor of the Civil List was created
by Mr. Perceval for the express and avowed purpose
of keeping it out of debt ; as such the creation was
proposed to Parliament, and as such approved. Its
salary was 1400/. a year, and the reason given, and
approved, for so large a sum, was its responsibility ;

174 AUDITORSHIP OF THE CIVIL LIST. [Chap. V.
since, from the previous want of weight in those
whose business it was to audit the accounts of the
Household, and who were mere clerks, without au
thority to control the expenditure, the Civil List was
perpetually in debt, sometimes to a very large amount.
Mr. Perceval, therefore, thought, that by creating a
considerable officer, to be called the Auditor, with
powers to examine and report upon all the various
expenditure of the three great departments of the
Lord Chamberlain, Lord Steward, and Master of the
Horse, and to keep the Treasury, and even Parliament
if necessary, acquainted with their state and proceed
ings, this inconvenience might be avoided. For this
purpose the expenses of each department were fixed
at a given sum, and the duty of the Auditor was to
see that it was not exceeded. If it was, or if there
were peculiar circumstances that made it likely, he
was to communicate with the Treasury thereupon;
and if debt were incurred, he was to lay the fact
before the House of Commons (if sitting) within
thirty days of its occurring. This threw the Auditor
into personal communication with the three great
officers of the Household, and by possibility into con
test with them, to which a mere Treasury clerk might
not be equal ; and hence Mr. Perceval thought that it
would be necessary not only to give greater respecta
bility to the new office by an ample salary, but that
the person appointed to it should be experienced in
the affairs of Government offices, and the nature of
the control and proceedings of Parliament in regard
to them.

Chap. V.] AUDITORSHIP OF THE CIVIL LIST. 175
" The event proved the propriety of Mr. Perceval's
measure. At first considerable opposition was made
by the three departments to the interference of the
Auditor, who, it was thought, trenched too much
upon their independence by unnecessarily examining
their books and proceedings in regard to their esti
mates previous to their being voted, and of this opinion
was the Prince Regent (afterwards George IV.), who
remonstrated with the Treasury upon it. A sort
of composition was then made, that the departments _
should furnish their own estimates in the first in
stance, which should pass as of course, if the sums
allotted by Parliament were not exceeded, and if the
services were within their proper scope. Hence, if
these conditions were fulfilled, the duties of the
Auditor were confined chiefly to responsibility and
vigilance ; and, as the estimates were presented to him
at the beginning of the month, and the accounts
showing whether they tallied with them at the end,
if no difficulties were found in these, and no peculiar
circumstances arose in the interval, his place was
certainly not one of labour, though the check occa
sioned by the office always remained in force, and
his responsibility, by being perpetually in existence,
answered all the ends proposed by its creation."
As an instance of the nature and duties of the office,
and of the sort of abuses that will creep into public
offices, I subjoin the following letters from Mr. Plumer
Ward, as Auditor of the Civil List, to the Right
Honourable Henry Goulburn, Chancellor of the Ex
chequer, and Mr. Goulburn's reply.

176 CORRESPONDENCE RELATING TO THE [Chap. V.
R. Plumer Ward, Esq., to the Bt. Hon. H Goulburn.
" (Private.) " Civil List Audit Office, March 29. 1828.
" Dear Goulburn,
" After conferring a good deal with Mr. Brent, and
afterwards, privately, with Sir W. Fremantle, I was
yesterday, by Lord Conyngham's own invitation, at
the Board of Green Cloth, where we discussed the
Avhole subject of the Lord Steward's department, all
the members of the Board bringing, I must say, to the
discussion, the most anxious desire to reduce the
expenses within bounds. The result, prospectively, I
have the pleasure to say, is satisfactory; but neither
they, nor myself, can suggest any means to clear the
fourth class of the department from its present debt,
which, on the last year, amounts to 5525/. 6s. 8d.
This being a matter for the Treasury to consider, I
therefore proceed to tell you how it seems to me that
the excess has arisen, and how it is proposed to re
medy it in future. In very short, it seems neither
more nor less than the most scandalous waste on the
part of the lower servants, encouraged by laxity of
discipline, particularly, I think, by the former high
officers and the good-nature of the King. This made
the attempt to alter the condition of his servants un
pleasant, if not hopeless. I cannot better exemplify
this than by the instance of an alloAvance of 500/. a
year to the lower servants in lieu of small beer. The
history is, that, Avhen allowed small beer in kind, they
Avere all allowed access ad libitum to the cellar, and

Chap. V.] AUDITORSHIP OF THE CIVIL LIST. 177
often would not take the trouble to turn the cock
after having drawn their quantity, but let hogsheads
run off from very wantonness. The then officers in
power (I know not who, but it was in Bloomfield's
time), instead of punishing them, thought it right to
turn the beer into money (the servants having ale
and porter besides fully sufficient) ; and hence this
500/. a year compensation for not being permitted to
continue this wasteful extravagance. The above is
to be sure an extreme case, but the prodigality of the
steward's room and the servants' hall is almost as bad.
Every person belonging to either seems allowed to
carry away as much provision as he can scramble for,
after being himself satisfied. If a bottle of wine or
porter is opened for a glass, the rest is carried off,
the meat in a napkin, which seldom finds its Avay back
again ; and, in addition to this, scores of persons Avhq
have no connection with the domestic establishment
appear to run riot upon the unlimited alloAvance for
these tables. All this, after conferring with the De
puty Comptroller, I find may be checked by authority,
and the Lord Steward having willingly promised it,
it has been agreed to strike off not less than 1600/. a
year from this expense alone. The footmen and maids,
moreover, have been allowed charwomen and helpers
(in fact, to allow them to be idle), and the reduction
of these will save 400/. or 500/. a year more. The
calculation of meat per day, for each individual of the
family, has been 21bs., which the principal cooks allow
is too much by ^lb., this alone will save 500/. a year;
VOL. II. N

178 CORRESPONDENCE RELATING TO THE [Chap. V.
and an allowance of Avhat is called bread money, which
I could not get explained, it having been made before
the present officers came into place, may also be re
duced to the amount of 300/. This is the more right,
because the allowance in money does not preclude
the supply of bread in kind, over and above the al
lowance. I mention these specifically, because they
seem gross abuses, which you ought to be apprised of.
Other reductions will arise, more from better regu
lations than abolitions, particularly in the gardens,
upon which the Lord Steward, &c, have themselves
ordered a diminution (agreed to by Mr. Aiton) of
2600/. a year, and the whole put together, as per
table enclosed, will amount to 6456/. This is more
than equal to the excess of the present year, which
therefore, it is to be hoped, will not be repeated.
• •••¦• •
" Long as this letter is, there remain two questions
which must be touched upon. The expenses of the
Queen of Wirtemberg, and Don Miguel.
"As to the first, you have already had the subject
before you, and all I would suggest is, that, as the
estimates in the Civil List Act were not framed in any
contemplation of visits from a crowned head, some
additional expense must fairly be expected by the
nation, and therefore a reasonable sum might fairly
be proposed to Parliament in the civil contingencies.
The only question is, what is reasonable ? and, as the
actual account seems much otherwise, the balance
over ,the reasonable charge may probably be defrayed

Chap. V.] AUDITORSHIP OF THE CIVIL LIST. 179
out of other sources. But this I leave to your better
opinion, only adding, that, if you adopt this, it will be
necessary to distinguish what parts of the charge you
would allow to remain to be asked for of Parliament,
and what to be paid out of the King's other personal
funds. I certainly understand from the Lord Steward
and Treasurer, that, upon their remonstrating to Mr.
Canning that the department could not defray, or be
expected by the House of Commons to defray, this
expense, (in which, as Auditor, I should have joined
them,) Mr. Canning replied, that the Treasury would
defray it, and only enjoined them to be as economical
as possible.
" On the other hand, as to Don Miguel, the visit
being, as it were, national, and probably with state
objects, the injunction from the Treasury, I am told,
was to do as much honour as possible, and expense
was consequently to be expected. I enclose the
heads of it for your information, only adding that
it was much increased by an unfortunate detention.
at Plymouth of three weeks. I cannot conclude
without observing, in justice to Mr. * * * *,
that I have received the greatest, and I believe the
most honest, assistance from him throughout my
inquiry, and that the reductions I have been enabled
to propose are mainly owing to the assistance he has
given me. As to the superior officers, I am very sure
you may rely on their cordial support of any decision
for future conduct to which you may come. Begging
you to excuse this long letter, which, however, I could
N 2

180 CORRESPONDENCE RELATING TO THE [Chap.V.
not shorten consistently with the object I conceive
you to have in view, of knowing the interior of a
department not readily accessible,
" I am, dear Goulburn,
" Most sincerely yours,
" R. Ward.
" The whole of the accounts for Don Miguel are not
come in, and I cannot therefore send them. But I
understand, in the three departments, they amount to
5200/."

Bt, Hon. H. Goulburn to B. Plumer Ward, Esq.
" (Private.) " Downing Street, April 9. 1828.
" My dear Ward,
" I am very much obliged to you for your very
satisfactory report upon the Lord Steward's depart
ment. I have had a communication with the Duke
of Leeds, who expresses himself equally anxious to
submit his department to a similar investigation. I
have no doubt that the result will be equally to the
King's advantage and to the ease of the Civil List.
Would you, therefore, be kind enough to undertake
it? and, when done, I should be glad to have some
conversation with you on the whole subject, in order
that matters may be henceforth regularly and eco
nomically conducted. " Yours ever, my dear Ward,
" Most truly,
" Henry Goulburn.'

Chap. V.] AUDITORSHIP OF THE CIVIL LIST. 181
Such being the nature of the office, Mr. Ward, with
out any previous intimation of such an intention, was
greeted shortly before the opening of the Session of
1831, Avith the following announcement of its intended
abolition.

Lord Althorpe to B. Plumer Ward, Esq.
" Downing Street, Jan. 30. 1831.
" Dear Sir,
" I have an unpleasant duty to perform in writing
to you. I have had under my consideration the office
for auditing the accounts of the Civil List, and it ap
pears to me that the duties of this office can be as effi
ciently performed as they are at present, by incorpo
rating this office in the Treasury, and that by taking
this step a saving to the public will be effected. I
am very sorry, therefore, to have to inform you, that
in the arrangements for the Civil List, which his
Majesty's present Go\Ternment will submit to Parlia
ment, your office will not be included. It is most
disagreeable to me to have to give you this informa
tion, and as I hope the inconvenience to you of losing
this situation will not be very serious, I really believe
I am more annoyed in writing you this letter than
you will be in receiving it, which I admit to be an
uncommon occurrence on similar occasions,
" Believe me, dear Sir,
" Yours most sincerely,
"Althorpe,"

s 3

182 CORRESPONDENCE RELATING TO THE [Chap. V.
To this, which, as Mr. Ward himself remarked, was
the letter of a gentleman, Mr. Ward replied in the
same tone.

B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to Lord Althorpe.
" Cavendish Square, Jan. 31. 1831.
" My Lord,
" I am honoured with your Lordship's letter in
forming me that, for reasons you are so good as to
mention, his Majesty's Government intend to suppress
the place of Auditor of the Civil List : upon these
reasons, were I differently situated, that is, any where
but where I am, I might take the liberty of offering
some remarks. As it is, I will not be guilty of so
great an impropriety, but fulfil the only duty I have
to perform, obedience. I must beg, however, to be
allowed to thank you for the kind and handsome
manner in which you have been so good as to an
nounce this determination of the Government, as I
trust I do not flatter myself in hoping that it proves
the measure not to be founded on any feelings per
sonal to me. That you may reap all the benefit you
expect from it yourselves, as well as that support
which I sincerely think you have a right to obtain
in conducting affairs at this critical juncture, is my
undisguised wish.
" Beheve me, with great esteem,
" Your Lordship's most sincere,
" Humble servant,
" R. Plumer Ward."

Chap. V.] AUDITORSHIP OF THE CIVIL LIST. 183
Here might the whole matter have rested, Mr.
Ward having quietly submitted to this somewhat
unceremonious ejection, which however, with his late
accession of fortune, and the revival of his pension,
which had merged in that of his office, did not affect
him much. Lord Althorpe however, in noticing the
reduction he had effected, treated it as the reduction
of a sinecure office, or, at least, of one the duties of
which were performed by deputy. To this Mr. Ward
would not submit, and a correspondence ensued, Avhich
at last assumed a tone too angry to make me inclined
to revive it by pubhcation. Where one man is con
scious of being unjustly treated, and the other refuses
redress, such can hardly fail to be the consequence ;
and, where an imputation is put forward which rests
on no true foundation, an offer to " disclaim all inten
tion of hurting the feelings" is not only no satisfaction,
but appears rather too like a reiteration of the imputa
tion complained of. At length, however, the matter
Avas publicly noticed in the House of Commons in
the manner narrated in the following letter.
Bt. Hon. H. Goulburn to R. Plumer Ward, Esq.
" Portman Square, March 30. 1831.
" My dear Ward,
" I can assure you that there is no one who more
truly sympathises with you in the affliction which
has recently befallen you than myself; and, although
I hope you will give me credit for the feeling, I can
not, in addressing you on another subject, avoid
H 4

184 AUDITORSHIP OF THE CIVED LIST. [Chap.V.
giving this expression to it. I return you the papers
which you put into my hands a short time since.
The newspapers, with an unfairness which is one of
the characteristics of the present times, have omitted
to notice what passed between Lord Althorpe and
myself on the subject of them in the House of Com
mons. I am, therefore, obliged to state that Lord
Althorpe, in reply to mine and to General Phipps's
inquiries, did clearly exempt you from any thing like
an imputation of neglecting your duties, or of not
having efficiently discharged all that the office in
which you Avere placed imposed upon you, and did
moreover add an expression of regret, that any thing
should on a former occasion have fallen from him,
Avhich could have hurt your feelings, or could have
been supposed to imply on your part inattention or
neglect. I think his explanation was in every respect
what you had a right to, and what ought to satisfy
you, and I have great pleasure in thinking that I
have been in the slightest degree instrumental in
rendering this act of justice to an old friend and
associate. " Yours ever, my dear Ward,
" Most truly,
" Henry Goulburn."

Chap. VL] MR. WARD'S FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 185

CHAP. VI.
MR. WARD'S FAMILY AFFLICTIONS.  DEATH OF HIS TWO ELDER
DAUGHTERS AND OF MRS. PLUMER WARD.  DECLINING HEALTH OF
YOUNGER DAUGHTER  GOES TO BRIGHTON. — MARRIAGE WITH
MRS. OKEOVER. — PASSES AVTNTER AT WIESBADEN  LETTERS FROM
THENCE  RECONCILIATION WITH AN OLD FRIEND. — VARIOUS
LETTERS.
In the foregoing letters a passing allusion is made to
recent losses he had sustained. It would be no part
of the intention of this work to dilate on the grievous
private afflictions with which he was visited at this
period. Their influence will be traced in the more
sober character of the works he composed between
the publication of " De Vere " and " De Clifford,"
in which, as in " Illustrations of Human Life" and
" Pictures of the World," the narrative form is less
maintained, and more room is given to philosophical
disquisitions.* The trials he went through were indeed of no com
mon kind. Two daughters, whose declining health
he had anxiously Avatched, were consigned to the
same tomb, — thus united in death, as they had been
through life ; the second had followed the eldest,
* By 1837 he had completed for the press "Illustrations of Human
Life," and by the end of 1838 " Pictures of the World." As they could
not pretend to continuous interest, like "Tremaine" and "De Vere,"
the fact that they attained considerable popularity, even with the general
public, may be taken as a proof of the taste and originality which cha
racterised them.

186 MARRIAGE WITH MRS. 0KE0VER. [Chap. VI.
according to her own oft-expressed wish, within a few
days of her sister's departure, both victims to the
same insidious malady. Within a few months after,
that wife, Avhose kindness and generosity had been
unfailing during the short period of their union, died
also at Gilston Park, which she had bestOAved upon
him, — a gift, hoAvever, Avhich the grievous afflictions
of which it had been the scene robbed of half its value.
I pass over a protracted period of heart-rending
anxiety, during which the alarming illness of his
younger daughter did but too truly threaten a further
shock to his affections. It was amidst the prostration
of spirits and energy to which the last of these re
peated trials had at length reduced him, that he first
made acquaintance with one Avho, amid the new sorroAV
which was fast approaching, and amid many others
Avhich were to afflict his declining years, Avas to be his
comfort and stay.
At Brighton, in the summer of 1832, he had the
good fortune to make acquaintance with Mrs. Oke-
over, the Avidowed daughter of the late gallant Lt.
Gen. Sir George Anson. The alliance in Avhich this
acquaintance afterwards resulted furnished sunshine
for his remaining years on earth. He seemed to catch
from her presence that contented cheerfulness which
depends not on the excitement of society, and can
even resist the ever-recurring trials to Avhich all are
subject, and Avhich, both physically and mentally, at
tacked him from time to time with a strength re
quiring every such assistance in order to be success
fully resisted.

Chap. VI] DEATH OF HIS YOUNGEST DAUGHTER. 187
Among the most pleasing passages in " De Vere,"
especially to all who have cultivated a frame of mind
such as that to which I have alluded, is the description
of the Man of Content, the " Master of Okeover Hall."
By one of the strange coincidences which are stranger
than fiction, Mr. Ward, while searching a Road-book
for an appropriate name for the abode of this, one of
his favourite characters, had fixed on Okeover Hall.
Years after this, and by events subsequent to his
marriage, he saw himself, in right of his wife, as the
guardian of her only son, the " Master of Okeover
Hall;" and most assuredly, in the peaceful life and
social circle there established, he realised in the best
sense of the words, the " Man of Content."
The letters written from this happy abode, which I
shall furnish later, will speak for themselves. It needs
not therefore the recollections of one who like myself
has there visited him, to tell of the intellectual enjoy
ments which its old-fashioned halls supplied, the
sparkling anecdote, the philosophic imaginings, the
vivid recollections of old times, and of the political
giants of other days, — all this, in addition to the bril
liant interchange of every-day conversation. To enjoy
this fully, indeed, it Avas necessary in his later years to
be within reach of the "trumpet" Avhich increasing
deafness rendered necessary. Happy, however, was
he who got next to him, and had it thus in his poAver
to call forth the recollections of bygone days, detailed
Avith all the vigour and sprightliness of youth.
Two years after his marriage with Mrs. Okeover,
Anne, the youngest of his three daughters, Avas taken

188 LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. [Chat, VI.
from him, to join those who had gone before. His
spirits sank within him. Not only was Gilston Park,
where he had been so overwhelmed with sorrows, in
supportable to him as a residence, but even his con
tinuance in England was thought by his physicians
inadvisable. His health had been grievously affected,
and with the German baths in view he commenced a
residence at Wiesbaden, which he prolonged through
the winter, after the flight of summer butterflies and
even the crowd of hypochondriac patients had trans
ferred themselves to other scenes. It was during this
tour that the following letters were written.

R. Plumer Ward, Esq., to Mr. Austen.
"Wiesbaden, Jan. 31. 1836.
" My dear Austen,
" What am I to think of all that is said in Galignani
(the only paper I see) about changes? Believe one side
and Lord [Melbourne] has not a squeak left ; believe
t'other, we are all to go out. I hardly care which,
for one cause of my health is, that I am no longer an
Englishman, and least of all a landed gentleman ; so,
if you will give me a couple of thousand a year, and
no accounts of audits or farm losses, I will give you
Gilston and all its plate and jewels. I love the
Germans so much, and am so well pleased with their
reception of us, that I could stay among them much
longer than my sovereign lady will let me. Yet they
have been particularly civil to her, and in fact she is

Chat. VI.] LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. 189
admired everyAvhere, from the Grand-Duchess herself
down to the grisette. She is dubbed Countess, and
myself Baron, she miladi, I monseigneur ; who would
ever go back to little Chesterfield Street? What is
D'Israeli's father about? What am J about my
self? Something : but what will it come to ? L'ignoro.
Very miscellaneous, a retired statesman, preternatural
interventions, society, motives, love and gallantry,
an English Rasselas, &c. &c. About a volume and
a half done. Colburn pleased, but idle ; I can get
nothing definite, except for the New Monthly, which,
though bribed high, I refuse. Why did Bulwer leave
him ? I have said all I have got to say, and will only
add that we shall be here till May, when again to
Ems for another season, then Switzerland, then to
Italy, and then if England is England, and I alive
(not unless), to crack a bottle in Guildford Street,
so I remain ever yours and your wife's,
" R. P. W."

R. Plumer Ward, Esq., to Mr. Austen.
" Lausanne, March 14. 1837.
" My dear Austen,
• ••••• "
" Most loth I am to return to it [England], for this
climate is superb, and I have been superbly well all
the winter, though slightly attacked by the influenza,
which has reached us, but in a most mild form, so, as
old people have bad chances with it chez vous, I am
loth to be among you again. Nevertheless we start

190 LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. [CuAr.VI.
for Paris on the 28th on our way home, only I trust
for the summer, and return to the Continent, perhaps
to Nice, in the autumn, nor would I go at all but to
arrange plans for Mrs. P. W.'s son, a most fine boy of
11 years, who, lucky dog, has just succeeded to his
uncle's estate, a good 5000/. a year, in Staffordshire,
which will become six by the time he is of age. Two
houses, one with a park, and about 1000/. a year are
offered to my wife, Avho is guardian, by the trustees,
to keep up the place and educate the children, and, as
the place they say is delightful, she has a serious wish
to reside there. On my part I have too many melan
choly associations in respect to Gilston to wish much
to return, and the necessity of deciding between the
two is really the sole reason for our now going home."
R. Plumer Ward, Esq., to Mr. Austen.
" Gilston Park, July 23. 1837.
" Dear Austen,
" I am in a thousand minds whether to return to
the Continent or not ; certainly I dread another winter
or spring here. I am suffering from our worse than
Vent de Bise more than ever I did in my life. Rheu
matism most impertinent, and surely there is nothing
left in the country worth staying in it at the expense
of health. But for my good wife I would go, never
to return ; and you and yours might find me out in
your summer excursions, and put me in mind of
what had been. I am afraid I am Gorewellish * as well
* A grumbling character in " Pictures of the World."

Chap. VI.] LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. 191
as Tremainish. So Mrs. A. had a presentiment of
this ? Yet you never saw (certainly not abroad) any
thing like this place. We are literally in a bed of
roses, and, you will say, ought not to rise from it ;
yet too much bed you know relaxes. In fact I be
lieve I am like my master (Paley), who used to
say his happiness would naturally have been to keep
a public-house by the wayside and examine the pas

sengers.

"R.P.W."
B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to Mr. Austen.
"Brighton, Oct. 18. 1837.
" Dear Austen,
" After having been at Bath, which almost killed
me, we have been here five weeks, and shall have
been six on the 24th, Avhen we depart for Gilston, to
be there, after a visit on the way, on the 31st. This
place makes me flourish, particularly by the artificial
Avaters. Who would go to Carlsbad Avhen he can get
them so much better here, that they are actually ex
ported to Berlin and Vienna ? This and sea' breezes
have dissipated heartburn, and I quaff my pint of claret
a day with great glee, preparatory to the Offenburg
to come, for your trouble about which I owe you all
my thanks. Mean time I have not been idle, and you
will soon see announced by Murray, ' Strictures on
the real amount of the precedent and character of
the Revolution of 1689.' Something different from
' Tremaine,' and as it is a professed review of Mack-

192 RECONCILIATION WITH [Chap. VI.
intosh, Fox, and Locke, I must prepare for war.
Colburn has had other gear of mine, Avhich I suppose
is coming out by this. So you see I have not left off
business ; pray Heaven it does not leave off me. The
truth is, Avith tolerable health I must do something,
or with even many blessings I should sink under
ennui. Thank Heaven her temple is hot to be found
here, but I dread Gilston not a little*, and the chances.
are you may see us before Christmas in Chesterfield
Street. Meanwhile, with my love to your wife, and
the remembrance of mine to you both, believe me
ever much " Yours, "R.P.W."

Under the excitement of politics events will occur
to interrupt long-cherished friendships ; it is one of
the greatest draAvbacks to this most fascinating of
pursuits. Differences of opinion, changes in the mode
of action, the necessities of administrative arrange
ments, all these have so wide an operation, and often
so directly personal an influence, that they cannot be
viewed with indifference hke other pieces of personal
conduct, of which we may disapprove, but which do
not affect us. Something of this nature had occurred
to separate Mr. Ward from one of his oldest political
allies ; and I find it difficult to say which is more
touching — the frankness with which reconciliation
* This place was saddened to him by the melancholy deprivations of
which it had been the scene.

Chap. VI.] AN OLD FRIEND. 193
was sought and explanation tendered, or the readiness
and, if I may use such a term, tenderness Avith which
it was met. So noble a lesson of Christian conduct
is furnished by two old politicians, whose hearts
one might have supposed to be seared by the trials
to which their feelings had been exposed in various
political conflicts, thus eagerly renewing friendly ties,
and effacing former misunderstandings, that I cannot
bring myself to omit the following letters. I have
suppressed the name and all circumstances that could
proclaim the author, not because he could feel ashamed
of his desire for reconciliation, but because that is
not necessary to enable me to put forward the lesson
against cherished enmity which he will rejoice to be
the means of giving. Another instance is added
to many, that a tender conscience and a Christian
spirit are not the exclusive property of the simple and
the recluse.
* # * * * to B. Plumer Ward, Esq.
" Nov. 13. 1837.
" My dear Ward,
" A letter from me Avill surprise you. I hope it
will not be unsatisfactory to you ; but having long
and long wished to communicate Avith you, and to
endeavour to set you right in regard to me, I must at
length carry this wish into effect. I was yesterday
evening brought to this determination by a passage
which I read in a published letter of Sandford, whom
we remember at Christ Church ; and it is as follows :
VOL. II. o

194 RECONCILIATION WITH [Chap. VI.
— ' I confess that I do not understand the spirit that
can obstinately retain offence : life is in my opinion too
short, and, above all, too uncertain, for the steady
retention of displeasure.'
" These are sentiments which, I hope, must have
Aveight with you, even if it were quite certain that
I had intentionally done you an injury. But Avhen,
as in the presence of Almighty God, I declare that
it was ever farthest from my thought or wishes to
act unkindly by you, I do trust that peace and
amity may again take place between us. It was in
consequence of my recommending 
that you were displeased with me. I should have
done better if I had first communicated with you,
and had thus ascertained from yourself your wishes
and intentions. In not doing this consisted my only
error, and for this omission I beg your pardon. I
would readily have done it Avhen I first kneAV your
displeasure, but you never would give me the oppor
tunity. I remember meeting you at dinner at Van-
sittar^'s, and I tried then to communicate with you,
but you Avould not allow me. But having acknow
ledged what part of my conduct to you was faulty, I
must now most solemnly assure you, that I thought
(after your communication with Lord Liverpool) you
had finally decided to go out of Parliament.
" You have now the perfect truth before you. I
have owned in what I was wrong. I haAre expressed
my sorrow for it. It would be a great comfort to me,
before I quit this world, to know that you and I were
friends again. Enmities ought not to be interminable,

Chap. VI.] AN OLD FRIEND. 195
even where intentional and deliberate offence has been
given. I am now Hving in retirement, and as I
seldom go from home, except when I pay visits to a
kind and much valued friend, and, therefore, not
being likely to fall in your way, I can have no motive
for seeking reconciliation, except the pleasure which
I shall derive from it. I have, as I have already told
you, long been anxious to communicate Avith you, and
I feel that if it is to be done there is no time to be
lost. I am now in my seventy -first year; I have had
of late many and very serious attacks of illness, and
if Ave are to be friends again it must happen soon.
" In reflecting upon what has passed, I can assure
you, with truth and sincerity, that I have never felt
the least anger against you, and I always was con
fident that, if I had the means of making my ex
planation to you, all your displeasure against me
would be removed. When we recollect how long we
have known each other, it is surely not too much to
hope that the acquaintance which began in kindness
may end in kindness also. This is my sincere Avish :
you will gratify me greatly, and will gladden my
heart, if you do but say that it is your wish also.
Trusting that this may happen, I must end my letter
Avith begging you to believe that I am
" Ever most truly yours,
« * # * * #"

o 2

I9 6" RECONCILIATION WITH [Chap. VI.
B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to * * * * *.
" Gilston Park, Nov. 23. 1837.
" My dear * *,
" I am not a little vexed to think so beautiful a
letter as you have had the great kindness to write me
has remained so long unanswered.
" You must not suppose that I was not alive to
every hne of it, or did not, the moment I read it, feel
my own heart respond to sentiments which do yours
so much honour. The Christian charity which it
breathes throughout, to say nothing of the manliness
of its avowals, would have been an imposing lesson to
myself, had I stood in need of it. But I assure you
I did not. Whatever injury I thought you. had done
me, I had long forgiven, and, what is more, forgotten ;
and if some little feeling of slight, or (shah I say) of
haughty demeanour on your part, had dwelt some
what longer with me than might be proper, such a
letter as yours would dissipate it all in a moment. I
cordially accept all the kind things you are pleased
to say in explanation of what I took so ill at the time,
though even then I never thought you wished to in
jure me. It was more, as I have hinted, the manner
than the matter which hurt me. But even this had
passed out of my mind ; and I am sure, if it had not,
it Avould now. I almost envy you the merit of a
letter so worthy a Christian and a gentleman.
"We are both of us now old, and drawing to a
close : and there is too little life to enjoy to allow us
to trifle with what remains,

Chap. VI.] AN OLD FRIEND. 197
" I therefore heartily join you in the wish you ex
press, that what was begun in kindness may end in it
also. " With these sentiments, and again thanking you
for your welcome letter,
" I remain, my dear * * ,
" Much and truly yours,
" R. Plumer Ward."

* * * * * to B. Ward, Esq.
" Nov. 26. 1837.
" My dear Ward,
" Yours was a most welcome letter to me. When
I Avrote mine I was not \rery well ; and as at no time
can the continuance of life be depended upon, much
less so when old age has come upon us, I felt that I
ought no longer to delay what I had long and often
thought and wished to do. It is a great comfort to
me that I at last wrote to you. I had never for a
moment felt angry with you, for I was not the offended
person ; and it was ever most painful to me to think
that there should be enmity between us, and that I
might go to my grave without having endeavoured to
remove it. I Avas not restrained by any false shame ;
for I should feel shame, on the contrary, for not mak
ing an apology, and an ample one too, where one was
due. I have already assured you that it was ever
farthest from my intention to do you any injury. I
was heedless, and in the hurry of the moment I neg
lected to consult you. My manner may have been
o 3

198 LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. [Chap. VI.
offensive. If it was a haughty manner, it ill became
me ; but I hope and believe that that is a failure of
which I could be no longer accused  But
I mean no excuse. In point of fact, I was unfair
and unkind to you, though unkindness was farthest
from my thoughts. You have taken my apology in
the spirit which I hoped you would, and from my
heart I thank you. You have relieved me from a
distress which has long borne heavily upon me.
" I have now only to add, that, should the occasion
of our meeting offer, it will give me great pleasure.
I have no longer a house in London, but I go up
always for some weeks in the spring ; I will let you
know when. If you then happen to be in London,
let us meet. " Ever most truly and sincerely yours,
<( * * * * * »

B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
" Hyde House, July 2. 1838.
" Dear Austen,
" I was quite glad of your letter, for it forces me
to write to you, which I have a long time been wish
ing to do, though a most determined spirit of idleness
always prevented my wishes from taking effect. We
unfortunately saw so little of you and Mrs. A. in
London, that we were ignorant of your summer plans,
which, being generally very adventurous, I should
like to know. From your letter, however, I conclude

Chap. VI.] LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. 199
that you do not mean to go abroad. I wish I could
do so ; for I feel and heartily wish I could change
this afflicting climate. Well may I call it so, for it
afflicts every bone in my skin with damp and cold,
and my whole mind with gloom. What is worse, it
tears my wife to pieces with cough, which always fills
me with alarm from miserable recollections. I believe,
however, most of the mischief arises from our present
locality ; for such has been the progress of my plan
tations, some of them sixty feet high, and they in
such close contact with the house, that though the
sun may shine occasionally Ave are always dripping
wet, and ought to be like frogs to enjoy it. Unless,
therefore, some Numen should procure for us a meta
morphose, I believe Ave shall not stay out half our
time. Indeed we contemplate Brighton as early as
next month, and so will end our foreign scheme. Not
so, I hope, (if I live till) next spring. We have not
long returned from our very interesting trip into
Staffordshire, where your friend Vaughan did the
honours of a pleasant cottage at Okeover admirably.
The hall is at present let, so we only went to recon
noitre, but were so satisfied with its beauty, conve
nience, and respectability, that we decided to inhabit
it without hesitation. It is the absolute beau ideal of
an old English country gentleman's mansion for many
generations, and we are really quite bit with it. Much
perhaps was oAving to the visible joy of two whole
parishes (the whole of both of which belongs to the
estate), that some of the family were coming to live
there. The interest and thousand questions about

200 LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. [Chap. VI.
Charles made me doubt a little my uncomfortable
creed, that all the fond ties that used to be cherished
between landlord and tenant in this country are over.
We cannot get possession till Lady-day, and it will
then take a pretty large sum to furnish it : however
I hope, and dare say, we shall manage it. It makes
me more and more indifferent to Gilston.

B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
" Hyde House, August 16. 1838.
" My dear Austen,
" We count upon coming up for two days this day
week, previous to setting off for 0. We take the
house furnished exactly as it is (that is, most com
fortably), which will cost 1000/. by appraisement.
Do not think me mad: though, from sending my
whole library (at least seven tons of books) it is
thought I mean never to appear again in the world.
Well! I have been long enough in it. Tempus est
abire. Yet I am remarkably well, and very much
yours,
" R. P. W."

Chap. VI.] LETTER TO ME. AUSTEN. 201
B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
" Okeover Hall, Oct. 28. 1838.
" My dear Austen,
" Welcome back to John Bull from Louis Baboon.
I have been indulging in Swift lately ; so Mrs. A.
must forgive allusions, though she may be fond of the
said Louis. By the way, how did France shoAV in
comparison with Germany ? I trow you had more
lessons in landscape in the one, and of human nature
in the other. Both good of their kind.
" I feel more comfortably off in this delightful as
well as respectable old abode, than ever I Avas in my
life, and far happier than at Gilston. One thing quite
surprises me, as well as pleases. There is really a
corner in England left in which the old-fashioned
feeling of attachment from well-used tenants to an
old landlord's family is preserved. I never saw it so
exemplified as among all the tenants of this beautiful
estate, upon our arrival, and indeed ever since. Had
our boy been a prince of the blood, they could not
have shown more regard than for Okeover of Okeover.
As his mother, my wife comes in for her share ; and
as her husband, I myself come in for mine. The family
is far more ancient than I thought, the pedigree de
riving them from Ormus, one of William's soldiers,
avIio being endowed with this place, his descendants
styled themselves De Okeover, and have continued
the male representatives of it ever since. There are
tombs in the church Avith Saxon inscriptions, which I
don't understand ; but they are of the character of the

202 LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. [Chap. VI.
oldest Henries, and have the Okeover arms upon
them. We are so pleased with the place that we do
not come to town so soon as we intended, till the
beginning of April, when I hope we shall meet, and
that you will find me in as superlative health as I am
at this time of writing. " Believe me, as usual,
" Yours very much,
" R. P. W."

Chap. VII.] PUBLICATION OF " DE CLIFFORD." 203

CHAP. VII.
PUBLICATION OF "DE CLIFFORD." — MR. WARD'S REMARKS ON THE
REVOLUTION OF 1688.  LETTER OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
C. W. W. WFNN. — CONTINUATION OF CORRESPONDENCE WITH
MR. AND MRS. AUSTEN  INCREASING INFntMITY OF HEALTH. 
REMOVAL TO THE LD3UT. -GOVERNOR'S HOUSE AT CHELSEA
HOSPITAL.  HIS DEATH.  HIS MISCELLANEOUS UNPUBLISHED
WORKS.
The year 1841 presented to the public a novel from
the pen of Mr. Ward, which, even without making
allowances for the afflictions and infirm health, of
which the foregoing letters afford such clear witness,
would be a remarkable production from the pen of
a man of seventy-six, who had led the active life
that had been ever his fate.
It was received with much favour by the public, to
whose indulgence occasional allusions will be found
in the letters that follow. I should first, however,
notice, that the same year too produced from his pro
lific and varied genius a work of an entirely different
character, on the Revolution of 1688. Instead of in
troducing any criticism of my own, I cannot do what
will be more welcome to my readers than present
that which was addressed to the author by the
Right Hon. Charles Wynn (to whom it had been
dedicated), so long a high authority on constitutional
questions. vol.. ir. *0 6

204 LETTER FROM RT. HON. C. WYNN [Chap. VII.
Bt. Hon. Charles Wynn to B. P. Ward, Esq.
" May 5. 1838.
" My dear Ward,
" I am quite ashamed to have so long delayed
sending you the observations which you so kindly
wished me to make on the essays which you did me
the honour of addressing to me. I regret to say, that
though I have repeatedly intended to devote an ade
quate time to the task, nay, sat down in execution of
my intention, the pressure of the business of the day,
which from my having much to write for my brother
on account of his own inability, besides my necessary
attendance upon my poor invalid at home, has been
unusually heavy, has constantly intervened to prevent
me from proceeding beyond a few short notes not
Avorthy of your attention.
" The point upon which I principally differ from
you is, that I think you hardly state with sufficient
strength the grounds which justify the conduct both
of William and his English supporters in effecting the
revolution. " You state the proposition as if a difference of
opinion on foreign politics between a king and his
subjects were argued to be a reason to justify insur
rection ; but that difference of opinion was resistance
to what Avas believed to be a deliberate plan for the
overthrow of the independence and political liberty of
every state in Europe, and what the subjects of James
saw to be particularly directed to the extirpation of
the Protestant religion. You must always bear in

Chap. VIL] TO MR. WARD. 205
mind the violent persecution then carried on in France
by the monarch whom the English saw to have esta
blished not only a close alliance, but an overruling in
fluence over their own sovereign, Avho was acting for
the same object though in a less open manner.
" You seem to consider the oath enacted by the
13th and 14th Charles II. as only forswearing re
sistance against lawful commands ; now it seems to
me that it expressly declares that it is not lawful to
bear arms against the king under any pretence what
ever, and that such an oath therefore was 'in colli
sion with the rights and obligations of the subject in
a limited monarchy.' So it was understood by the
framers of the oath, and so it was constantly ex
pounded from the pulpit, that a sovereign violating
the laws was to be left to the punishment of heaven.
" Let me also observe that you scarcely make
sufficient allowance, in construing Mackintosh, for an
unfinished fragment, Avhich never was revised or cor
rected by its author, edited and continued by a person
of the most opposite principles 
" It seems to me, for instance, that in the passage
quoted in page 8., Mackintosh speaks only Avith re
ference to our own revolution, and does not mean
to argue that the attainment of Utopian perfection of
laws is a justifiable ground of Avaging war in subjects,
but the preservation of their ancient laws and in
stitutions from being placed on the tenure of the
duration of the sovereign pleasure.
" I do not think that, in general, persons sufficiently
appreciate the just causes for alarm Avhich existed

206 LETTER FROM RT. HON. C. WYNN. [Chap. VII.
through the latter part of the reign of Charles II., and
the whole of that of James II. It is even at the present
moment, with the advantage of all that has since
come to light, impossible to ascertain what the real
extent of the Popish Plot was, but we cannot doubt
that it was at that time universally and naturally
believed. Connect that belief Avith the connection
with France, which had even then transpired, with
the new modelhng the army in Ireland so as to place
it in the hands of Catholics, the commencement of the
same measure in England, and I think that you will
be of opinion that the time for resistance was come,
lest by further delay it should become impossible to
resist with effect ; and this, in truth, must always be
the main consideration which determines the legiti
mate time for resistance. The highest Tory of
modern days will, like Dr. Johnson, admit that, ' if
the abuse be enormous, nature must rise up, and
claiming her original rights, overturn a corrupt poli
tical system!!' but those who are more reasonable
will also allow, that the breaking down the securities
which we possess against enormous abuse confers the
same privilege.
" You seem to censure the popular party in the
two last parliaments of Charles II., for refusing the
limitations which he proposed on a Popish successor,
and insisting on the Exclusion Bill. Now to me the
course which they followed appears the only one
which could maintain the British constitution. What
would have been the consequence of enacting those
limitations ? Probably that they would have been

Chap. VII.] LETTER TO COUNTESS OF MULGRAVE. 207
set aside either by the King's prerogative, or by a
subservient Parliament immediately on his accession.
But if they had remained in force, they would have
converted our ancient monarchy into a republic.
" I have dwelt only on points on which our opinions
do not exactly coincide, because, if I adverted to those
infinitely more numerous on which we perfectly
agree, it would occupy much more time and weary
out your patience. " Believe me ever,
" Most faithfully yours,
" C. W. Williams Wynn."

B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to the Countess of Mulgrave.
" Okeover Hall, Jan. 26. 1841.
" My dear Sister,
" I thank you for the interest you take in my new
Avork, which will not be out, I think, before March.
I hope, and even venture to believe, that you will
like it, being much less dry than the last ; in fact, a
regular love story, like ' Tremaine ; ' this also, like
' Tremaine,' mixed with plenty of moral dissertation.
Think of a gentleman of seventy-six writing a love
story ! and yet I shall not be afraid to hazard it, for
all Colburn's critics say it is as good as 'Tremaine' and
'De Vere.' Succeed or fail, it has already repaid me a
high price in the absorbing and pleasing interest it has
shed over this my last retreat, where I have so forgotten
all worldly pursuits, that I never was so independent,
and never more happy. To be sure I have a powerful

208 LETTER TO COUNTESS OF MULGRAVE. [Chap. VII.
aid in my dear companion, whose own apparent
happiness forms a very principal part of mine. The
only alloy to the agreeableness of your letter Avas
Avhat you say of the health of * * *. To tell you
how much we feel for her suffering, and still more
how Ave admire her patience and resignation under it,
would not be easy. We are told chastening is a mark
of favour, which ought at least to soften complaint.
But still it is hard to bear, and one cannot (especially
in this instance) but wish it were otherwise. Her
virtues, at least, wanted no such trial to elicit them,
if I may say so without irreverence
' To that stern Power,
Who, chastening, rules our transitory hour ;
And low doth lay the proud one's haughtiest boast,
And' oft the brightest virtue tries the most.'
" Adieu ! after these grave lines I cannot proceed
with chat, and of course in this retired nook I can
have no neAVS. It can be none that my dear wife
loves you all, and desires me to say so, as much as
" Your most affectionate,
" R. P. W.
" I will send you ' De Clifford,' and if, in one of
the characters, an accomplished minister of state and
high-minded man, your fancy may recognise where I
got some of the materials for it, it may perhaps insure
a little interest, Avhatever you may think of the exe
cution."

Chap. VIL] LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. 209
R. Plumer Ward, Esq., to Mrs. Austen.
" Okeover, April 26. 1841.
" Dear Mrs. Austen,
" Whatever the pleasure an author may have in
his own compositions, nothing is more true than that
he cannot be a fair judge of them. As well might a
mother's opinion of the beauty of a blubber-faced
cross-eyed child pass as correct with surrounding
friends who see the defects. Your remarks on the
different parts of the work, believe me, are most
valuable, and would support me against any adverse
criticism, let it come from what quarter it might.
Hitherto however, strange to say, I have neither seen
nor heard of any, and if I may believe or trust in
many sweet-smelling savours, I ought to think myself
a marvellous proper gentleman. So at least many of
the erudite papers, weekly and daily, tell me that I
am, and it would surely be hard if I did not believe
them. On the other hand, though I have sought for
it, if there is any thing unfavourable, it has been,
perhaps from supposed kindness (the reverse of that
shown to Sir Fretful), kept from me. Let me confess,
however, that to one particular critique (that in the
'Britannia' of last Saturday) I am any thing but dead.
On the contrary, I am most sensitively alive to it, and
was even much affected by its concluding paragraph,
where, alluding to the little probability, from my age,
of my appearing again as an author, it takes leave of
me in terms Avhich, if true, must cheer even my last
hour. Must it not do so to be told that I have done
VOL. II. p

210 LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. [Chap. VTI.
much to counteract the vicious tendencies of an im
moral school, and shown that a novel may not be the
less interesting for breathing a spirit of pure and
exalted sentiment. If I have done this, and deserve
half of what this evidently enhghtened writer (who
ever he is) is pleased to say, then the old gentleman
of seventy-six, of whom he thus takes leaA'e, may hope
that, though he has lived so long, he has not lived in
vain. A cheering hope, which, but for this passage
from an observer totally unknown to me, would never
have gilded my mind with such an evening ray ; for
never did I believe, till I saw it, that I should live for
such a thing to be said of me.
" I trust, my dear friend, nay, I am sure, you will
set this down to the right account ; and though I
have as much vanity as another, that you will believe
with myself that vanity is no where present in these
solemn thoughts, for solemn they are; and if I thought
it had any share in a strain which I should be glad
if I could indulge in my closing hour, I would ex
punge it now as I would then. No ! a sinking man's
head, full of the blessings which God has poured upon
it, has no room for this poison, sAveet as it might be
in younger years ; and where I OAvn I am moved, it is
Avith a feeling far better than vanity Avhen I also own
my pleasure in the review I have just quoted.
" We have no engagements, and not even the sight
of friends, or even the possession of our house, would
tempt me to London ; for I have outlived its excite
ment, and am a complete identification of the lines I
have quoted from the Duke of Buckingham : —

Chap. VII.] LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. 211
' With age decayed, of courts and business tired,
Caring for nothing, but what ease required.'
" And what ease could I find in a retirement (for
such it would be) in London comparable to that which
I enjoy here. If ever I write another novel, which
perhaps I may do, spite of the ' Britannia' prophecy, it
shall be upon ' A hollow tree, my crust of bread, and
liberty;' a very pretty sentiment for a gentleman who
feeds every day upon ham and roast turkey.
" R. P. W."

R. Plumer Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
" Okeover, July 3. 1842.
" My dear Austen,
" It was most kind of you to write to me so long a
letter. It gratified, I assure you, a wish I had long
entertained to hear something of your doings, but
particularly of the state of health of your excellent
wife, about which we left town in some anxiety.
From your account I hope I may think it is better,
and I particularly admire the remedy, to enjoy which
I believe I would consent to be worse than I am
myself. From this you may think I am not well,
yet I am not very ill. The income tax, however, has
nothing to do with this, for I cannot help approving
its principles, although I fear the screwing of its
machinery will be oppressive. From the tariff I have
little expectation, and I own, though I feel it not in
this happy retreat, the state of the starving part of
the population, and the little prospect of its ameliora
tion, occasions me alarm amounting to much un-
p 2

212 LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. [Chap. VII.
easiness. Peel is all-powerful, but is no object of
envy. You have interested me so much about your
French friend, that I am glad of his preferment, and
for your sake exceedingly glad of his expected visit ;
d propos to which, I do hope, in your projected tour
with him to Dovedale, you will not confine your call
here to a few hours — a day and a night are the least
I can expect, and as much more as the exertion of a
tour will allow you to give. We are in beauty,
and the delight of independence in such a retreat
made me forget, in twenty -four hours, the regret
which I fear, with all my philosophy, I felt at leaving
town. Not that my passion for woods and fields, and
a degree of solitude, is not as great as ever, and I
always feel better and happier (perhaps wiser) for
them. But then the society of London !
" Yours ever,
" R. P. Ward."
B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to Mrs. Austen.
" Okeover Hall, July 7. 1842.
" My dear Friend,
" From the preface of your letter I should have
supposed you were about to ask me a favour of
towering importance, far above my reach — a peerage
for your husband, or perhaps a diamond necklace for
yourself, for example — when, behold, it is to inquire
after a hypocritical rascal's cave a few miles off.
Well, next to a great deal of information, the best
thing is to know for certain that there is none to give,
and such is the case. As to Rousseau's retreat at

Chap. VII.] LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. 213
Wootton, the whole house is pulled down, and Mr„
Davenport Bromley has built a modern one on the
same site, the steps of which exactly replace the
former apartment of the vain, clever, bad-hearted
mountebank (at best, the mad egotist), who once took
refuge there. There is not a trait which can recal
this Swiss soi-disant philosopher to your accomplished
French friend, whose letter much interested me; at
least I in vain endeavoured to discover any when I
visited Mr. Davenport, as I have often done, his
family and ours being intimate, and his wife, Lady
Louisa, a great favourite. I will, however, write to
him (he is now in London, at least we left him
there), and he will tell me if there is any trace at
Wootton of what your friend wishes. If there is,
when you come I will tell you ; and perhaps, if I can
quit the luxury of inertness, which I here enjoy to
perfection, will climb up with you to the spot, which
is ten miles off, and high among hills.
" Ever yours, very sincerely,
" R. P. W."
B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
" Brook Street, Jan. 5. 1843.
" Dear Austen,
" I thank you much and most truly for all your
kind wishes for all the coming year, which from
such friends as you and your wife are any thing
but a ceremony. How few are left me hke you, and
soon shall I be called from those few ! The change in
p 3

214 LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. [Chap. VII.
my strength daily informs me whereabouts I am, and
I assure you I do not neglect the warning.
" Yours ever,
" R. P. W."

B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
" Okeover, July 31. 1843.
" Dear Austen,
" I fear I lose daily, more and more, all interest
about all things in a world which is so fast receding
from me. I am even perfectly astonished at having
been so long allowed to remain in it; and not a day
passes but I say to myself,
' Lusisti satis, edisti satis atque bibisti,
Tempus abire tibi est.'
" This is not so pleasant as the apophthegm I
was so fond of fifteen years ago : ' Inveni portum.'
After all, perhaps, if health was better (though,
Heaven knows, I have been, comparatively with others,
most blessed, and am very grateful), I should not even
yet give way. But it is vain to disguise it; both
strength and spirits sink under the increased frequency
of my nervous attacks, which give me no notice, but
take me suddenly, and always leave me more and
more weakened. Think you this does not tell me,
more and more impressively, what impends? Then
again, as to public matters, more and more clouds
and darkness, and, what is worse, altered opinions of
those to whom I always, hitherto at least, looked with
confidence. It is too certain that to me the Con-

Chap. VII.] LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. 215
servatives, and particularly their leader, have shown
themselves incompetent in the hour of trial. Ireland,
Scotland, and even Wales, have demonstrated this ;
and Peel has added to the number of those statesmen
of hope and promise only one more man, of whom it
may be said, ' Dignus imperio nisi imperasset.'
" However, enough and too much of this ; I will
think only of the pleasure it will give us to receive
you on the 14th, which will be perfectly convenient
to us, and also that you have recovered from your
influenza, and that my kind friend and patroness,
your wife, is in rude health. It is at least the only
rudeness she ever was guilty of. I need not add how
much I am yours,
" R. Plumer Ward."

B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to Mrs. Austen.
" Okeover Hall, Sept. 13. 1843.
" My dear and kind friend,
" As to what you are so good as to tell me of his
own general good opinion, but still more of Professor
Wilson's particular favour to ' De Clifford,' you would
not believe me if I was to affect not to value, or to
say I was not even greatly pleased with, it. I may
even confess to you, that it has given me more real
and sensible satisfaction than any, the most partial,
commendation I have ever received. You must,
therefore, no longer accuse me of ungraciousness in
my reception of what I Avas most sincere in thinking
p 4

216 LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. [Chap. VII.
I owed to your friendship rather than your justice ;
though, if just, you know how few opinions I think so
valuable as your own. But indeed, indeed, it is no
more than true, that Avhen I look into myself and see
the nothingness of which I am composed ; how totally
wanting I am in science, and how neglectful my long
life has been of duty, as well as every thing that
required energy and self-denial ; the truth that I am
a gross imposition, instead of deserving the opinion
you tell me such men as Professor Wilson awards
me, flashes upon me, spite of all the kind manner in
which you relate it. However, he is so little of an
imposition himself, that I cannot but be greatly pleased
by his wish to know me, and most highly approve,
and join with you in coaxing him to town, where he
will not perhaps complain of our hospitality.
" Yours,
" R. P. W."
B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
" Okeover, Oct. 19. 1843.
" Dear Austen,
" You gossip so agreeably yourself that you deserve,
though perhaps you do not often meet with, something
as agreeable in return. But for this there are many
requisites, which I fear so retired a nook as this is
cannot supply. After a full house ever since you left
us, w eare once more in humdrum solitude, though it
will be enlivened on Saturday by another visit from
Mr. Aitkyns (whom I think you know) and Lady
Waterpark, and her niece, Lady Louisa Tennyson,

Chap. VIL] LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. 217
with a proper assortment of beaux. Heigh ho ! though
fond, as you know, of society, promiscuous visiting
work gives me little pleasure. My complaints are not
worse, but not less frequent than they were (how can
I expect it ?) —
"Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight;"
and I feel the natural indifference to almost every
thing, which of right belongs to any one approaching
eighty. As to O'Connell's intended prosecution, I
cannot, devoid as I am of information, think it is a
wise thing even if it succeeds. What say you ? Will
it succeed ? Will not the grand jury throw out the
bill ? or will not the petty acquit ? Or if they do
not, will not his imprisonment keep Ireland for ever
in a still greater ferment than now — for ever prevent
all hope of reconciliation or pacification ? In short,
will it not hasten rebellion ? But you must laugh at
the politics of such a hermit, whose chief and almost
only care is to poke his fire properly, and read an
amusing book when he can find one. This I have lately
done in one which, strange to say, I have had fifteen
years by me without knowing any thing of its clever
and interesting contents — ' Peter's Letters to his
Kinsfolk.' Of course you and my lady are familiar
with them. If so, do you agree with me, that there
never was a better picture of Scotland ? Apropos to
the literati there to be found, how goes on my lady's.
engouement for Professor Wilson ? Her letters about
him made me cruelly afraid that she was abandoning
me ; and I am really glad she has come back to M.

218 LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. [Chap. VII.
Place. Pray tell your Avife I thought there were
some very sweet things in the letters she wrote me
from B., and my conscience has smote me for not
answering the last, but she had moved, and I knew
not Avhere she was; I was bothered with deeds and
stoppages of circulation, both of blood and brain, and
was in fact such a bundle of complaints, that I was
not even grateful enough to bestow my tediousness
upon her. Different you will say from my feeling
towards you; witness this letter! I must not con
clude without adding, on the part of my Avife and
myself, in all sincerity, our kindest regards to you
both, and so farewell. " R. Plumer Ward."

B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to Mrs. Austen.
" Okeover Hall, Nov. 25. 1843.
" ' Now be the noble friend my love once thought you,'
not, (as Lord Bruce said to Sir E. Sackville,) uand let
me cut your throat, or you cut mine," but think that
I can be as silent as I have been, after your kindest
and pleasantest of letters, and yet not be ungrateful.
On the contrary, believe that both yours and your
husband's did me all possible good by driving away
very blue devils ; and showing me that, having such
friends left me, the world had still in it something
that was valuable even to one going out of it, and
yet that I might not be able to screw my courage up
to the exertion of a letter in return. It is very cer-

Chap. VIL] LETTER TO MRS. AUSTEN. 219
tain that both myself and Mary Anne, on reading
yours, thought that we had nobody left alive who could
write to us as you, both of you did, or thank you for
it more sincerely ; and yet, such was my miserable,
indolent, and procrastinating spirit, that even this best
of pleasures, that I am now able to enjoy,, (a feeling
that I am not absolutely forgotten in the world,) could
not squeeze from me one particle of the gratitude I
really felt. All I can hope is, that a near approach
to seventy-nine may be treated with the veneration
and kindness it may be thought to deserve, and that
you will not think your letters were indifferent to me,
or did not give me all the pleasure they did, because
I did not tell you so.
" Do not, however, let me make myself worse than I
am, for very many of my days of silence were the effect
of illness ; so frequent lately, as to give me often not
unwholesome apprehensions that my time was come ;
and God knoAvs how mercifully I feel I have been
treated in having so many important warnings, freed
from their usual accompaniments of pain and misery
of mind.
"Exceeding feebleness is the chief difficulty I feel;
and even from this I so often rally, and regain a very
fair portion of spirits, and I may say happiness, that
my gratitude is unbounded, and certainly not the less
when I think how little I have deserved it. How
much of it is owing to my dear wife, I believe you,
who know her, can judge. Believe that she fully
reciprocates all the kind things which your letter was
so pleasingly full of; especially in regard to our fre-

220 LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. [Chap. VII.
quent meetings in town. We only wonder, while we
fully trust in their truth, at your feelings of prefer
ence for the hours you have passed with us, to those
which must have afforded you so much greater variety
and excitement ; for most truly do I think our house
deserves the name I have given it, of Humdrum Hall.
All I can say is, that it is well appropriated as a resi
dence for one Avho has descended into the extreme of
humdrum life. Not an unhappy one either, as we
manage it ; so do not think I complain, or envy even
you, with all your energies, interests, pursuits, and
admirers. I congratulate you as to these last, on
having so palpably and honourably added to them in
the person of Professor Wilson, your rencontre with
whom seems much the pleasantest event of your last
summer's tour. Thank you and your good husband
much, for the politics of your letters. And now,
dear and good friend, adieu ; for I am too thankful
for having been able to get so far without giddiness
to attempt another page. " Ever yours, &c.
" R. P. W."

B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
" Okeover Hall, Dec. 8. 1843.
" My dear Austen,
" If I knew how to begin a letter to you, I think I
could finish it ; but I am really so angry with my
want of common fortitude, or energy, in fact so
ashamed of such wretched weakness as has occasioned

Chap. VIL] LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. 221
my silence, that I don't know where to begin. Not
the less because, unfortunately, since my letter to your
kind wife, I have got so much better in health, that I
am bereft of all excuse ; and I stand self-convicted of
the most sensual and scandalous indolence, and even
of what I do not in general think belongs to me,
ingratitude, Certainly, when I look at your most
friendly and agreeable letters (now augmented to
three), which, that they might daily tell me hoAv
much I owed you, I have, regularly as the morning
came, spread open upon my desk, to think of my
neglect makes me out a hardened sinner. Nor is my
monotonous and uninteresting life an excuse ; for I
flatter myself I still can do the agreeable with pen in
hand, even though the subject be as barren as winter
and Okeover. I know too that the adage is true, Ce
n'est que le premier pas qui coute. The difficulty is
that premier pas ! and such the misery of too much
leisure. If any thing could kindle me, it would be
such letters as you and Mrs. Austen are so good as to
write. ' Nay, do not think I flatter ; ' though I will
not say so, for the reason Hamlet gave his friend.
For both of you have much more revenue than
'your good spirits to feed and clothe you;' and, as
for madame, you know she is my lady patroness.
" As we have settled to start for London on the
12th, and remain to the 23rd, when Ave go for the
Christmas week into Sussex, I might put off business
till then. However, as the business papers have with
your letters been all equally and daily lying before
me to remind me of duty, till I got so accustomed

222 LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. [Chap. VII.
to a breach of it, that I forgot what they were, they
shall no longer reproach me ; so I forward them for
your energy to turn them to shape, when we meet,
which shall be as soon as reasonably may be, with
persons who have to fit themselves and the contents
of scores of baggage Avaggons in a new residence.
" R. P. W."

B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
"Brook Street, Friday, Jan. 6. [7.] 1844.
" Dear Austen,
" We spent ten absolutely happy days at Danny*,
owing somewhat certainly to the beauty of one of the
finest old seats in England, a hall eighty feet long,
and twenty-five high, full of family pictures from
Henry VIII. upwards, quite after my own taste ; but
chiefly from the primeval manners and goodness of
the family Avho preside OArer it, in most substantial
old English hospitality, with a kindness and sim
plicity one seldom sees. A fine old Sir Roger de
Coverley chief, and a wife and mother, such as Lady
de Coverley would have been had the knight been mar
ried ; a very agreeable and accomplished set of sons
and daughters, and two charming daughters-in-law :
last, and not least (except in stature), six grand
children, most consummately well brought up, yet
full of liveliness and merriment, which kept the house
alive from morning till night, and made aU the old
* Danny Park, a beautiful spot, about six miles from Brighton.

Chap. VII.] LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. 223
ones young again. I know not when I enjoyed my
self so much, not the less for their being such old
friends and so fond of my wife. Yours would have
been charmed with the daily scene, so different from
what seems acting in the Avorld ; and Swift, if he had
been there, I was going to say, would have burned
his travels ; but I wo'n't, for he was a born cynic, and
did not wish to be corrected. Well, we are here again,
and hope soon to see you both,
" Ever, and much yours,
" R. Plumer Ward."

B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
"Hastings, Jan. 7. 1845.
" My dear Austen,
" I own when I saAV your handwriting I expected
a scold, for much I deserved it. I have, indeed, been
most remiss towards you. But you must not, on that
account, suppose I did not value, or think of, your pre
vious kind letter. Indeed, for many days, I thought
of nothing else ; for not a morning occurred without
my resolving to answer it, and it lay on the most
prominent part of my desk that I might not forget it,
till, like a scarecrow in a field, I got so accustomed
to it, that it had no longer any power.* You are such
# So good a Shakspearian as Mr. Ward would probably have in his
mind the fine passage in " Measure for Measure : "
" We must not make a scarecrow of the law,
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
Their perch, and not their terror."

224 LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. [Chap. VII.
a good man of business, that I dare say you cannot
enter into it, but I do assure you that the true cause
why I did not write was, that I had nothing else to
do. 0 dear ! I am in the greatest danger of going
off in a fit of indolence ; for I have no other com
plaint. Lounging, both in body and mind, gets more
and more hold of me, and this soft climate makes it
Avorse; for, like the Italians, it promotes the dolce far
niente so much, that I must return to Brook Street to
recover my vital poAvers. My life, hoAvever, passes in
a happy, if indolent, reverie, Avhich I take to be the
true paradise of fools ; and, while that is the case, I
don't want to be among the wise. I dream, indeed, a
little of former times, and have eAren contrived to be
excited and pleased with the ' Malmesbury Papers '
and the ' Life of Arnold ; ' with these exceptions, the
quantity of trash that has gone through my brain from
the circulating library, would sink down a man-of-
Avar ! Thank heaven, I am not like Bolingbroke, who
never read nonsense, because he could never forget
what he read ! Now I have not the least recollection
of the 200 volumes, post octavo, which I am sure I
have crammed Avithin the last two months. But
adieu. " Ever yours,
" R. P. W."

Chap. VIL] LETTER TO MR. AUSTEN. 225
B. Plumer Ward, Esq., to B. Austen, Esq.
" Okeover, Jan. 5. 1846.
" My dear Austen,
" You never were more right in your life, than
when you felt sure that your friends here Avould
be glad to hear from yourself, and be sure you were
restored to yourself. The danger from which, by
God's blessing, you have recovered, Avas not necessary
to convince us how much we valued you. The ac
count of it Avas frightful, and we felt quite as much
for your excellent wife as yourself. After all,
though nothing could make up for what you both
have gone through, this incident must have had its
advantage in shoAving of what consequence your kind
ness and goodness to everybody have made you to us
all. I know not the life the loss of which would
have been so justly lamented, and so far I wish I
resembled you. My OAvn complaints, after yours, will
not bear mentioning. What they want, however, in
violence, they make up for in perseverance ; for, from
four, five, or six in the morning till near dinner time,
I am never free from pain, which keeps me too low
and tremulous to have any enjoyment, and makes
me think your allusion to good-fellowship almost a
mockery! In short, I am more seriously than ever
impressed with the approach of my separation, and
am therefore less alive to the depression of all
worldly interests. These are but poor topics to one
who has been so ill, though happily convalescent. I
will, therefore, advert to one which gave me a real
VOL. II. Q

226 MR. WARD'S RESIDENCE [Chap. VII.
satisfaction of heart, such as no worldly prosperity
could have procured me. On Christmas eve I gave
a dinner of beef, pudding, ale, and backy, to above
seventy men, Avomen, and children, being all those1
labouring poor who could not provide that seasonable
comfort for themselves ; and, on the last day of the
year, tea, and a magnificent supper and dance, to the
tenants living in the two parishes, our servants, and
their friends. The universal satisfaction, I may say
exuberant joy, this created, was a real treat, worth
living for, and such as I never Avitnessed (from its
total unsophistication) in the most splendid London
entertainment. " R. P. W."
The weight of fourscore years Avas now beginning
to tell seriously on that frame which even the active
mind within could not exempt from a sense of in
creasing infirmity. " I wish," says he to a dear
friend, " I had a little of your vis. But it is worse
and worse with me, and my feebleness in body and
mind progresses ; if that be not a bull ! But God knows
I have no right to complain, but, on the contrary,
every reason to be most thankful. I am ever yours,
for the little that remains to "R.P.W."
Early in 1846, Mrs. Plumer Ward's father, the
late Sir George Anson, received the appointment of
Lieutenant-Governor of Chelsea, and, as Mr. Ward
remarked, " not being Avilling to part company when

Chap. VIL] AT CHELSEA HOSPITAL. 227
we have all been so happy together," they determined
to move with him to his official residence at Chelsea,
for the remainder of a rapidly closing existence.
His last letter from Okeover, dated March 4th,
1846, written in all the confusion of departure, says :
" Think of moving between 3000 and 4000 books !
Think of my boldness in adventuring this at eighty-
one, when there is little chance of my opening a book
again ! "
After his arrival at Chelsea, a few short notes
told, from time to time, of increased suffering ; one,
Avritten little more than a month before the close
of his life, announced, with much satisfaction, the
appointment of his son, now Sir Henry Ward, as
Secretary of the Admiralty. Their politics had been
as opposed as are the views of the present age to
those of the last : yet the father could not help re
joicing that the constant exertion of his son's talents
for many years, in a direction which seemed but to
promise proscription and exclusion from office, had
resulted in an opportunity of assisting to carry out
his own principles, when they had at length become
triumphant. It was the last public and private event
in this world that was to present a new impression
to that mind which had so long been publicly and
privately active. Those higher and more sacred feel
ings of religious faith and home-affection, devoted
sympathy for those Avho were dear to him, and affec
tionate interest in their well-being, remained unchanged
to the last, the comfort of his declining, as they had
been of his mature, years. His bodily sufferings,
Q 2

228 DEATH OF MR. WARD. [Chap..VII.
however, and alarming seizures, continued to . in
crease both in. intensity and frequency, until at length,
on the 1.3th of August, at the age .of eighty-one, a
calm and peaceful death closed his earthly trials. He
died at Chelsea Hospital, under the roof of his father-
in-law, Sir George Anson, then the Lieutenant-
Governor, whose friendship had contributed so much
to the social happiness of his waning years. . His
intellect to the very last remained unclouded,' as was
shown no less by the sprightliness that adorned his
conversation, than by the retentiveness of his memory,
and that readiness of recollection with which he
brought forth its stored-up treasures in the papers
that follow. Lastly, the earnest simplicity of his
religious fervour was evinced to the .very close of his
life, in the prayers composed by him on completing
his seventy-seventh and seventy-eighth birthdays,
and by many other such devotional exercises.

SELECTIONS

MR. WARD'S UNPUBLISHED WORKS.

Q 3

NOTICE.

The reader, about to peruse the last productions of
an old favourite, is earnestly requested to bear in
mind, that the following papers were completed only
just before the death of their lamented author, and
were consequently deprived of the benefit of his own
final revision.

THE DAY-DREAMER;
OR, A SERIES OP PAPERS ON MEN, MANNERS, AND THINGS,
FROM THE COMMONPLACE BOOK OF
AN IDLE OBSERVER.

PART I,
No. I.

" Never was dream
So like a waking." Winters Tale.
" Why do you publish ? There are no rewards
Of fame or profit when the world grows weary.
I ask, in turn, Why do you play at cards ?
Why drink ? AVhy read ? To make some hour less dreary.
It occupies me to turn back regards
On what I've seen or ponder'd, sad or cheery ;
And what I write I cast upon the stream,
To swim or sink; — I've had, at least, my dream." Don Juan, xiv. 11.
" I have chosen those subjects wherein I take human life to be most
concerned, and which are of most common use, or most necessary know
ledge ; and wherein, though I may not be able to inform men more than
they know, yet I may, perliaps, give them the occasion to consider more
than they do." — Sib Wm. Temple : Of Health and Long Life.
I was always a day-dreamer. Some of my friends
dignify me with the designation of a Contemplative
Man ; but I never realised that character. I never,
like the cherub in Milton, " Soar'd on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne."
Q 4

232

THE DAY-DREAMER.

Yet, from my earliest youth, (by which, I mean, my
absolute boyhood.) I could, and can still, doze away
the minutes at my window, with no other occupation
than watching the clouds. Nay, when it is not damp,
(for, as my man John says, I be mortal subject to
therheumatizes,) I am still fond of basking in the sun
on the grass. I did so as a child, and was often
found, as Avas said of Orlando, "like a dropt acorn
under an oak."
It has been held, I know not with what truth, that
to love solitude and a reverie, is a mark of genius.
If so, I am, and was from my early days, one of the
greatest geniuses in the world. For I Avas frequently
discovered, lost in thought (though to have told what
the thought Avas would have been difficult), on a
tombstone in the churchyard, or riding across the
boughs of a yew tree Avhich overhung it. There I
was, always alone ; for though boys are fond of climb
ing, they do not like it, as I did, for the sake of a day
dream without interruption. This dreaming, how
ever, sometimes cost me a flogging ; for my first
school Avas on the borders of a forest, and its conceal
ments were so inviting to my humour, that I not
unfrequently played truant in order to enjoy the
meditation they prompted. Here, though I could
hardly construe him, I Avas delighted to think myself
Horace : " Sicut meus est mos,
Nescio quid meditans nugarum, et totus in illis." *

* According to my custom, meditating, wholly absorbed, on I know not
what trifles.

INTRODUCTION. ' 233
Much of this might arise from a love of liberty, and
aversion to constraint, whether of mind or body ;
for in this respect (I trust in few others) I resembled
Rousseau. " Je me plairois a mes lecons quand j'y
etois ; mais je n'aimois d'etre oblige de m'y rendre,
ni que I'heure me commandat. En toute chose la
gene et l'assujettissement me sont insupportables ; ils
me faisoient prendre en haine le plaisir meme."
Well ! and what did all this indulgence of fancy do
for you ?
Not much. It certainly did not lead either to
fame or fortune. In fact, it made me no better than
what I have called myself — an idle observer ; and as,
unfortunately, I had a comfortable fortune, I gave
myself up to a sort of indolent study of men and
things, of which I grew so fond that I renounced all
desire (to use a vulgar phrase) of bettering myself,
and resolved to walk the world content " with my
virtue and a good surtout."
I once, indeed, had ambition enough to think
of the Church, because I fell into the very foolish
error, (which, had it not been an error, would
have suited me well enough,) of thinking that a
minister of religion had nothing to do but to eat,
drink, and sleep, like Boileau's prelate, who
" Muni d'un dejeuner,
Dormant d'un leger somme, attendoit le diner."
But in this I was wrong ; for a very little observation
of the pains taken by divines to qualify themselves
for very arduous functions, and the manner in which
most of them fulfil their duties, convinced me that no

234 THE DAY-DREAMER.
one Avas more truly a labourer than he of the sacred
\dneyard. The Church Avas given up.
I returned, therefore, to the world, that is, to ob
serve its manners, without mixing in its business ;
and this Avould have occupied and pleased me had my
condition been lower than it was. But I had been at
college, and had connections that gave me opportu
nities which many of my brother dreamers want. I
criticised women as well as men ; mingled in all ranks,
and examined nature, animate and inanimate ; and,
when I had laid in a store for thought, my happiness
was to think it over again, that is, to dream of it,
though any thing but asleep.
Thus no man Avent beyond me in
" Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy."
I ha\re compared myself to Horace, as an idler who
loved a reverie, but I was not without resemblance to
Johnson also, at least in watching mankind.
In many other matters I am not so presumptuous.
But I did not, like him, devote almost all my best
days to scanning human nature in a populous city.
On the contrary, my happiness was to create an
ever varying scene, and I Avas the happiest of the
happy when, to relieve a glut of town observation, I
flew to the country to breathe among the pleasant
villages and farms.
Many, therefore, have been my country tours, as well
as town speculations. As to the last, I am no stranger
to political clubs; and as I value the elegancies of
polished life, as Avell as the simplicities of nature, I am

INTRODUCTION. 235
not without self-complacency when I say that I have
not been excluded from the drawingrooms of beauty.
And hoAV did you escape ?
Not unscathed, perhaps ; but that is neither here
nor there. Suffice it that I know something of the
sex, Avhich may be possibly discovered in the course
of these lucubrations. Indeed, there have not been
wanting persons who (whether meaning to compli
ment, or the reverse, I know not,) have not scrupled
to hold me up to the world as a woman's man.
My readers, from all this, may be anxious to dis
cover what I am in person and phiz ; whether I am still
young, or how near I approach to an old beau in his
grand climacteric. Indeed they will think I ought
to be the latter, to give lessons of experience and
describe life. But I shall say no more than that any
body, to look at me, would not guess there was much
in me worth knowing ; for I am eminently " cheto
fuor," though " commoto dentro." And as to my
phiz, I can only confess (for I know little of it myself)
that in once rummaging a lumber closet, I found an
old torn school-book with my face scrawled in the
first page, and underneath it the nickname of " Big
Head." Notwithstanding this, I hope I have said
enough, so far, to bespeak favour to my intended
pages, that the world may venture to examine them.
The title of " a series of papers (in other words,
essays) on men, manners, and things," is, I own, dry
and stiff, and in this tale-loving age it had perhaps
better have been " a series of tales." I might then
have stood a better chance of pleasing the ladies, and

236 THE DAY-DREAMER.
of being even perused by ladies' maids, while sit
ting up for their mistresses when late at a ball.
I might actually be experimented upon as an agree
able companion in a postchaise ; and certainly might
hope for a shelf in the library of a watering-place.
As it is, spite of my title, I will not. despair of this
yet being my fortune, for my dreams will have little
of the stoic turn. In fact, I shall endeavour to teach
morals more by example than precept By this I
shall not only save myself a great deal of trouble (an
important object with a dreamer), but probably ingra
tiate myself better with my readers.
My only additional remark is, that I am too little
fond of melancholy scenes or views of things, to
obtrude them par .preference on my readers; and
though I have the greatest reverence for ,
"A pensive nun, devout and pure,"
I have a livelier taste for the song of the milkmaid.
This and the whistle of the ploughman, or the gam
bols of children in a hayfield, have often detained me
under a hawthorn hedge from far more important
concerns. With this account of myself, dear reader,
I bid thee adieu.

EFFECTS OF SPRTNG. 237

No. II.
DDJFERENT EFFECTS OF SPRING IN TOATO AND COUNTRY UPON A
MAN OF THE TOWN, WHO IS ALSO A MAN OF MANY IMPULSES.
"A day in April never came so sweet,
To show that costly summer was at hand." Shakspeare.
I have said in my preface, that I am never so
happy as in a country tour, after a glut of the world
in town.
Accordingly, no schoolboy ever rejoiced more at
the approach of his holidays than I, when, Easter
being over, the greenness of the hedges and the
budding of flowers, to say nothing of the song of
birds and perfume of gardens, warn all fashionable
people to leave them for dust and noise and crowded
streets. * It was not so in older times, when my pre
sent date (the 4th of June) was the birthday of the
most rational and most virtuous, as well as most just,
of Britain's kings. George the Third had set the
fashion of retiring to enjoy Nature where best she is
to be seen, in the country. The courtiers, whether
they liked it or not, felt bound in some degree to fol
low ^his example, and streets and squares began to
empty, instead of filling to repletion, as they do now,
about this time of the year. I am, however, for the
good old fashion I have commemorated ; and hence,
after wandering in the green lanes that so cheer the

238 THE DAY-DREAMER.
good citizens in the outskirts of London during the
first few days of warmth and verdure, I am never
easy till I am fairly off upon some country errand,
which takes me twenty or thirty miles from the dissi
pation and turmoil that begin to thicken around me.
The signal for my annual progress is arrived. We
have long " woo'd the tardy spring," which is at last
come ; and only more lovely for having been pre
viously so coy.
But how strange, that in our capricious island,
where sunshine is so scanty and the gifts of the sea
sons so uncertain, the arrival of this lovely time
should be the reason for leaving the. country, instead
of seeking it ! All the avenues to London are filled
with travelling carriages, loaded above their roofs
with animate and inanimate lumber. Among them I
sometimes see (though rarely) Sir Francis Wrong-
head's "awld coach," creaking under four "portman-
tels" with my lady's gear, heavy Ralph, and the
monkey behind, and Dolly Cook hoisted into the
coach-box before, " because she ware sick."
Our squires, however, are now so refined, that this
is, as I have said, but of rare occurrence ; though,
whether we have gained by exchanging their rough
simplicity (which bordered, I allow, upon rudeness)
for the refinement which noAv pervades all ranks, and
sits very ill upon some of them, may be a question.
My friend Medlicott is a changed being. He
triumphs in the return of the world (his world) to
town. For he is a cordon bleu de son ordre, though,

A MAN OF THE TOWN. 239
it must be owned, his ordre is but a sorry one. He is
the prince of the ennuyes, and I must waste a few
words upon him. During the commencement of the
year, he dragged on a listless existence, without any
object to kindle him, having worn out the feAv faculties
he had by over-indulgence.
If, indeed, you are not a denizen of St. James's
Street, it is fit I should tell you something of the life
of this illustrious person. He has been a gambler on
turf and at hazard, till, by shaking the dice-box, he is
considerably out at elbows. He has been in Parlia
ment, but could neither speak himself, nor listen to
others. He has belonged to all the clubs, in order to
make sure of a diversity of company ; but finding all
his companions did the same, and he met with none
but the same faces, that was a failure too.
He tried marriage, but thought his Avife had too
much vivacity (that is, spent too much money), while
she thought him dull (that is, stingy) ; so they sepa
rated, she to Brussels, he to his beloved St. James's
Street, where his face is to be seen in eternal same
ness, through the seven different windows of the seven
different clubs of which he is a worthy member.
He has a fine house near the Land's End, washed
by the sea ; but, being at the land's end, it leads to no
other place, and nobody will take the trouble of going
so far, merely to be bored and come back again.
He, therefore, bestows himself at Christmas upon
any body that will put up with him for the holidays,
over which he generally spreads what is called a " Avet

240 THE DAY-DREAMER.
blanket : " certainly little fire can burn where he has
any connection. But he is now happy ; for all his
dinner-giving friends (the only friends he cares for)
are come to toAvn.
Yet he is a bad diner-out, for he is so blase, that
though he opens his mouth often enough, he never
says a word. Yet he pretends to wit, and when he
asked me what I Avas going away for, and I told him,
to enjoy the fresh green of the country, he actually
drawled out, that the only green he cared for was
Green Street. So much for Medlicott.
I am not a little ridiculed, however, by others of a
different calibre, who say I give myself airs, and set
up for an original, because I presume to act for my
self, and have the boldness to leave London when the
best company is coming to it.
One reminds me of Will Honeycomb, in his banter
of his dear Spec: — "I suppose this will find thee
picking a daisy, or smelling to a lock of hay." On the
other hand, Lord Blatterthwaite, who always speaks
ex cathedra (that is, from an arm-chair at Boodle's) ;
who never comes to town till the middle of May, nor
leaves it till Parliament is up, though at the end of
August ; who, moreover, is a remarkable good hus
band, having ten children by my lady (Avhom, with
my lady herself, he keeps in excellent order in the
country), declares it is always a bad sign when a
single man presumes to set himself up against Custom.
To this I answer, with a complete man of the world :
" Custom ! that result of the passions and prejudices
of many, and the designs of a few ! that ape of Reason,

THE MAN OF IMPULSES. 241
who usurps her seat, exercises her power, and is
obeyed by mankind in her stead." *
No ; it is not Custom that will make me see the
propriety of lingering in a place of Avhich I am tired,
even if it were not the end of May ; so I am off to
morrow. And whither ?
Why, to another of my worthies, my man of im
pulses, — my friend Brudenell, as different from
Medlicott as a black-cock from a barn-door fowl.
Often have I thought of taking his portrait, and as he
Avill be the hero of this lucubration, here it is.
He was a man of no small fashion — known at
court and ball, and not ill-pleased to be so ; a senator,
a party man, and a diner out, though of a very differ
ent grade from Medlicott. He is, moreover, a man
of some literature, and has attempted a novel. But
his chief pride was to be, or thought to be, well with
the ladies, to Avhom, while he flattered them in his
vers galants, for which he had great reputation, he
save serious lectures as to female conduct, as well as
belles lettres, sometimes venturing upon suggestions
even as to dress. From this he would fly off to moralise,
and talk Cicero and Seneca with the men, and con
tributed many papers, both ethical and political, to
the periodicals of the time. In the course of all this
he met with some rebuffs, as well he might. For he
was generally in extremes, as to his opinions, or ex
pectations, so that, like Villiers,
" Every one with him was God or devil."
* Bolingbroke.
VOL. II. R

242 THE DAY-DREAMER.
Thus every new event, new beauty, or new work
prompted new activity. Every prominent character,
male or female ; any great topic of inquiry, public or
private ; any prevailing toast, or prevailing taste, in
love or literature, politics or scandal, moved him to
enthusiasm, and ruled the passing hour. Of course
his pursuits, and seemingly his principles of action,
varied. At one time he was plunged chin-deep in
party politics, till he met with a disappointment,.
which he aggravated into a breach of promise from
the minister. But, though angry, his anger evapo
rated in a pamphlet tolerably written, and which had
a run. This consoled him ; and after this he gave him
self up, heart and soul, to a certain Lady Thomasina,
for whose sake, he said, he undervalued all that am
bition could give ; and for this the lady, whom, with
all his knowledge of the sex, he had not discovered to
be an arrant coquette, jilted and laughed at him. No
matter, his spirit was too buoyant to pine, and he
revenged himself in the novel which I mentioned, and
which also was much read. While in love with
Lady Thomasina, he was all for town pleasures and
refined society : rejected, he swore no fine lady was
worth pursuing ; nothing, indeed, but the simplicities
of Nature; and, as there were no simplicities in Lon
don, he took lodgings in a farm-house close to Windsor
Park. Here he resolved to moralise in seclusion ;
satirise the inanities and iniquities of the Avorld ; rail
at high-born flirts and faithless ministers ; and shoot
" Folly as it flies," Avith Pope and Boileau, Juvenal
and Johnson. For this purpose he sent down a great

THE MAN OF IMPULSES. 243
package of books, and many quires of paper, and soon
followed himself, in a most indignant fit of virtue and
philosophy. For my part, as I knew the man, and knew he was
neither Brutus nor Diogenes, but only a very honest
agreeable fellow when tolerably well treated by the
world, and, but for a lack of judgment and consistency,
even of talents, I was curious to know the issue of
his adventure (for such I judged it), and resolved, as
it Avas a mere pleasant ride, to beat up his quarters
unexpectedly. Yet, to tell the truth, though I had
had a long and glowing letter from him, full of the
charms of the country, and the beauty of the Great
Park, I was not without misgivings as to the state in
which I should find him, since I had observed that he
never seemed fonder of society than when he most
abused it. The result of my visit will form the
subject of another dream.

r 2

244 THE DAY-DREAMER.

No. III.
" One that hath been a courtier,
And says, if ladies be but young and fair
They have the gift to know it ; and in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder bisket
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms." Shakspeake : As You Like It.

I suppose my reader Avill think I found Brudenell
with pen in hand, and an eye rolling in phrensy. No
such thing ! I had met his two bits of blood with his
groom, parading a few yards before the door of his
hermitage, and, expressing my surprise, the man in
formed me his master was that instant setting off
for Ascot races. I found him, in fact, in the act of
drawing on a pair of top-boots for the purpose.
The farm-house was aU in a bustle ; for, from
vicinity, his landlord and his whole family considered
the races as an annual fete : and as he had been an
old huntsman, and was actually a yeoman pricker, he
had covered his cottage with placards of the horses
that were to run, and woodcuts of the jockeys in all
proper costume, contesting the race with whip and
spur. His wife and daughters, too (the last, by the
way, two rosy girls in their teens), had just got into
a market-cart with straw-bottomed chairs, to take
them to the ground. They were all over cherry-
coloured ribbons, the colour of a favourite jockey, and

THE MAN OF IMPULSES. 245
looked themselves very ripe and blooming. I could
not help darting a significant look at Brudenell, even
before I shook hands with him.
" This," said I, "is your mode of moralising in
seclusion ! This your method of showing up the
vices of the world! These the simplicities you so
much prefer to the artificial manners of the toAvn ! "
He laughed, and said, " I see what you mean, but
you are wrong, and I shall cut no figure in your
notes." " I don't know that," said I : " for I have not forgot
the tirade you uttered not a fortnight ago, on the
necessity of flying from the folly and treachery of
society ; and hoAV do I find you ? "
" Fi done," said he ; " these young creatures are as
innocent as doves, and as ignorant of the world as the
daughters of a Welsh parson."
" Which ignorance you, no doubt, think yourself
bound to dispel by pouring fresh instruction o'er their
minds, for which purpose you attend them to races."
" And no bad purpose, either," said he ; " for a race
is dangerous ground for a young girl, and she may
want a protector."
" Your humble servant," replied I ; " but are you
not afraid of meeting your more refined friends, such
as Lady Harriet, and Lady Thomasina herself, who
may want a protector too ? They, I knoAV, have
planned to be at the Heath to-day, and will murder
you Avith quizzing, should you show your face Avith
these Blowzelinds."
" Let them look to themselves," said he. " They
R 3

240

THE DAY-DREAMER.

know that I am come in quest of pure nature, which
I have long valued more than all their artificial life ;
and I have often told them, that an unsophisticated
farmer's daughter was a treasure worth all the
duchesses in London."
" Which treasure you have found in one or other,
or perhaps both, of these damsels."
" Truce," said he ; " I tell you, you are upon a wrong
scent; and though, to be sure, to be going to Ascot
is not positively an avoidance of the world, you will
find that never was retreat so well chosen as this for
my purpose. But we must not lose the race, and as
your horses are not disposed of, I think the best thing
you can do is to accompany us."
I complied ; we mounted, and in a few minutes
were in the middle of that world which he had fled
from London to avoid.
" What a mob ! " exclaimed he. " How many
thousands have left their peaceful homes and profitable
callings, to waste their spirits and the fruits of their
industry upon vanity ! "
" Why, yes," said I ; " for a race is something hke
Yanity Fair. But pray inform me, if all these people
are so reprehensible, what you yourself do among
them." " Why I" he replied, " as I suppose you, come to
observe, and get acquainted with the levities of life, in
order the better to lecture upon and avoid them."
" Of which lecture," I said, " I shrewdly suspect
your cherry-coloured friends there stand at this
moment a little in need ; " and I pointed to his two

THE MAN OF IMPULSES. 247
young hostesses, who, in their market-cart draAvn up
close to the ropes, were chattering, nothing loth, with
the jockey with whose colours they had decked them
selves, and who was treating them, though so early
in the day, with cakes and ale. I observed our phi
losopher to change colour a little at the sight.
" I could not have thought this of Sarah," said he,
(the eldest of the girls,) "after all the advice I had
given against listening to a racing groom ; and that
Will Summers is perhaps, of all grooms, the most
dangerous." At this he rode on in something very
like disgust, which made me curious to probe him on
the real state of his mind in his boasted retreat ; but
the opportunity did not arise till next day ; for, with
all his objection to a mob of any sort, and (while the
fit was on him) his hatred of artificial society (as he
now called any thing out of a village), he forced me
with him to an ordinary at Sunning Hill, and after-
Avards to a ball at Lord Montresor's, near Windsor,
where he passed great part of the night in dancing,
and talking sentiment with several ladies and honour-
ables, old acquaintances whom he met there.
Returned to our farm-house, and having agreed to
pass the next day with him, he accompanied his in
vitation with the warning that he was true to his
principles of living a mere life of nature, that is, of
confining himself to natural wants ; " and therefore,"
said he, " you must expect nothing but the plainest
and most primitive fare. I always," continued he
gravely, "admired that answer of Cyrus to Astyages,
who asked what the Persians drank for, if they drank
R 4

248 THE DAY-DREAMER.
nothing but water; "To satisfy their thirst," said
Cyrus, " and that is all."
I began to be alarmed for my dinner, and particu
larly for my wine, and said with some seriousness,
" You surely do not mean to confine me to nuts and
water." " Very little more, I assure you," said he.
" I am here really en vrai hermite, and you may
think yourself Avell off with beans and bacon, and
perhaps, as you are a stranger, an egg or so."
" Good," I observed ; " and as to drink, I suppose
the Persian beverage, though I beg to say I would
rather have a little of the Assyrian."
" Not a drop. I promise you," answered he ; " you
know I told you I left the artificial to cultivate the
simple life, so brought no wine."
" Which was the reason, no doubt," I replied, "for
your paying such respect to your claret at the or
dinary yesterday, and Lord Montresor's champagne
after supper."
" Baison de plus," cried he, " for allowing you at
best only some home-brewed ale to-day. But it Avill
be served by Sarah, who will then appear what she
is — a Hebe."
" Have you so soon then forgotten her coquetry
with Will Summers, the racing groom — of all men
you know the most dangerous ? "
" Pooh ! pooh ! " answered he, " I tell you again,
the child is as innocent as I am myself."
" I have no doubt of it," said I.
" You are but a dry fellow after all, Mr. Somno-

THE MAN OF IMPULSES. 249
lent," answered he, " and have only come, I see, to
spy out the nakedness of the land."
" No, indeed," I replied ; " but I came, I own, to
ascertain how your experiment answered, and what
progress you had made in that code of ethics which is
to reform the world. But I see no books ; and, though
plenty of pens and paper, not even a sheet of manu
script." " To tell you the truth," said he, " my books are
not yet unpacked."
I started, which a little disconcerted him. " How
ever," he added, " though I have yet put nothing on
paper, I have thought a great deal."
" And were the thoughts," asked I, " so profound
that they could not be translated into language ? "
" Not so. But to confess the real fact, I was at
first so transported with liberty, and having got free
from that confounded London, that, what with that,
riding, and playing at trap-ball  "
" What ! " said I ; "is there a school in the fo
rest?" " No," returned he ; " I mean with my landlord's
children. You know I was always fond of chil
dren." " True," said I, " and the landlord's seem very fine
ones, particularly the females ; I suppose they play
at trap-ball too ?
" They do sometimes," said he, with a little hesita
tion ; " but then it is merely to make out the game
with their little brothers. But, to have done with
this, I will fairly disclose how I came to retard the

250 THE DAY-DREAMER.
commencement of my design, though with all appli
ances for it, in this abode of 'retired leisure.'"
He then informed me of his impressions during the
first days of his retirement in this secluded nook, so
formed, he said, for philosophic contemplation. "You
see," observed he, " how romantically it is situated ;
how wild, yet how cultivated ; how remote from dis
turbance, yet in a moment, if you please, in the midst
of all the magnificence of art. For what can equal
the grandeur of those towers, so associated Avith the
ideas of history and royalty ; overhanging, as they at
the same time do, the majestic gloom of these vene
rable oaks, which might seemingly tell of tales before
the flood ! I assure you, when I first saw this spot,
I approached it with reverence ; and scarce ever greet
it even now, when returning from a walk or ride, ex
cept in the language of Mason :
' How nobly does this venerable wood,
Gilt with the glories of the orient sun,
Embosom yon fair mansion ! The soft air
Salutes me with its cool and temp'rate breath ;
And, as I tread, the flower-besprinkled lawn
Sends up a gale of fragrance. I should guess,
If e'er Content deign'd visit mortal clime,
This was her place of dearest residence.
Grant, Heaven ! I find it such.' " *
" Amen ! " cried I, somewhat moved with the
emphasis with which he repeated the lines.
"Well," continued he, "my first hours, I may say
days, were absorbed by the landscapes around me ;
* Elfrida.

THE MAN OF IMPULSES. 251
and a beautiful landscape, you know, is a great moral
lesson." " All very well," returned I, " if you had come to
study mere inanimate nature ; but as men and women
were your objects  "
" Pray let me proceed," said he. " I walked every
step on classic ground ; for in this neighbourhood
Pope passed his early life, and first cultivated his
muse by singing the praises of the forest ; and you
may suppose how proud and satisfied I felt, without
attempting, for a time at least, to do more."
To all this I agreed, and could not help myself
feeling his enthusiasm, so that I thought I was a little
-cruel when I told him he might as well have railed
at man or woman kind from his lodgings in Picca-
dilly. " Better, perhaps," said he, " as it turned out; for
to these simple pleasures I have described it was
owing that I did not immediately begin my work."
He then informed me that having been, during his
ride from London, full of his speculations on the
Avorld, and worked himself up to a pitch of sacred
fury, the moment he arrived he called for his writing
apparatus, and actually grasped his pen, and spread
his paper with vigour.
Thought after thought, however, rushed in such
rapid succession into his mind, that he did not know
where to begin, or how to choose, and the evening
being particularly mild and pleasant, and the sun
setting in glory, he thought he could ruminate quite
as well or better out of doors than in. Having,

252 THE DAY-DREAMEE.
therefore, ordered a light supper, chiefly of milk and
fruit (as became a philosopher), he sallied forth to
enjoy nature in a stroll in the Great Park, while it
Avas getting ready. Here he wandered in the twi
light, " Rapt in meditation holy,
Mixt with divinest melancholy ;"
and so great was the charm, after London, that he
stayed out till the twilight had become night, and his
poetic imagination got so predominant over his
worldly realities, that he had nothing of the satirist
left in his composition.
While this pastoral fit was on him, his roasted
apples and cream were brought in by the fresh-
coloured Sarah, whom he afterAvards christened Hebe,
and whose freshness and sparkling struck him at
once with pleasure and surprise. " There was a natural
grace," he said, " about her, that put Lady Thomasina
to shame, notwithstanding her Paris education."
At this I could not help laughing ; for I had not
been able to distinguish this Hebe of his from any of
her sister milkmaids. I, therefore, complimented him
on the strength of his imagination, oAvning that I had
not discovered the charm of manner in her which
seemed so to possess him.
He told me, very gravely, I was like the rest of the
worldlings, who had no taste for nature ; but went on
with his history.
He passed the night, it seems, both sleeping and
waking, in planning satirical pictures of human
folly and wickedness; now a Democritus, now a

THE MAN OF IMPULSES. 253.
Heraclitus ; in which neither friend nor foe was
spared. In short, he resolved to dip his pen in gall,
and he got up early in the morning to shape and
sharpen sentences which had occurred to him in the
night, as only properly biting in reprehending the
abuses he meant to expose.
But the morning was peculiarly soft ; the sun had
warmed every thing into life, without destroying its
freshness. Every thing Avas gratifying, nay delicious,
to the senses ; his mind soothed, his body refreshed.
It Avas impossible to preserve ill-humour, even if it
had not been, as it Avas, factitious ; and, under this
enchantment, Hebe laid a clean Avhite cloth for his
breakfast, under a lime-tree so sweet and fragrant,
and seemed so SAveet and fragrant herself, that he
forgot a spleen Avhich Avas more artificial than real,
and gave himself up to the full enjoyment of Avhat he
then alone called nature.
His breakfast and his mind were the better for it.
Lady Thomasina's wrongs, and the minister's lack of
fidelity to his professions, were forgotten, at least for
that day; though he some time after relapsed into
the same moodings and indignation at the jilting
nature of the women, and the specious deceptions of
politicians and party men, which drove him to this
retreat. Far, however, from finding the stern treatise
of morals illustrated by living characters Avhich he had
projected, the only ebullition which I discovered was
the following rhapsody, which, much laughing at him
self, he showed me, as what he said was the only true
philosophy. It was entitled

254 THE DAY-DREAMER.
" The Butterfly ; or Independence.
I roam from flower to flower ;
I change at ev'ry hour ;
On painted wing I fly ;
I bask in ev'ry eye :
Who jilteth me, I care not;
Who frowns on me, I fear not ;
I frown and jilt in turn,
All constancy I spurn.
True love is but a fable ;
I'll laugh while I am able ;
Cajolery a trade is
To please great lords and ladies.
My joy is in illusion ;
'Tis truth that breeds confusion :
All waking is but sadness ;
A dream's delicious madness.
Then let nle dream away my life,
Nor seek a friend, still less a wife."
It must be confessed, his sternness of purpose must
have much evaporated, to have contented itself, during
a whole fortnight, with this jeu d 'esprit, and so faint
an allusion to the particular wrongs of the minister
and his mistress. But the truth must be told : he
had, in the enchantment of the park and the forest,
and under the influence of the fine weather, and
perhaps Sarah's fine eyes, become an absolute Tityrus,
certainly not a Timon. This, I suppose, will last till
he goes abroad, as he now meditates ; or till, in the
Dog-days, in order to cool himself, he throws himself
again upon Piccadilly and St. James's Street.

A PARISH PRIEST. 255

No. IV.
A PARISH PRIEST.
" That churchman bears a bounteous mind, indeed !"
Shakspeare : Henry VIIl.
My present dream will be very different from the
last, and I by no means flatter myself that it will be
favourably, or even kindly, received. Certainly not
by the bigots, of Avhom, I am sorry to think, with all
their learning, there is too plentiful a crop in these
kingdoms. By bigots, I mean not those of any
particular church or sect, but generally those, of
whatever persuasion, Roman Catholic or Protestant,
Methodist or Church of England, Avho are intolerant
of any set of persons A\rho do not think as they do.
These hate one another with such eordial fervour, that
the odium theologicum has ever been proverbial. Why
this should be peculiar to the professors of the mildest
and most merciful religion that ever was known, the
Founder of Avhich was the Divine Author of Peace,
the Lover of Concord, and the Preacher of Good Will
to all mankind ; why this should be, I am not going
to inquire. It is sufficient that, as a dreamer over
passing scenes, I have seen Avith sincere concern our
unhappy nation, not content with the violence and
injustice of its political quarrels, split even still more
into virulent dissensions in the Church. This, I hoped,
had at least subsided during the last hundred years,

256 THE DAY-DREAMER.
and that the days of Warburton, Hoadley, Waterland,
and Berriman would not be revived, particularly in
our universities. Those days indeed, with all their
violence, were almost better, or had a better excuse,
than the present. For in that time the whole gospel
church was attacked by the Goths and Vandals of
infidelity, and no wonder that even peaceable pro
fessors of very different creeds made common cause
in its defence. In the present time the theologians
seem warring, not against a natural enemy, but, most
unnaturally, against one another: nor is this odium
theologicum now confined to Oxford or London, but,
strange to say, has extended to remote towns and
even villages ; and it is an interesting account which
I lately receiAred of the enormities of a very distant
parish indeed, attended, however, with not unamusing
topics, that has induced me to allude to a subject
which otherwise might not be thought most fitted
for this undertaking. The story delineates the cha
racter of a parish priest ; a character which, when the
person to whom it belongs is active and sincere in
fulfilling his duty, and liberal in his notions of it,
from being imbued with the true spirit of that gospel
to which he has consecrated his life, is, if not the most
illustrious, among the most useful and amiable, that
adorn human kind. The reverse of this is he whose
piety is ascetic, and Avhose zeal consists in preaching
hatred towards those brethren who do not think as
he does himself, of what he holds to be alone the
truths of religion.
These remarks are, as I observed, prompted by a
letter I lately received from a friend, a man who, like

A PARISH PRIEST. 257
myself, is fond of making excursions with a view to
indulge his taste for grand or beautiful scenery, old
churches and castles, and at the same time to gratify
a curiosity Avhich he has respecting what he calls
primitive and unenlightened manners. 'Tis thus he
writes : — Whitby, Sept. 12.
My fondness for Gothic antiquities has led me to
this holy ground, upon which I could learnedly ex
patiate, but that in my way to it I met with such
a diversion of thought, that, for the present, I postpone
my impressions of a most venerable locality, for the
sake of a moral picture, which, as a brother dreamer,
I think you will not be sorry to peruse.
It was evening when, having left Scarborough, I
was proceeding to Whitby, which I hoped to reach
by sunset, and might have done so had I kept the
high road, though none of the best ; as my horse was
stout, and my chaise light. I was stopt, however, by
a considerable hill, and as I knew I was close to the
sea, though it was not there visible, I was struck Avith
the thought of what a noble prospect I might have if
I ascended the height before me. The pleasure of a
tour is, as you know, to have no impediment to one's
wishes, be they what they may, from being forced to
consult others. It is, therefore, that I always travel
alone ; not from sulkiness, but because a companion,
even an agreeable one, is too often in the way, and
stops the current of silent thought, which, you know
better than any body, is ^ the first enjoyment of a
contemplative man. I had no sooner, therefore, con-
vol. n. s

258 THE DAY-DREAMER.
ceived my design, than I resolved to execute it, and
began to climb the steep. The road, to be sure, was
rough, and, from its many zigzags to ease the acclivity,
so much longer than I expected, that the sun was
gone down when I reached the summit, so that when
I might have been near Whitby by the main road, I
was now ten miles off. This, and the dreariness of
the fells, which I saw all around me, with no guide
but the sheep-tracks (above a score in number, and
so like one another that you could not choose), made
me repent for once of my love of prospects. Nor was
I consoled (though the very thing I came for) by the
magnificent sight of old Ocean, who, groaning from
his inmost bed, heaved " his tempestuous billows to
the sky." The truth is, that the wastes and moors,
which spread on all sides, without a thatch or distant
smoke for the eye to rest upon, put me out of humour
with this seemingly uninhabited region, and I began
to fear, or rather feel certain of, being benighted if 1
proceeded in a terra incognita promising little hospi
tality from the natives, if even there were any. The
shelter of the wood in " Comus," I thought, would be
somewhat better than this desolation, which left me
totally without the hope allowed to the benighted
brothers in that exquisite scene of darkness and
abandonment; and as the solitariness increased, and
the twilight grew darker, I found myself with the
younger one exclaiming : " Might we but hear
The folded flocks penn'd in their watched cotes,
Or sound of past'ral reed with oaten stops,
Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock
Count the night-watches to his feathery dames."

A PARISH PRIEST. 259
But this was denied me ; for there were no folds,
still less pastoral reeds, least of all a lodge to whistle
from, and not even a cock to crow. In short, all
seemed dreary and uninhabited, when, on a sudden,
the road beginning to descend a little, I beheld a
thatch with a garden under me, and a good-natured
looking yeoman, smoking his evening pipe, leaning
over the gate. You may suppose I addressed him,
and asked if that was the way to Whitby, and whether
he thought I could reach it that night.
" Not in your shay," replied he, shaking the ashes
out of his pipe, which he had just finished ; " nor even
on horseback, if thou dost not know the way over the
fells ; and the chances are, thou wilt have but a cold
lodging." " I fear so," said I, shrugging, and looking wistfully
at his snug cottage roof with a casemented Avindow
in it, which I thought looked more comfortable than
any casement I had ever seen ; " but what am I to
do?" " I would offer thee house-room," replied the good-
natured yeoman, " though but a poor place for such
a gentleman as you, if there Avarnt a much better
thing close by."
" I see nothing," observed I, looking round.
" That's because them black pines, on the brow of
the hill, stand between you and it ; but, if you will go
on, you wiU see the sign of ' The Swan,' and, a stone' s-
throw beyond, ' Traveller's Rest,' just round the
corner : and a nice inn it be — the best ale and backy
in all these parts, though I say it, and landlord be
my first cousin." s 2

260 THE DAY-DREAMER.
Delighted at what I thought a deliverance, I
thanked my new friend, and was proceeding, when
he stopped me a minute to say, that, it being Satur
day, it was club-night, and perhaps the best parlour
might be taken up at first, but would soon be clear.
"Oh!" said I, "I will not interfere with them. A
benefit-club, I suppose ?"
" Yes, sure enough a benefit," returned he ; " but a
benefit for Tim landlord ; not what you suppose : and,
truth to say, they ought to keep his tap agoing, since
he have lost so much by them."
" A publican lose by a club ! " said I.
" Yes ! and all along of that swarm of Methodists
in the village below."
" What ! " said I, " the Methodists are thick even
in these moors ! "
"Ay, enough and to spare," returned he, seeing
that I lingered as if for a talk : "and yet they be not
all Methodists neither, for they have two or three
worships ; but we don't know what their doctrine be,
so Ave calls them all Methodists for convenience."
Amused rather with this, and as " The Swan" or
" Traveller's Rest" was said to be so near, I gave a
minute to more information from the good yeoman
(who seemed not at all averse to afford it me) con
cerning the parties and sects of what he called the
township, though it did not, he said, including all
outlying dwellings, contain more than two or three
hundred inhabitants. Judge my surprise, therefore,
to find, that such were the church divisions among
them, that perhaps not more than fifty people could

A PARISH PRIEST. 261
be found joining in the same form of worship,
though the particular creeds, or even denominations,
of each class were far beyond the learning of my new
friend to communicate. All that I could gather was,
that all the sects, if in nothing else, agreed in cor
dially hating the orthodox church, which was, by
degrees, left almost destitute of communicants. This
however, as far as I could learn, was more owing to
the intolerance of the last rector, than any great dis
content with the doctrine, as my friend said, " in the
Prayer Book," which, he allowed, was good enough.
" But the last Doctor," he continued, " would, on no
account, let any body go to heaven his own way, or
unless he went through him. AU others, he said,
were damned, and would go into fire and brimstone ;
and he shunned them as much as if they were already
there. Not satisfied with this, his reverence forbade
the faithful (that is, his own congregation) from all
communication with the condemned; and, being in
bad health, he formed some of them into a club,
under the direction of the parish clerk, who almost
exceeded him in zeal. These met at ' The Swan'
once a week, and drank each a pint to Church and
King, and confusion to t'other side. But," continued
my informant, " though this at first ware a benefit
for Tim, in the end he lost by it ; for, whereas he
ware before of no party like, and every body drank
his ale, all the t'other side now joined against him
for setting up the club, though it ware all Doctor's
doing, and they all went to 'Spotted Dog' for their
beer, though it ware half a mile farther off."
s 3

262 THE DAY-DREAMER.
Here my host paused ; but seeing I seemed inter
ested in his account, and flattered by it, he went on
to tell me that things were now much better " sin' fold
Doctor died and t' new Doctor corned ; for t' present
reverend," he said, "ware quite a different person,
and preached goodwill to aU, and wanted to put down
the club, only the clerk, who was firmer than t' old
Doctor himself, had always opposed it, because he
liked being in the chair. But they ware dropping
off," said he, " one by one, and the folks were coming
back to ' Traveller's Rest,' much to Tim landlord's
delight, who said that publicans ought to have no
religion at all ; that is," said the yeoman, explain
ing himself, " no particular one. For this t' others
twitted him, and teased him out of the Testament,
which indeed, you know, always puts publicans and
sinners together, as if they were one and the same
thing." I was more amused than ever with this gossip of
my rural friend. Such people, you know, are my
favourite game ; but, desirous of securing my recep
tion at the " Traveller's Rest," I took leave of him
with many thanks for his pleasant discourse, and pro
ceeded on the road he had directed, in which I found
he was a correct guide. I had no sooner, therefore,
turned the corner of the hill he had pointed out, than
I saw I was in the middle of a small hamlet, wild
enough, but in which " The Swan and Traveller's
Rest" stood most conspicuously superior to all the
surrounding buildings. What struck me was a most
ponderous sign, fixed on a spreading tree opposite the
door, and containing a most grim, though snowy,

A PARISH PRIEST. 263
swan, chained Avith fetters of gold to a rock, and
having this ingenious inscription under it :
" A Swan I am, you plainly see,
Chain'd to a rock, nail'd to a tree ;
The reason why I am chain'd here's
Because Tim Johnson sells good beer."
Over the door also, on a board, in large gold letters,
was the inscription of " The Traveller's Rest."
Though it was now dusk, I observed, in front of the
house, a tall mild-looking man in a shovel hat and
a full suit of black, whom I rightly judged to be the
present reverend, of whom my friend the yeoman had
talked so honourably. He was discoursing with
several peasant-looking people, who seemed very at
tentive, but who made way for me as I drove up, and
was saluted by the landlord with the usual obeisances.
On my observing that I had come from Scarborough,
but was quite out of my way, and supposed I could
not get to Whitby without a guide, " Nor even with
one, at this time of the evening," said the gentleman
with the shovel hat, touching it with great civility as
he advanced. This made the landlord himself sus
pend the reply he meditated ; for, though on the steps
of his own house, he, as well as all the rest, seemed
respectfully to await the intentions of their rector.
Mr. Fairbrother (for that was his name) then went
on very civilly to say, he feared I had been much mis
directed, for there was no way for wheels over the
fells, and that I ought to have continued the road
Avithout ascending the hill.
" I thought as much," I said, pleased with the
interest he seemed to take in the matter ; " but I own
s 4

264 THE DAY-DREAMER.
I was tempted by the hope of seeing a glorious pros
pect of the ocean, in which, though so late, I was not
altogether disappointed, for I could plainly see its
white foam, and hear the roar of its surge."
Mr. Fairbrother seemed not displeased with this,
for he said, " I honour you, sir, for this love of the
grandeur of nature, which is here, indeed, magnifi
cent ; and I am only sorry you have missed its per
fection for want of light ; but I am still more con
cerned respecting your fate for the night. You
surely will not attempt to go down the hiU again in
the dark, and there will even then be no rest for you
except at Scarborough or Whitby.
Here the landlord, who had hitherto abstained from
joining the talk, so deferential was he to his rector,
could contain no longer; but, advancing to the parley,
" You forget, your reverence," said he, to Mr. Fair-
brother, " ' The Traveller's Rest.' " The rector
smiled, and replied : " Why true, Tim ; and if you
can accommodate the gentleman, I am sure I ought
not to prevent it, for you deserve every thing from
your good- will ; but I doubt your power."
Mr. Johnson made a sort of bow for the compli
ment, but by no means implying his assent to the
doubt. " You know, sir," said he, still very respect
fully, " I have excellent stable-room, and should have
plenty for the gentleman himself ; only, unfortunately,
the best chamber has all the window-frames taken
out to be repaired ; but the nights (here he hesitated
a little), the nights are fine, and we could nail up
curtains."

A PARISH PRIEST. 265
" No, Tim," observed Mr. Fairbrother, but kindly,
"that wo'n't do; I cannot let you expose a fellow-
creature to the risk of the night air in autumn, though
your supper would, I know, be good, and you could
do ample justice to his horse."
" If so," said I, stepping out of my chaise, " and if
my steed can be taken care of, and the supper good,
there will be no difficulty, for I can easily pass the
night in an elbow-chair."
" That you shall not do," said the benevolent
rector, who, as he afterwards told me, had been
much struck with my enthusiasm for a view of the
ocean, his own favourite pleasure, " that you shall not
do, while the parsonage is so near at hand ; and, as I
am allowed by my good people here to do much as I
please in this little domain, I must beg to extend my
privilege to the stranger within its gates : so I shall
use my power by making you come home with me,
while Tim shall charge what he pleases for your
horse's bed and supper instead of your own."
Tim, somewhat mollified by this latitude as to his
bill, made a bow of acquiescence ; and I, though rather
overpowered with this unexpected incident, yet never
backward at a new scene presenting itself, and
charmed with Mr. Fairbrother's manner and seeming
sense, allowed him to conduct me, nothing loth, to
his comfortable rectory. What passed, however,
with its amiable -master must be the subject of
another letter. Meantime, I remain, your old friend,
Charles Vivid.

266 THE DAY-DREAMER.

No. V.

" That churchman bears a bounteous mind, indeed ! "
Shakspeare : Henry VIII.
Having found, rather to my surprise, that the subject
of my last number has not been disrelished by my
readers, I resume it by introducing my friend Vivid's
second letter, which arrived soon after the first, and
which contained what he calls
The Rector's Story.
As we proceeded down the hill to the parsonage,
says my correspondent, I was struck with the beauty
of the little dell in which it was situated, and which
contrasted most pleasingly with the surrounding
wildness. The dusk did not prevent my observing
several little streams which gushed from the summit,
creating a freshness in the green pastures around us
delicious to the sense. There were rocks, too, in the
fissures of which, among many other shrubs, projected
a number of mountain ash, in all the glory of their
gorgeous fruit. But this wildness yielded in beauty
to a well-kept garden within a clipped hedge, the gate
of which the rector opened with a key, leading me
through a path lined with fruit and flowers to where
" The village preacher's modest mansion rose."
I could not help complimenting him upon his
retreat, and wished I had just such a one to roost in.

THE rector's story. 267
" The place is loveliness itself," said I, " but you are
surely not alone in it ?"
" If you think," answered he, " that I am married,
except to my parish (where, indeed, I have a plurality
of wives, with some shrews among them), you are
mistaken." " Yet I am surprised that, in such an Eden, there
should not be an Eve."
" All very good," replied he, " and the time may
come ; but at present I am so absorbed in healing
divisions and reconciling creeds, that, being very
much in earnest in this, which I conceive to be the
holiest of objects in a gospel minister, I feel like
Bernard Gilpin amidst his dalesmen and moun
taineers, and put off matrimony for a time when I
can more devote myself to its duties."
This made me recollect what the yeoman who had
directed me up the hiU had told me of the religious
dissensions that had agitated the parish under the
late rector, and the improvement which had taken
place under the present. I observed, therefore, " You
must have had a difficult card to play, for to settle
religious disputes seems, I know not why, more diffi
cult than to reconcile the interests of Europe after a
twenty years' war."
" I agree with you," said Mr. Fairbrother, " for I
have found it so to my cost. I had, however, one
advantage, without which I never should have suc
ceeded (if I have done so) — I had not an intolerant
nature." " Which your predecessor, perhaps, had ?"

268

the day-dreamer.

" He is dead," said Mr. Fairbrother, " and we will
not inquire whether his high consciousness of being
right in his intolerance (in which he was sincere)
might not have done much mischief. Waterland was
his oracle, and, hke him, he carried his orthodoxy to
such a height, that he thought it even enjoined by
the mildest of all religions to refuse society and com
munion with what Waterland calls 'impugners of fun
damentals ;' that is, with all who differed from himself
in opinions."
" You have said enough," observed I, " to account
for the schisms you found on your arrival ; and, as I
am curious in these matters, I should be glad, if it is
not disagreeable to you, to hear something of them
in detail."
" They were quite as ridiculous as lamentable, yet as
amusing as instructive," said the rector. " But I see
supper coming on table, so we will defer it till after
wards, when, if you are so disposed, I have no objec
tion to tell you my impressions upon my first arrival."
I was thankful for the promise of what I expected
would be a mental treat, meantime did not neglect
the corporal one, which, in the shape of a roast
chicken, parsley and butter, and artichokes, smoked
upon the board. This we attacked, while a steady
civil person in a Duffield coat, whom the rector
called Matthew, administered to our wants at the
sideboard. After our repast, and we had sat a few minutes
the rector thus began : —
" I own, when I see the good effects upon my flock

the Rector's story. 269
of the duty I have always inculcated, of mutual for
bearance and charitable feeling towards one another,
founded upon a sense of our own blindness, and the
injunctions of our great Master ; and when I recollect
what deadly feuds formerly prevailed among them,
on what frivolous grounds, I give way to a little self-
felicitation, which I trust is innocent."
To this sentiment I sincerely assented, both by
manner and speech, and waited for him to go on.
" When I first came into the parish," continued he,
"now some four years ago, I found every body
labouring under the odium theologicum, the worst
(though I, a theologian, say it) of all the odiums that
agitate our poor nature. House was armed against
house, and brother against brother ; and all for what ?
For the most part (for I will not say in every thing),
for trifles. It is, indeed, wretched to observe for
what nothings men are ready to tear one another to
pieces, and yet think they are obeying the gospel.
" Some would not come to church because the ser
vice was performed in a surplice. How many hundred
lives, in the times of the Covenanters, were not sacri
ficed to and for this piece of ceremony ! Some would
hardly communicate, and complained bitterly of my
predecessor for the unorthodox practice (unorthodox
even in him) of allowing the communicants to come
within the rails of the altar, instead of remaining in
the body of the church. One party held Sunday to
be the first day of the week, the other the last : and,
on an appeal to me, when I said, that, though a proper
question for the learned, they had better let it alone,

270 the day-dreamer.
and, whatever day of u>.2 week Sunday was considered,
think' more of true religion,- which consisted in purely
worshipping God, and living in charity with one
another ; for this, both parties were ready to tear
my gown off my back. Some of them, indeed, joined
in showing me up to the archbishop, who, if he had
not been a man of sense, as well as a divine, might
have plagued me out of my life."
" You are lucky," said I, "in having such a
diocesan, for I could name many who would have
made a mountain of such a molehill, "
He assented and went on. " But the great schisms
are what, indeed, have set the whole Christian world
in arms, as well as this obscure corner ; I mean those
between Athanasians and Arians, Calvinists and Ar-
minians ; and there was even a sect which some of
the most orthodox, though not the most enlightened,
of my parishioners called Scinians (meaning, as you
may suppose, Socinians). These were attacked by
all the others, but particularly the Athanasians, with
a fury and bigotry which threatened their total ex
tirpation ; and because I attempted to protect them
from the rage of their opponents, endeavouring to
reclaim them by reason, not force, I was myself
charged with being a Socinian."
" Is it possible," said I, " that you could have en
countered all this in so small a district, where all the
inhabitants together do not seem to muster more than
a few hundreds ?"
" Enough, and more than enough," replied the
rector, " to foster even more dissenters than I have to

the rector's story. 271
manage, where there is more religious pride than re
ligious charity. What wars, indeed, are equal in
horrors to religious wars ? Perhaps, however, (poor
people!) they were not so much in fault as the
pastors who had misled them ; for, as I have told you,
I had the misfortune to follow an incumbent, who,
though deeply learned (far more than myself) in all
polemics, having Origen, and Jerome, and St. Austin
at his fingers' ends, had unfortunately studied them
more than the Scripture itself, and set up a religion
of his own, which he defended with as much intole
rance and as furious zeal as the Inquisition. In short,
he leaned to the Roman Catholics in this, that he
allowed no salvation out of his own church, according
to his own notion of it ; and, by consequence, half his
parish was damned beyond redemption. Yet he was
sincere in his belief; the only redeeming quality he
had to set off against an intolerance leading to super
stitions, which, I have observed to you, were as ridi
culous as lamentable."
" This is what I like to hear of," said I ; " for I am
persuaded that to ridicule people out of superstition
(which I trust, from this, you did,) is infinitely
more effective than to oppose it by force. Yet I
-thought superstition nowadays, when infidelity has
spread even to remote districts like this, could hardly
find a place to hide her head in. A few ghosts, how
ever, or perhaps witches, might be forgiven."
" There were neither ghosts nor witches," returned
the rector, " but I am not so sure about devils. My
first discovery, almost on the day of my arrival, was,

272 THE DAY-DREAMER.
that, under my most orthodox predecessor, one half
of the parish had been taught to consider the other as
limbs of Satan."
" A very pretty proof of orthodoxy," said I ; " but
pray, how did you discover this ? "
" I will tell it you," continued he, " in exact order
as it happened. When I arrived at the inn we have
left, I found waiting for their new minister, the clerk
and sexton of the parish, and two or three more, who
all made their obeisances with great respect ; adding,
that from what they had heard of me, they hoped I
should preach as good doctrine as Dr. Tomlinson, and
put down meeting *, which had held up its head, they
said, ' quite peart ' during his long illness. I was
surprised to find myself thus plunged into the subject
of doctrine so instantly on my arrival, and before I
had even seen my parsonage. Nor did I augur much
comfort from the eagerness with which my clerk, a
thin, sharp-visaged man, seemed disposed to sift out
of me whether I was a friend to the dissenters or not ;
for it seems he had been told I was. I, however, con
fined my answer to saying, that we were all children
of one heavenly Parent, and that I hoped we might
live happily together. This I found by no means
palatable to my future friend and coadjutor, the
clerk, who was the mouthpiece of a club, countenanced,
if not instituted, by my predecessor, and called by way
of distinction the Orthodox. This was held every
* In the northern patois, the custom is generally to leave out the
article in speaking : thus, meeting, for the meeting ; vicar, for the vicar,
&c. &c.

THE rector's story. 273
Saturday night at the Swan, to attend which he and
the others were already assembled, though they said,
at first, they only came to pay their respects to me
on my arrival. The village theologian seemed taken
what is called aback upon this reply of mine, and
shook his head in great seriousness ; but the landlord,
who, as you saw, was a round-faced jolly felloAV, and
a complete contrast to the clerk, saluting me with a
bow of assent, said he Avas very glad to hear what my
reverence had said, for that there had been no peace "of
a long while" in the parish, and that no dissenter or
Methodist had called for a pot of beer in his house
ever since Dr. Tomlinson had allowed the Saturday
night's club to be established. To be sure, the Ortho
dox, he said, drank very fairly, but what were ten or
a dozen persons to a whole meeting-house, nay to two or
three, for there were as many as that in the township.
" ' You should be ashamed to say such things,'
cried the clerk with a very verjuicy aspect, and
was going on, when, not knowing how far this in
cipient difference might lead, I thought it right to
interpose my authority with the clerk at least, by
telling him he was to blame to dispute about doc
trines in a public-house; and finally begged they
would send somebody with me as a guide to the par
sonage, which lay hid in this glen, as you have seen.
I expected the clerk, as in duty bound, would have
offered his services ; but whether he did not like the
seeming tolerancy of his new rector, or was afraid of
not being in time for the club, he fought off, owing,
VOL. ii. T

274 THE DAY-DREAMER.
he said, to his being lame, and recommended the
sexton, Matt. Mullings, in his stead.
" Matthew, the respectable person who waited upon
us at supper, and who is now my factotum and clerk
expectant, came forwards, made a leg, pulled his fore
lock over his forehead, and, taking possession of my
cloak-bag, said he should be proud to show me the
way, every step and stone of which he ought to know,
having so long been Dr. Tomlinson's out-door man,
and so often passed between Rectory and Swan.
" I took him at his word, not at all sorry to get rid
of his polemical brethren, and wondering, as well as
anxious, as to my future fate as ghostly director of
these lay divines. The way, hoAvever, was so beautiful
as we began to descend from the brow of the hill,
and the evening shut in so sweetly, that the Orthodox
controversialists were soon forgotten, and I was alive
only to the impressions of nature.
" My friend Matthew did not think it civil, how
ever, to leave me to myself, and as we passed different
cottages would entertain me with an account of their
owners ; not so much of their characters or situations
as their religious creeds, in all which he seemed par
ticularly learned. One was a Baptist, one a Metho
dist, one a Quaker, another allowed no purgatory,
another stickled for everlasting punishments, and in
sisted upon being damned to all eternity. I essayed to
discover to which fraternity my friend belonged, but
he was almost affronted at my question, saying, that
it did not become one who was sexton, and had dug

THE RECTOR'S STORY. 275
most of the graves in the churchyard, to go a whor
ing after false gods. This I found was a phrase his
old master, the Doctor, was very fond of, so he stuck,
he said, by the true church, of course meaning his
own. " In this discourse we turned into a pleasant lane,
where, perceiving the smoke of chimneys, I asked if
we were near the parsonage? But Matthew shook
his head, as I thought significantly, and quickened
his pace in silence, We soon came up to the building
whence the smoke issued ; an ancient brick house
with an old-fashioned doorway in the middle, divided
into compartments, and painted almost black. It Avas,
however, so hid by a high quick-set hedge, that we
could see nothing but the chimneys till we came to an
iron gate opposite the house-door. The hedge was
kept with peculiar neatness, and a man appeared in
the act of trimming it Avith a bill-hook.
"At this, I observed my friend Matthew quicken his
step, and pass the dwelling with an averted eye. I
asked him who lived there, to which, at first, he gave
no answer, but, upon my repeating the question, and
having advanced farther from the gate, he said he
believed it was dangerous to tell or talk about him.
" Then hearing the gate open, and observing the
man with the bill-hook (whom I supposed the gar
dener) had. come out, and was looking after us, he
hurried on very quickly. Wondering at this mys
tery, I again asked who the person was ; and was sur
prised to be told that he believed nobody knew but
T 2

276 THE DAY-DREAMER.
the Doctor, Avho disliked to keep company with him
himself, and reproved everybody that did ; that, from
his hardly ever stirring out, except in his garden, and
poring almost all day over great books with old black
letters, where, it was said, there was a power of learn"
ing, people thought he was a magician, and dealt
with the devil ; but the Doctor as good as said he was
the devil himself.
"'And yet,' continued Matthew, 'Dame Stobbs,
who tend upon him, declare he be perfectly harmless,
always keep a civil tongue in his head, and works in
his garden like one of us when he is not reading. But
Dame Stobbs do not sleep in the house, because she
be afraid of a spirit, particularly after what she
heard Doctor had said, though she be sure he ben't
the devil.'
" ' Devils,' said I, ' do not generally keep their
hedges so trim, and the garden seemingly so well
stocked.' "'Oh, yes,' returned MattheAv; 'and there be a
mort of good fruit, but nobody wo'n't now eat any of
it, even though he sometimes give it away. But
Dame Stobbs, she say there is no harm in it, and that
all that ware said about it ware a pack of lies.'
" ' Pray what was said ? ' asked I.
" ' Why, that no good ever corned of the devil's gifts,
or, what is the same thing, a magician's. Indeed, that
has been proved.'
" ' How V
" ' Why, my own little brother Dick was passing by
one day, and saw him come out of the gate, as we mio-ht

THE RECTOR'S STORY. 277
perhaps, just now, and he had a parcel of fine apples
in a basket, which he showed Dick, and said, kindly
enough, that he was a nice little fellow, and he might
take as many as he liked. Dick, you may be sure,
stuffed his pockets, and being rather greedy, as indeed
most children are, you know, he staid out of doors till
he had eat all the apples, and, what was very remark
able, there were just thirteen of them, which you
know is always the most unluckiest number of all.'
" I quite assented to this ancient proposition, and
asked what came of it.
" ' Came of it ! Why poor Dick was that very night
seized with such a fit of the gripes, there was no
bearing his cries. Mother was up with him all night,
and being no better in the morning, she went up to
rector to see what could be done.'
'"And he?'
" ' Oh, he said it was no wonder that the boy was
sarved so for accepting anything from such a person,
and he shook his head several times. So mother she
began to think of what Ave had read, and what Doctor
indeed sometimes said in his sermons upon the pros
perity for a time of the wicked, which, he says, is
always the devil's doing.'
" ' I hope, however, that Dick got well.'
" ' Oh, poor boy, he went pale and puling about the
house for a month, and Avas near to die.'
" ' Why, had you no apothecary? '
" ' Yes, he came, but mother found, from Dame
Stobbs, that her master the magician had sent him,
because he had tempted Dick like Avith the apples ;
T 3

278 the day-dreamer.
and so she would not have nothing to do with him.
Indeed, Doctor said it was not the first time that
Satan had tempted people with apples, and that be
true enough you know, for it is in the bible.'
" ' You believe the bible, then? '
" ' To be sure I do, or how could I be sexton ? But
I am afraid, though he sent 'pothecary to Dick, and
may not be the devil himself, he is a very bad man.
Master, indeed, called him a Scinian, which, he says,
were worse than a murderer.'
" Amused with this, I had a mind to make honest
Matthew open a little more of his divinity, to which,
indeed, he seemed not at all disinclined. ' And pray,'
said I, ' what did rector say, or what do you think a
Scinian is ? '
" ' Oh, something very bad,' replied he, though I
don't know exactly what, except that Mr. Graves
never would say Nasius's creed at church, though it
was ordered in the book. Yet when he first corned,
he Avare intimate with Doctor, who owns they were
at the Varsity together, and then they were friends
like ; but that Avare before Doctor found him out to
be a Scinian, which was not till one day they fell out
so about Nasius that Doctor forbade him his doors,
and said, if he came to church, he ware afraid the
roof would fall in and crush us all ; which had been
done once before, he said, a long time back, to one
Cinthus, who went a bathing with St. John, but St.
John would not keep such company, and made the
bath tumble upon Cinthus and killed him.'
" You may suppose how much I was amazed by this

the rector's story. 279
version of the story of Cerinthus, but was surprised
when Matthew went on to tell me that Dame Stobbs
said her master notwithstanding often read the prayer
book out loud, quite beautiful, ' and that doesn't
look,' said Matthew, ' as if he Avare the devil. Yet
Doctor told me one day, if I only went to meeting
once, as I wanted to do, only to see what was their
doctrine, I should certainly be damned ; and, as I
should not like that, I staid away.'
" ' If you thought so yourself, Matthew,' said I,
* you did very right ; but Avas that really the reason ? '
" ' Why, to be sure, Doctor added, that if I went I
should never do a day's work in his garden again as
long as I lived, which was like taking the bread out
of one's mouth.'
" ' Gracious Heaven ! ' thought I, ' is it thus that
the benevolence, humility, and mutual forbearance
enjoined by the gospel, and the just rebukes to the
Pharisees for their spiritual pride, are treated by a
Christian churchman ! ' Then turning to Matthew,
I continued : ' Surely Dr. Tomlinson taught you in his
sermons to have charity one to another, to hate no
man, and consequently not to hate, but pity him, if
his only fault was differing with you in opinion.'
" ' I never heard nothing about that,' said Matthew,
' nor did Doctor preach about charity at all but once,
when he said all the charity in the world would not
save a soul from being damned if he did not believe
Nasius.' " ' Mr. Graves, however, is charitable?'
" ' Yes, he ware so at first, only since the apples, and
T 4

280 THE DAY-DREAMER.
being a Scinian, nobody will take anything from him.
Not but what I thought his ale, when I worked for
him in harvest, ware better than Doctor's, there ware
more malt in it, and that's the ale for us labourers ;
but Doctor's parlour ale ware quite a different thing.'
" Though I can scarcely tell you," continued Mr.
Fairbrother, "how amusing I thought this conver
sation, it also gave me a sad foreboding of what I was
to expect from my new parishioners; nor could all
my respect for Dr. Tomlinson's learning, which was
allowedly great, keep me from fearing that to thumb
over the Fathers, and enter into all their subtleties, or
even to have all the niceties and contradictory opinions
of General Councils by heart, without humbler views
of ourselves, and greater allowance for opposing
creeds than they seem to have had, would not en
title a man to the character of a true Christian."
To this most reasonable and most truly Christian
sentiment I heartily acceded, and began to conceive
the highest liking, as well as respect, for my amiable
host. Mr. Fairbrother having referred to Waterland as
the model of his predecessor, our remaining discourse
turned much upon his bigotry, only aggravated and
heated tenfold by a great mass of learning and a very
subtle intellect, made worse than useless, and even
mischievous, by the want of a liberal mind. "In
another religion," said Fairbrother, " and even in his
own, if our laws permitted, he would have been a
Gardiner, or a Bonner. Here, however," added he,
" is a man of a different complexion, whom, though I

THE rector's story. 281
do not follow, I approve always in his anti-bigotry, and
particularly in what he says of the zealot we are
talking of."
With that the rector took up a volume of Mid-
dleton's works, Avhich lay on a study table, pushed on
one side to admit the supper board, and, turning to
this acute critic upon the story of Cerinthus (brought
to mind by what he had been relating of MattheAv's
account of its impression upon f Doctor), read as
follows :
" The constant use which is made of this story (the
destruction of the heretic by the bath, at St. John's
prayer, tumbling upon him) is to demonstrate (ac
cording to Waterland) the duty of shunning and
affronting heretics, of denying them the common offices
of civility, treating them as persons excommunicated and
detestable in the eyes of God and m.an, and this is
pressed upon all Christians by the authority and ex
ample of St. John."*
" Gracious and long suffering compassionate Sa-,
viour!" ejaculated this excellent pastor when he had
finished, " that such should be the tenet of one who is
reverenced by our church as the best, or one of the
best, expounders and defenders of our faith. Of what
use is faith, if it lead to such detestable hardness of
heart ? What becomes of the example of the good
Samaritan, if this be our duty ? " Then turning more
impressively to me, he added : " Think not from this
that I hold it indifferent what our faith may be, pro-.
* Middleton's Works, ii. 427*

282

THE DAY-DREAMER.

vided our moral conduct is good. I side not with
Pope, notwithstanding the fine sounding lines:
'For modes of faith let senseless zealots fight;'
His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.'
What I mean is, that if our brother, after seeking
truth with all his mind, and all his heart, unfortu
nately miss it, or differ from us in our notions con
cerning it, we may pray for him to be enlightened,
and endeavour to be the instrument of his being so ;
but dare not venture upon the presumptuous sin of
supposing that we alone being right have the right
to punish and drive him from our charity for ever."
I applauded this sentiment of my right-minded
host, and agreed with him that Waterland, with all
his learning, was, in his virulence against heresy,
worse than any heretic himself, and that he ought to
be a beacon against spiritual pride, rather than an
object of imitation.
Let us thank God that there are few such pillars
of the church remaining, and that the reign of fire
and faggot is no more.
This closes my friend Vivid's last letter, who, I
wonder, when joining Fairbrother in his blame of
Waterland, did not recollect, out of the same Middle-
ton whom he quoted, the ridiculous vanity as well as
obstinacy which preceded, and perhaps hastened, his
death. The anecdote is too good not to be recorded
as a beacon against all pompous and intolerant di
vines, overrun with the notion that learning and
wisdom are the same things.

THE rector's story. 283
It seems that Waterland, in his last illness, and last
journey from Cambridge to London, in company of
two friends, lodged the second night at Hoddesdon,
where, being extremely indisposed, he was advised to
send for an apothecary for immediate relief.
One of the friends received this gentleman beloAV
stairs ; and, upon informing him Avho his patient was,
the apothecary, who was also a great lay divine, could
not forbear expressing his sense of the honour he re
ceived in being called to attend so celebrated a person,
" whose writings," said he, " I am very well acquainted
with, having read his ingenious book, The Divine
Legation of Moses."
The friend immediately ran up stairs with this
to the Doctor, who flew into a violent passion with
poor Galen, whota he not only called a puppy and a
blockhead, but would have .it that he must needs be
too ignorant of his own profession to be able to furnish
any relief to him ; nay, that he might even poison him ;
nor could all his friend's representation of the man's
capacity in his own profession, nor, what was more,
the necessity of employing him at the moment, move
him in his favour.
The man was discharged, and the remedies, how
ever required, postponed ; though, be it observed, this
was but a little before this great divine's death, Avhich
was probably hastened, if not occasioned, by the delay.
Of so much consequence is it that a village apothe1
cary should not be ignorant of the difference between
Waterland and Warburton.

284 THE DAY DREAMER.

No. VI.
MODERN CRITICISM.
" Cobblers with cobblers smoke away the night,
And in the common cause e'en play'rs unite.
Authors alone, with more than savage rage,
Unnat'ral war with brother authors wage.
The pride of nature will as soon admit
Competitors in empire, as in wit.
Onwards they rush, at Fame's imperious call,
And, less than greatest, would not be at all." Churchill.*
A clever predecessor of mine in the art of dream
ing describes with humour his feelings of awe and
curiosity when, in his nonage, he was for the first
time introduced to an author. " I surveyed his
Avhole person," said he, "from top to toe, Avith the
strictest attention ; sat open-mouthed to catch every
syllable that he uttered ; and noticed his voice, man
ner, and every word and gesture, with the minutest
observation. I could not help whispering to myself
the whole evening, ' I am in company with an
author.' " f
Just so, I remember, when almost still in my child
hood (little more than fourteen), and my father used
to take me Avith him to different places of resort, I
* The Apology. f Connoisseur, No. 114.

MODERN CRITICISM, 285
once accompanied him to the Grecian Coffee-House,
where many literary characters of the time used to
assemble, and where my attention was arrested by
rather a singular-looking personage, whose presence
seemed in one way or other to have an effect on most
of the company. Some showed him a ceremonious
but distant civility, and retired from him as soon as
they could ; some gave a mere bow of recognition, and
passed off in a hurry ; and some (by far the greater
number) seemed studiously to avoid coming near
him. He was a jejune-looking man, of a supercilious
aspect, pompous, with little conciliation in his coun
tenance, and less in his manner ; in fact, so cold (I
had almost said ill-natured), that, in my young ima
gination, he inspired me with nothing but fear. I
was to go off to school the next day ; and, though he
seemed civil to my father, I recollect I thought he
was the last person in the world from whom I should
expect a tip.
On leaving the coffee-house, I, of course, asked my
father who the gentleman was, and he told me he was
the editor of the * * * RevieAv. Not knowing then
very accurately what a review or its editor was, I
soon lost sight of the abstract notion of them, if I had
it; but the starch repulsive figure and manner of
the gentleman I had seen haunted me for a long
while afterwards.
And yet, of all subjects that engage a day-dreamer's
attention, there is perhaps not one Avhich, in the
pleasure and interest it affords, is equal to liberal and
polite criticism.

286 THE DAY-DREAMER.
Critical works, therefore, when the fruits of real
learning and liberal judgment, and not of envy,
hatred, and malice, or, at best, of insolent self-suffi
ciency, are frequently my occupation, and always my
delight. They really do " pour the fresh instruction
o'er the mind," and exemplify the " emollit mores nee
sinit esse feros," of Horace ; they also charm the fancy
till we are lost in what we dreamers so much love,
a long, innocent, and elegant reverie. I knoAV not,
therefore, the path of letters either so flowery, or for
leading us through which we are so beholden to the
directors of our taste, as liberal criticism.
By this I by no means confine myself to learning,
however deep ; knowledge, however extensive ; or
taste, however elegant. For, contradicted as it may
appear by many specimens of modern critics, there
must be modesty, and even goodness, and a mind
above envy and the abuse of power, all concurring to
form such criticism as I have supposed. Above all,
there should be the absence of all party feeling in
politics and religion (or at least of their effects) as
well as in letters, or the love of truth, which should
preside over all and give zest to all, is gone. 'Tis
hence I vieAv with peculiar satisfaction the shelves of
my library, where the works of genuine critics (by
which I mean the liberal, as well as enlightened)
repose. Two accomplished poets, one a very sweet one, the
other celebrated for strength and nerve, have given
us a favourable, as well as adverse, view of the critic's
character. The Essay on Criticism, by Pope, is in

MODERN CRITICISM. 287
every body's hands ; but the strong lines of Churchill
may, perhaps, not be so universally remembered :
" A critic was of old a glorious name,
Whose sanction handed merit up to fame.
Beauties as well as faults he brought to view ;
His judgment great, but great his candour too.
No servile rules drew sickly taste aside ;
Secure he walk'd, for Nature was his guide."
How amiable as well as estimable is this! How
lamentable, therefore, the reverse of the medal !
" But now, O strange reverse ! our critics bawl
In praise of candour, with a heart of gall.
Conscious of guilt, and fearful of the light,
They lurk enshrouded in the veil of night." *
That there are persons of both these characters
who have filled the critic chair is known to all men
of letters. Which have done most good to literature
is with some a question. For my part, I have no
hesitation in declaring for the former, thinking them
the benefactors of real merit ; the others, though
often not unskilful judges, yet as often splenetic or
curious detractors.
¦ Such men as the first have dignified as well as
enlightened both ancient and modern literature.
Among the ancients we have Aristotle, who
" Steer'd securely, and discover'd far,
Led by the light of the Mseonian star;"
Longinus, whom
" All the Nine inspire,
And bless their critic with a poet's fire ;
An ardent judge, who, zealous to his trust,
With warmth gave sentence, yet is always just;"
* The Apology.

288 THE DAY-DREAMER.
Horace, " Who charms with graceful negligence,
And, without method, talks us into sense."
Among the earlier moderns Ave have Boileau and
Bossu, Dryden*, Pope, and Addison; and, in later
years, the two Wartons, Lord Kaims, Campbell,
Blair, and, spite of his prejudices, the gigantic
Johnson.f Such men (with, I fear, some exceptions as to the
last) are really unprejudiced in the tasks they have
undertaken, to set books before us according to their
merits; and not, like lawyers, speaking from a
brief for which they are paid. They do not grasp
the pen less from the intention of reporting the cha
racter of a book, than the desire of showing how
severe they themselves can be ; and how brave, or
even insolent, where (from not being known) they
fear no reply ; and, for the same reason, are luckily
exempt from attacks upon their own works, should
they have been guilty of perpetrating any. Hence,
says the powerful satirist from whom I have taken
my motto :
" All men and things they know, themselves unknown,
And publish every name except their own.
Founded on arts which shun the face of day,
By the same arts they still maintain their sway.
* The ability of Dryden, when not personal, admits him into the list ;
when personal, as against a rival, his rancour would exclude him.
+ Were we to point out one of the most beautiful instances of this
species of criticism, eminent at the same time for thorough knowledge
of polite literature and fair, though severe, judgment, it would be the
review of Aikin's " Life of Addison," in a late number of the "Edinburgh,"
said to be by Mr. Macaulay.

MODERN CRITICISM. 289
Wrapp'd in mysterious secresy they rise,
And, as they are unknown, are safe and wise ;
At whomsoever aim'd, howe'er severe
Th' envenom'd slander flies, no names appear.
Prudence forbid that step ! Then all might know,
And on more equal terms engage the foe." *
Yet there cannot be a greater mistake than to
suppose the severest, and most chastened, judgment
may not be pronounced without personal and vulgar
abuse. Often the judges are inferior to the supposed cul
prits ; and, not unfrequently, provoke the contempt
and disgust of that public whom, because, and only
because, they have the command of the press, they
think themselves called upon to instruct. How many
of such critics have been laughed at for ignorance,
as well as spleen ! and how many have exhibited
ludicrous instances of strained and forced compari
sons, confused metaphors (pursued into nonsense),
unnatural imagery, and even grammatical blunders
in that very language in Avhich they presume (from
the mere circumstance of electing themselves into
judges) to tell the world they are authorities ! Even
where real learning prevails, how erroneous sometimes
have been their judgments and conjectures ! Take
such a man as Warburton ; to the full as insolent as
erudite. How was he not persecuted by the enemies
he had made, who rejoiced in his frequent defeats !
What a vivid picture is Johnson's of two of the com
mentators upon his Shakspeare !
" One ridicules his errors with airy petulance,
* Churchill's Apology.
VOL. II. U

290 THE DAY-DREAMER.
suitable enough to the levity of the controversy ; the
other attacks him with gloomy malignity, as if he
were dragging to justice an assassin or -incendiary.
The one stings like a fly ; sucks a little blood, takes a
gay flutter, and returns for more. The other bites
like a viper, and would be glad to leave inflammations
and gangrene behind him."
He adds that, " one was a wit, and one a scho
lar."* Well, then, wit and scholarship may be found
in uncomfortable exuberance in many who do not
profess criticism, and may be exercised in unmer
ciful severity upon those who affect to castigate
others. Hence, the throne of criticism is not an
exclusive throne; and though a coxcomb, a malig
nant, or a blockhead, may usurp it for a time, he is
as liable to be attacked, unhorsed, and conquered, as
other usurpers have been before him. Even the
slashing Bentley (any thing but a blockhead, but no
pygmy in self-esteem) was slashed himself by Mid-
dleton, whom he at first affected to despise, but who
whipped him with scorpions ; and by Pearce, who, I
believe, had entered under him at Cambridge.
But if this has been the fate of men so distin
guished for real knowledge, what are we to say to the
buzzing insects, the gay motes that people the sun
beams in the shops of modern bibliopolists, and who
are therefore, not unaptly, known by the name of
Shop Critics ? Any blockhead rich enough may set
* Preface to Shakspeare. The two critics of the critic were the
authors of the " Canons of Criticism," and the revival of Shakspeare's
text.

MODERN CRITICISM. 291
up a press, and Avith it the power of being imperti
nent with impunity. Can such a mkier be that of a
gentleman ?
These drop honey or vinegar, accordingly as the
book they pretend to criticise falls in with their own
opinions or prejudices, or those of the clique to which
they belong, and perhaps represent.* They form a
class ; " Assume the god,
Affect to nod;"
and expect (nor are they always disappointed) that
authors, generally their equals, often their superiors,
are to fall doAvn and tremble at their fee fa fum,
like children listening to the nurse's tale of a giant.
Nor am I surprised, when I recollect the sensations
which the mere name of reviewer used to inspire
into the palpitating hearts of the most adventurous
authors. I remember, myself, the time when I could as well
have questioned the authority of an act of parlia
ment as that of a reviewer. To me he was as a god
in letters, or else, how could he be a reviewer? He
was, in fact, the magician, " Qui pectus inaniter angit,
Irritat, mulcet;"
though there was very little of the last.
In time, however (" opinionum commenta delet
dies"), the rest of the character of the magus drawn
* For the influence of cliques in letters, see a powerful article .in Sir
E. Bulwer, " On the English," p. 91. u 2

292 THE DAY-DREAMER.
by the poet was realised, and I found that he only
spoke truth when he added,
" Falsis terroribus implet."
I have been led into these reflections by a letter
I lately received from an enlightened friend, whom 1
will call Hortensius, and with whom I am proud to
agree on almost all subjects.
He lives in a sort of meditative seclusion, though
in close communication with the world ; in fact, in a
retired house, in the midst of a garden, in one of the
suburbs of London.
From this he almost daily emerges to visit the me
tropolis, passing much of the time he spends there in
its literary society ; of course, not neglecting the par
lours of the most eminent booksellers and publishers,
Avhere his face is well known, and his judgment much
respected. I should add, that he is himself occasionally a re
viewer, but no author; and, as a reviewer, one of the
liberal as well as enlightened to whom I have alluded
in the beginning of this section. 'Tis thus he writes
of that character which he calls
The Shop Critic
This species of animal (he says), though apparently
of modern growth, must certainly have been that of
which King David complains, when he says, " Eyes
have they, and see not; ears, and hear not; noses,
and smell not:"* not (adds my friend) that they do
not positively see with their eyes, such as they are,
* Psalm cxv.

MODERN CRITICISM. 293
but they do so like owls in the dark; or perhaps
moles, who, delighting always to be under ground,
the sense of seeing, as some naturalists have conjec
tured, has been made painful to them, in order to
warn them of their danger Avhen they see any glim
mering of light, to which they have naturally a
mortal antipathy.
I once knew one of these critics, continues Horten-
sius, the son of a farmer, who had originally been
designed for an architect, and studied, or attempted
to "study, his elegant art under one of the greatest
masters of the day. As an exercise, this master sent
him to examine and report opinion on that beautiful
specimen of the genius of Inigo Jones, Whitehall
Chapel; and, on his return, asked him what he
thought of it.
" Why, it seems a strong building," said the eleve.
"Strong!!"
" Yes, plenty of brick and mortar, and a goodish
parcel of stone. Plenty of windows, too : I counted
them all/'
" Most accurate observer ! But was there nothing
else to remark ?"
" Not particularly, though I also counted the chim
neys — and  "
"Damn the chimneys!" cried the master, losing
patience (for he was an enthusiast for Inigo) ; " did
you not observe the exquisite proportions of every
thing, and the architraves and beautiful columns of
the windows you took such pains to count ?"
" I took little notice," replied the pupil ; " I only
u 3

294 THE DAY-DREAMER.
thought how much was unnecessary, and what ex-i
pense might have been spared."
" You will never make an architect," rejoined the
master, with a determined air, "though you may
carry a hod. Go to your trowel, or back to your
plough, 't will suit you better."
What the pupil immediately did, I don't know ; but,
when I first was acquainted with him, he was in the
shape of a Shop Critic.
Now it strikes me that there are many such in the
predicament which I, and King David before me,
have described: "Eyes have they, and see not" —
though they really can read. But not only to read,
but understand (as the schoolboy scribble has it),
is above them. They can count chapters as well as
the architect did windows ; but if called upon to
report the real character of a work, to enter into the
genius of the writer, ascertain principles, or take a
large view of consequences, they will content them
selves with saying, with our would-be architect,
" there is a great expense of matter which might be
spared ;" and then, like the illustrious Marchmont, in
Mrs. Trollope's admirable delineation of this cha
racter*, may perhaps review the book without having
read it.
Here I cannot help thinking of an anecdote re
corded by Mr. Lockhart, in his interesting life of
Burns. The poet, in a dispute with a clergyman on
the merits of Gray, having defied the clergyman to
* Vide Charles Chesterfield. The character of Marchmont is a jewel
in modern satire.

MODERN CRITICISM. 295
point out a defect in the " Elegy," the challenge Avas
accepted ; but the critic so blundered and quibbled,
that Burns, out of patience, observed : " Sir, I now
perceive that a man may be an excellent judge of
poetry by square and rule, and yet, after all, be a
damn'd blockhead."*
How many Shop Critics would do well had they the
modesty, in their vocation, to remember this dis
covery of Robert Burns ! This, however, would far
from suit them ; for who does not know that
" A man must serve his time in every trade,
Save censure ; critics all are ready made." f
Seriously, if one were to cast about for a severe
satire upon the institutions and customs of civilised
life, I cannot conceive a stronger one than the
influence of these self-elected judges. Many of them
are half-educated, vulgar in mind, worse in manners ;
some struggling to live, with little compunction hoAv
they may do so. These adopt ribaldry and abuse, as
most likely to make their lucubrations accord with
the depraved taste of their part of the public ; and
for this they throw their dung about, but not, as was
said of Virgil, with dignity.
With a smattering of the literature of the day,
some knowledge of technical terms, and perhaps with
" Just enough of learning to misquote,"
they believe and call themselves men of letters ; are
pert, flippant, and impertinent; talk familiarly of
Scott or Byron, Moore or Sydney Smith, as Master
* Life of Burns, 177. t Byron.
v 4

296 THE DAY-DREAMER.
Shallow did of John of Gaunt ; and, by their self-
sufficiency, provoke enemies, if not a thrashing.
When we think what the calibre of some of them
is, as proved in their own works when they are
known, we are absolutely at a loss to account for the
position which, from the indolence of better men, or
the prejudices of particular parties, they have been
allowed to usurp.
This has, however, been an old complaint, for I
find it thus written by one who knew them well :
" How could these self-elected monarchs raise
So large an empire on so small a base ?
In what retreat, inglorious and unknown,
Did Genius sleep when Dulness seiz'd the throne ?
The Stagirite, who rules from nature drew,
Opinions gave, but gave his reasons too.
Our great directors take a shorter way ;
Who shall dispute what the Reviewers say ?
But why repine we, that those puny elves
Shoot into giants ? We may thank ourselves.
Fools that we are ; like Israel's fools of yore,
The calf ourselves have fatten'd we adore.
But let our reason reassume her reign,
This god will dwindle to a calf again." *
A better description still of this critical god is per
haps to be found in a prologue to a new play, by
George Colman :
" I am a critic, my masters ; I sneer, splash, and vapour,
Puff parties, damn poets, in short, do a paper.
My name's Johnny Grubb ; I'm a vendor of scandal ;
My pen like an auctioneer's hammer I handle.
When employ'd for a play, to praise or to mock it,
I bring my critiques cut and dry in my pocket.
For we, great paper-editors, strange tho't appears,
Can often, believe me, dispense with our ears ;
The author, like all other authors, well knowing
That we are the people who set them a-going." f
# Churchill's Apology. t Ibid.

MODERN CRITICISM. 297
Harsh and hard as this account may seem, it is
not always confined to ignorant or shallow upstarts.
Wherever there is pride, vanity, or innate ill-nature
in the constitution, there is not a more convenient
or potent outlet for these peccant humours, than the
command of the critical press. This advantage is so
valuable to a man who knows how to handle it, either
in indulging a naturally ascetic humour which he
cannot help, or from envy of a reputation which he
cannot equal, that though it may damage, and has
often damaged, the fair fame of him who stoops to it,
men have not been deterred from using it by the cer
tainty of being hated for their pains. " Pereat, modo
imperet" is many a critic's motto. He has made his
election ; he cares not for being hated, provided he is
feared. But if at the same time he fills his pocket, the
temptation is irresistible, and all anxiety as to being
loved or esteemed is abandoned as mere weakness.
Thus far Hortensius, of whom we now take our
leave. Should the dissertation be not displeasing to
the reader, we may possibly return to the subject in
another dream.

298 THE DAY-DREAMER.

No. VII.

" Choked with ambition of the meaner sort."
Shakspeare : 1 Hen. VI.

Not that ambition, any more than any other passion,
should be wholly suppressed, but merely regulated.
Under proper restrictions, it is even praiseworthy,
and, without causing unhappiness, often leads to splen
did actions. It is not, however, easy to say into
how much unhappiness it may betray those who
know not how to govern it, or into what numerous
species it is divided. There is the high and the low ;
the generous and the selfish ; the true and the false,
or rather the foolish, ambition. The latter, though
most contemptible, is the most harmless, and often
causes amusement to those who witness, although
those who suffer from its effects are, while it lasts,
writhing under it in absolute torment. Of this last,
ladies, and gentlemen too, who are left out of certain
circles and parties above their station, which they are
moving heaven and earth to enter, are pregnant ex
amples. Of this too, though of a lower sort, was the
air of superiority assumed by a lady of a home county
over another whose house was nearer to the capital,
when she said, I believe you reside at the town end
of the county. Her creed was, that the farther she
lived from toAvn, the more she approached to the rank
of a country family.

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 299
Upon this principle I was amused with another
distress, of a whole family, whose chief, retiring from
trade, had laid out his fortune in an estate in the
county of Middlesex ; and, though it consisted of a
venerable mansion in a beautiful neighbourhood, they
said all was provokingly spoiled, as three miles farther
Avould have placed them in Hertfordshire, which was
full of gentry.
Yet these would have laughed at the pride of an
honest linendraper, who was painfully anxious that
his correspondent, in directing to him, should never
omit the word "wholesale" before linendraper.
This is the ambition. of the meaner sort noticed by
our motto ; and, though more harmless than the
more heroic passion that destroys its patient when
disappointed, its mortifications are not the less severe
because they are only ridiculous. Yet, if there is
common sense in the patient, it is soon cured.
I have fallen into these reflections from an amus
ing, and, at the same time, instructive, account of
this lower ambition, as it, many years ago, poisoned
the youthful feelings of one of my oldest and most
respected college friends. He is now a distinguished
scholar and divine, one of the ornaments of Oxford,
and particularly remarkable for a plain common sense,
which renders both his conduct and opinions a sort of
beacon for all his acquaintance, especially those much
younger than himself, who all look up to him with
pleasure and respect.
It seems, however, that this was not always so, and
that, during his extreme youth, before he entered the

300 THE DAY-DREAMER.
University (and occasionally, perhaps, as he says, for
some time afterwards), he suffered great and real un
happiness, from causes so little proportioned to their
effects, that he has often told me he was ashamed to
confess them ; and he allowed me to separate from
him when I prepared to go into the world, leaving
him happy in a philosophy as to the true value of
things in an easy college life, which never failed him,
but without informing me of what he called his silli
ness. He, indeed, often promised to reveal this part of
his history to me, but never did. At first, as I have
said, from shame, but afterwards from what he
thought its insignificance. This continued till I set
up for a dreamer, and renewed my application to him
on the score of his owing it as a duty to make his
weakness public, if it would help any young mind to
a right view of itself. This won him, and a few days
ago, in return for my numbers of the " Dreamer,"
which I sent him, he wrote me the following letter :
* * * Coll., Oxford, Oct. 18th.
My dear Somnolent,
Having read all your " Dreams," as you call them,
I little thought that dreaming could be turned to
such good account in, as I trust, rendering us wiser
and better, if we please, than we sometimes are when
awake. I know that I once suffered so long and so
keenly from a waking excitement, in which I lost
much of the little reason I ever had, that nothing but
a series of sober dreams, by which I mean correcting
lessons, restored me to my senses. This I have often

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 301
hinted to you, and, not to keep you any longer in
suspense, my case was this.
I was the son of a little, or at least by no means
considerable, tradesman, though a general dealer, in
the good town of Reading. Our merchandise was
various, for my father sold cloth and flannel, silk
stockings and kid gloves, upon the strength of which
he would have called himself a mercer, but that he
also dealt largely in drugs, and made up prescriptions,
on which account he had set up a pestle and mortar,
of abundant dimensions, over his door, with the ap
propriate title of ' chemist and druggist.' He also
added something to his revenue by occasionally let
ting two or three spare rooms to lodgers, whenever
persons of a respectable class were in want of a
temporary abode. Here, however, we enjoyed a pro
ductive, if not a flourishing trade, and were happy
in one another ; and one of the greatest pleasures in
life, a progressing prosperity and perfect contentment
with our lot. We had too the gratification of a rea
sonable ambition in seeing that, by our industry and
good conduct, we grew in the estimation of our
neighbours, and, though only fifteen, I was quite alive
to the pleasure of our quiet and humble respectability.
I was particularly fond of reading, and strenuously
sought to improve my school-learning, and this led
me in the end to the cultivation of very serious sub
jects — above all, divinity ; so that, till I was full
seventeen, my high ambition Avas to enter the church.
I had indeed a fair, I may say good, school education,
in the great free-school of the town, then under the

302 THE DAY-DREAMER.
direction of the most skilful masters ; and while I
confined myself to classics, a little history, the soul-
improving " Spectator," and a feAV of Shakspeare's
plays, my life passed pleasantly, and wholly undis
turbed by any discontent or hankering after what did
not belong to me. On the contrary, my vanity, of
which I had a reasonable share, was sufficiently gra
tified by being always thought a youth of great hopes,
and likely to make a figure among my equals.
Thus I passed to my seventeenth year, unknowing
and unknown, at least to any beyond our own walk
of life. But, at this critical age, I unfortunately be
came a subscriber to a circulating library, and, leaving
my pleasant guides, inundated myself with novels, at
thjg'heactof which was " Evelina," then in its full splen
dour of reputation. But, while this inspired the great
est contempt for vulgar shopkeepers hke theBrangtons,
it filled me with the sensible notion that happiness and
elegance of mind were only to be found among people
of fashion, and to be a man of fashion and a Lord Orville
was, I thought, the only lot in life worth aiming at. It
is astonishing how rapidly absorbing this corruption
became, and with what damage to my peace, when
I thought of my own inferiority of condition. My
views of life were changed, and all my notions and
feelings towards men, women, and things, underwent
a metamorphosis for the worse. Instead of the
cheerful lad, happy in himself, his friends, and his
duty, every thing was distasteful. My profession was
not fixed, but my father inclined to the shop, and,
though I knew not what I should like, I kneAV Avhat I

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 303
hated ; for a shop began to make me feel sick ; and
my father's pestle and mortar, indicating a ready sale
of drugs, was no longer music. I could not bear to
look at his brown holland sleeves while pounding;
and once, when I had just finished the account of Lord
Orville's triumph over all his competitors in good
ness, elegance, and virtue, I thought I should have
fainted to see my parent so pleased while measuring
out flannel for an under-petticoat, to a snivelling old
woman. Had things rested here, I perhaps might have
soon recovered ; but, unfortunately for my common
sense, a pert jaunty Frenchman opened an academy
for dancing in the principal street in town, which he
said he did purely to accommodate the noblesse of the
place and its fashionable environs; and, whether to
be ranked among this noblesse, or from a real love of
dancing, I prevailed upon my good plain father to
expend a few pounds in polishing his son, under the
tuition of the accomplished Monsieur Dove. To do
him justice, the fellow had astonishing powers of
setting off himself and his art, and in a short time
enlisted among his scholars, not only many youths of
the real noblesse, but many of the bons bourgeois of
the place, to whom, however, he made it appear " von
very great preuve de sa condescendance." Be this as
it may, by the help of straight limbs and a good ear,
I made such progress, or rather became such an adept
in his own art, under this prince of country dancing-
masters, that he pronounced me born to do him
credit, and only lamented that my talents should be

304 THE DAY-DREAMER.
so thrown away, as they would be, if I continued a
boutiquier. The mischief this did me, in my then frame of
mind, was incalculable. But for this terrible boutique,
the sagacious Monsieur Dove, who said (and I believed
him) that he knew human nature d fond, assured me
I might be beau garcon in any company in England,
perhaps even in France ; and, if dancing could effect
this, I was at least in a fair way, for I was acknow
ledged, without a dissentient voice, the first scholar
in Monsieur Dove's illustrious academy.
Alas ! hoAv little do we know what is good for us !
This only tended the more to sophisticate and ruin
my mind, for the more accomplished, the less fit for
the shop ; and as I was incontestably a better dancer
than young Mr. Fitzstephen, though an honourable,
and always stood up with him in the minuet, or co
tillon, which forced a sort of acquaintance in the
salle d danser, I saw no right he had to cut me every
where else, which he seemed to do upon system. I
am ashamed to say how many pangs, both night and
day, this gave me. But this is not all.
Become not a little of a coxcomb by the neAv re
putation I had acquired, you may suppose I easily
listened to a proposal from the mayor of the town, a
very honest mercer (who did not conceal that his
daughter, Miss Betsy, who had heard of, and indeed
seen, my proficiency, had prompted him to it), to
accompany them to the Town Assembly, with a vieAV to
be her partner. The lady Avas just my own age, and
was also very pretty, as well as daughter to the

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 305
mayor; and though this might give her a claim to,
something of more consequence, yet, this being her
first appearance, and all things uncertain, she not
unwisely preferred a known good partner, whom she
Avas acquainted with, and could depend upon, to what
at best might be the chapter of accidents. I should
have been giddy with vanity at the proposal, even
though Miss Betsy alone had been concerned; but
when I recollected that the Honourable Mr. Fitzste-
phen, and probably his sister, that the Englefields,
Annesleys, Walters, and a cloud of other aristocrats,
generally graced this assembly, I was in a delirium of
expectation. But vanity being uppermost all through,
it ended in a complication of what I thought disasters.
The first mortification came from this confounded
Fitzstephen, who, when with an humble doubting step
I went up to him for the chance of a recognition,
coolly turned upon his heel, and, by his interchange
of laughs and sneers with some of his polite friends,
told me what I was to expect from him. However I
recovered, for I was sure at least of Miss Betsy, who,
as the mayor's daughter, would certainly give me
consequence, which I, by my excellent dancing, might
improve. Alas ! the best dancing in the world seemed
thrown away upon this sour noblesse, whom, Avhile I
tried to despise them for awkwardness, I could have
worshipped for a single smile. Miss Betsy and I ac
quitted ourselves a merveille, and she, at least, was
much looked at; nay, an introduction to her was
courted by the officers of the county militia quartered
in the town, every one of whom appeared to me a Lord
VOL. II. x

306 THE DAY-DREAMER.
Orville or Sir Clement Willoughby. What, therefore,
was my gratification (as my age seemed to excuse all
necessity for ceremony) to hear myself told to my
face, that I was a lucky dog to have such a partner.
Nay, though it made me relinquish her for a time, my
pleasure was at its height, when the member for the
borough, to whom, in a late contest, Miss Betsy's
father had brought full twenty votes, asked my leave
as well as hers, to go down a couple of dances with
her. This was not much, but he sweetened the
sacrifice by saying that he should be happy if his
dancing could at all be thought bearable after such a
partner as myself. The member was a wag, and put
his tongue in his cheek as he said this, which I did
not see, but I was told of it by Miss Betsy's brother,
one of my " d— d good-natured friends," before I left
the room. As it was, both Miss Betsy and I thought
him the highest-bred man in the kingdom ; her father
declared there was no one fit to be member but him
self; and that I did not burst with the pride which I
felt swelling within me seemed to myself almost a
miracle. It is true the major of the militia gave a
most malicious sneer at the speech of the member, and
another winked significantly at the major, while both
smiled at my gracious and blushing acceptance of the
compliment; but at that time I did not understand
this dumb show, and knew not that I was quizzed.
It is certain I was elevated to an elysium such as I had
never known before. I seemed to haAre suddenly be
come one of the gentry, and began distantly, and not

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 307
very precisely, but still perceptibly, to conceive a sort
of plan, as well as wish, to bid adieu to the church, as
well as the pestle and mortar, and assume a red coat.
From this dream, however, I was awakened before
the assembly was over, and in a manner sufficiently
severe to my sensitive feelings.
Though as great a fool as ever was self-deluded by
a paltry ambition, I was not so blinded as really to
lose all power of observation ; I was even naturally
quick, and, when not fettered by prejudice, not without
sagacity, or, as my father used to say, could look as far
into a millstone as another. And this quality, after
my first exultation had subsided, found an employ
ment which I little expected. In the first place, I
observed that though Miss Betsy was the mayor's
daughter, and therefore, as I thought, entitled to
stand at the head of the dance, she, even when the
member's own partner was most pertinaciously denied
this rank by all the ladies not in the station of trades
men, the member's own sisters among them. On this
point they seemed most studiously resolved to pre
serve their distance, and not even the borough in
terest of the mercer her father (indeed parliament Avas
then only at the end of its first session) could induce
them to relax. Miss Betsy, therefore, was resisted bj'
the elite of the room, in every attempt to edge herself
in above a certain number of couples acknowledged
to be of the bourgeoisie. Not only this, but the bon ton
of the company refused all approach to conversation
with her or any others of her level, while, as if to
x 2

308 THE DAY-DREAMER.
mark the distinction more pointedly, they were to one
another all " Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles."
Then, at the upper end of the room, the only half-
dozen arm-chairs possessed by the town hall, formed
into a circle which no one not of the vraie noblesse
dared approach, were allotted to as many dowagers or
matrons of quality, all decked in brocades and jewels,
which added strangely to my infatuation upon this
occasion. Oh how I envied every human being who
was permitted to enter this charmed circle, with the
happy privilege of apparent equality ! What demi
gods I thought the squires of the neighbourhood, and
even the militia subalterns, who were allowed at
pleasure to enjoy the converse of these high ex-
clusives. And here I must own all my poignant
mortification, brought on, I confess, by such an infa
tuation as no one but such a greenhorn could have
felt, much less displayed. And yet I know not that
I can say it was out of nature, though certainly out
of all bounds of conventional law. In a word, totally
ignorant of this law, and thinking that all persons
who met together in the same room, for the same
purpose, and had paid their money, had a right to,
nay, would be desirous of, a little cheerful intercourse
together, and, above all, smitten with the ambition of
being allowed to make one in this great presence, I
had the courage (it Avas called impudence) to address
myself to a knight's lady in one of the arm-chairs
which conferred such dignity upon its possessors. I

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 309'
observed therefore, with some hesitation indeed, but
yet with something like resolution, that it was very
warm. The lady, raising her eyes from vacancy, or
which she seemed to have fixed them, turned to see
who the stranger was who had been so rash as, with
out the license of acquaintance, to address her ; but
soon turned back again, with a look of most super
cilious coldness, Avhile I distinctly heard a lady who
was twirling her fan in the next arm-chair, and had
observed my attempt, exclaim to her neighbour, " How
forward and ill-bred ! One of the tradespeople's sons
of the town, I suppose." On which the knight's lady,
after coolly scanning me again with her glass, turned
her back upon me still more decidedly. This left me in
a most mortifying state of humiliation at this proof
of my inferiority ; while, to complete my disgrace, the
Honourable Mr. Fitzstephen, walking up to the chairs
Avith a most enviable confidence, the whispers of both
ladies to him, and the laugh they all gave when he
returned their whisper, after directing his eyes to me,
convinced me that it was at my expense. I can my
self now laugh at the feeling of shame which this
affront to my aspiring spirit occasioned, but indeed
it was bitter, and I could willingly have challenged
Fitzstephen to a boxing match, but was restrained by
a sense of his superior rank, of which, much as I
hated him for it, I could not divest myself. The effect
was fatal to my peace for the rest of the evening. I
felt myself disgraced and degraded, because I was not
admitted where I had no right or business to be.
Instead of seeking Miss Betsy again, as I Avas expected
x 3

310

THE DAY-DREAMER.

as

to do, I looked upon her as one of the proscribed
well as myself, and (shall I confess it?) felt unwilling
to confirm the notion of the squirearchy as to my
inferiority by dancing with her again, and actually
-quitted the assembly in a paroxysm of disgust.
It is inconceivable how long the derangement of
mind occasioned by this ridiculous incident lasted.
I was no longer the same lad whose good spirits
made him every where so welcome. Indeed I did
nothing but mope in holes and corners about the
house, and neglected (for I hated) the shop and
brown sleeves more than ever. Even a cousin Sukey,
who lived with us, and whom, in my natural days, I
had used to romp with, and regard with a degree of
pleasure, became hateful to me too, on account of a
vulgarity which had never struck me before. Indeed
I had begun to be indifferent to her ever since I had
read " Evelina," but I was now completely estranged,
and could not bear her to call me Dick Dan vers, as
she everlastingly did. I stole every moment I could
from my father's eye in the shop, and passed hours in
reading in my bedroom, which faced the street, and
allowed me to add to the spleen which devoured me,
not merely from its solitude, but by showing me from
the window every gentleman's carriage that passed,
filling me with envy of those that were in them. In
this way of passing the time I was any thing but
cured, when another incident, by laying still stronger
hold of my vitiated mind, made me more unhappy
than ever. The account of this I shall reserve till I
hear whether you think what I have already written

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 311
is worth reading ; certainly, whether it falls in with
the plan of your dreams for the improvement of the
world. Adieu, then, till I receive your verdict.
Meantime I am proud to sign myself your friend,
Richard Danvers.
I beg to say I highly approve of this communi
cation from my old friend, and trust that it may be
continued. The result cannot but be favourable to a
knowledge of themselves, and do good to all mistaken
young men.

X 4

312 the day-dreamer.

No. VIII.
" Choked with ambition of the meaner sort."
Shakspeare : 1 Hen. VI.
Percep7ING that my last Number has not been dis
pleasing to many of my readers, nay, has by some of
them been highly approved, as conducing to an im
provement of mind, particularly among the young,
I proceed with my friend Danvers' narrative, as he
gave it in another letter, as follows. * * * Coll., Oxon.
My dear Somnolent,
As you have so encouraged me, I will proceed
Avith my story, though it will require not a little
firmness to confess all the silly weakness which dis
graced the earlier part of my life.
I who, in my natural days of good spirits, and
ignorance of the difference of ranks, had never
cared what part of the house I was in, when at
home, and thought the shop an amusing place, where
I used to quiz the customers, had now come to loathe
it. I could hardly tell why, and did not like to in
quire. But it was too true that, after the assembly
adventure, I never condescended to sit any where but
in a room up stairs, dignified with the name of the
" dining-room." As I have observed, my professional destination

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 313
(though my father inclined to trade) was not yet
positively fixed, and my love of reading was so much
indulged by my good parent, that I was allowed this
sort of retreat, from which I now scarcely ever stirred.
Here, though sometimes occupied with Plutarch, I
more frequently watched from the window the gentle
men's carriages as they went by, sadly envying, I
fear, their possessors, and thinking how well I should
become one of them myself. This curiosity of mine
produced my second great mortification, far greater, I
fear, than the first. For, on one of those occasions, I
was roused by the clattering of wheels and horses,
and, running as usual to the window, saw the General
of the district (it was during the war), attended by
his staff and orderlies, proceeding to a review in
what I thought nothing less than glory. This, indeed,
I perhaps might have borne, but there followed in
his wake his handsome post-chariot, which from some
momentary embarrassment stopped exactly opposite
my window, and I beheld the General's wife and daugh
ter, arrayed for the review in such fashionable
morning attire, and the daughter at least so lovely as
well as so superior, that I felt (and was almost content
to feel) a worm to be trodden under foot by such a
sweet and silken sylph. Moreover, one of the aides-de
camp, a man, as I thought, of inimitable grace, and in
imitably beplumed, on a charger fit for Mars, was all the
time the carriage stopped saying pretty things through
the window to this elegant creature. She seemed to ac
cept them, too, with the most smiling good- will, so that
I thought him the most fortunate, superior, and happy

314

THE DAY-DREAMER.

man upon earth. Alas ! it made me turn to my wretched
self with tenfold disgust, to think what I was in com
parison. I had never spoken to a female Avorthy seem
ingly to be the Abigail of such a daughter of gentility ;
and when I saw the apparent favour shown to the
aide-de-camp, and the ease with which he seemed to
take it, as if no more than his right, when I did
this, and turned to my own homespun attire, looks,
and manners, laugh as you may, I own I felt sick with
envy. What right, I thought, had he to be so familiar
and so acceptable, where I did not dare show my
face ? My inferiority made me both unhappy and
angry, when my pride felt a sort of gratification in
seeing my goddess look up from the carriage window,
as I supposed, at me. What could prompt this ?
Certainly not ray phiz, which could not be compared
to the aide-de-camp's, particularly in his cocked hat.
As certainly not my old coat, which I wished at the
devil a thousand times over, when this elegant girl
raised her eyes to my window. How will you laugh
when I tell you, from the remarks which I overheard,
that she did not even see me, and that her curiosity
was solely directed to my father's confounded pestle
and mortar, which, with his tradesman's vanity, he
had had new gilt but two days before, and which,
exactly on a level with my window, had been stared
at all the morning by every jackanapes in the town !
The cortege now moved on; the aid-de-camp kissed
his hand most gracefully to the young lady as he
followed his chief, and the young lady preserved all
her elegance in returning the salute. Good heavens !

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 315
what misery to be born a plebeian, sprung from a
dealer in flannel and drugs, Avith a pestle and mortar
for his sign ; whose daughters Avere clad in stuff
gOAvns, and sons in thread-bare coats, while others
were dressed in scarlet and feathers, and allowed to
revel on an equality with angels,
" Deck'd in silken sheen and jewels rare ! "
After this there was no remaining quiet. Seized
with mad curiosity to see more of the manners of
these brilliant people, and unaware of the mischief I
was about to incur, I ran down stairs, was angry
with my hat as well as my coat for being old and
unfashionable, and would have changed every thing
but for the loss of time it would occasion ; so darting
through the shop in a manner to astonish my father,
who was pounding with a most satisfied air of content,
I never ceased running after the General's chariot till
it stopped upon the exercising ground, where I got as
close to it as I could, reeking Avith the effects of the
precious race I had run. For it was in a burning
sun, and I Avas still more exhausted by emotions
which those may fancy who understand human nature
better than I then did. The best part of the embarras
was, that though irresistibly impelled to get as near
as I could to my cynosure, I yet wished to avoid
being noticed by her in a trim so unseemly as I
thought would disgrace me. As if there was any
thing about me, even in my Sunday clothes, that
could make me distinguishable from any other member
of the mob, or that my sordid or brilliant appearance
could have been of the smallest consequence to -this

316

THE DAY-DREAMER.

unapproachable person. Yet my mad feelings con
tinued. Curiosity, envy, intense interest, I had al
most said love, though at first sight, and then the
misery of utter hopelessness, all concurred to over
whelm me. I was in a sea of unhappiness. I was
distracted to obtain a look from this young scion of
fashion and beauty united; and yet I felt certain
that the look could only be one of contempt. How
Avretched to him Avho, under all these disparaging
convictions, thought himself still a Lord Orville!
Like the blockhead I was, I cursed my fate for being
born to be a dealer in flannel, instead of a general, or
at least an aide-de-camp, or one of the gay squires on
their beautiful bloods, who came galloping up to the
carriage-window, conversing with an ease with its
young mistress which gaA'e a pang to my heart
amounting to death ; for I could not avoid the con
viction that I never could be partaker of such bliss.
In this miserable plight, both of mind and body, the
accursed Fitzstephen again crossed me, and I actually
crouched low lest he should discover me, and reveal
my base condition to her, who I began actually to
think was Evelina, and my mistress. Certainly I could
have died on the spot to have enjoyed a kind look
from her, and would have thought my death a boon,
could it have produced a sigh of compassion. How
different was the result! The rascal Fitzstephen
made me out, and, as he addressed my fair one in
stantly afterwards, and she looked towards the spot
where I was, and a slight laugh ensued between them,
I was certain it Avas at me, and I slunk away to my

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 317
now wretched home, feeling all the pains of the
damned. Here I was not relieved when the first
person I saw was my cousin Sukey, whose eyes glad
dened, as they generally did when we met ; for she
was a frank hearty girl, and at her age (sixteen) made
no attempt to deny her feelings of or to any one.
But, though I had liked this before, I noAv felt dis
gusted, and shrunk from her as if she had been a
viper ; for, though sleek and rubicund, I never
thought her so ugly. Besides which she wore a
woollen frock trimmed with washed ribands, and
never appeared in such vulgar health and spirits.
Will you believe that, what with the scene I had just
left, and the exhibition before me, added to the con
sciousness that to this I was born, to this condemned,
while the other was for ever out of my reach, I felt
absolutely sick, and rushed up to my chamber,
where, throwing myself on my bed, I gave vent to my
misery in a torrent (yes, I confess it, a torrent) of
tears ? My trials continued, as, with such folly as I
have described, well they might; but I think even
you, my good friend, will pity me when I tell you
that, with these my nascent feelings of refinement, I
was doomed to enact a part which I had sometimes
seen advertised for in the papers, with ineffable dis
gust, that of " A genteel young man wanted, to
carry out small parcels."
The case was this. I have told you that my
father, among other things, dealt in gloves. But two
days then after the review, and Avhile my heart was
still throbbing with the too mortifying interest it had

318 THE DAY-DREAMER.
occasioned, judge of my tremor on beholding, as I
stood at the shop-door, the General's carriage, with
Mrs. and Miss Brownlow in it, stop, and the footman
despatched, desiring to see some of the best kid. Oh,
miserable and untoward ! my father Avas absent, and
Miss Brownlow, supposing I represented him, re
quested me, though I professed ignorance of all shop
business, and indeed Avas ready to sink into the earth
at being thought a shop-boy, to send somebody with
the gloves to be tried at the General's lodgings. Oh !
how I blushed and stammered, betAveen my incipient
love and shame at being detected in the very fact
of being a shopkeeper; a wretched Brangton, as I
thought I should be considered, though no doubt Miss
Brownlow never wasted a thought upon me, good or
bad ! However, thus it was on my father's return,
and I related the order that had been given by these
high ladies. But what Avas my increased distress,
Avhen my father, having selected a proper parcel of his
best gloves for this young aristocrat, and the shopman
being absent, desired me to carry them to the Ge
neral's house ! " And lose no time," said he, " for no
doubt they are for the assembly to-night." I had
always loved my homespun parent for a thousand in
dulgences, and six months before would have obeyed
him with alacrity; but I now thought him absolutely
cruel and a tyrant, to order me on such an errand,
and I remonstrated warmly against it. " What ! " said
he, "are you getting above yourself, and your old
father ? Go this instant, or it will be worse for you."
He even stamped with choler, and never did I see

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 319
him so angry. But he had suspected the change in
my notions for some time, and, being a firm though
a kindly man, " was resolved," he said, " to eradicate
this folly;" and, though the shopman had at that instant
returned, he insisted upon my doing the duty for him,
" in order," as he said, " to teach me my place." See
ing no help for it, I took up the parcel, which I doubly
wished at the devil, because it was too big to be con
cealed in my pocket, resolving, however, to elude the
disgrace by giving the only half-crown I had in the
Avorld to the first person I should see likely to per
form the degrading commission for me. But, alas !
never were the streets so devoid of passengers whom
I could trust, and I arrived at the General's door,
where the pomp of iwo orderlies and two sentries,
whose stiffened necks and limbs seemed made to scare
away all profane persons, and yet bend at the mere
nod of their superiors, only completed the triumph of
degree over my humbled vanity. Nor can I tell you
my misery, when I explained to the steward the nature
of my business, and was desired to Avalk up stairs. It
Avas in vain that I requested him to be the bearer of
the parcel. Without knowing the prices, he said
he could do nothing; besides which, he added
that a thousand questions were always asked by
ladies of their tradesmen, which he should not knoAV
how to answer. And thus I was forced (nay, I believe,
shoved) up stairs into a presence which, for a long
time afterwards, I did not cease to think of as that of
a goddess. Nor, indeed, is it surprising; for Miss
BroAvnlow had attractions, from manners as well as

320

THE DAY-DREAMER.

beauty, formed to win all hearts, even without the
dazzle and infatuation which had so cruelly tyrannised
over the silly feelings which then unnerved me ; and
this, in one respect, made my case worse, though ulti
mately it made it better. For example, with the
softest voice, and the most graceful condescension in
the world, she actually began a sort of apology, and
gave me dear thanks for having, as she supposed,
gone out of my way to serve her (as I had said I had
nothing to do with the shop), adding, with a sweetness
I have not even yet forgotten, that, as no one belonging
to it was in the way, she ought to have sent a servant
for the gloves. She then withdrew with a mixture
of gentleness and dignity such as I had never before,
nor have since, witnessed, leaving it to her maid to
choose for her what she wanted, and be sure not to
omit settling the account.
To say I was dazzled, overpowered, astounded with
this delightful demeanour, would be nothing; I no
longer cursed my destiny for having been cast so low ;
and my mortifications, and all the silly consequences
of my most trumpery aspirations, were in an instant
forgotten. They yielded, indeed, to far purer feelings,
those of high and deserved respect and admiration,
perhaps I should not be wrong if I said love ; for if
ever love, pure, sincere, and respectful, was felt, it
certainly was at that moment by the envious shop
keeper's son, who, expecting to be despised, slighted,
scorned had been treated seemingly with all the
civility which an equal might have expected. It was
at least that civility which good minds think due to

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 321
the poorest in degree ; nay, so gracefully was it dealt
out, that I almost thought it kindness. Oh ! how much
do those of superior station lose of power and real
consequence, when they depart from the laws of their
being in the treatment of their inferiors ; when they
suppose themselves privileged to deny them the rights
of humanity instituted by their common Maker, the
rights of kindliness and good manners from all to all,'
during their temporary sojourn together in this state
of trial !
Well, what is most remarkable is yet to come ; for
my being thus converted from an envious coxcomb
into a respectful lover went far to free me from the
ridiculous thraldom I had suffered. My admiration
of this pleasing young lady was so deep, so pure, and
I so overflowed with gratitude for the unexpected
notice she had been pleased to take of me, her
softness and grace so worked upon the better part of
my nature, that I felt my mind, as it were, enlight
ened with a new sense of things. One would have
supposed that the vanity and false, because silly, am
bition I have described would have raged more tor-
mentingly than ever ; that I should have become more
and more moody, more proud and angry at the ine
quality of my lot than before. Not so. It is certain
that the moment of my feeling the love which the
manners of Miss Brownlow, more even than her
beauty, had inspired, while it was also the moment of
a thorough and entire despair of obtaining more notice
than I had enjoyed, brought along with it a cure for
all the discontented feelings which had preyed upon
VOL. II. Y

322 THE DAY-DREAMER.
me ; for it brought home to my reason, as well as to
my heart, the extreme madness and folly of those
feelings, and this was the first step to the deliverance
I ultimately experienced. I asked myself, a thousand
times a day, what I could propose to my waywardness
in thinking as I did of one so much above me, the
folly of which could not be exceeded had I been angry
for not being married to the moon. It is astonishing
what a change was wrought in me by this plain and
obvious question, so obvious, that it was only remark
able that it had not presented itself before. It proved
to me, young as I was, that the simplest and most
forcible truths depend often upon chance and oppor
tunity for development. Thus, then, my great ad
miration of Miss Brownlow, accompanied with the
rational conviction that I never could turn it to ac
count, carried along with it that what I considered
such hardship and injustice in the lots of men was
the work and intention of Providence. Against this
no good or pious mind could ever murmur, but must
submit to it with resignation, and therefore with
content. This was a great advance, and I claim to say it was
made without the assistance of what afterwards fully
completed the triumph of reason. For, as I lived on
and observed farther, I felt and saw that happiness,
and even personal respectability, were the creatures
of no particular station ; but that, founding everything
upon the will of God, all depended upon our doing
our duty in that state of life to Avhich it had pleased
Him to call us'. This discovery, however, was not the

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 323
immediate result of my despair of Miss Brownlow,
and yet my attachment to her, though the growth of
a day, was so pure and unselfish, that I rejoiced
without alloy in the prospect of happiness which a
marriage worthy of her afterwards held out. No
reverse of hers, therefore, opened my eyes to the con
clusions I came to ; but what I subsequently saw in
the history of the different ranks of mankind, showed
me that neither rank, nor birth, nor fortune exempted
their possessors from disgrace, nor worldly prosperity
from care ; that happiness was the production of mind
alone, and that he who rose from small beginnings
(whatever they were) to higher fortune had more
enjoyment by the superior interests it created while
progressing, than he who was born to the highest.
Perhaps, too, I thought the summit of philosophy was
to discover that he had the best chance of all who
repined not at the place he was in, even though he
had sought with fair ambition to improve it, and had
failed. Some of these reflections were prompted by the
events which occurred in the history of those I had
so much envied. One of them, not very honourable
to the Honourable Mr. Fitzstephen, whom, you may
remember, I described as my rival, or rather enemy,
in producing the mortifications that attended my first
attempts to get beyond my sphere in the assembly
room at Reading. And yet this low-minded, though
high-born, unfortunate filled me with pity, for his. sad
change extinguished in an instant all that gnawing
resentment which too long preyed upon me. In a
T 2

324 THE DAY-DREAMER.
word, the ami sacra fames destroyed this supercihous
sprout of fashion, and effectually prevented all farther
attempts upon the happiness of his inferiors, not the
lowest of whom would have changed situations with
him. Wanting money to supply his extravagances,
he had become a better upon the turf, and, in order to
win, bribed an inferior rogue to administer a strong
dose of aloes in a cold drink to a favourite horse,
against whom he had given odds. The affair got wind,
the fact was proved, and the money refunded ; but
the Honourable Mr. Fitzstephen never again showed
his face at the Reading or any other assembly. It
cured in a moment all my deceptions as to the su
perior chances of happiness necessarily derived from
birth. Then, again, the brocaded dame of the arm
chair in the assembly room, who made me feel so
little, and by it caused such mortification to my am
bition, gave me ample revenge had I chosen to indulge
it. You may recollect she was a knight's wife, to
whom I ventured to speak without being introduced,
and who disdained me as canaille, or, what was the
same thing, one of the bourgeoisie of the town. But
knights die as well as other men, and sometimes also,
like other men, leave their Avives poor and unprovided
for. In this instance, Sir John having from osten
tation lived upon his capital until it was nearly all
exhausted, his lady was reduced from a gay park
house in the neighbourhood to a little lodging at a
tradesman's in the toAvn, and ventured no more on
the exclusive arm-chair in the assembly room. I was
not malicious enough to rejoice, but had sense and

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 325
gratitude enough to be pleased, on comparing it with
the comfortable results of my father's quiet industry
at the pestle and mortar.
But it seemed as if Providence had determined
upon giving me powerful lessons upon the mistaken
notions of prosperity I had indulged ; for the next
overtake happened to the gay and plumed aide-de
camp, who, by appearing so much at his ease with his
general's daughter, had formerly seemed equal to the
emperor of the world, and made myself feel like the
dust at his feet. Had I here also wanted revenge, it
was offered; for, within a few months, this gallant
captain was torn from his horse in the very midst of
parade, surrounded by all that was gay and fashion
able, by a hard-hearted sheriff's officer, and conveyed
to prison by virtue of a vile writ. Trust me, these
vicissitudes were not Avithout their impression, and I
was already much mended by my own observation
when a fortunate change in my destiny, by my coming
under the direction of a very wise man, completed
my cure.
And yet this wise man was no more than a country
parson, though perhaps endowed with more common
sense than half his cloth. Family business led him to
make an annual visit to Reading, where he lodged at
our house, and he was pleased to distinguish me for
what he called my aptitudes, which, he said, might
easily be turned into acquisitions ; to prove which he
used, in his annual visits, to examine me in my
reading. As I highly esteemed, I concealed nothing
from him ; and when I told him the impressions made
y 3

326

THE DAY-DREAMER.

by novels and Lord Orville, and especially the conse
quent miseries I have recited, there was no end to his
ridicule. This, perhaps, was the most effectual way
of recovering me, particularly as it was always founded
upon that sterling good sense for which, added to his
good heart, I chiefly admired him. He was pleased,
hoAvever, with my frankness, and lent himself to
perfect the improvement which my own reflections
had begun ; and, when he found my disposition to the
church as a -profession, set himself seriously to ex
amine both my attainments and sincerity. By the
last he avowed his design to ascertain whether the
angel of rehgion, or the devil of false and silly pride,
such as I had confessed, had inspired my choice.
Having satisfied him in this as far as my sentiments
on the books I had read could go, he said, provided
I would submit to an experiment and come off con
queror, he would use his influence with my father,
who was more and more thriving, to countenance my
choice. This experiment was a bitter one, but proved
my sincerity in my views, for it was no less than that
I should consent for a time to assist my father in his
business, with a view to prove that my stomach was
come down. " I need not tell you," said he, " that the
great Master you wish to serve loves humility, and
holds the proud man in derision." To this, such was
my real bent to the profession and the charms of
scholarship, I without hesitation submitted; and so
pleased my father, who was let into the secret, by
the cheerfulness with which I went through my no
viciate as to the shop, that he as cheerfully consented

AMBITION OF THE MEANER SORT. 327
to further my wishes, and I thus, not from vanity
but principle, became a gentleman. It was in this
capacity, my good old friend, that you first knew and
liked me ; and, as I liked you, not for your gentility
but your sterling worth, I trust you will not reject
me as a friend, though I have thus confessed all the
mortifications I once endured from being the son of
a shopkeeper. Adieu ! make what alteration you think fit in this
narrative. It will be a gratification to me if the sub
stance of it is thought of importance enough to con
tribute to the spread of the petite morale you so well
advocate by your dreams ; and so believe me
Your friend,
Richard Danvers.

T 4

THE DAY-DREAMER.

PART II.
ILLUSTRATIONS OF AMBITION.
No. I.
CHARACTER OF THE FIRST LORD HOLLAND.
" Cromwell ! I charge thee, fling away ambition ;
By that sin fell the angels : how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't ? "
" O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours !"
Shakspeare : Hen. VIII.
This lesson, clear, forcible, and important as it is,
does not seem to have been learned, certainly not
taught, by the cardinal, until he had run his full
career, and surmounted a thousand storms Avithout
a reflection on their danger. He was swamped at
last, when it was too late to profit by his knowledge,
and only then gave in to the above most moral pre
cept. His protege Cromwell, though he had the re
putation of a clever man, does not seem to have
acted upon it any more than his master ; and the
end of both was unhappy.
The sage of an after reign analysed the subject, as
he did every other, with great knowledge and power

330 the day-dreamer.
of illustration. "Ambition," says he, " is like choler ;
which is an humour which maketh men active, earnest,
full of alacrity and stirring, if it be not stopped. But
if it be stopped and cannot have its way, it becometh
adust, and thereby malign and venomous. So am
bitious men, if they find the way open for their rising
and still get forward, they are rather busy than
dangerous ; but if they be checked in their desires,
they become secretly discontent, and look upon men
and matters with an evil eye." *
We shall see, in the course of our speculations, how
well this was exemplified in the instance of Swift and
others ; and, as my two last dreams were occupied
with the lower sort of ambition (the ambition of va
nity), unworthy in itself, and ridiculous rather than
dangerous, we will now, from the above exhibition of
the cardinal, take a higher flight, which leads to fear
and pity more than laughter.
In truth the rise and fall of Wolsey was no common
history, and it is difficult to say whether his success
or reverses were the most striking. There is this
essential difference, however, in his history from that
of the thousand other victims that engage our notice
in the world's page; that he was no mere adventurer,
the child and sport of chance or fortune, hke Albe-
roni, Ripperdaf , or the Russian favourites, but a man
trained to state affairs.
* Bacon's Essays, art. " Ambition."
¦j- A notable instance ! Now Protestant, now Catholic ; now Mahom-
medan, now the founder of a new sect ; now the favourite minister of
Philip V. of Spain, now leader of the armies of Morocco : but the slave
of ambition throughout. — E. P.

THE FIRST LORD HOLLAND. 331
" He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ;
Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashion'd to much honour.
Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not ;
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer."
That such a man should fall, after attaining to the
height he did, is nothing new in the history of man.
That one who could reason so correctly on the sub
ject, and give such rules to avoid misfortune, should
almost court it, is somewhat more surprising ; though
that also is not new in cases where self predomi
nates to the extinction of wisdom. This self was
Wolsey's real sovereign, and blinded him to the evils
the nature and consequences of which he so perfectly
understood, and so well described to his amazed se
cretary.* All these evils, too, are thoroughly foreseen by the
tens of thousands who embark on the same sea, and
view him in this admirable play as the useful beacon
the deep-skilled poet intended him to be, and yet who
fall in the same manner as if they had never perused
this pathetic lesson. Why this is, is the first, and a
most pertinent, question.
The answer is as ready. Because, when unre
gulated passion and self-interest predominate, his
tory and example avail nothing. 'Tis hence that
I am never more interested and engrossed than
when, in reading some eminent man's hfe (states
man or warrior), however he may have figured in
the eyes of men, I come to his reflections at the close
of it, and find, in his opinion, that all is vanity.
* " Enter Cromwell, amazedly." — Hen. VIII.

332 THE DAY-DREAMER.
This original absorption of self ; this yielding up
of the senses to the mere dazzle of things, excluding
all reflection as to their real value founded upon
God's moral government of the world ; this selfish
ness lies, I say, at the bottom of all those complaints
of the instability of fortune, of the disappointment of
(supposed) reasonable expectations, of the fallacious
ness of promises, and of the virtuous indignation
at. the success of rogues and rascals, which all suc
cessful rivals are in the mind of him who is an ex
ample of mere worldly, and therefore of a vicious, am
bition, that has been disappointed. A picture of this
ambition has been so fearfully drawn by an eloquent
and clear-minded prelate, that I do not scruple to
present it to the reader. " How can he," says this
eminent divine, "who, in climbing the ladder of
ambition, tramples at every step on sincerity and
truth; who scruples not to circumvent a friend, to
flatter a fool, to hold commerce with a knave, to de
scend to every mean compliance with the vices of the
great and the follies of the vulgar ; how can such a
one think Avith patience of a religion which sets no
value on the pomp and glory of the world ?"* Even
the feelings of humiliation which old labourers in
the political vineyard scruple not sometimes to relate
to their friends, although the world at large stamp
them with the character of fortunate, take their rise
from any thing but modesty, and are the creation
solely of an exuberant spleen.
A pregnant, and at the same time melancholy, in-
* Bishop Watson, Tracts, i. 232.

THE FIRST LORD HOLLAND. 333
stance of this is to be found in some letters lately
published of a person in any point of view, whether
public or private, of no mean consideration ; in fact,
with the imputation of very sad faults from many
who have drawn his character, beloved by numerous
friends in social life, and a statesman of the very first
class in the times in which he lived. Such was the
first Lord Holland, to whose letters in the " Selwyn
Correspondence " I advert. To be sure Lord Chester
field shows him little mercy in his character of him,
telling us that " he was of the lowest extraction ; had
consumed a fair younger brother's portion in the
vices of youth (gaming included) ; and that he had
no fixed principles, either of morality or religion, and
Avas too unwary in ridiculing and exposing them ; "
meaning, of course, in endeavouring to do so. Nay,
Lord Chesterfield goes on to say, that as he advanced
in life his ambition became subservient to his avarice;
that " rem, quocunque modo, rem," became his maxim ;
and that he lived as Brutus died, calling virtue but
a name.* Whether this was deserved or not, is not here the
question ; my point being only that Lord Holland,
according to the views of the world, was a man
of successful ambition ; and yet, from a want of
proper regulation and sense of religion, at the end
of his life, unhappy. Lord Chesterfield testifies to
his success. " He had," says he, " very great abili
ties, and indefatigable industry in business ; great
skill in managing, that is, in corrupting, the House
* Characters, art. " II. Fox."

334 THE DAY-DREAMER.
of Commons ; and a wonderful dexterity in attaching
individuals to himself. He wisely and punctually
performed whatever he promised, and most liberally
rewarded their attachment and dependence. By these
and all other means that can be imagined, he made
himself many personal friends and political depen
dants." *
All this confirms what I have said as to his good
fortune, which is only the more proved by the
glance given at the lowness of his extraction ; and, as
if nothing should be wanting to his wishes, he was
successful in another field of ambition, as well as
politics. For perhaps his highest object of all was the
match he at length accomplished, after a long and
strenuous opposition from her family, on account of
his inferiority of birth, with the sister of the Duke of
Richmond. This, it should seem, ought to have per
fected his worldly prosperity ; for, already in posses
sion of wealth, power, and reputation for abilities, it
gave him the only other advantage which, had he
been wise, was necessary to his well-doing, the lustre
of family connection. One would have thought,
therefore, that all this would have crowned him
with felicity ; and no doubt it was thought to do so
by the common world. Those, however, who could
look into his closet, saw that it was not so ; and that,
under the constant good-humour and seeming frank
ness for which Lord Chesterfield gives him creditf ,
* Characters, art. " II. Fox."
t " A constant good-humour and seeming frankness made hiin a wel
come companion in social life.'' — Characters, art. " H. Fox."

THE FIRST LORD HOLLAND. 335
there must have lurked that discontent which he
afterwards confessed in his letters to Selwyn. The
truth is, that during a considerable part of his tumul
tuous life, though his abilities made him a most desir
able colleague in subordinate offices, he was long kept
down and prevented from rising to the highest, which
his services had earned, by the jealousy of men far
his inferiors in energy and talents, but superior to
him in rank and court interest ; Avhile, on the other
hand, he was beat, and for ever kept out of the field of
popularity and public opinion, by the greater energy
and virtue of the man* who disdained to be his rival,
and treated him always as his master. This could not
be borne ; and, although wealth and a barony were his
ultimate rewards, the latter at least mortified as much
as it pleased him, because it was not an earldom.
In this, if not in other disappointments, he resembled
another great type of ill-regulated ambition, Boling
broke ; the origin of whose quarrel with Oxford, in
volving the total ruin of their party, was, as may be
remembered, the circumstance, that while Oxford
attained at once to an earldom, Bolingbroke only
became a viscount. What littleness was this ! and
how easily guarded against by a small, a very small,
portion of that philosophy to which this philosopher
among lords, and lord among philosophers, was so
perpetually laying claim. It must be owned, how
ever, that Bolingbroke carried it more gallantly than
Lord Holland. He complained of the world, but he
* Lord Chatham.

336 THE DAY-DREAMER.
did not whine. It is possible, indeed, that Lord Hol
land's feelings towards Rigby, acute as they appear
in the following passage of one of his letters, might
have arisen from the disappointment of a real affec
tion (if such can exist among rivals for power) ; and,
if so, we will not harp upon it as a proof of mortified
ambition, though, from the language, it is difficult
to separate the two. " Surely," says he, " you must
have known all I know of Mr. Rigby's unkind beha
viour to me. I never hid any thing from him when he
was my friend ; I had nothing to hide on my part
when he ceased to be so. I must not trust myself
to write any more on so tender a subject ; but my
Aveakness is such that I am afraid you can Avrite upon
none that I shall listen more to."*
This is the letter of a hurt mind ; but whether
from the inconstancy of a friend, or the successful
opposition of a rival, may be doubtful. If the first,
he Avas to be pitied ; if the last, himself was to blame
for not being better armed against a very common
contingency. In another letter, his confessed disappointment and
consequent unhappiness and humiliation are even
disgusting. " Do L authorise you to speak to the
Duke of Grafton about what I mentioned to Mr.
Walpole ? L shall take it very kindly if you do f, and
perhaps it is the only notice that any body will take
* Lord Holland to Selwyn, " Correspondence," ii. 264.
¦(¦ Lord Holland, the Secretary of State, and Minister of the House of
Commons, to be reduced to seek the patronage, as it were, of a mere
country gentleman, or, at most, a man of pleasure on town.

THE FIRST LORD HOLLAND. 337
of one so universally despised as I am. I am humbled,
and shall endeavour to conform to fate."* Again:
"In spite of all your kind, and, for aught I know,
good reasoning, you see I am humbled, and I believe
(whatever they may pretend) that old age humbles
every body."\
This, at least, is contrary to the general drift of
every thing that has been said or written of a re
spectable old age, which rather, if there is no extra
neous reason for the contrary, elevates and recom
mends itself to every body's esteem. If irrespectable
from the life and character of the party, whose fault
is it but his own ?
Lord Holland finishes the subject by saying, " The
spirit and fire of youth subsist no more, and
' Old age so weakens and disarms the mind,
That not one arrow can resistance find.' "
In these sentiments there is at least nothing of
Cicero ; and, for the cause of the despair and lamenta
tion which seem here to characterise this supposed
successful son of ambition, we can only look to that
total want of hope of a hereafter, which, from Lord
Chesterfield's account, must have been his melan
choly lot.
How infinitely better had it been for this supposed
fortunate, but in reality unhappy, man, could he
* Selwyn, i. 209. If he was humbled, surely it was by himself, for
wanting the common wisdom and virtue which make other men superior
to outward circumstances. Would either of the Pitts have written
thus? t Selwyn, i. 209.
VOL. II. Z

338 THE DAY-DREAMER.
have looked differently upon old age in general, and
upon his own in particular, instead of whining (as I
have said he did) at the loss of his youth ! could he
have sincerely applied to himself, as Bishop Watson
(a more useful public man) did, the eloquent conso
lation of another considerable person, on the close of
his labours ! " Ingruit senectus, appropinquat mors,
et melioris a?vi dies, cum hsec clarius elucebunt.
Juvat interea tenue aliquod monumentum reliquisse
vita? non otiose peractaa, et brevi quasi functum
militia, deinceps a laboribus requiescere." * Instead
of this, he could only apply to himself the con
science-struck reflections which the mighty master
puts into the mouth of a man ruined by crime and
unworthy ambition, when in the wane of hfe he
exclaims, " I have liv'd long enough : my way of life
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have."
Lord Holland's redeeming qualities were his social
accomplishments, and an indulgence for his children
carried to dangerous fondness ; if that can be said
to be redeeming which went far to ruin his most
iUustrious son, though it made that son adore him.
But with respect to the manner in which he bore his
supposed disappointments in the pursuit of power,
can we help contrasting it with that ever memorable
and ennobling account of his own feelings by Mr.
" Burnet, Pref. to his " Archaeology."

THE FIBST LORD HOLLAND. 339
Pitt, on his contemplated loss of office (as it should
seem for ever), in the most elevated speech, though
then but three and twenty, which perhaps he ever
made. " You may take from me, Sir, the privileges
and emoluments of place, but you cannot, and you shall
not, take from me those habitual and warm regards
for the prosperity of Great Britain, which constitute
the happiness, the honour, and the pride of my life,
and which I trust death alone can extinguish. With
this consolation, the loss of power, Sir, and the loss
of fortune, though I affect not to despise them, I
hope I shall soon be able to forget.
1 Laudo manentem. Si celeres quatit
Pennas, resigno quae dedit, et mea
Virtute me involvo, probamque
Pauperiem sine dote qusero.' " *
This dignified submission in a mere stripling, to a
fate so different from what had been promised by an
* Parliamentary Debates, 21st Feb. 1783. Thus poorly translated by
Francis : " I can applaud her [Fortune] while she stays ;
But if she shake her rapid wings,
I can resign, with careless ease,
The gifts her worthless favour brings ;
Then folded lie in Virtue's arms,
And honest Poverty's undower'd charms."
Horace : Odes, iii. 29.
Wraxall has given an interesting variation to the account of this inci
dent in the " Parliamentary Debates." He says : " Mr. Pitt, when he came
to the words, ' et mea virtute me involvo,' struck with the apparent
ostentation of the passage, paused, looked on the floor, and, after a
moment or two of silence, while all attention was directed to him from
every part of the house, and drawing his handkerchief once or twice
across his lips, with emphasis continued the quotation at 'probamque
pauperiem sine dote qusero.'" — Own Times, iii. 317.
z 2

340 THE DAY-DREAMER.
opening career of unexampled brilliancy, contrasts
pointedly, and with little credit, to the conduct of the
veteran slave of ambition whose disappointments we
have been noticing. And these can only be explained
and accounted for by the fact of the want of that
proper training in early life, that beneficial attention
to the history and nature of human events which we
have adverted to, and which should form the ground
work of all education, but particularly that of men
intended for public affairs. For, strange as it may
appear, the first requisite for a man who makes am
bition his mistress is, that he should be able to quarrel
with, and leave her without a sigh.
This is not unknown, in theory at least, to most of
the candidates for fame and power, who seek them in
the hard-fought fields of party strife. And, accord
ingly, there is hardly one of them who is not, or does
not think he is, armed with a sort of spurious self-
called philosophy, which is to keep him, hke a talis
man, from the perils of shipwreck. Most of the
eminent statesmen who have experienced the caprice
of fortune, and lost their poAver, have pretended to
this philosophy as a thorough balance, nay, as more
than a balance, to what is vulgarly supposed to be
misfortune, but which, they would have you believe,
brought them nothing but relief.
There is scarcely one of these who, after pursuing
the race untired as long as it is successful, is not
ready, on a reverse, to repeat with unction the verses
of Cowley on a retired garden :

THE FIRST LORD HOLLAND. 341
" Oh ! who would change these soft, yet solid, joys
For empty shows, and senseless noise ;
And all which rank ambition breeds,
Which seem such beauteous flow'rs, and are such noisome weeds ?"
Sir William Temple, in his "Memoirs," has given a
striking as well as amusing picture of an ambitious
man, in the person of the celebrated Marquess of Hali
fax (Saville), upon a threatened reverse. " I found
him," says Sir William, " in physic ; but plainly saAV
his distemper was not what he called it. His head
looked very full, but very unquiet ; and when we were
left alone, all our talk Avas by snatches ; sickness, ill-
humour, hate of town and business, ridiculousness of
human life ; and whenever I turned anything to the
present affairs, after our usual manner, nothing but
action of hands or eyes, wonder, and signs of trouble,
and then silence."*
After this, things apparently promising better, Lords
Halifax and Essex used Temple ill, which made the
latter resolve to retire, and he kept his word, for his
philosophy was not pretended ; but Halifax being
soon again subjected to disappointment, he told Sir
William his resolution also to quit, and go down into
the country (the usual relief) ; and though he could
not plant melons, as Sir William did, being in the
North, yet he would plant carrots and cucumbers,
rather than trouble himself any more about public
affairs, and accordingly he went down to Rufford.
This is no more than the usual proceeding of great
* Temple's Works, folio, i. 345.
z 3

342 THE DAY-DREAMER.
men when thwarted in their career. They generally
choose not to remain in the actual field wherein they
have been defeated, but in rural or domestic retirement
pretend to find enjoyments far cheaper, and at the
same time far more rational, than those they had so
long been courting. Nay, they would have you be
lieve that they have always been beforehand with
fate ; have anticipated the event in their wishes as
well as expectations, and have lived in a constant
state of preparation for it. This, therefore, not only
lightens, but makes them laugh, or pretend to laugh,
at the reverse when it comes.
How many self-deceived persons of this sort have
there not been ? Some of them soured into misan
thropy by disappointments which they tell you they
are above feeling. Of these, the most striking because
the most considerable, and at the same time most
querulous, example was Swift; that extraordinary
mixture of good and bad, great and little, generosity
and avarice, philosophy and spleen. He was, however,
every way a man so remarkable, that he deserves a
dream to himself.

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 343

No. II.
CHARACTER OF SWIFT.
" Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition."
Shakspeare: 1 Hen. VI.
Swdjt was a man hke the cardinal we have quoted,
" Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
Himself with princes ;"
in short, of inordinate pride, yet not above little vani
ties, though he denied it, and never above spunging
for a dinner.
A slave to ambition, to believe him as painted in
his own verses, one would suppose him the old Cory-
cian of Virgil, content with a garden and unbought
feasts. " Thus, in a sea of folly tost,
My choicest hours of life are lost ;
Yet always wishing to retreat ;
Oh ! could I see my country seat !
There, leaning near a gentle brook,
Sleep, or peruse some ancient book ;
And there in sweet oblivion drown
Those cares that haunt the court and town."
All this, while he was tearing himself to pieces
at losing the high reward of his services, which he
thought within his reach.
That that was a mitre, and not the dean's stall he
afterwards obtained, appears from numberless little
allusions in letters as far back as 1712, Avhen he was
z 4

344 THE DAY-DREAMER.
advancing to the height of his favour with the Tories.
Even while thanking Lady Orkney for a writing-table,
he cannot help saying, " I plainly see, that, if you were
first minister, it would have been a cathedral." * Yet,
after a thousand hopes of better fortune, he was dis
missed by those whom he thought he had saved by
his abilities alone, growling to Ireland, when his
fondest object was preferment in England ; and there
he continued to growl for thirty years more, and yet,
during the whole time, breathing homilies in the
shape of letters, de contemptu mundi; nursing and
exhibiting an outrageous spleen, which he denied to
have the least power over him. His boast Avas, in
dependence of all those persons and things which he
most courted ; and, whenever vexed or thwarted in
the pursuit which led him from Ireland, he was al
ways, according to himself, ready to forego it, and
return with equanimity to a country which he pre
tended to love, yet cordially hated.
During all this time he played the most consum
mate actor, in a part not new or original, indeed, but
requiring cunning and uncommon impudence to suc
ceed in it. A part copied from that assumed disguise
of the virtuous Kent, of whom it was said, that " hav
ing been praised for bluntness, he did affect a saucy
roughness." f Hence, rogue, knave, and fool were ever
at his tongue's end, or his pen's point, and gave him
a character for most intrepid independence ; though,
in reality, nothing but designing impudence. For it
* Works, xi. 247. f King Lear.

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 345
was a finesse easily seen through (and only foolishly
submitted to by his superiors), of exacting from people
of the highest consequence of both sexes, that they
should always make him the first advances. This,
too, was conveyed in an affected sauciness of language
which generally succeeded (and was, therefore, often
repeated) in persuading the world of his independence.
He used it, therefore, as an admirable channel of flat
tery while professing the most homely freedom, the
better to deceive those on whom he had designs. It
is astonishing how this sort of stratagem took; and no
wonder it turned his head, and completed his own
self-deception as to other parts of his character.
Thus he says to Lord Carteret when Lord-Lieutenant,
and whom he most egregiously flattered: " I told your
excellency that you were to run my errands ; I ex
pect you will tell your successor how impartial I am
in giving you characters of clergymen, and that you
let your said successor know that you lament having
done nothing for Mr. Robert Grattan, and give him
such a recommendation that he may have some
thing to mend his fortune. And I desire, that I,
who have done with courts, may not be used as a
courtier." *
Hence, too, the following specimen of the same
artful flattery, under the same rough exterior, to
Queen Caroline when princess, disgusts as much as it
amuses "j" : "J am sorry I have no complaints to make
of Her Royal Highness, therefore, I think I may let
* Works, xii, 28. 382. f In a letter to Mrs- Howard.

346

THE DAY-DREAMER.

you tell her, that every grain of virtue and good sense
in one of her rank, considering the bad education
among flatterers and adorers, is worth a dozen in any
inferior person. Now, if what the world says be
true, that she excels all other ladies, at least a dozen
times, then multiply one dozen by the other, you
will find the number to be 144." If this did not
deserve a bishopric, I don't know Avhat could. But
the honest dean was disappointed notwithstanding.
In another letter to the same lady, he says, his deaf
ness will force him away, and then the queen will
have the misfortune not to see him, and he, the satis
faction never to have seen her since she was queen.
And although she were a thousand queens, he will
not lose his privilege of never seeing her but when
she commands it."f It is evident, that he here
expected Mrs. Howard to lay these letters before
the queen, and that he should be commanded; but
they were not even noticed, and that they were not,
did not diminish his virtuous indignation. With
the same designing policy, whenever the great men
did not show him sufficient attention, he boasted, that
" he could be perfectly content with his present for
tune, small as it was J, and return to his willows at a
day's notice, without the least reluctance." §
" Contempt in Ireland," says he, " will be no morti
fication to me. When I was last there, I was alone
half the time, retired to one scurvy acre of ground,
and I always left it with regret. I am as Avell re-
* Works, xii. 233. { Little more than 2001. a year, if so much.
t Ibid. xii. 349. § Sheridan's Life of Swift, i. 139.

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 347
ceived and known at court, as perhaps any man ever
was of my level. I have formerly been the like : I
left it then, and, perhaps, will leave it now {when they
please to let me), without any concern but what a few
months will remove." This was to Archbishop King,
1st Oct. 1711.
In another letter to the same : "I thank God I am
not very warm in my expectations, and know courts
too well to be surprised at disappointments."
In adopting this policy, although he might be sin
cere in displaying what, after all, were merely strong
proofs of the pride and vanity, the ambition of a selfish
nature, not of a really high and generous character,
he knew that he turned a sound general principle to
his own advantage. His biographer, Sheridan, says,
" he had long beheld with indignation the mean con
descensions and homages paid by men of genius to
scoundrels in power, and titled fools, and was deter
mined to afford a striking example in himself of a
contrary conduct, by reclaiming the rights due to su
periority of talents over those of birth and fortune; and,
in one of his ' Tatlers,' says, 'If those who possess great
endowments of mind would set a just value on them
selves, they would think no man's acquaintance Avhat-
soever a condescension, nor accept it from the greatest
upon unworthy or ignominious terms.' "
Nothing can be more just ; but how does he himself
act upon it? He struts into a court drawingroom
like a peacock with his tail erect, upon which, instead
of eyes, you find inscribed, " Behold, I am a man of
genius and superior talents, and possess great endow-

348 THE DAY-DREAMER.
ments of mind, much greater than those of any of you
here, who are, for the most part, a set of scoundrels
in power, or titled fools, and therefore all who are
desirous of the honour of my acquaintance must
make me the first advances."* Who would not laugh
at such an ambition as this ; or, if it should end in
the mortification and neglect which he afterwards
actually met with, who would be sorry ?
We now, however, come to proofs of a self-decep
tion so glaring as to be even ridiculous, though he was
much too great a despot for any one to dare express
an opinion on it.
In a letter to Stella, he says : " Remember, if I am
ill used and ungratefully, as I have formerly been, it's
what L am prepared for, and shall not wonder at.
The ministry all say they love me, I count upon
nothing." Then to show his philosophic state of
preparation, he says : " My friend Lewis showed me
the order for the three vacant deaneries, but none
of them for me. This was Avhat L always foresaw,
and received the notice of it better, I believe, than
he expected." He (Swift) then desired Lewis to tell
Lord-Treasurer he had nothing to do but go to
* A curious instance of this is found in his journal to Stella, May 19.
1711. "Mr. Secretary told me the Duke of Buckingham desired my ac
quaintance. I answered, it could not be, for he had not made sufficient
advances." He adds, " In the drawingroom I am so proud, I generally
make all the lords come up to me." I suppose he did not quite tell
them it was because he was their superior in talents, while they were all
fools or scoundrels. The fact is, he was a piece of successful impertinence,
and knew his men. What if they had resented it, and refused to come
up to him ? There would have been no end to his mortification and
complaints of mankind.

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 349
Ireland immediately; and when Oxford tells him
something might be done for him that night, his re
mark is, " I believe him not." Yet all this while
Oxford was his hero, and he dined with the Secretary,
and declares he (Swift) was as good company as ever.
No doubt he thought himself so, when he thought
himself trifled with as to the promise of the deanery
of St. Patrick's ; for he writes : " I am less out of
humour than you would imagine ; and if it were not
that impertinent people would condole with me, as
they used to give me joy, I would value it less. But
I still avoid company, and muster up my baggage and
go to see my willows, against the expectation of all
the world. What care I?"
He little knew himself, for he cared a great deal,
and his spleen at the uncertainty and delay of his
appointment got the better of him, so that he began
to rail at the man, whom, of all others, he professed
most to love and admire, Lord Oxford.
" I dined," said he, " in the city, and ordered a
lodging to be got ready against I came back to pack
up my things, for I will leave this end of the town as
soon as ever the warrants for the deaneries are out,
which are yet stopped." " Lord-Treasurer," he goes
on, " told Lewis that it should be determined to-night ;
and so he will say a hundred nights, so he said yes
terday; but I value it not." Again: "I Avill send
away this and follow it myself, and design to walk it
all the way to Chester. It will do my health a great
deal of good."
Once more : "Do you think anything will be done ?

350 THE DAY-DREAMER.
I don't care whether it is or no " (credat Judseus).
" In the mean time, I prepare for my journey, and see
no great people" (this is the " Vain pomp and glory
of this Avorld, I hate ye," of Wolsey) ; " nor will see
Lord- Treasurer any more, if I go. Lord- Treasurer
told Mr. Lewis it should be done to-night. So he
said^ve nights ago."
Yet this man, according to his own account, was
not splenetic. " The doctor tells me," says he, " I
must go through a course of steel, though I have not
the spleen, for that they can never give me, though I
have as much provocation to it as any man alive."
The pouting goes on. Bolingbroke told him the
queen would determine something that night, and
that the dispute lay between Windsor and St. Pa
trick's. " I told him I would not stay for their dis
putes, and he thought I was right."
No doubt, his mind at that moment preferred (or
thought it preferred) the willows, and he held Lar-
racor and Irish clowns a finer sphere than St. James's
and polite promise-breakers. But his sincerity was
not tried, for in a few minutes every thing changed.
The queen signed the warrant, and our resigned phi
losopher immediately forgot his willows, his cherry
trees, and his walk to Chester, and went to court.
Here a thousand people giving him joy, he was af
fronted the other way, and ran out, it being, as we
suppose, too impertinent for his dignity to bear.*
* " I was at court to-day, and a thousand people gave me joy ; so I
ran out." — Swiff s Works, xv. 432. et infra. The whole is as interesting,
amusing, and instructive a picture as any we meet with in the science of
human nature.

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 351
As for Oxford, he was soon forgiven all his wrongs.
" Yesterday, I dined with Lord-Treasurer and his
Saturday people as usual, and was so bedeaned!"
And thus ends the account, by himself, of a philo-
sophe soi-disant, while pursuing, yet at the same time
disclaiming, ambition. Let us finish the picture as
it appeared when he supposed himself still further
cured, in his retirement from the naughty world, to
which he held himself so superior. In truth, to an
investigator of human nature, the picture is a great
moral banquet, affording a pregnant lesson upon the
futility of self-deception.
We have seen him in the height of philosophical
pride contemning all ambitious intrigues, weary of
courts, mistrustful of ministers, and panting to re
turn to the calm pleasures of honest private life. To
read him, one would suppose that Larracor, and a
country walk, and his willows formed his summum
bonum as a wise man, and that his only care was to
be able decently to withdraw from slavery to the
ministers. To be sure he was very angry, and would
never speak to Oxford again for delaying his warrant ;
but that was only because it did not become his dignity
to be trifled Avith, " not that he cared;" and as for the
spleen, " that they could never give him, though he
had as much provocation to it as any man alive." *
But though thus above spleen, he is not above now
and then, and in the mildest terms possible, venting
a little unphilosophical complaint at his lot ; such as
* Works, xv. 360.

352 THE DAY-DREAMER.
Pray God, forgive them," (by which he means those
he professed most to honour and to love,) "by whose
indolence, neglect, or want of friendship, I am re
duced to live with twenty leagues of salt-water be
tween your lordship and me."* Even after being
installed, and " so bedeaned " that he could not con
ceal the pleasure it gave him, he affected to persevere
in preferring his hollow tree. " I returned," said
he, in a letter to Miss Vanhomrighf, " not one visit
of a hundred that were made me ; but aU to the Dean
and none to the Doctor " (naming the individual). " I
hate the thoughts of Dublin, and prefer a field-bed
and an earthen floor before the great house there,
which they say is mine."
' " They say is mine." Why, was it not his ? And
if so, what is this but ridiculous affectation ?
Again : " I design to pass the greatest part of the
time I stay in Ireland here, in the cabin where I am
now writing ; neither will I leave the kingdom till I
am sent for ; and, if they have no farther service for
me, I will never see England again. On my first
coming, I thought I should have died with discontent,
and was horribly melancholy while they were install
ing me."
Why this? Was it because his preferment was too
great for one of his philosophy, or too small for one
who had served so well ? However, " it begins to
Avear off, and change to dulness."
Ay, there's the rub. It is plain, notwithstanding
* To Bolingbroke. Works, xi. 430.
t July 8. 1713. Works, xvi. 285.

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 353
the canal, and the willows, and all his wrongs Avith
the ministers, that he missed the nodes ccena3que Attico3
with Harley and St. John. That these should haunt
him during the first months, or even the first years,
of what he called his banishment, is not surprising.
What does surprise is, the length of time to which the
memory of it in undiminished bitterness extended,
scarcely less than the rest of his long life. In 1729,
we find it undisguised in a letter to Bolingbroke.
" My greatest misery is, recollecting the scene of
twenty years past, and then, all on a sudden, dropping
into the present." *
Twenty years past takes him to 1709, a little pre
ceding what may be called his palmy days, when he
mingled almost as an equal with nobles and ministers,
days which he never forgot or ceased to lament. But
this was constitutional, as he discloses in the same
letter to his friend, the ex-Secretary. " I remember,
when I was a little boyf, I felt a great fish at the-
end of my line, which I drew up almost on the ground,
but it dropped in, and the disappointment vexes me to
this day%, and I believe it was the type of all my
future disappointments." He adds what is a com
plete key to that character which was so peculiarly
formed to be the sport of a vicious ambition : "I
should be ashamed to say this to you, if you had not
a spirit fitter to bear your own misfortunes than I
have to think of them. Is there patience left to re
flect by what qualities Avealth and greatness are got,
* Works, xiv. 19. t Ibid-
| AVhen he must have been above sixty years old.
VOL. II. A A

354 THE DAY-DREAMER.
and by Avhat qualities they are lost?" (Poor man!)
However, he consoles himself in his letter to Miss
Vanhomrigh, under the horrible melancholy of his
installation, by recollecting that his river-walk is ex
tremely pretty, his canal in great beauty, and he sees
trout playing in it. " I knoAV not any one thing,"
he adds, " now in Dublin; but I am now fitter to look
after willows and to cut hedges, than meddle with
affairs of state. I must order the workmen to drive
those coavs out of my island, a work much more proper
for a country vicar than driving out factions, and
fencing against them. I must go and take my bitter
draught to cure my head, which is spoiled by the
bitter draughts which the public has given me. So go
to your dukes and duchesses, and leave me to good-
man Bumford, and Patrick Dolan of Clanduggan."*
Who, after this, would suppose that his heart was
bursting with mortification at the failure of his hopes
of high preferment in England? What they were
may be inferred from various passages in other letters.
One to Gay, in Jan. 1723, ten years after the com
mencement of what he called his exile, shows that
his concern at it was not softened. " The best and
greatest part of my life," says he, " until these last
eight years, I spent in England. There I made my
friendships, and there L left my desires. I am con*
demned for ever to another country. What is in
prudence to be done ? I think to be
Oblitus meorum, obliviscendus et illis.' " +

To Miss Vanhomrigh. Works, xi. 285. + Ibid, xii 89

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 355
His spleen must have gained great head, notwith
standing his denials, before he could have recorded
such a confession. Two years afterwards it had
visibly increased, since to his friend Sheridan, Avho
had been misrepresented at the Castle, he writes thus:
" If you are, indeed, a discarded courtier, you have
reason to complain, but not at all to wonder. It is
safer for a man's interest to blaspheme God, than to
be of a party out of power, or even to be thought so.
Contract your friendships, and expect no more from
man than such an animal is capable of, and you Avill
every day find my description of Yahoos more re
sembling.* You should think and deal with every man
as a villain, without calling him so." f
May Ave not here say, hwret lateri ; and can any one
believe that this man was not ambitious; ay, and
splenetic too, though he boasted the contrary ? He
hoAv grew daily more and more peevish ; his thoughts
perpetually hankering on what he and his friends
had been, and might have continued to be, if certain
most untoward things had not intervened. For this,
he is rightly reprehended by Bolingbroke, for whose
disappointments he professed more feeling than his
own. " Whatever your intention was," says St. John,
" I will not be brought in among those friends whose
misfortunes have given you an habitual sourness. I
declare to you, once for all, that I am not unhappy,
and that I never shall be so, unless I sink under some
* This completely refutes Sheridan's strange notion, that Swift did not
mean his fellow-man by a Yahoo.
f Works, xii. 167. A a 2

356 THE DAY-DREAMER.
physical evil. Retrench, therefore, the proportion of
peevishness which you set to my account. You might,
for several other reasons, retrench the proportions
Avhich you set to the account of others, and so leave
yourself without peevishness, or without excuse. I
lament, and have ahvays lamented, your being placed
in Ireland; but you are worse than peevish, you are
unjust, when you say it was either not in the power
or will of a ministry to place you in England." *
A year after this check, the deadly arrow appears
again in a letter to one of his female correspondents.
Thanking her for the gift of a skreen, on which
was a map of the globe, he says, " I never expected
to be sheltered by the world, when I have been so
long endeavouring to shelter myself from it."f
Why shelter himself ? He Avas in no danger,
and he had a thousand comforts ; but they were
unhappily not Of the sort that suited him, nor
equal to those he coveted, for the cathedral was not
among them. He goes on : " See how ill you bestow
your favours, where you meet with nothing but re
proaches for thinking, in the midst of courts and
diversions, upon an absent and insignificant man,
buried in obscurity."'*}; As this, however, was in
1724, ten years after his professions of weariness
of courts and ministers, and of his devotion to his
Avalks and willoAvs, we must suppose his weariness
of the great ~ must have gained head, so that we
are not surprised at finding him in the next year
* Works, xii. 112. f Ibid. 140. + ibid. 14].

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. '357
Avriting to Lord-Chancellor Middleton: "Although
it is long since I have given myself the trouble of
conversing with people of title and station, yet I
have been told by those who can take up with such
amusements, et cetera."*
This is not even cynical, but a compound of the
impertinent vanity and self-deception, not to say
falsehood, which filled him, the result of spleen and
disappointed pride. The assertion was not only
rude and unseemly, but not true ; for, at that very
moment, Lord-C. Middleton must have known (and
laughed at him for it) that he was proud of the
titles and stations of his correspondents ; proud of
the Lords Oxford and Bolingbroke, Peterborough,
Carteret, and Bathurst ; proud of the Duchess of
Ormond, Lady Betty Germain, and Lady Markham;
Sir Constantine Phipps, Sir Thomas Hanmer, and
a long list of other high names. Be this as it
may, it was not very long before he changed his
note; for, after the accession of George II. in 1727,
founding his hopes upon some favours promised
him by the queen Avhen princess (among them a
gift of medals which never Avere sent), and a friendship
he had cultivated Avith Lady Suffolk, we find him
only not turned once more into a complete courtier,
and disposed to ogle queens and ladies of the
household, because the same hard fate awaited him
that had before cut short his career. For after a
fair prospect of renewed ambition had been held

* Works, ix. 144.
A a 3

358

THE DAY-DREAMER.

out to him, as he said, by Lady Suffolk and these
condescensions of Queen Caroline, which he was by
no means so much his own enemy as to despise, that
prospect was once more closed, and " cloud instead,
and ever-during dark" surrounded him. In short,
after offering incense to the queen, and professing
more than ever to admire Lady Suffolk, though both
in the blunt and affected rough manner we have
noticed, and which he had often found successful
though it now failed, he was dropped by the queen,
who even broke her promise of the medals in the
most heartless manner. This, as might be expected,
Avas never forgiven, and rankled Avithin him ever
afterwards. An interview also with Walpole, who
never favoured him, and heard, but did not heed,
him on the subject of Ireland, led to nothing but
invincible hatred ; and no doubt greatly contributed
to kindle that rage so dreadfully indulged, as to make
him forget, as we shall presently see, the most sacred
of his duties as a clergyman and a Christian.
From that time, therefore, he began to pout,
rail, undervalue, and quarrel Avith Lady Suffolk,
whose innocence of all offence towards him Avas
incontestable, and for the rest of his life he re
turned to his old hatred of courts, kings, and
ministers, and particularly Sir Robert. These he
satirised in verse and prose, and dipped himself deeply
in gall in both, though in the first, as may be supposed,
he Avas most pungent; nor can we more strongly
portray the grief and violence of mortified, because
ill-regulated ambition, than by copying a feAv of these
effusions.

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 359
In " Hamilton's Bawn," Sir Arthur Acheson is
made to say to his lady :
" If I make it a barrack, the Crown is my tenant.
My dear, I have ponder'd again and again on't ;
In poundage and drawbacks I lose half my rent.
Whatever they give me, I must be content,
Or join with the court in every debate ;
And, rather than that, I would lose my estate." *
If this were Swift's own case, we doubt it. In the
poem on his own death he had a rare opportunity,
Avhich, cynic and injured as he thought himself, he
seems eagerly to have seized, of doing himself that
justice which it Avas his perpetual curse to think
the world refused him. In truth, the colours are
laid on with no sparing hand.
" He never thought an honour done him,
Because a duke was proud to own him;
Would rather slip aside, and choose
To talk with wits in dirty shoes.
Despis'd the fools with stars and garters,
So often seen caressing Chartres.
He never courted men in station,
Nor persons held in admiration." y

Again

" Though trusted long in great affairs,
He gave himself no haughty airs ;
With princes kept a due decorum,
But never stood in awe before 'em.
He follow'd David's lesson just,
In princes never put thy trust.
He labour'd many a fruitless hour
To reconcile his friends in power ;
Saw mischief by a faction brewing,
While they pursued each other's ruin ;
But finding vain was all his care,
He left the court in mere despair."

" " The grand question debated, whether Hamilton's Bawn should be
turned into a Barrack or a Malthouse."
f All this is contradicted by every trait recorded of him.
a a 4

360 THE DAY-DREAMER.
This, at best, was a violent self-deception, for it Avas
the court that left him, or rather that died with the
queen, Avhen the Tories were all ruined.
But how well he understood himself may be seen
in the following lines :
" Had he but spar'd his tongue and pen,
He might have rose like other men ;
But power was never in his thought,
And wealth he valued not a groat.
In exile, with a steady heart,
He spent his life's declining part.
His friendships were to few confin'd,
And always of the middling kind."
Then in regard to Avhat so cankered him, the
queen's and Lady Suffolk's asserted ill-usage, 'tis
thus he vents himself: —
" Kind Lady Suffolk, in the spleen,
Runs laughing up to tell the queen.
The queen, so gracious, mild, and good,
Cries, ' Is he gone ? 'tis time he should.
He's dead, you say ? Then let him rot ;
I'm glad the medals were forgot.
I promis'd him, I own ; but when ?
I only was the princess then ;
But now, as consort of the king,
You know 'tis quite another thing.' "
The wit of these lines does not do away our
disgust at their malignity and falsehood. For . the
representation of Lady Suffolk's laughter is an ab
solute and ungrateful untruth. She never abandoned
or deserved ill of him ; and, even if the story of the
medals was founded, it was mere littleness, and any
thing but what he thought it, courage, to lampoon
his queen, an indecorum in every body's poAver.

CHARACTER OF SWIET. 361
In the lines on Dr. Delany he thus invokes Pope,
who, as we have seen, Avas his fellow-coxcomb in
pretending to despise the world, particularly minis
ters and crowned heads, Avhen cut off from them :
" Hail, happy Pope ! whose generous mind,
Detesting all the statesman kind, *
Contemning courts, at courts unseen,
Refused the visits of a queen.
His heart too great, though fortune little,
To lick a rascal statesman's spittle."
In the same spirit, but whether true or false may
be questionable :
" But I, in politics grown old,
Whose thoughts are of a diff'rent mould,
AVho, from my soul, sincerely hate
Both kings and ministers of state." "j"
This Avas in the year 1729, after, as Ave have seen, he
had paid his court to Queen Caroline, Lady Suffolk,
and Sir Robert Walpole, and flew back in a passion
to Ireland, the better to libel them.
Then comes a more direct allusion to himself,
and to those who had passed him in the race, little
curbed by too much modesty, or unreasonable
charity : " A genius in the reverend gown
Must ever keep its owner down."
This may be forgiven, as the " Tale of a Tub," and
the lampoon on the Duchess of Somerset, deprived
him of a bishopric. But he goes on to scan his suc
cessful brothers :
* When he ranked them among his friends, he detested no statesman.
¦j- Works, viii. 6.

362 THE DAY-DREAMER.
" Round all your brethren cast your eyes,
Point out the surest men to rise ;
That club of candidates in black,
The least deserving of the pack ;
Aspiring, factious, fierce, and loud,
With grace and learning unendow'd ;
Can turn their hands to every job,
The fittest tools to work for Bob ;
Will sooner coin a thousand lies,
Than suffer men of parts to rise."*
In the epistle to a lady we have the same spite,
the same self-deception, the same gratuitous abuse,
all arising from the same cause, disappointed pride,
which he had not poAver to bear. In dignity and
firmness, Bolingbroke, though the child of passion,
beat him as a philosopher, as much as he did as
a man of quality. Thus writes this mortified cler
gyman :
" Wicked ministers of state,
I can easier scorn than hate ;
And I find it answers right,
Scorn torments them more than spite.
All the vices of a court
Do but serve to make me sport.
Should a monkey wear a crown,
Must I tremble at his frown ?
Could I not, through all his ermine,
Spy the strutting chatt'ring vermin ?
Safely write a smart lampoon
To expose the brisk baboon."
It is lamentable to see to what meanness and
cowardly revenge this self-called philosopher, and
supposed great man, was now reduced ; cowardly, be
cause Avhat so easy, or so safe, as to abuse a king?
* AVorks, viii. 6. (Himself subauditur.)

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 363
But noAV come the Commons.
" AVhen my Muse officious ventures
On the nation's representors ;
Teaching by what golden rules
Into knaves they turn their fools ;
How the helm is rul'd by Walpole,
At whose oars, like slaves, they all pull.
Snfe within my little wherry,
All their madness makes me merry ;
Like the watermen of Thames,
I row by, and call them names."
This last Ave do not question, but Ave doubt the
madness, or any thing else (spite of the affected
vive la bagatelle), making him merry. As a last
fling he tells the lady he addresses :
" You are not so great a grievance
As the hirelings of St. Stephen's ;
You are of a lower class
Than my friend Sir Robert Brass."
But Ave iioav come to the " Character of Sir Robert
Walpole himself, afterwards Earl of Orford," so
entered in form in the collection of Lady Suffolk's
letters, and published then, in 1824, as is thought
by the editor, for the first time :
"With favour and fortune fastidiously blest,
He's loud in his laugh, and he's coarse in his jest.
Of favour and fortune unmerited vain ;
A sharper in trifles, a dupe in the main.
Achieving of nothing, still promising wonders,
By dint of experience improving in blunders.
Oppressing true merit, exalting the base,
And selling his country to purchase his place ;
A jobber of stocks, by retailing false news ;
A prater at court, in the style of the stews ;
Of virtue and worth, by profession a giber ;
Of juries and senates the bully and briber.

364 THE DAY-DREAMER.
Though I name not the wretch, you all know who I mean,
'Tis the cur-dog of Britain, and spaniel of Spain."*
The greater part of these heavy and shameful
slanders is absolutely false, and Swift must have
forgotten what it was his function to teach, that,
among the duties necessary to enable us to rest
upon God's holy hill, was that of not slandering
our neighbour.
If it be urged that he believed what he Avrote,
the answer is, that he has not even pretended,
much less shown, a ground for his belief, and it
must have, therefore, been founded in malevolence
alone. Hence he must have been either the greatest
fool, or the wickedest of men, to have composed
such a libel. The editor has not related his authority
for calling it Swift's, but, from its internal evidence,
there can be little doubt of it. It will ever deprive
him of all claim to the character of a just enemy,
or even a Christian, and remain a monument of a
black heart, corrupted to the core by the rage of
disappointed pride. He almost tells you so himself
in one of his letters to Gay, where he says, after
the queen's death, " all my hopes being cut off, I
could have no ambition left, unless I would have
been a greater rascal than happened to suit with
my temper. I, therefore, sat doAvn quietly at my
morsel, adding only thereto a principle of hatred to
all succeeding measures and ministers, by way of sauce
to relish my meat." f
* Lady Suffolk's Correspondence, ii. 32.
t In Pope's Works, ix. 179.

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 365
Derogatory, nay ruinous, as this is to the character
of this insolent and overbearing, yet querulous man,
it yields in malignity and worthlessness to what he
does not scruple himself to call a satirical elegy on the
death of the Duke of Marlborough, death, Avhich
generally disarms even the most violent opponents of
their resentments. Now, whatever were the duke's
faults (and they were great both in character and
conduct), one thing was undeniable, that he carried
the glory and spread the fame of his country over the
Avorld, beyond any thing knoAvn in her previous history,
the effects of which subsist to this day. If Swift,
therefore, had had a particle of an English heart, even
if the duke had ever injured him, instead of being a
mere party object, one would have hoped that the
grave might have been allowed to close upon his
frailties, and even personal injuries, had they existed,
in the same manner as with inajiy or most others who
have been engaged in political warfare. But no ! It
Avas reserved for this philosopher, who boasted that
nothing could give him the spleen, and that he could
return to his willows at a day's notice without
reluctance; a clergyman too, the preacher of a religion
whose peculiar characteristic was humility, and the
forgiveness of injuries to the living, much more to the
dead ; it was reserved to the unforgiving unrelenting
spirit of such a man, because his ambition had been
tfiAvarted, to pursue a political opponent beyond the
grave, and exhibit the dreadful brutality of Vitellius,
Avho held that a dead enemy always smelt sweet. We
give the folloAving lines, therefore, less for any wit or

366 THE DAY-DREAMER.
poetry that appear in them, than for the proof they
show of the effect upon an imperious and spoiled ma
lignant, of that sin by which, as Wolsey discovered too
late, the angels fell :
" Threescore, I think, is pretty high ;
'Twas time, in conscience, he should die.
This world he cumber'd long enough ;
He burnt his candle to the snuff,
And that's the reason, as folks think,
He left behind so great a stink.
Behold ! his funeral appears ;
No widow's sighs, no orphan's tears,
Wont at such times each heart to pierce,
Attend the progress of his hearse.
' But what of that ?' his friends may say,
' He had those honours in his day ;'
True to his profit and his pride,
He made them weep before he died."
Such is the proof of Swift's obedience to the great
precept of Christianity, and his exemption from the
evils of ambition. All that we will add to what we
have said upon it is, that the sting with which it ends
is false. At least there is no proof from any part of
Marlborough's history, that he ever made the AvidoAV
and the orphan " weep before he died."*
A person who could thus spit forth the bile that con
sumed him, whether in prose or verse, could be little
expected to show leniency at any time ; and no wonder
that his effusions in prose should be more or less of the
same character. To say nothing of "Gulliver," pub
lished in November, 1726 (thirteen years after he had,
* Swift alludes, no doubt, to his bloody victories : as if the duke, and
not the instigators of those wars, had to answer for the tears thus caused.

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 367
as he said, done with all public men, and sought the
balm of oblivion as to statesmen), he details to Gay his
thirty- six years' experience of courts, and finds, though
they differ in some respects, they all are constant in
never forgiving those whom they have inj ured ; in the
insincerity of apparently the best friends ; in the love
of cringing and tale -bearing; in sacrificing those they
really love to their own interest, and in keeping every
thing worth taking for those who can do service or
disservice. After this, as a climax, he asks Gay, by
I know not what appositeness of allusion, whether
he (by the "Beggar's Opera") "had made as many
men laugh, as ministers can make weep." * And
yet nothing could give this man the spleen.
Well, then, might that honest, unaffected, sensible
woman, Lady Betty Germain, though a woman of
quality, a courtier, and a friend of courtiers, tell him
that he saw with very large spectacles when he blamed
them.f "You say," she adds in another letter, "you
will say no more of courts, for fear of groAving angry ;
and, indeed, I think you are so already, since you level
all without knowing them, and seem to think that no
one who belongs to a court can act right." The good
sense and penetration of this lady are then charmingly
exhibited to the discomfiture of this affected despiser
of Avhat he most desired. " I am sure," she says, " this
* Works, xii. 262. 264.
¦j- "I know those out of power and place always see the faults of those
in with dreadful large spectacles ; so experience has taught me how wrong,
unjust, and senseless, party factions are." (Feb. 8. 1732.) With all his
wit, violence, and pride, what excellent lessons in prudence, and even
knowledge of the world, might not this supposed great man, but real
child, have derived from this good and sagacious- old lady !

368

THE DAY-DREAMER.

cannot be really and truly your sense, because it is
unjust ; and, if it is, I shall suspect there is something
of your old maxim in it (which I ever admired and
found true), that you must have offended them, because
you don't forgive." *
Notwithstanding this, in another part of the cor-
spondence with her, he again f lets out the ruling
feeling of his heart, disgust at having lost greatness
in losing his great friends. "When I was leaving
England," he says, on the queen's death, "I burnt
all the letters I could find, that I had received from
ministers for several years before." (N.B. Was this
because he Avas weary of them, or could enjoy their
sunshine no longer ?) " I burnt all my Lord * * *'s
letters, upon receiving one where he had used
these words to me, ' all I pretend to is a great deal
of sincerity ; ' Avhich was the chief virtue he wanted.
Of those from my Lord Halifax, I burnt all but one,
which I keep as a most admirable original of court
promises and professions." But the best is to come:
" I have conversed with some freedom with more
ministers of state of all parties than usually happens
to men of my level ; and I confess, in their capacity as
ministers, I look upon them as a race of people whose
acquaintance no man would court, otherwise than upon
the score of vanity and ambition." J
After this he complains (upon what foundation he
does not show), that, though he was knoAvn to be a
* Works, xiii. 11.
¦j- To Lady Betty Germain. Works, xiii. 216.
| To Pope. Works, xiv. 22.

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 369
common friend to all persons in distress, he was not
aUowed " to run quietly among the common herd of
people whose opinions unfortunately differed from
those which lead to favour and preferment." This
was in the year 1721, when all danger to him as an
individual was confined to his own fears, probably thus
proclaimed from that very circumstance.
We close this part of the subject by observing, that
here again he is Avell chidden by his " comrade and
partner in exile " (exile from the dearest objects of
the pursuit of each). For Pope having mixed up a
similar strain, affecting to despise and complain of the
world, Lord Bohngbroke thus addresses them both,
whom, it should seem, he well knew: — "Pope and
you are very great wits, and I think very indifferent
philosophers. If you despise the world as much as
you pretend, and perhaps believe, you would not be so
angry with it. That founder of your sect, that noble
original whom you think it so great an honour to re
semble (Seneca), was a slave to the worst part of the
world, the court ; and all his big words were the
language of a slighted lover, who desired nothing so
much as a reconciliation."* This was in 1725 ; twelve
years afterwards, it does not seem to have converted
him to a better sense of his condition, since in one of
his last letters (to Pope) he has the same jaundiced
view of the world in regard to its treatment of him,
consoling himself with the thought that ages to come
will celebrate him as Pope's friend, although " he died
the object of court and party hatred." f This Avas in
* Works, xiv. 54. f Ibid. 193.
VOL. II. B B

370 THE DAY-DREAMER.
1737, when from his increasing infirmities, and their
occupation by very different interests, the court and
party had long ceased to think him of the least con
sequence. Before this, however, as age crept on, the effects of
age showed themselves in garrulity, which let out
much character ; and we will wind up this long, but I
trust not uninteresting, account, with what he says to
Pope of his early and latter life. It is worth examining,
as the most authentic account that can be given of his
ambition, though savouring a little of what he always
denied, as well as his spleen, his vanity.
" I am ashamed to tell you that, when I was very
young, I had more desire to be famous than ever since ;
and fame, like all things else in this life, grows with
me every day more a trifle.* I hate a crowd, where
I have not an easy place to see and be seen. A great
library always makes me melancholy, where the best
author is as much squeezed and obscure as a porter
at a coronation. I tell you it is almost incredible
how opinions change by the decline or decay of
spirits ; and I will farther teU you, that all my
endeavours, from a boy, to distinguish myself, were
only for want of a great title and fortune, that I
might be used like a lord by those who have an opinion
of my parts (whether right or wrong, it is no great
matter); and so the reputation of wit, or great
learning, does the office of a blue riband, or a coach
and six horses." Again : " I never loved to make a
* Quawe de hoc.

CHARACTER OF SWIFT. 371
visit, or be seen walking with my betters, because
they got all the eyes and civilities from me." *
Swift used to say he was too proud to be vain.
Whether this showed most pride or vanity, may be left
to my readers ; but it explains pretty clearly, while it
does away all pity for him, the faulty nature of his
ambition, and the peine forte et dure which it made him
suffer. But peace to his manes ! During the last years
of his life, from the violent irritations of his mind,
operated upon much by disease, but much also by the
mortifications which neglect occasioned to his high
blown pride, he sank a miserable example of the little
certainty of happiness which the greatest talents, and
even the widest reputation for wit, can obtain for the
victim of ill- regulated ambition. f
* Works, xiv. 100.
f The other parts of this extraordinary man's character ; his good or
bad qualities ; his gross and cruel selfishness in the destruction of the ami
able and too-confiding innocence of two (if not three) accomplished young
women, whose hearts he won and then broke, by leaving them to the
bitterness of perfidy and neglect ; all these crimes (for crimes they are),
not being connected with his ambition, do not fall within our subject.
But those who would see more of him, portrayed in his true colours
of meanness, avarice, self-interest, false pretences, black ingratitude,
and raging tyranny over all who would submit to it ; added to the most
brazen impudence and hypocrisy, and the barbarities of heart which
have been mentioned ; would do well to read Lord Jeffrey's masterly
review of Scott's edition of his works. From this I cannot help re
cording, as a short summary, the following sentences, confirming, I
conceive, what we have said of him in this sketch. "With the con
sciousness of having thus barbarously betrayed all the women for whom
he had ever professed affection, it is not wonderful that his latter days
should have been overshadowed with gloom and dejection. But it was
not the depression of late regret, or unavailing self-condemnation, that
darkened his closing scene. It was but the rancour of disappointed
ambition, and the bitterness of proud misanthropy ; and we verily believe,
that if his party had got again into power, and given him the preferment
b b 2

372 THE DAY-DREAMER.
he expected, the pride and joy of his vindictive triumph would have been
but little allayed by the remembrance of the innocent and accomplished
women of whom we have no hesitation to pronounce him the murderer."
— Edinburgh Review, 1816, xxvii. 24. Again : " He followed, from first
to last, the eager but steady impulse of personal ambition and personal
animosity ; and, in the dirty and devious career into which they impelled
him, he never spared the character or the feelings of a single individual
who appeared to stand in his way. In no respect, therefore, can he have
any claim to lenity." — Ibid. 42. It could not, therefore, be laxity,
but inadvertence, that made this acute critic omit (for, strange to say, he
has omitted) one other striking characteristic, which disgraces no author
of repute in any language to a greater degree than this reverend offender.
He was innately fond of filth and dirt ; he revelled in ecxrementitious
images, and loved nastiness for the sake of nastiness. Yet he set up as
the instructor of young ladies in polite literature, and Sheridan calls him
a great man.

BOLINGBROKE. 373

No. III.
BOLINGBROKE.
" Why was my choice ambition ? the worst ground
A wretch can build on. It's indeed, at distance,
A goodly prospect, tempting to the view ;
The height delights us, and the mountain-top
Looks beautiful, because 'tis nigh to heaven.
But we ne'er think how sandy's the foundation ;
What storm will batter, and what tempest shake us."
Renault, in Venice Preserved.
We closed our last dream with an account, not, I trust
an unfair one (for it was drawn from his own docu
ments), of a considerable, but faulty, man. Another
adverse exemplification of the same passion which
influenced him, and was equally ill-conducted, now
awaits us in one' who was more brilliant and less
unhappy than Swift, but who affords an almost equal
example of self-deception. It is also equally a lesson
on the necessity for moderating what admits of no
composition, but must either govern or be governed;
quo? nisi paret, imperat. The reader anticipates that
I mean Lord Bolingbroke, who, during almost the
whole of his long life,
" Stream'd like a meteor on the troubled air."
His character, however, has been drawn by so masterly
a hand, that, for those parts of it which, though con
nected with, do not immediately bear upon, the subject
before us, I cannot do better than extract them from
B B 3

374

THE DAY-DREAMER.

Lord Chesterfield's admirable performance. According
to him, then, " it was impossible to find lights and
shades strong enough to paint the character of Lord
Bohngbroke, who was the most mortifying instance of
the violence of human passions, and the most improved
and exalted human reason. His virtues and his vices,
his reason and his passions, did not blend themselves
by a gradation of tints, but formed a shining and
sudden contrast. His youth was distinguished by all
the tumult and storm of pleasures, in which he licen
tiously triumphed, disdaining all decorum. These
passions were never interrupted but by a stronger
ambition. So violent were his impulses, that even a
difference of opinion upon a philosophical subject
would provoke him, and prove him no practical philo
sopher at least.'
We may expect on a mind so composed, how the all-
engrossing all-stimulating power we are discussing
Avould operate ; and how opposing feelings would dis
guise the great passion to himself, according as events
might thwart or humours colour it.
Not so adust or saturnine as Swift, and with more
elasticity and good-nature, and at the same time
brooding less over disappointment as an evil, he was
less unamiable in his anger ; and though, like Swift,
professing to seek consolation for the loss of power
in the same resources (a philosophic retirement), he so
far appears to have had the advantage of him, that he
possessed better qualifications for the retirement he
affected to court, than the jaundiced dean.
After an extraordinary career in business, such as

BOLINGBROKE. 375
few ever equalled, and none exceeded (except Mr.
Pitt), at the age of twenty-five secretary at war, and
at thirty-one secretary of state, by far and long the
first man in the House of Commons ; we find him in
the midst of his power, and dazzling all eyes at home
and abroad, affecting, like others of his caste, the
calm joys of a rural life, and almost another Swift,
in his asserted readiness to quit business, and re
turn without reluctance to his Larracor and his
Avillows. After some little ostentation of official fatigue*,
it is thus he writes to his friend and confidant
Drummond. " I thank you very heartily for your
care in procuring me the bay-trees, and I hope you
will advertise me in time of their arrival, that I may
have one of my gardeners ready to take them out of
the ships, and convey them to Bucklebury. I cannot
plunge myself so far into the thoughts of public
business as to forget the quiet of a country retreat,
whither I will go sometime or other, and am always
ready to go at an hour's warning." f
Who would not suppose he here beheld a man above
all the tumults of ambition; almost a Cincinnatus,
complaining that his little field would remain un-
ploughed, and only engaging in office from genuine
patriotism ? How much the contrary this was to the
* Shown by such passages as these, in a letter to Prior. " It is now
three o'clock in the morning ; I have been hard at work all day, and am
not yet recovered enough to bear much fatigue.
" Adieu ; my pen is ready to drop out of my hands.
"Sept. 10. 1712."
f Correspondence, i. 127.
b b 4

376

THE DAY-DREAMER.

truth, his real bias and well-known exertions of an
opposite character sufficiently attest. His efferves
cences, indeed, on the death of the queen, we can
neither be surprised at nor blame ; they were but too
natural. He was promised to be first minister, ex
pected it, and almost the first letter he wrote was to
Swift, in the following terms : — " The Earl of Oxford
was removed on Tuesday ; the queen died on Sunday.
How does Fortune banter us ! The Whigs are a pack
of Jacobites. That shall be the cry in a month, if
you please."* Of Oxford he says: " I shall never
forgive myself for having trusted so long to an air of
such famihar friendship, and a heart so devoid of all
tenderness ; to such a temper of engrossing business
and power, and so perfect an incapacity to manage
one, with such a tyrannical disposition to abuse the
other. But enough of this ; I cannot load him as a
knave, without fixing fool upon myself." Here is an
excellent lesson for those who enter the arena of
politics together, and take no thought of the possi
bility, or at least likelihood, of adverse fortune.
The vicissitudes he underwent, from almost the
moment of the queen's death to his own, are so
Avell known, that even were it necessary to advert
to them for the purpose of this essay, I would not
trouble the reader with their details. My business is
rather with the effects of those vicissitudes upon a
mind and temperament so mercurial, and liable to
such paroxyms of contending feelings, that no illus
tration can be found equal to them, in the extremes of
* Swift's Works, by Sheridan, xi. 402. Aug. 3. 1714.

BOLINGBROKE. 377
real violence and pretended philosophy to which they
extended ; a philosophy which shone upon paper, but
nowhere else. The contrast between these extremes,
as gathered from himself, will form, at the same time,
an amusing picture, and a lesson of the first import
ance, upon the necessity for a man of ambition to be
also a man of wisdom; not that worldly wisdom
which benefits him in his generation, but that which
enables him to rise superior to adversity, because
founded on a sense of religion, a real independence of
mind, and a knowledge of the true value of things.
This was not Lord Bolingbroke's case, who, from
being the child of passion, was the ball of fortune ;
and whose eloquence, though always vivid, was that
of the imagination, but seldom of the heart. Hence,
though equally self- deceived, he was not perhaps so
sincere in his rage as Swift ; and, though less unhappy,
Avas more inconsistent. This Avill explain those warm
and beautiful effusions in praise of retirement and
independence of the world, and the pleasure of es
caping from the storms of life into the calm of phi
losophy and natural feelings, which so please us in
his letters. Yet these, we find from the dates, were
composed almost at the same moment when he was
moving heaven and earth to return to the world he
affected to despise, and to gratify animosities which
he held to be unbecoming a wise man. Thus, on
his dimissal immediately after the queen's death, he
writes to Atterbury: " To be removed was neither
matter of surprise nor concern to me ; but the man
ner of my removal shocked me for at least two

378

THE DAY-DREAMER.

minutes."* He adds that he is not in the least in
timidated by Whig malice and power; that power
from which he soon after fled into exile, prompted by
the very fear which he said he did not feel, and into
treason, prompted by the desire of revenge, for he
owned his attainder " tingled in every vein." Yet
the treason was scarcely embraced, before it was re
pented; and though a very unsound ambition had
made him descend to be once more a secretary of
state, though to a mock king, he felt he had become a
laughing-stock both to friend and foe. He therefore
(as he says) quitted, (as they say) was dismissed, a
service which (they also say) he betrayed. This last
he denies ; but certain it is, that the very moment he
was free from this, at most six months, farcical dig
nity, he commenced a negotiation to return to the
king he had abandoned, and the country whose pro
tection he had forfeited, t This was accompanied
with such profuse professions of fidelity, and contempt
for his last master, that his greatest admirers must
give him up as a man of principle, and laugh at him,
as Lord Stair, the ambassador at Paris, to whom he
applied, could not help doing. Yet Lord Stair be
lieved him as sincere as he was capable of being % ; and
* Letter upon ministerial plans, ii. 651."
f At that very time, too, he thus writes to Swift: — "A commerce of
letters between two men who are out of the world, and do not care a
farthing to return to it again, must be of little moment to the state."
% In Lord Stair's letter to Horace Walpole (which, however, acquits
him of double treason), he says : " They abuse poor Harry most unmerci
fully, calling him traitor, and God knows what. He had a mistress here
at Paris, and got drunk now and then, and spent the money upon his
mistress that he should have bought powder with. I would not have you

BOLINGBROKE. 379
in consequence of this belief, and overtures having, as
Bolingbroke says, been made to him by the court of
England, who gave him credit for power with the Tories,
he was promised his pardon. This, whether from fear
or distrust, they made him wait for seven years after
it was promised, and even then without restoration to
his estate or seat in the House of Lords. However,
in the year 1725, his estate was granted him by act
of parliament: and from this time, though he had
laboured, as is said, with servility, and by all sorts of
offers of services to the Walpoles, for his complete
restoration ; and they struggled successfully, with all
their power, against their own party, for the recovery
of every thing but his seat in Parliament*; the want
of that which he himself had renounced, in order to
obtain his estate, threw him into such uncontrollable
rage, that he pursued Sir Robert to his dying day
with the most deadly and virulent hatred. From the
year 1725, therefore, he commenced a series of the
most desperate attacks on Walpole, which the bitterest
spirit could invent, or talent instigated by supposed
injury could conduct. He became the active leader
of all who were discontented, and organised that en
ergetic opposition which, for so many years, annoyed
the minister, who, before this time, had little trouble
in maintaining himself. And yet about this time, or
laugh, Mr Walpole, for all this is very serious." In another letter to
Craggs, Lord Stair details Bolingbroke's own account of himself in lan
guage and professions which were those of a man of unimpeachable fidelity,
probity, and honour, who would scorn to betray a cause, and was incapable
of doing any thing by halves.
* Coxe.

380 THE DAY-DREAMER.
very little before it (for there is no date to it), ap
peared that beautiful letter to Swift, which would
make every reader overcome passion, and renounce
the world for the pleasures of retirement. " I would
not say one word about myself, were it not to try how
far the contrast between Pope's manner of life and
mine may be carried. I have been, then, infinitely
more uniform, and less dissipated, than when you
knew me, and cared for me. That love which I used
to scatter, with some profusion, among the female
kind, has been these many years devoted to one ob
ject. A great many misfortunes (for so they are
called, though sometimes very improperly), and a
retirement from the world, have made that just dis?
crimination between my acquaintance and my friends
which we seldom have sagacity enough to make for
ourselves. No man comes to a hermitage but for the
sake of the hermit. A few philosophical friends come
often to mine, and they are such as you would be
glad to live with, if a dull climate have not altered
you from what you were nine years ago.* The hoarse
voice of party was never heard in this quiet place : I
forgot I was of any party myself; nay, I am often so
happily absorbed by the abstracted reason of things,
that I am ready to imagine there never was any such
monster as party.f I am under no apprehensions
that a glut of study and retirement should cast me
* As the last time Lord B. saw Swift was in 1714, this will bring the
date of the letters to 1723, about the time that he settled at Dawley,
which must, therefore, be the hermitage he talks of.
f Swift's Works.

B0LLINGBR0KE. 381
back into the hurry of the Avorld ; the single regret
which I feel is? that I fell so late into this course of
hfe ; my philosophy grows confirmed by habit.
" The little incivilities I have met with from opposite
sets of people have been so far from rendering me
violent or sour to any, that I think myself obliged to
them all. Some have cured me of my fears, by show
ing me how impotent the malice of the world is ;
others have cured me of my hopes, by showing me
how precarious popular friendships are ; all have
cured me of surprise. In driving me out of party,
they have driven me out of cursed company ; and in
stripping me of titles, and rank, and estate, and such
trinkets which every man that will may spare, they
have given me that which no man can be happy
without." *
This is the effrontery of a mountebank. At this
very instant he was labouring might and main, and
stirring every interest, to recover all those trinkets of
titles and estates which he pretended so to despise, and
return to all those party exertions which he so felici
tated himself on having quitted for ever. But let
us see how he goes on.
" Reflection and habit have rendered the world so
indifferent to me, that I am neither afflicted nor
rejoiced, angry nor pleased, at what happens in it.
Perfect tranquillity is the general tenor of my life."
All this while he was writhing in the pain occasioned
by his pursuit of the restoration, pain from the
* Swift's Works, xiv. 33, 34.

382

THE DAY-DREAMER.

fear of not succeeding. Even Swift, as unhappy, as
disappointed, and as self-deceived as himself, saw
through this, and returned the remark which we may
recollect Lord Bolingbroke had made to him on his
own complaints. " I have no very strong faith," says
he, " in you pretenders to retirement ; you are not of
an age for it, nor have gone through either good or
bad fortune enough to go into a corner, and form
conclusions de contemptu mundi et fuga seculi."*
Sensible as this is, it had no effect on the noble re
cluse, for whom, such was his disgust at the world
and the country he could no longer govern, that
France or the hermitage of Dawley was not sufficient
retreat ; and he once actually contemplated a retire
ment to Bermudas. "My spleen against Europe"
(he writes to Swift) "has more than once made
me think of buying the dominion of Bermudas, and
spending the remainder of my days as far as possible
from those people with whom I have passed the first
and greatest part of my hfe. Health, and every other
natural comfort, are to be had there better than here.
As to imaginary and artificial pleasures, we are phi
losophers enough to despise them."f
During all this time, as we have observed, open
Avar was raging against the minister, in order to pro
cure the philosopher complete latitude and means to
abandon his philosophy, and return to political am
bition, while at the same time he neglected no act of
secret intrigue to accomplish his purpose, in which,
* Sept. 20. 1723. Works, xiv. 37.
y July 24. 1725. Swift's Works, xii. 159.

BOLINGBROKE. 383
as we shall see, he exhibited little of those sentiments
which floAved so sweetly and calmly from his pen.
What would have been the consequence had not
the king (George I.) been removed by death, Walpole
himself at least doubted. It is certain that, having a
few months after this last letter gained the Duchess
of Kendal by a gross bribe (of 11,000Z.), and, as he
gave out, after a long audience of the king obtained
a promise to be first minister, the demon which he
worshipped seemed once more to smile upon him.
Yet at this very time his hypocrisy (for we can
scarcely call it self-deception) was such, that he
writes to Swift in February of getting to Dawley,
where, he says, " I purpose to finish my days in ease
without sloth, and believe I shall seldom visit London,
unless it be to divert myself now and then with an
noying fools and knaves for a month or two." * In
another letter, the following May, he tells him : "I
lived on Tuesday with you and Pope. Yesterday,
another of my friends found his way to this retreat
(Dawley), and I shall pass this day alone. Would to
God, my whole life could be divided in the same m.an-
nrel two thirds to friendship, one third to myself,
and not a moment of it to the world." f The mind
on these occasions shrinks from him with disgust, and
no one pities when they find him doomed once more
to be sported with ; so that he might again have
written, " How does Fortune banter us ! " In short,
the king died in the following June, and the power
* Feb. 17. 1727.
t May 18. 1727. Swift's Works, xii. 229.

384

THE DAY-DREAMER.

of the minister being more than ever confirmed under
his successor, the virulence and violence of the philo
sopher, after raging for eight years more, made the
Tories so unpopular, that Pulteney forced him abroad,
which, be sure, he converted once more into his
own love of retirement, and contempt of the world.
Meantime, and while the storm of his mind was rag
ing highest in the " Craftsman" (lasting, as we have
seen, till his second exile to France in 1735), he thus
Avrites concerning the illness of his wife : " If she
should be taken from me, I should most certainly
yield to that strong desire which I have long had of
secluding myself totally from the company and affairs
of mankind ; of leaving the management of even my
private affairs to others; and of securing, by these
means, for the rest of my life, an uninterrupted tenor
of philosophical quiet." * In another letter to Swift,
during this period of his greatest though unsuccessful
struggles, he says : " What hurt does age do us in
subduing what we toil to subdue all our lives ? It is
now six in the morning. I recall the times (and
am glad it is over) when, about this hour, I used to
be going to bed, surfeited with pleasure, or jaded
with business; my head often full of schemes, and
my heart as often full of anxiety. Is it a misfortune,
think you, that I rise at this hour, refreshed, serene,
and calm? that the past, and even the present, affairs
of life stand hke objects at a distance from me ? " f
How serene and calm he was when he rose, pro-
* To Swift, Aug. 2. 1731. Swift's Works, xii. 433.
f Pope's Works, ix. 165.

BOLINGBROKE. 385
bably to write the " Craftsman," may be imagined ;
and I have made these extracts to guard my younger
readers especially, not to be led away by the glitter of
this man of genius, to suppose that he was not among
the grossest of the self-deceived.
The subject is not over. He says (still in the
same period) : " My part is over ; and he who re
mains on the stage when his part is over, deserves to
be hissed off." He adds that he was sure he could
live out of the Avorld with satisfaction, when he could
not live in it with dignity.*
These are all good resolutions. Were they kept?
As we may suppose, No !
Even in France he continued to direct the opera
tions against Sir Robert, through his great political
second Sir William Wyndham, particularly in the
famous secession by the latter in 1739, eight years
after he had foresworn the company and affairs of
mankind. Two years before this, so little had he done Avith
party, that he not only cultivated the intimacy of the
Prince of Wales, with a view to politics, but was the
chief instrument in instigating him against his father,
with a view to embarrass the minister. As the spleen
continued (indeed, it seems never to have abandoned
him from the death of Queen Anne), we must not be
surprised to find, in the first year of this second exile
(1736), such passages as these. " You will be sorry,
I am sure, if I wanted courage to say to myself, Thy
* To Sir W. Wyndham, 1735, apud Coxe.
VOL. H. C C

386 THE DAY-DREAMER.
part in public life is over : " and with respect to his
restoration to Parliament, " The opportunity is over,
and in the present state of things the end is no longer
desirable" Then, as to a return to power, he adds : " If
any thing of that kind is said to you, or any other
friend, I desire the answer may be, that I neither
expect nor desire power ; and, as to my being restored,
I am perfectly indifferent. I think myself at liberty
to live where I amuse myself the most, and enjoy the
greatest ease." He then observes : " If you hinder
the constitution from being destroyed, I shall end my
days in the obscurity of retreat with far greater
satisfaction than the splendour of the world ever gave
me, as busy as I have appeared in it, and as fond as
I have been of it. I grow every hour more indifferent
to life, and the common concerns of life."* This
was in January, 1736. In February, writing to the
same person, he calls the Duke of NeAvcastle the
greatest jackanapes, and Walpole the greatest bear,
upon earth ; and, after other exhibitions of the malady
that cankered his heart, assures his friend that he
enjoys his soul in great serenity, and that no one
circumstance in which his enemies, he supposes, tri
umph, takes away in the least from the quiet of his
mind, or the happiness of his life. He adds : " I assure
you, upon my honour, it is strictly true." f
What credit is due to his honour, on this point,
may at least be doubtful, as six years and eight
years after this (in 1742 and 1744) the rancour
* To Wyndham, apud Coxe, ii. 338. y Ibid. 346.

BOLINGBROKE. 387
against Sir Robert is not at all abated ; accusing him,
as he does in letters to Lord Hardwicke, though Wal-
pole's colleague, of meanness and treachery in having
obstructed his favour with the king (George I.), an
accusation proved to be without foundation.* Yet
he calls Walpole's " the weakest and wickedest admi
nistration that ever was ; the most hateful and most
contemptible that our nation ever saw."f All this
we might forgive ; the man might believe it, though
blinded with passion, and mortified by disappoint
ment. What we do not forgive is his hypocritical
profession to the contrary. In one of his latest letters
to Wyndham he says : " and though I have as little
of the spirit of party about me as any man living,
which you know to be true." At this we think Sir
William, much as he was attached to him, must, to
use a vulgar expression, " have laughed in his
sleeve." Thus have we pursued the course of what we have
justly called a meteor; now flaming through the
troubled air, which seemed his element ; now trailing
his wounded body, like the snake, unwillingly along
the ground. However, though he was the most ec
centric and violent of his class, and among the most
disappointed sons of ambition, to say he was the most
unhappy would not be true. His spirit kept him up ;
and, with a pursuit perpetually exciting hopes or
animating passion, he was always active, never dull ;
and he who is so excited can never be a prey to

* To Wyndham, apud Coxe, ii. 342, 343. y Ibid- 506. 549.
c c 2

388

THE DAY-DREAMER.

melancholy. Besides this, his love of letters was
sincere, and he amply indulged it. In this his vacare
Uteris was far superior to the maxim, more ostentatious
than effectual, of his friend Swift, Vive la bagatelle !
He had also this advantage over his brother in dis
appointment, that he was always liberal, and had the
fascinations of a man of quality ; and, as such, shone
in high society; while Swift growled among hangers-on
and dependants, a severe petty tyrant, and at length
a curmudgeon. Still they both exemplified, by the
mortifications they endured and exhibited, the ne
cessity we have set forth, that a man of ambition, to
be useful either to himself or the world, should be
also a man of wisdom and of virtue.

ATTERBURY. 389

No. IV.
ATTERBURY.
" You, Lord Archbishop,
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor' d,
Whose white investments figure innocence,
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself
Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war,
Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood ? "
Shakspeake : 2 Hen. IV.
The epoch when the individuals last named lived was
also that of another considerable person, designed like
them for better things, and like them ruined by an
extravagant ambition. Nor can we, without pity and
grief, contemplate the fate of Atterbury. The polite
ness of his mind as a scholar and man of taste, his
learning as a divine, his influence in his great college*
over the studies of the high-born youth whom he go
verned, his eloquence, and the veneration shown him
by some of the best spirits of the land, all combine to
make us regret that these advantages were so thrown
away by the devastating power, when ill-regulated,
of which we are treating. View him in his private
and professional life, and we love him. We can
scarcely believe that the cloistered yet amiable scholar
and divine, as he appears in his correspondence with
Pope, so seemingly above the struggles of the world,
and so little looking for happiness to anything but his
* As Dean of Christchurch.
c c 3

390

THE DAY-DREAMER.

sacred functions mixed with the graces of polite
learning, could have been politically ambitious, much
less a dabbler in treason. Courts or factions, least of
all treason or rebellion, seem not to have belonged to
him, yet they absorbed, and in the end destroyed,
him. What is remarkable is, that he too, while most
meditating on dangerous changes in the state, looking
at nothing less than the dethronement and restoration
of kings, seemed most smitten with the love of sacred
song, of ease, and philosophic quiet. His correspond
ence with Pope, even at the moment when plotting
these changes, possesses a charm which every lover of
letters must feel with delight. He loved the poet
both for his poetry and good qualities, and shows it
amiably as well as amicably. Of course the subjects
between them are poetical, and we feel and admire the
bishop's taste and criticisms on Milton, Homer, and
other favourites. We see him, too, with interest, in
his matted room, reco\Tering from illness, little think
ing, God knows ! that he must even then have been
contemplating revolution. As to his fondness for
ease and learned leisure, he says: " If I am good for
any thing, 'tis in angulo cum libello. In the mean
time the judicious world is pleased to think that I
delight in work which I am obliged to undergo, and
aim at things which L from my heart despise. Let
them think as they will, so I might be at liberty to
act as I will, and spend my time in such a manner as
is most agreeable to me. I cannot say I do so now,
for I am here without any books." In another letter
it should seem that he disclaims all worldly concerns,

ATTERBURY. 391
and says that the single point he now aims at is to
be allowed to be quiet, and live to himself with the
very few friends he likes, though he knows the gene
rality of the world, who are unacquainted with his
intentions and views, think the very reverse of this
belongs to him. At another time he is annoyed at
being dragged to town as Dean of Westminster,
to perform " the last scene of pompous vanity "
at the funeral of the Duke of Marlborough. " I
know," he says, " I shall often say to myself, while I
am expecting the funeral :
' O rus, quando ego te aspiciam ? quandoque licebit
Ducere solicits jucunda oblivia vitaa ?' "
Seemingly still more estranged from the world, par
ticularly the ambitious world, he says (April, 1722)
in regard to the great : " Visits to statesmen always
were to me (and are now more than ever) insipid
things ; let the men that expect, that wish to thrive
by them, pay them that homage ; I am free. When I
want them, they shall hear of me at their doors ; when
they Avant me, I shall be sure to hear of them at
mine. But probably they will despise me so much,
and I shall court them so little, that we shall both of
us keep our distance." Then follow some observations
on the great men of the time (1722), in which, whe
ther merited or not, he seems at least sincere. " When
I come to you, it is in order to be with you only. A
president of the council, or a star and garter, will
make no more impression upon my mind at such a
time, than the hearing of a bagpipe, or the sight of a
puppet-show. I have said to greatness some time
c c 4

392

THE DAY-DREAMER.

ago, 'Tuas tibi res habeto; egomet curabo meas.'
The time is not far off when we shall all be upon a
level, and I am resolved for my part to anticipate that
time, and be upon a level with them now, for he is so
that neither seeks nor wants them. Let them have
more virtue and less pride, and then I'll court them
as much as anybody ; but till they resolve to distin
guish themselves some way else than by their outward
trappings, I am determined (and I think I have a
right) to be as proud as they are, though I trust in
God my pride is neither of so odious a nature as
theirs, nor of so mischievous a consequence." Who
that reads this would not suppose that he had here
met Avith a man who had subdued all worldly cares,
certainly all worldly ambition, and was saying to
himself, ' mea virtute me involvo ?' Indubitably one
would not suppose that this seemingly Avise and vir
tuous person, who apparently was contemplating his
worldly end, was at that instant engaged in a con
spiracy against the state.
Here then let us pause, to ascertain, if possible, the
prompting cause of this spleen (for surely it was
spleen) in one usually so decorous and polished,
though he is represented as of a warm temperament.
Had it been Swift's or Bolingbroke's case, we should
have understood it at once; they were angry, and
kept no terms with those that angered them. But
Atterbury not only had far more of the decencies of
life than Swift, but, from his rank and power in the
church, almost approached the level of Bolingbroke.
Yet the complaint seems to savour more of some little

ATTERBURY. 393
commonplace heartburning, found chiefly in vulgar
life, the consequence of an affronted though little
pride, than belonging to one of his dignity, or size of
mind. It is evident that he had been neglected by
some great people (probably Whigs, on account of his
party), and resented it accordingly; but we should
be loth to attribute to this, in a man of his sense,
those treasonable machinations which, spite of his elo
quent defence, were proved against him. Be this as
it may, this letter, as well as the case established on
evidence of his intended guilt, not to mention the
facts related of him on the death of the queen *, prove
beyond question, that, with all his beautiful culti
vation, he also was influenced by what we have called
the unsound ambition. How compatible that is with
the sentimental turn of a delicate mind, a classic
elegance, and a philosophic feeling, the farther inves
tigation of his correspondence will show. Meantime
it is not incurious to remark that he too, when exiled
and disappointed, sought for consolation in rural re
tirement like the rest. For, from the Oxford papers
preserved by Coxe, it appears that at Montpelier,
though even then engaged in violent intrigues to
remove rivals in the Pretender's service, he affected a
love of retreat, and the calm pleasures of a country
life.f Yet much of what is said of his restless and
* That he was willing and ready to assist in proclaiming the Pretender
in his lawn sleeves, and that never was so good a cause lost for want of spirit.
This accusation was made by Lord- Chancellor Harcourt. {Coxe, Memoirs
of Sir R. Walpole, i. 167.) He certainly refused to sign the declaration
of his brother bishops in favour of George I. {Ibid. 168.)
t Ibid. 173.

394

THE DAY-DREAMER.

aspiring temper, and the views of high preferment
which were some at least of the causes of his trea
sonable conduct, is but too true; and we grieve to
think we may apply Pope's severe but (considering
the person designated) affecting lines on Addison to
him: " Who would not laugh, if such a man there be ?
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he ?"
On the other hand, when we read the last of his
letters in England, written from his prison in the
Tower, just before his trial, contemplating its re
sult, and bidding, like Wolsey, " fareAvell to all his
greatness," both the language and the topics are so
touching, that we more than ever grieve at such a
termination to the career of such a man. " A little
time," he says to Pope, " will separate you and me for
ever ; but in what part of the world so ever I am, I
will live mindful of your sincere kindness to me.
Give my faithful service to Dr. Arbuthnot ; let him
know my defence will be such that neither my friends
need blush for me, nor will my enemies have great
occasion of triumph, though sure of the victory."
These topics we expect, as what may belong to
any public man about to undergo a reverse of fortune ;
but we feel the tenderness of our interest for the
amiable private man revive, when we read : " You and
I have spent many hours together upon much plea-
santer subjects ; and that I may preserve the old
custom, I shall not part with you now till I have
closed this letter with three lines of Milton, which

ATTERBURY. 395
you will, I know, readily, and not Avithout some degree
of concern, apply to your ever affectionate

•3P ^f

' Some natural tears he dropt, but wip'd them soon ;
The world was all before him, where to choose
His place of rest, and Providence his guide.' "
I wish that the last years of this highly culti
vated man admitted of panegyric consistently with
truth. But they do not ; for, though the soothing love
of letters and his attachment to the Protestant re
ligion never abandoned him, it is only due to truth
to say, that, in the first moment of his banishment, he
fuUy confirmed all that had been said of his guilt, by
entering, and continuing almost to the end of his life,
in the service of a Roman Catholic pretender ; in
which, mockery as it was, the bent of his mind showed
itself in every variety of intrigue and struggle for
power which had characterised him at home. He
adds therefore, spite of his fine mind, one more to
the many examples of the unhappiness caused by
vicious ambition.

396 THE DAY-DREAMER.

No. V.
COWLEY.
" In a deep vision's intellectual scene,
Beneath a bower for sorrow made,
Th' uncomfortable shade
Of the black yew's unlucky green,
Mixt with the mourning willow's careful grey,
Where reverend Cam cuts out his famous way,
The melancholy Cowley lay." The Complaint.
As the operations, as well as visions, of vicious am
bition are boundless, as the whole world in all ages is
full of them, and there is no passion so creative of
crime, and therefore of interest, Ave might (especially
if we dived into antiquity, or passed into foreign
history) greatly extend the subject that has engrossed
us, till Memory had her fill. As it is, we look wist
fully at the weaknesses of Cicero, the secret unhap
piness of Charles V., Richelieu, and Cromwell, to
which we might add Napoleon and other great names ;
but as Ave are nothing but idle dreamers, and write
only for our dreaming countrymen, to amuse the
passing hour, we think it best to confine ourselves to
our home, and Avith regard to the mortifications and
self-deceptions of the passion when not properly re
gulated, think enough has been done : " Ambition's
debt is paid."
As, however, we have taken such large draughts of

COWLEY. 397
bitterness, let us now sip a little honey, and touch
upon a few of those characters founded, some in
real philosophy and real moderation, some in gentler
Avishes and a more genuine dignity of character,
Avith full as much benefit to others, and far more
happiness to themselves, than the names we have
been investigating. There is, indeed, a repose, after
the stormy lives we haA^e been reviewing, in watching
the effects, to use Cowley's soothing language, " of
that quiet which is the companion of obscurity ; " or,
still more poetically, in contemplating the sequestered
vale wherein travellers keep " the noiseless tenor of
their way." This calms the soul ; and, though it
adds little to our energies, yet is not the less, if it is
not more, productive of the happiness of content, the
only happiness of a wise and good man. Hence the
constant and never- varying delight which all, whether
of the sound or unsound ambitious, always take in
those pictures of tranquil moderation, and even of the
obscurity above mentioned, which so abound in the
poets and philosophers, real or pretended. In fact,
those who are least qualified to enjoy them, from the
tumult in which they pass their lives, are generally,
from that very circumstance, the loudest in their
praise; and the "Orus!" and the " Beatus ille ! " seem
most peculiar to those (especially when they are dis
appointed) who live in the midst of struggle. We
have seen how self-deceiving these have often been.
Nor is the deception confined to unsuccessful states
men ; there are pseudo-philosophers, and insincere
theorists on this subject, as well as every other. It

398 THE DAY-DREAMER.
has been said indeed, and truly, of Cowley, that " we
love the language of his heart ; " yet, from what we
know of his life, we do not believe even him to be free
from self-deceit, when he says so prettily, but at the
same time so falsely :
" If ever I more riches did desire,
Than cleanliness and quiet do require ;
If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat
With any wish so mean, as to be great;
Continue, Heav'n, still from me to remove
The humble blessings of the life I love."
That he might love an humble life is very possible,
but that it is meanness to wish to be great is not
true. Nevertheless, he is the poet of retirement and simple
life, and, therefore, of nature ; and hence all who are
tired or vexed with the world, Avho are disappointed
in their ambition, or have failed in their pursuit of
riches, love him. Hence, too, he is a book for the
closet, and we readily beguile ourselves with his
rhapsodies in praise of the farm, and the garden,
and obscurity ; Aglaus, Abdolonymus, and Diocletian ;
Aglaus, who, though he lived unknown, was pro
nounced by the oracle as the happiest of men ; Ab
dolonymus, who umvillingly exchanged his garden
for a throne ; and Diocletian, who Avillingly exchanged
his throne for a garden.
As to obscurity, he thinks it the pleasantest con
dition of life, for " What a brave privilege is it," says
he, " to be free from all contentions, from all envyings,
or being envied ; from receiving and paying all kinds
of ceremonies ! It was the case of iEneas and Achates,

COWLEY. 399
when they walked invisibly about the fields and streets
of Carthage, Venus herself having thickened the air
on purpose for their concealment."
Much as may be said against this position, far be
it from me to take away from him who is disposed
really to enjoy what Cowley so strongly fancied, the
pleasure, if he find it such, of the
" Secretum iter, et fallentis semita vite." *
Nor would I dissuade any one who courted inde
pendence, from the pleasing elucidation of it to be
found in this amiable poet's essays in verse and prose,
in which the lover of romance and a life free from
restraint may lose himself Avith much enjoyment.
Let him particularly look into the essay upon Liberty,
in Avhich the poet's favourite maxim is supported Avith
a great deal of agreeable argument as well as learning.
The picture of the slavery of those Romans whose
ambition made them candidates for popular honours
is forcibly given ; and the apophthegm of Seneca, that
" a great fortune is a great servitude," well illustrated.
The impression, however, that CoAvley exaggerated,
if he did not coin, his own fancies in favour of retire
ment, as he did in his "Mistress " in favour of his sup
posed attachments, Aveakens the force of this other
wise pleasing rhapsody. Yet, so smoothly do his
beguiling numbers Aoav on the all-attracting subject,
'¦ * Not easily translated, from the ambiguity of the word " fallentis."
The best version of it is, perhaps,
" The secret path of life, led, as it were, by stealth ;"
in other words, " in obscurity."

400 THE DAY-DREAMER.
that many a young mind has, like his, renounced am
bition to cultivate the muse. I am not sure that
some of the lines in the " Complaint," perhaps the
most pathetic of his strains, had not their effect in
turning me into a dreamer in early life, and making me
remain so ever since, instead of the man of business
Avhich I at least intended to be.
What youth of the least sensibility could resist the
fond reproaches of his Muse, who appeared to the
bard in a vision, after he had broken the fetters which
bound him to the court?
" Art thou return'd at last (said she)
To this forsaken place and me ?
Thou prodigal ! who didst so loosely waste,
Of all thy youthful years, the good estate ;
Art thou return'd here, to repent too late,
And gather husks of learning up at last,
Now the rich harvest-time of life is past,
And Winter marches on so fast ?
But when I meant to adopt thee as my son,
And did as learn'd a portion assign
As ever any of the mighty Nine
Had to their dearest children done;
Then I resolv'd t'exalt thy anointed name
Among the spiritual lords of peaceful fame ;
Thou, changeling ! thou, bewitch'd with noise and show,
AVouldst into courts and cities from me go ;
Wouldst see the world abroad, and have a share
In all the follies and the tumults there :
Thou wouldst, forsooth, be something in a state ;
And business thou wouldst find and wouldst create.
Business, the frivolous pretence
Of human lusts to shake off innocence."
In another poem, less dignified, perhaps, in ima
gery, but more home to the feeling, he thus begins
the praises of a country life :

COWLEY. 401
" Blest be the man (and blest he is) whome'er,
Plac'd far out of the roads of hope and fear,
A little field, and little garden feeds.
The field gives all that frugal Nature needs ;
The wealthy garden liberally bestows
All she can ask when she luxurious grows.
The specious inconveniences that wait
Upon a life of business, and of state,
He sees ; nor does the sight disturb his rest,
By fools desir'd, by wicked men possest."
These tAvo poems paint beautifully the charms of
" Retired leisure,
That in trim gardens takes its pleasure."
No doubt the author was sincere in all the senti
ments that pervade them ; and if the leisure he re
commends, and a retirement from struggle, do not
make men mere idle dreamers ; if they use this leisure
and independence to master science, and perfect them
selves in that innocency of life which temptation and
the Avorld oppose, we should toto corde agree with him.
'Tis therefore, if only for the chance of it, that we
give these pleasing pictures of the mind of a man
well versed in courts, and for years active in their
business, without being corrupted by their vices.
That he was not allowed to profit long by the tardy
justice done him, when he at last reaped the reAvard
of his service, must not make us question his sincerity,
or repine at his fate. To death, it belongs to man
only to submit ; we must not, and we dare not, canvass
the circumstances, or the justice, that attend his visit
ation.

VOL. II. D D

402 THE DAY-DREAMER.

No. VI.
SIR JOHN HARINGTON.
" 'Tis an unseason'd courtier. Good, my lord,
Advise him." Shakspeare : All's Well that Ends Well.
From the "melancholy Cowley," discussed in the last-
Number, we cheerfully turn to a very different person ;
an actor on life's theatre, whose independence being
seemingly founded more in his constitutional feelings,
though by no means devoid of the supports of a wise
and observing mind, was, perhaps, less questionable
than Cowley's. Yet he also Avas a poet, and, therefore,
given to fiction. He, too, had seen courts, wherein
he sought fortune and missed it ; but he did not on
that account, like Swift, though he retired, retire in a
pet. I mean the gay, joyous, spirited, and natural
Sir John Harington, to whose cultivation, though
born a country gentleman, his translation of Ariosto
bears testimony ; and Avho to courts Avas so far not
averse, that he consented to seek fortune in them, but,
failing of success, left them Avithout remorse, and re
turned to the peace of private life unchanged and
unscathed. He had been induced, by the hope of success to
seek the service of Queen Elizabeth, Avho was his god
mother, and not indisposed toAvards him. Never
theless, whether from philosophy, or a sturdy indif-

SIR JOHN HARINGTON. 403
ference of nature, he was too little disposed to go
through the necessary dependence upon the great,
with even the queen at their head ; that is, to Avaste
his time, his spirits, and his means,
" In awe of such a thing as he himself."
Though by no means above the care of his fortune,
he had not a mind that could submit " in suing long
to bide." He had, in fact, " a hollow tree;" and to
this he gladly returned, the uncorrupted, though un
successful, adventurer, who had left it with hope, and
returned to it with equanimity.
'Tis thus he writes : and what a contrast does it
form to the heroes we have been describing ; and
Avho, as fortunate adventurers, might, in the eyes of
the world, have been supposed his superiors !
" Who liveth in courts, must mark what they say ;
Who liveth for ease, had better be away."
" I talked much to the Treasurer on sundrie matters
latelie." The Treasurer, however, does not appear to have
satisfied the country mouse.
He goes on : " In August I was much troubled at
sundrie grievances from diuers menne in high states ;
but envie doth haunte manie, and breede jealousie.
" I will bid adieu to good companie*, and leave suing
and seeking at courte ; for if I have no more friends
nor better at Heaven's courte than at this, I shall begin
to thinke somewhat of briefe damnation."! This,
* Quaere, meaning what is called " good companie."
\ Nug. Antiq. i. 168.
BD 2

404 . THE DAY-DREAMER.
Avithout pouting, is his simple determination; and,
accordingly, he returned to his home and Ariosto, of
the former of Avhich he says, with pregnant satisfac
tion, having evidently the contrast of the court in his
mind : " I came home to Kelstone and found my Malle*,
my children, and my cattle, all well fedde, well taughte,
and well belovede. 'Tis not so at court. Ill-breeding,
Avith ill-feedinge, and no love but that of the lustie
god of gallantrie, Asmodeus." f
This was a better way of bearing a disappointment,
though a real one, than to eat his heart, like Swift ;
write malignant pamphlets, like Bolingbroke ; or sink
into the slough of despond, like Lord Holland.
The careless easy Sir John was indeed, as we have
said, a poet and a wit, and had a ready and never
failing resource in polite literature, nay, in deeper
learning ; but so had the others ; and let us not, on
that account, suppose him insensible to the advan
tages of a fair ambition, or even blind to what was
demanded for it by a wise conduct. Of this, his ob
servations on the character and proceedings of the
patron assigned him by the queen (Essex) are an
abundant proof.
" It restethe wyth me (says he) in opinion, that
ambition, thwarted in its career, dothe speedilie lead
on to madnesse. Herein I am strengthened by Avhat I
learne in my Lord of Essex, who stryftethe from
sorrowe and repentance to rage and rebellion so sud-
denlie, as well provethe him devoide of goode reasone
» His wife. y Nug. Antiq. i. 165.

SIR JOHN IIARINGT0N. 405
or right mynde. In my last discourse he uttered
strange wordes, borderinge on suche strange desygnes,
that made me hasten forthe and leave his presence.
Thank Heaven ! I am safe at home ; and if I go in
suche troubles againe, I deserve the gallowes for a
meddlying foole. The haughtie spirit knowethe not
how to yielde, and the man's soule seemeth tossed to
and fro like a troubled sea."
After this, the queen's death having for a time
(for it Avas only for a time) blasted his hopes, he rose
again by his merit to favour Avith James and his ac
complished son. Yet he indulged in the moderation
and liveliness of his nature, Avhich seems with him tan
tamount to happiness. " Here noAV," says he, " wyll I
reste my troublede mynde, and tend my sheepe like an
Arcadian swayne, that hathe loste his fairie mistresse.
For in soothe I have loste the beste and faireste love
that ever shepherde kneAV, even my gracious queene,
and since my goode mistresse is gone, I shall not
hastilie put forthe for a new master. I Avylle keep
companie Avith none but my oves and boves."
The lords and gentlemen we have been commemo
rating were not of a disposition to act the Arcadian
shepherd, like Sir John when he succumbed to his fate ;
but they might have profited by the example of this
reasonable and cheerful man, to sIioav themselves
equally independent of the frowns and smiles of
fortune. Should they, hoAvever, refuse the comparison
under the plea that Sir John Avas of too slight a
calibre, from not being a statesman, or otherwise high
enough in rank to compete with thein, let us come to
i> n 3

406 THE DAY-DREAMER.
one who, Avhether in station, fortune, or employments,
reputation, or services, yielded to no one of his time,
either in his use of power, or the dignity with Avhich
he renounced it. In these respects, I OAvn, among
all the great actors of that time in the state, I have
always contemplated the character and history of Sir
William Temple Avith a sort of fondness, mingled with
the respect due to his services in all his capacities,
and I noAv produce him as an unblemished instance of
true ambition.

SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE. 407

No. VII.
SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE.
" His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal ;
Nor number nor example with him wrought,
To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind,
Though, single." Milton.
The uniform integrity, industry, and love of coun
try, Avhich marked his career for above tAventy years,
inspired universal esteem ; but it is the dignity and
calm firmness which characterised the close of his
public life, and the grace and cultivation which at
tended him in his retirement, that particularly Avin
our admiration, and make us regard him as equal to
Sully in integrity, and superior to Cicero as a prac
tical philosopher.
Perhaps the most comprehensive panegyric as to
the requisites he possessed for a practical statesman
was pronounced by Hume, " that he Avas a man whom
philosophy had taught to despise the world, without
rendering him unfit for it ; that he was frank, open,
sincere, and superior to the little tricks of vulgar
politicians." * Of how many men of ambition, who
have passed their lives in its contests, can this be said ?
and how do we not honour the person to whom it can
* Hist. vii. 433.
d d 4

408 THE DAY-DREAMER.
justly be applied ? That it peculiarly belonged to
the character of Temple, everything we read of him
and in him testifies. All that Ave knoAV of his actions
and habits, the course of his life, the manner in which
he conducted the greatest public affairs, the pursuits
that elevated and gilded his private life ; the studies
of his closet, their usefulness as Avell as elegance ; the
polish of his manners, his liberal literature, and the
respect paid by aU to the Aveight of his character,
both at home and abroad ; all these tell of his ex
cellence in a degree and universality which delight
us in his history, and seem to elevate ourselves in
elevating the common nature to which we belong.
But it is the pure and unaffected independence of his
mind, so superior to all the pomp of poAver or vain
glory ; proposing nature and the intrinsic value of
things as the only objects worth cultivating, and uni
formly, therefore, despising, for their sakes, all false
glosses and trappings which lead so many brilliant
but Aveaker men astray; it is this which chiefly
fixes our admiration, and inspires our attachment.
Hence, Avhen the Arlingtons, the Cliffords, and
the Shaftesburys, the Danbys, and the Buckinghams
of the times were pursuing a Avicked race of cor
ruption, venality, and bad faith, of disaffection
and even treason, for the sake of their own poAver,
this accomplished minister and honest man, this
able statesman and true patriot, showed that the
one object that pointed his exertions Avas the real
interest of his king, identifying it with that of his
country ; and, when thwarted in this, he proved with-

SIR WILLIAM TEMTLE. 409
out effort that he could despise all attempts to make
him deviate into a contrary conduct, or renounce for
the sake of what, at best, Avould to him have appeared
a criminal ambition, his darling views of private hap
piness. Brilliant, indeed, and poAverful as were his
talents for the business of the state, and his conse
quent reputation, so wedded was he to the philosophy
and moderation of private hfe, accompanied with the
elegance of a highly cultivated mind, that our wonder
is, that, with such a decided bias, he could have ever
suffered himself to engage as he did in such mo
mentous labours, successful as they were, in the
public service.
This was the real virtue of the man ; nor can I do
better for his memory, in winding up this part of his
character, than by transcribing Avhat was so feelingly
said of it by another statesman, Avho in this, at least,
so resembled him, that in reading it we cannot help
thinking he glanced (without intending it) at him
self. " When he had reason," says Mr. Fox, " to
think that his services could no longer be useful to his
country, he withdreAV wholly from public business,
and resolutely adhered to the preference of philo
sophical retirement, which in his circumstances was
just, in spite of every temptation which occurred to
bring him back to the more active scene. The re
mainder of his life he seems to have employed in the
most noble contemplations, and the most elegant
amusements ; every enjoyment heightened, no doubt,
by reflecting on the honourable part he had acted in
public affairs, and without any regret on his own

410 THE DAY-DREAMER.
account (whatever he might feel for his country) at
having been driven from them." *
What I have called his decided bias may be not
unpleasingly collected from the well-known passage
between him and his master, who seemed to have
known him Avell ; and who, having sent for him from
negotiating the Peace of Nimeguen, in order to
make him secretary of state, and finding him rather
absent in his answers, exclaimed: " Go, get ye gone to
Shene ; Ave shall have no good of you till you have
been there."
His disinclination to the secretaryship was as ex
traordinary as determined ; since it could not, as in
the few other instances of a refusal of preferment
that occur in the history of man, have proceeded either
from want of abilities or want of disposition. On the
contrary, above twenty years of most active adminis
tration of very high charges had shoAvn his admirable
fitness to fill the public eye, and obtain the public
esteem. It was simply owing, therefore, to the
moderation of his Avishes, and his preference of the
studious hours, the elegancies of cultivated leisure,
and the enjoyments of a life of nature and philoso
phy, to the hubbub and distractions of a struggle for
poAver, and the envy and corruption that belong to
it. So deeply did he feel this as adverse to his
happiness, and so much more attractive was his
garden than a court (though his figure in the last
Avas equal to that of the best), that no man ever
* Fox's James II.

SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE. 411
sought office with more ingenuity or perseverance
than he displayed to avoid it. This was, not merely
that he was not fitted for the secretary's place by
habit or disposition, but that he disapproved the dis
honest policy proposed to be pursued ; that of assuming
the existence of a plot which neither his colleagues
nor himself credited, in order, by humouring the
people, to confirm their own power. His friends told
him, " that the Parliament and nation Avere so gene
rally and strongly possessed Avith it, that it must of
necessity be pursued as if it were true, whether it was
so or not ; and that, without the king's uniting with his
people upon this point, he would never grow either
into ease at home, or consideration abroad."
His account of his conduct upon this does him
honour. " Upon three days' thought," says he, " of
this whole affair, I concluded it a scene unfit for such
actors as I knew myself to be, and resolved to avoid
the secretary's place, or any other public employment
at home, my character abroad still continuing. This
I acquainted my nearest friends with, ordered the
money to be returned which had been provided by
them, and fell into consultations Iioav I might get off
this point, Avithout anything that might appear un-
dutiful or ungrateful to his Majesty." *
One of these consultations marks at least his sin
cerity in his resolution ; for, there being a neAv
Parliament, " I ordered," says he, " my pretensions so
as they came to fail. But when the Parliament was
chosen, and I not of the House, I represented to his
* Works, folio, i. 332.

412 THE DAY-DREAMER.
Majesty how unfit it was to have a Parliament meet
without his having one secretary in the House of
Commons." *
The stratagem succeeded, and he escaped the
secretaryship. After this he had the honour to propose and accom
plish that famous, though unsuccessful, plan for a
strong and honest government, the Council of Thirty,
half to be composed of the great officers of state, half
of men of the greatest personal consequence, and
therefore, as Avas erroneously supposed, the freest
from party ambition. This, as might be foreseen by
persons even as little corrupted by intrigue and self-
interest as himself, almost instantly failed, through
the jealousy, machinations, and treachery of those in
Avhom he most confided. And this gave him such
a disgust (the disgust of a virtuous mind) at any
attempt to improve the current of affairs influenced
by such incendiaries as Shaftesbury, and such devotees
of private ambition as Essex and Halifaxf, that from
this time he resolved (and kept his Avord) to AvithdraAV
from all public employments, and de\rote himself in
earnest to the SAveets of that philosophic contemplative
life for Avhich by disposition and education he Avas
so Avell fitted. Thus he Avho, in the course of his
able fulfilment of the most important public duties,
had acquired the praise of all Europe, and the friend-

* Works, folio, i. 332.
f The scheme of the Council failed chiefly through the intrigues of
Essex to get back to the government of Ireland: yet Essex was a
patriot, engaged in treason for the good of the state.

SI K WILLIAM TEMPLE. 413
ship of its most illustrious characters (among them
De Witt and King William), retired for ever into the
bosom of a happy contentment, Avhich he ennobled by
his pursuits in it, as much as his abilities and good
principles had illustrated his more public and imposing
career. His language on adopting this determination, firm,
unaffected, and, from his after conduct, sincere, far
removed from petulance, and still farther from morti
fication, evinces a mind " superior," as Hume ob
served, " to the tricks of vulgar ambition," certainly
to that ambition Avhich we have been investigating.
Nor can I do better, in closing this account, than to
do it in his own words.
" Therefore, upon the Avhole, I took that firm reso
lution in the end of the year 1680, never to charge
myself more with any public employments ; but,
retiring wholly to a private life, in that posture
take my fortune Avith my country, whatever it should
prove. " Besides all these public circumstances, I considered
myself in my own humour, temper, and disposition,
which a man may disguise to others very hardly, but
cannot to himself. I had learned, by living long in
courts and public affairs, that I was fit to live no
longer in either. I found the arts of a court were
contrary to the frankness and openness of my nature,
and the constraints of public business too great for
the liberty of my humour and my life. I knew very
well the arts of a court are, to talk the present lan
guage, to serve the present turn, and to follow the

414 THE DAY-DREAMER.
present humour of the prince, Avhatever it is. Of all
this I found myself so incapable, that I could not talk
a language I did not mean, nor serve a turn I did not
like. Besides, I have had, in twenty years' experience,
enough of the uncertainty of princes, the caprices of
Fortune, the corruption of ministers, the violence of
factions, the unsteadiness of counsels, and the infi
delity of friends ; nor do I think the rest of my life
enough to make any new experiments.
" And so I take my leave of all those airy visions
which have so long busied my head about mending
the world, and at the same time of all those shining
toys or follies that employ the thoughts of busy men ;
and shall turn mine Avholly to mend myself, and, as
far as consists Avith a private condition, still pursuing
that old and excellent counsel of Pythagoras : ' That
Ave are, with all the cares and endeavours of our lives,
to avoid diseases in the body, perturbations in the
mind, luxury in diet, factions in the house, and sedi
tions in the state.' "
All these rules and axioms, Avhether of Pytha
goras or himself, are golden ; and Avith these he closes
his justification for retiring from public life. To this
we will add, in proof of his sincerity, that he never
breathed a Avish to return, but betook himself to the
exercise of his delightful mind on subjects more con
genial to his taste, and more conducive to his happi
ness. The proof of this appears in the consequences
that attended his retreat ; for it was to the leisure and
freedom from constraint Avhich this procured for him
Ave OAve some of the most admired of his works;

SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE. 415
eminently those on " Heroic Virtue," " Long Life,"
and the " Gardens of Epicurus ; " * full of classic lore,
full of philosophy, full of all that Avhich makes the
reader happier, better, and wiser, for every perusal
Avhich his OAvn retirement may enable him to give
them. Nor can we close this Avhole subject more fitly
than Avith his own honest account of himself in the
new path he had chosen ; for, though in danger of
being thought prolix, the good it does both to our
hearts and minds to contemplate this wise and
good man living for himself, after having so long and
usefully lived for the world, will be our sufficient
apology. " I may, perhaps, be allowed to know something of
this trade {gardening), since I have so long allowed
myself to be good for nothing else, which few men will
do ; or enjoy their gardens without often looking abroad
to see how other matters play, what motions in the
state, and what invitations they may hope for into other
scenes. " For my own part, as the country life, and this part
of it more particularly, were the inclination of my
youth itself, so they are the pleasure of my age ; and
I can truly say, that, among many great employments
that have fallen to my share, I have never asked or
sought for any one of them, but often endeavoured to
escape from them into the ease and freedom of a
private scene, where a man may go his own way, and
his own pace, in the common paths or circles of life.
* Written in the first years after his retirement.

416 THE DAY-DREAMER.
" The measure of choosing Avell is, Avhether a man
likes Avhat he has chosen, Avhich, I thank God, has be
fallen me ; and though among the follies of my life
building and planting have not been the least, and
have cost me more than I haA^e the confidence to OAvn,
yet they have been fully recompensed by the sweetness
and satisfaction of this retreat, Avhere, since my resolu
tion taken of never entering again into any public
employments, I have passed five years without ever
going once to town, though I am almost in sight of
it, and have a house there always ready to receive
me. Nor has this been any sort of affectation, as
some have thought it, but a mere Avant of desire or
humour to make so small a remove ; for, when I am
in this corner, I can truly say Avith Horace, —
' Me quoties reficit gelidus Digentia rivus,
Quid sentire putas, quid credis, amice, precari ?
Sit mihi quod nunc est, etiam minus ; et mihi vivam
Quod superest asvi, si quid superesse volunt Di.' " *
With this wish of the sage and the Christian we
close this (I trust not useless) account of one of the
brightest ornaments of our history. Well did he de
serve the motto from Pliny's account of the death of
Virginius Rufus, who had refused the empire, and
Avhich Swift affixed to the last of his Memoirs, justi
fying his retirement from public affairs : " Et ille
quidem plenus annis abiit, plenus honoribus, illis etiam
* "As often as Digentia, that cool stream, refreshes me,
What does my friend think are my feelings, what my prayer ?
That I may only continue to possess my present fortune, or even less,
So that I may live the rest of my life, should the gods permit it to
be prolonged — to myself."

SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE. 417
quos recusavit."* May we not then say that he Avas
one of the few, the very few, Avho,
" Too wise for pride, too good for pow'r,
Enjoy'd the glory to be great no more?"f
* Epist. lib. ii. 1.
t It will here, perhaps, be not amiss if we record what seems said of
his character as well as his style, in a critique on the latter by a pleasing
author. " No writer whatever has stamped upon his style a more lively
impression of his own character. In reading his works we seem engaged
in conversation with him. We become thoroughly acquainted with him,
not merely as an author, but as a man, and contract a friendship for him.
He may be classed as standing in the middle between a negligent simpli
city and the highest degree of ornament." — Blair's Lectures, ii. 26.

VOL. II. E E

418 THE DAY-DREAMER.

No. VIII.
LORD TOWNSHEND.
" Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
In the same time 'tis made." Shakspeare : Coriolanus.
Another example of the sound ambition, above all
Ioav selfishness and vulgar attachment to place for its
own sake, is presented by Lord Townshend, long
one of the most considerable ministers of George I. ;
equal indeed to Temple in integrity and independence
of mind and of conduct, though inferior to him in
mental accomplishments and polite learning.
His character has been drawn with his usual clear
ness and force by Chesterfield, who does not conceal
his defects, which, being chiefly confined to too much
impetuosity, and a want of elegance, or rather a
coarseness of manner, partook of nothing approach
ing to a spot on his reputation, though they were
sins in the eyes of his Lordship, and rendered
him disagreeable to Queen Caroline. On the other
hand, Lord Chesterfield bears warm testimony to the
kindness of his nature, as a husband, father, and
master, and to his integrity and knowledge of business,
observing that never minister had cleaner hands..
He retired, therefore, because not of a temper to act
a second part under George II., after having acted a
first under George I. But, though he felt forced to

LORD TOWNSHEND. 419
resign the Cabinet from the opposition, if not ill-
usage of men (with the exception of Walpole) far his
inferiors, and therefore had at least as many provoca
tions to engender spleen as Swift, his mind Avas (un
like Swift's) too genuinely free from it, to retire under
the slightest suspicion of being under its influence. On
the contrary, never was office, after so long an enjoy
ment of it*, laid down with so much dignity, the dig
nity of principle and self-respect. The account of it
by Coxe, though in the biography of his successful
rival f, and therefore not likely to be misrepresented
in his favour, is gratifying in every point to him who
studies human nature in studying history. " Town
shend," says the Archdeacon, " retired with a most
unsullied character for integrity, honour, and disin
terestedness, and gave several striking proofs that he
could command the natural warmth of his temper, and
rise superior to the malignant influence of party-spirit
and disappointed ambition. The Opposition, who
had formed sanguine expectations of the consequences
of the disunion in the Cabinet, were prepared to re
ceive him with open arms; but he resisted their
advances, and firmly persevered in his original de
termination. J Soon after " Chesterfield commenced
his ardent opposition to Walpole, he went to Rainham,
and requested Townshend to attend an important
question in the House of Lords. ToAvnshend replied,
that he had formed a resolution, which he would not
* With the exception of the not quite four years of the Tory admi
nistration, it lasted almost continuously from 1709 to 1730.
f Walpole. t Not to return to party politics.
e e 2

420 THE DAY-DREAMER.
break, of never again engaging in political contests.
" I recollect," he added, " that Lord Cowper, though a
staunch Whig, had been betrayed by personal pique
and party resentment, in his opposition to the Ministry,
to throw himself into the arms of the Tories, and even
to support principles which tended to serve the cause
of the Jacobites. I know that I am extremely warm,
and I am apprehensive, if I should attend the House
of Lords, I also may be hurried away by my temper,
and by personal resentment, to adopt a line of con
duct which in my cooler moments I may regret."
Coxe adds : "He maintained this honourable and
patriotic resolution, and thus proved himself worthy
of the highest eulogium."
" He passed the evening of his days in the pursuit
of rural occupations and agricultural experiments ; his
improvements ameliorated the state of husbandry*,
his hospitality endeared him to his neighbours, and
the dignity of his character insured respect. Appre
hensive of being tempted again to enter into those
scenes of active- life which he had resolved totally to
abandon, he never revisited the capital, but died at
Rainham, in 1738, aged sixty-four." Thus far Coxe.f
Can we add any thing to such a character, as an ex
ample of honourable and well-regulated ambition ?
* They did more than ameliorate, they created it anew ; for whereas Nor
folk was of so light a soil, that, in ridicule, it was said it might be ploughed
with a carving-knife and a couple of rabbits, the introduction of the sward
and turnip husbandry made it what it now is; and this owed its rise
chiefly to this real patriot and truly wise man. How mean, with all their
wit, are the selfish Swift and Bolingbroke in comparison !
y Memoirs of Walpole, 4to, 338.

LORD WALDEGRAVE. 421

No. IX.
LORD WALDEGRAVE. " Thou
Art not without ambition, but without
The illness should attend it." Shakspeare : Macbeth.
It is refreshing to a mind occupied Avith this subject,
that there are other characters which, in the true
principles of a wise moderation, resemble the last-
named excellent person. Of these one somewhat
nearer to. our own times, and remarkable for the
refusal, rather than the enjoyment, of power, was
Lord Waldegrave, whose recent " Memoirs," by him
self, form a valuable acquisition to the library of
either a politician or retired observer of the world.
Though on his tomb was engraved, by his beautiful
and accomplished widow (" once," as she described her
self, " his most happy wife, now the remembrancer of
his virtues"), that " ambition visited him not, and con
tentment filled his hours;" still, in the whole range
of the more real votaries of this passion, no man stood
so distinguished by the king, or so high in the esti
mation of all. Indeed, for sense, honour, and vigour,
however careless of office, he yielded to none of the
nobles of the court, and was far above most of those
who actually administered the state. As governor
to the prince (afterwards George III.), he had to un-
E E 3

422 THE DAY-DREAMER.
dergo many disagreeable things, from the wish of the
family to disgust him, and place Lord Bute in his
room. This his attachment to the king made him
long bear, though his high sense of independence
resisted it, letting them, as he says, civilly understand
that he feared their anger no more than he had deserved
it. It, however, in time worked upon his patience
so much, that nothing but his duty to his sovereign,
who wished him to remain, kept him from resigning ;
and, from his character, we believe him when he says
he could have quitted his Royal Highness, and given
up all future hopes of court preferment, without the
least regret or uneasiness. When he applied for re
lief to the Duke of Newcastle, we have an amusing pic
ture of the difference between the men. " The duke,"
he says, " had not the least conception hoAV my situ
ation could be so very unpleasant, measuring, perhaps,
my feelings by his own, and thinking that, from long
attendance at court, with four years' practice in the
school of politics, I must have lost all sensibility."
Having obtained his dismissal by applying to the
king himself, the latter, with fair and just liberality,
perceiving that he had incurred the displeasure at
Leicester House from his attachment to him (the
king), ordered the duke to prepare a grant of a
pension of 2000?. a year for life, as a remuneration
for his services. This, no less, we suppose, to the
duke's astonishment than his uneasiness in place, he
refused, though he aftenvards accepted the reversion
of a Tellership of the Exchequer, as it would cause
no clamour, he says, like a pension, Avhile it would

LORD WALDEGRAVE. 423
not diminish the revenue. Previously to the reversion
falling in, he was made Warden of the Stannaries,
but which, when the Tellership fell, he resigned,
telling the king (no doubt again to the surprise of
the duke), that the place of Teller alone was as
much as any man was entitled to, and as much as he
either wanted or wished. But now came temptation,
not merely to his ambition, but to his sincere attach
ment to the king, who complained, and Avith rea
son, of the desertion of his servants, Avho had left
him without a friend. The place of prime minister
was offered him, and this time, from conscientious
insufficiency, declined. The distress, hoAvever, in
creased ; the king complained ; he besought, he im
plored, and at last succeeded ; and we cannot but love
this ingenuous man for the manner in which he relates
the event. He told the king that his insufficiency
would soon appear, and that any supposed influence
drawn from his known independence would vanish
in an instant; that prudence and diligence could
only be rated among the inferior qualities of a First
Lord of the Treasury ; and that a minister must ex
pect few followers, who had never cultivated political
friendships, and had always abhorred party violence.
But these and many other reasons, continues this
estimable and honest-minded noble, having not the
least effect on the king, Avho, he says, continued to
press me in the strongest and most affecting terms,
and " partly moved by his distress, partly by his
persuasion, or perhaps fired by some latent spark of
pride or ambition" (observe and respect the honesty
E E 4

424 THE DAY-DREAMER.
of the relation), " I told his Majesty I would yield up
my own judgment and obey his commands." The
result is pleasing, as it respects both the king and his
friend. " I had scarce uttered my consent, when his
Majesty took me by the hand, saying, with great
eagerness : ' I heartily thank you ; you have now
given your word, and cannot go back.' " Happily for
Lord Waldegrave, with his sober and independent
views of things, the projected arrangement did not
take effect; he once more felt himself free, without
disobliging the king ; and his excellent appreciation
of the duty and motives of a public man in seeking
office are too pointed not to be recorded. He had
received the garter as a mark of personal favour
from the master who really loved him, and to whom
lamenting, from the turn of affairs, that he could not
still be one of the ministry, he replied, that " though in
promising to accept office he had obeyed his Majesty's
command without any shoAV of uneasiness, he had no
conception how a reasonable man, not necessitous,
could have inducement to undergo the fatigue and
anxiety of a ministerial employment, unless he was
animated by a probable expectation of rendering his
king and country some important service, and of being
afterwards rewarded with that general approbation
Avhich such- services merited. But knoAving," said he,
" that the first was impracticable, and the latter un
attainable, I considered the place of minister as the
greatest misfortune that could befall me."
These are excellent and virtuous sentiments ; but
Iioav often reduced to practice by the worshippers of

LORD WALDEGRAVE. 425
power, the page of history scarcely informs us. At
any rate, his renunciation of power did not make Lord
Waldegrave renounce his merriment.. " On the day
they (the new Ministry) were all to kiss hands, I
went," says he, " to Kensington, to entertain myself
with the innocent, perhaps ill-natured, amusement of
examining the different countenances." He ends in a
more serious and philosophic strain. " I have now
finished my relation of all the material transactions
wherein I Avas concerned; and, though I can never
forget my obligations to the kindest of masters, I have
been too long behind the scenes, and had too near a
view of the machinery of a court, to envy any man
either the power of a minister, or the favour of a
prince." And with this we Avould finish our dreams of
ambition, agreeing with the maxim,
" 'Tis from high life high characters are drawn ;''
and hence most of the examples we have shown are
drawn from high nobles and statesmen.
" But all our praises why should lords engross ?
Rise, honest Muse ! and sing the man of Ross."
There is another set of beings, more humble indeed
but more tranquil, if not more amiable, who, from
their happiness being totally independent of this ex
citing passion, afford a lesson upon it which it cannot
but do us good to learn. This, hoAvever, must be the
subject of another dream.

426 THE DAY-DREAMER. No. X.
POPE.— WHITE OP SELBORNE.— WARTON.
" I was not much afear'd ; but, once or twice,
I was about to speak, and tell him plainly,
The selfsame sun that shines upon his court
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Shines on all alike." Shakspeare : Winter's Tale.
How delightful, after having been engaged in the
investigation of the great tumultuary passions, as
exemplified in the struggles of the world, and these
again painted by such writers as Clarendon, or Davila,
or De Thou, or De Retz ; how soothing to sit down
to the quieter pictures of humbler but philosophic
life, remote from all temptation, and gratified to con
tent with domestic or intellectual enjoyments ! How
bewitching the life of some poet, or pious divine, or
other lettered and retired man, possessing his own
mind, doing good in his station, conversing with his
God, or cultivating the muse ! The contrast is en
chanting. Various are the writers of this description ;
nor do I knoAV a greater relief to the mind, when
tossed with ambition or the pursuit of riches, parti
cularly if likely to fail, but even also if Avith a
prospect of success, than a collection of examples
amongst those poets, or moral writers in prose, Avhich
prove the charms of golden moderation :
" Auream quisquis mediocritatem
Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti
Sordibus tecti, caret invidenda
Sobrius aula."

pope. 427
The happiness to be found in a life of nature, in
nocence, and privacy, the independence of such a
life, that has no hankerings (those baleful enemies of
our peace, especially when directed to forbidden ob
jects), is beyond all that ever crowned a statesman,
soldier, or even a monarch's felicity.
With a few of these examples I will now refresh the
reader, which will pleasingly close the subject, after
the harassing anecdotes that have hitherto occupied
us. And in beginning with some of the sentiments
of Pope, let it not be thought that I quote him as a
specimen of the equanimity I have been describing,
though a great pretender to it. For, of all the genus
irritabile, he was the most irritable ; and, when he
professed that the attacks upon him were his amuse
ment, he writhed under them so much, that his self-
deception was detected by a mere youth.* But still
Pope was a poet of sweetness as Avell as vigour ; ap
proached to sincerity in his professed indifference to
courts ; and Avas, as far as he could be, a genuine lover
of independence. He was often, indeed, an actor, but
as often natural ; and, when the eyes of the world
Avere not upon him, his heart might be trusted. John
son has dealt fairly by him ; shoAvn up his many vanities
and pretensions, but done justice to many virtues;
among them, his prudence in owing every thing to
himself. Chesterfield, Avho drew him as accurately
as he did all others whom he painted, allows he was
the most irritable of his class ; but lays the blame, in
* Young Richardson.

428 THE DAY-DREAMER.
a great measure, on his poor, crazy, deformed body,
which, he says, was a mere Pandora's box, con
taining all the ills that ever afflicted humanity. On
the other hand, he compliments him on his charity
and filial piety, and gives him credit, after seeing his
mind in an undress for a week at a time, for being
both agreeable and instructive. We can, therefore,
easily believe that such a man, who was always in
undress with his friend the Bishop of Rochester, was
sincere and natural when he wrote thus to him on his
(Pope's) indisposition to public life. " If I could
bring myself to fancy what I think you do but fancy,
that I have any talents for active life, I want health
for it ; and besides, it is a real truth, I have less in
clination, if possible, than ability. Contemplative
life is not only my scene, but my habit. I began my
life where most people end theirs, with a disrelish of all
that the world calls ambition. I don't know Avhy it is
called so, for it always seemed to me rather stooping
than climbing. In my politics, I think no farther than
Iioav to preserve the peace of my life- in any govern
ment under Avhich I live ; nor, in my religion, than to
preserve the peace of my conscience in any church
with which I communicate. If I Avas born under an
absolute prince, I would be a quiet subject."* These
are the sentiments of a man who desired not poAver,
at least political power, to make him happy. If he
had many drawbacks while pursuing the poAver he
did seek, namely that to be derived from poetical
fame, the fault Avas his own, for not showing the same
* To Atterbury, 20th Nov. 1717.

POPE.

429

moderation in his literary career, as he certainly did
in respect to courts and ministers. As to these, Ave
find him as sincere as powerful in what he says of
one of the greatest of them, in his privacy :
" Seen him I have ; but in his happier hour
Of social pleasure, ill exchang'd for power :
Seen him uncumber'd with the venal tribe,
Smile without art, and win without a bribe."
Then, as to the felicity of middle life, take Avhat he
says of his father :
" Born to no pride, inheriting no strife,
Nor marrying discord in a noble wife ;
Stranger to civil and religious rage,
The good man walk'd innoxious through his age.
No courts he saw, no suits would ever try,
Nor dar'd an oath, nor hazarded a lie.
Unlearn'd, he knew no schoolman's subtle art,
No language but the language of the heart.
His life, though long, to sickness past unknown ;
His death was instant, and without a groan.
Oh ! grant me thus to live, and thus to die,
Who sprang from kings shall know less joy than I." *
In this we may believe him, as well as in the
prose account of himself, when telling his friend
Blount, on the death of the queen, that he was moved
by the common curiosity of mankind, who leave their
own business to be looking after other men's. " But
I thank God," he says, " that, as to myself, I am below
all the accidents of state changes by my circumstances,,
and above them by my philosophy. Common charity
of man to man, and universal goodwill to all, are the
points I have most at heart ; and I am sure these are
not to be broken for the sake of any governors or
* Prol. to the Satire.

430 THE DAY-DREAMER.
government." These were the sentiments of his adult
age. The following is a still more pleasing picture of
earlier years, of which the freshness delights us in
every line. It is his boyhood he is talking of. " When
I had done Avith my priests, I took to reading by my
self. This I did Avithout any design but of pleasing
myself; I followed every where, as my fancy led me,
and was like a boy gathering flowers in the fields and
woods, just as they fall in his way. These five or
six years I still look upon as the happiest part of my
life."* This natural pleasure, so much excelling all
that the most successful ambition can give, seems to
have been fully shared by a great friend of his, whose
stormy life and overbearing mind would not have
taught us to expect it. Writing of his former de
lights, in an autumnal morning, Bishop Warburton
says to his friend Hurd : " But I now enjoy little of
this, compared to what I formerly had, when I used,
with a book in my hand, to traverse the delightful
lawns and hedgerows round about Newark, the un
thinking place of my nativity." f
Pope's friend, Blount, who seems to have resembled
him in parts of his mind, consoles both him and him
self for being Papists, as ambition is a vice which their
disabilities tend to mortify. In another letter he says :
" It is many years since I fell in love with the cha
racter of Pomponius Atticus, and have contrived
hitherto to be, like him, of no party, but to be a faithful
friend to some of both ; and I live in a certain peace
of mind by it, which, I am persuaded, brings a man
* Spencer. y Kurd's Life of Warburton.

WHITE OF SELBORNE. 431
more content than all the perquisites of wild am
bition." What Ave have said, however, of Pope ap
plies to his sentiments rather than his practice, since,
Avith all his independence of the rich and great, and
all his honesty of purpose, he Avas, from irritation,
too dependent upon opinions he affected to despise to
be happy. I would, therefore, rather turn to the life of
another far less celebrated, but happier man (in fact,
one who was scarcely known beyond his village), but
who seems to have realised all the dreams indulged,
oftener without than with success, by the lovers of re
tirement. Persons who are unacquainted with him, or
his charming Avork, may perhaps wonder when I name
the author of the " Natural History of Selborne."
And who was he ? and where, and what, is Sel
borne ? may be asked by some supercilious millionaire,
or aristocratic peer, or busy commoner, exalted, but
not yet sated, Avith the applause of listening senates,
or popular factions ; and he may feel like Gyges, as
Cowley liked to tell the story, who exclaimed, when
the oracle told him a happier man than himself was
Aglaus, a man unknown to fame, though known and
loved by the Gods : — " But Gyges cried,
In a proud rage, Who can that Aglaus be ?
We've heard as yet of no such king as he."
And so, perhaps, some excited, ardent son of am
bition, whom nothing will content, or Avho, for a time
thinks nothing will content him but
" To read his history in a nation's eyes,"
may in like manner express his wonder.

432 THE DAY-DREAMER.
For these ardent labourers for the public, Avhen
guided by reason and supported by virtue, we have
the most unfeigned and grateful respect ; but mean
time we will indulge ourselves in pursuing the, at
least, quieter account of the historian of Selborne.
First, then, Selborne is a village in Hampshire,
bordering on Sussex, obscure as to name, but teeming
Avith food for the observer and admirer of nature, the
lover of gardens, and the Avorshipper of Him who
created their beauty.
Within this happy retreat dwelt Gilbert White. He
was a clergyman, a scholar, and a pious man ; but what
perhaps, after what has been said, the reader may not
expect, he was also a man of fortune, a gentleman, and
a sportsman. He was educated under the father of
the Wartons, and afterwards at Oriel College, Oxford.
From education, therefore, or position in society, there
Avas no reason why he should have shunned a career in
public life, but the feeling that he could be happier
in a private one. He seems, indeed, from his love of
nature in the retired, though by no means solitary,
life which he led, as if far more fitted, than he who
wrote them, to be the author of those bewitching lines
which make us, while reading, forget all but his
genius in the character of their composer :
" There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture in the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar.
I love not man the less, but nature more." *

* Childe Harold, canto iv.

WHITE OF SELBORNE. 433
But the simplicity of this excellent person's life has
been summed up by his biographer with such corre
sponding simplicity of style, that the reader will
probably thank me for copying it literally without
further comment.
" Being of an unambitious temper, and strongly
attached to the charms of rural scenery, he early
fixed his residence in his native village, where he
spent the greater part of his time in literary occu
pations, and especially in the study of nature. This,
he followed with patient assiduity, and a mind ever
open to the lessons of piety and benevolence, which
such a study is so well calculated to afford. Though
several occasions offered of settling on a college living,
he could never persuade himself to quit the beloved
spot, which was, indeed, a peculiarly happy situation
for an observer. He was much esteemed by a select
society of worthy and intellectual friends, to whom he
paid occasional visits. Thus his days passed, tranquil
and serene, with scarcely any other vicissitudes than
those of the seasons, till they closed at a mature age,
on June 26th, 1793."
To this I will only add the delight he took in the
occupations he had traced out for himself in the
natural history of this retired and almost unknown
village ;¦ its soil and produce ; its echoes, antiquities,
and superstitions (always most powerful in secluded
domiciles) ; its aptitude for botanical pursuits ; but
particularly the account of its animals, beast, bird,
insect, or reptile, their instincts and habits ; and all
this in a manner and language so plain and sincere,
VOL. IL E F

434 THE DAY-DREAMER.
and ending in conclusions so satisfactory both to the
heart and understanding, that no one can read them
without feeling happier and better, from being in
better humour with all his kind. In a Avord, he
seems eminently to have made good an observation
of Zimmerman upon the advantages frequently ex
perienced, even by exiles, in solitude. "Instead of
the world," says he, " from which they are banished,
they form in the tranquillity of retirement a new world
for themselves ; forget the fictitious pleasures which
they followed in the zenith of greatness ; habi
tuate their minds to others of a nobler kind ; and
invent a variety of innocent felicities which are only
thought of at a distance from society." * This, as Avell
as the purity of its sentiment and style, has made the
"Natural History of Selborne," spite of its unpresum-
ing title, a classic in the language, pleasing all tastes
and characters, but especially those who, jaded with
the turmoils of ambition or the anxieties of making
money, or, what is worst of all, who, having worn
out their hearts in the reckless pursuit of artificial
pleasure, gasp for something natural to make them
really happy.
And yet, to a common or superficial observer, there
is nothing in Selborne particularly remarkable; no
thing that does not seem to be met with in almost
every village in England. The interest, therefore,
that has been shed over its history, is owing entirely
to the Avriter ; proving in this, how much things
* Solitude, i. 28.

WHITE OF SELBORNE. 435
apparently of no import, may be elevated into notice,
and even dignity, by a thinking, well stored, and re
ligious mind. No wonder the hermit was happy.
His readers, therefore, while they are pleased at being
restored to nature and heartfelt enjoyment, cannot
but thank this unambitious and amiable author for
being their physician.
In conclusion, let the reader, while reading themr
compare his scientific inquiries, his unaffected sim
plicity and calm mental pleasures, with the odious
hypocrisy and insolence of Swift, or the equally hypo
critical pretensions of Bolingbroke, and say which of
them he would choose to resemble.
Since writing the above, I have met with a passage^
in Jesse's " Country Life," conveying so pleasing and;
deserved a tribute to the memory of Gilbert, that I
eannot help transcribing it. " Happy man ! thought
I ; in this sequestered spot, undisturbed by ambition
or the tumults of the world, you passed your life
contributing to the happiness of the poor, and the
recreations of the young. Your kindly feelings were
rewarded by the love of those around you, who seem
to have joined in your favourite and innocent pursuits
for the mere pleasure of adding to your gratification.
The weary labourer watched for the arrival of your
favourite bird, while the little urchins hastened to
you with the tidings of a nest among the fern, or
brought some offering of Nature's creation. Here, in
the shades of Selborne, ' so lovely and so sweet,'
you wrote those charming volumes which have de
lighted thousands, and will, continue to delight thou-
ff 2

436 THE DAY-DREAMER.
sands yet unborn. Who Avould not envy such a
life?"* Mr. Jesse of course means, who of those whose
ambition is ill regulated ?
In the above account wo mentioned Warton, the
father of the two pleasing authors of that name, as
having had Mr. White under his tuition. Nor can
I help thinking that there was a community of genius
and temper between them ; and that, if Warton did
not inspire the historian of Selborne with that love of
retired habits and studies Avhich possessed him, he
nursed and cherished it, so as to contribute to bring
it to perfection. At least I gather his congenial taste,
and disposition for privacy, though by no means in
sensible to elegant grandeur, from the following
sonnet on returning home after a visit to Windsor ;
a poetical effusion quite equal, I think, to any of
his sons': " From beauteous Windsor's high and storied halls,
Where Edward's chiefs start from the glowing walls,
To my low cot, from iv'ry beds of state,
Pleas'd I return, unenvious of the great, y
So the bee ranges o'er the varied scenes
Of corn, of heaths, of fallows, and of greens;
Pervades the thicket, soars above the hill,
Or murmurs to the meadow's murm'ring rill.
Now haunts old hallow'd oaks' deserted cells,
Now seeks the low vale lily's silver bells ;
Sips the warm fragrance of the greenhouse bow'rs,
And tastes the myrtle and the citron flow'rs :

* P. 192.
y Observe, he is only unenvious. He does not call them scoundrels,
like Swift ; or think it meanness to wish to be like them, like Cowley.

WARTON. 437
' At length, returning to the wonted comb,
Prefers to all his little straw-built home."
This last line we particularly recommend to the
victims of disappointed ambition, the Hollands and
SAvifts we have been discussing ; victims, however,
only because they kneAV not themselves when they
started in the race. With such poetic powers we are
not surprised that the author was the parent of tAvo
such sons as divided his mantle between them. Nor
will it, I think, be umvelcome, if, being on the very
same subject, we by way of comparison record the
concern and consolation of his son Thomas, on quit
ting the classic riches of Wilton House, and returning
to what he calls his own humble cell. Of the poetry
the reader must judge for himself. I confess my pre
ference, on account of its greater simplicity, of the
sonnet of the father.
" From Pembroke's princely dome, where mimic art
Decks with a magic hand the dazzling bow'rs,
Its living hues where the warm pencil pours,
And breathing forms from the rude marble start,
How to life's humbler scene can I depart,
My breast all glowing from those gorgeous towr's ?
In my low cell how cheat the sullen hours ?
Vain the complaint ; for Fancy can impart
(To fate superior, and to fortune's doom)
Whate'er adorns the stately, storied hall ;
She, 'mid the dungeon's solitary gloom,
Can dress the Graces in their Attic pall ;
Bid the green landscape's vernal beauty bloom,
And in bright trophies clothe the twilight wall."
Were this a dream of poetry, instead of ambition,
it were easy to point out the reasons which lead to a
preference of the father's sonnet to the son's^ draAvn
FT 3

438 THE DAY-DREAMER.
from its being less artificial, less what may be called
manufactured, and more from the heart. Neither is
the versification of the junior and more practised poet
so correct as his father's ; neither is it so original,
being, in fact, rather an imitation of his, than stand
ing on its own basis ; and the last line is particularly
feeble in comparison with the close of the other. But,
exclusive of this, the moral, that is, the consolation for
an humbler lot, is not so good ; for fancy, the equiva
lent in the one, is but a doubtful possession ; and, be
sides, is not a gift to every one ; whereas the spirit of
contentedness, which
" Prefers to all his little straw-built home,"
not only implies more comfort as well as resig
nation, but is in every one's power that pleases.
Indeed, I have always thought there was more moral
wisdom, because more rational contentedness, in this
one little line, than a whole volume of the deepest
research. Both sonnets, however, are pleasing ; both consoling
to disappointed ambition ; and, as such, I present them
to the reader. With this, though much might be
added, Avere it desired or desirable, I would bid adieu
to the subject, which, though interesting to all ranks,
may already have been thought too long; but that a
passage from a journal of our OAvn times seems so ap
propriate to what we have been considering, that we
think we cannot close it better than by transcribing
it. In reviewing the Rt. Honourable Peregrine Cour-
tenay's " Life of Sir W. Temple," the " Edinburgh Re-

WARTON. 43 y
view" with evident complacency adverts to a discovery
the author has made, of " the superiority of literature
to politics for developing the kindlier feelings, and
conducing to an agreeable life." This prompts the
following energetic tribute to the superiority of the
pleasures of private over those of public occupations,
and in so far falls in Avith the tenor of this last part
of our lucubration. "We are truly glad that Mr. Cour-
tenay is so well satisfied Avith his new employment, and
we heartily congratulate him on having been driven by
events to make an exchange, which, advantageous as
it is, few people make while they can avoid it. He
has little reason, in our opinion, to envy any of those
who are still engaged in a pursuit from which, at most,
they can only expect that, by relinquishing liberal
studies and social pleasures, by passing nights with
out sleep, and summers Avithout one glimpse of the
beauty of nature, they may attain that laborious, that
invidious, that closely watched slavery which is
mocked with the name of power."*
* Edinburgh Review, 1838, vol.lxviii. p. 114.

r r 4

440 THE DAY-DREAMER.

No. XL
MORDAUNT :
OR THE GARDEN PICTURE OF AN ELEGANT MIND, EQUAL TO HIGH EMPLOYMENT,
BUT FREE FROM AMBITION, AND PREFERRING PRIVACY.

" When Epicurus to the world had taught
That pleasure was the chiefest good,
And was, perhaps, i' the right, if rightly understood ;
His life he to his doctrine brought,
And in a garden's shade that sov'reign pleasure sought." Cowley.
Though in my last dream I seemed to take my leave
of the general subject of ambition, closing with the
account of that which is rational and happy ; yet, in
revolving the matter, I find it escaped me to notice
the case of a man, a friend of my own, fitted by
abilities and powers for the business of the world,
and already advancing to its honours, yet from too
much sensibility and fineness of mind renouncing
advantages already achieved, and all the briUiancy of ,
prospective success. In fact, a man who, after earning
and when on the eve of reaping its rewards, was pleased,
like Warton's bee, to return to " the little straw-built
home," and throw ambition behind him. I, therefore,
advert to this with a satisfaction which, from the plea
surable topics it Avill afford, I hope will not be un
welcome to the reader, particularly as in the course
of it, though not immediately, Ave shall have much to
say of the seducing subject of gardens and a country

MOKDAUNT. 441
life. Indeed, the philosophy, if I may so call it, of a
garden, is so allied to the topics of our last dream, and
contributes so much to the superiority of moderate
wishes over eager struggles in the chances of procur
ing happiness, that it seems but pursuing the track
we have begun to make it the subject of our next
lucubrations. Bacon, Avho understood a garden, as he did every
thing else, with a wisdom that was consummate,
observes that God Almighty first planted it, and that
it is the purest of human pleasures, as well as the
greatest refreshment to human spirits. How much,
how very much is said in those few words ; and how
do we agree with him! Moreover, we incline to think,
with the person who gives his name to this essay, that
whoever takes a real delight in his garden can never
be a wicked man. If we are asked the reason, it is
because our Maker, Ruler, and Judge seems so close
to us, so visibly present in all its changes, operations,
and concerns, that we dare not swerve from innocence
if we would. In this, the love of a garden has the
advantage of music, which, although it soothes, yet
also at the same time can melt to licentiousness, or
excite passions even the most ferocious. Hence a man
who is not without music in his soul may be fit for
" treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; " for observe, the
master, in the famous passage wherein this sentiment
appears, in saying that he who has it not is fit for these
cruelties, does not say that he who has it may not be
fit for them also. Hence many a profligate in morals
(as is proved nightly by the operas in all the capitals

442 THE DAY-DREAMER.
of Europe), many a tyrant and even murderer, may
be a devotee of music, and yet persist in the perpe
tration of crime. It is not so with gardening, for
which we have already given the reason, that its
pleasure must be founded in innocence, and the con
sciousness that it is the work of the Creator himself.
His operations we seem to see as visibly before our
eyes, as Ave feel its results ; whereas, in the production
of the finest harmony of sounds, we seem only to feel
the effort of man.
The innocence, therefore, of our sensations, which
is the invariable accompaniment of the enjoyment of
a garden, is its first and greatest advantage. All its
other enjoyments (and they are many) spring from
taste and sense, but these are mental, and must have
virtue and religious thankfulness for their founda
tion. This characteristic of the art has been noticed by
all the best writers upon the subject. Thus the poet
we have so often quoted says, in the same tone of
reasoning, after observing upon the universal poA\rer
of the Creator,
" But well he knew what place would best agree
With innocence, and with felicity ;
And we elsewhere may seek for them in vain ;
God the first garden made, and the first city Cain." *
So also a very sweet French poet, singing of gardens,
designates his subject as
" L'art innocent et doux, que celebrent mes vers,
Remonte aux premiers jours de l'antique univers."f
* Cowley, The Garden. f De Lisle, chant i.

MORDAUNT. 443
The same opinion is expressed by other considerable
names, who have delighted us with their pleasing
mention of this pleasing taste. Virgil among the
ancients, who tells you that the cultivator of the
ground " regum sequabat opes animis," equalled the
wealth of kings in the content and freedom of his
mind. Sir William Temple withdrew from the great
est employments, to find his greatest happiness in the
ease of his garden; and Cowley, Evelyn, Addison,
Hervey and Cowper, Pope and Shenstone, are ahvays
most eloquent and attractive when indulging most
in its praises. With regard to Cowley, I cannot re
frain from inserting his picture of Diocletian (drawn
with unction) refusing, after abdicating, to resume
his throne, and the reasons for it.
" Methinks I see great Diocletian walk
In the Salonian garden's noble shade,
Which by his own imperial hands was made ;
I see him smile, methinks, as he does talk
With the ambassadors, who come in vain
To entice him to his throne again.
If I, my friends, said he, should to you show
All the delights which in these gardens grow,
'Tis likelier much that you should with me stay,
Than 'tis that you should carry me away.
And trust me not, my friends, if ev'ry day
I walk not here with more delight
Than ever after the most happy fight
In triumph to the Capitol I rode,
To thank the gods, and to be thought myself almost a god."*
This at once contains the pith of what I would im
press, of the happy and soothing effects of this de
lightful occupation, which never failed him whose
mind (for mind has far more to do with its pleasures
* Cowley, The Garden.

444 THE DAY-DREAMER.
than body) was prepared for it by habits of contem
plation of the Author of nature, and feelings of gra
titude for his bounty. These notions, which some
perhaps may think too theoretical, have all lately been
practically and pleasingly confirmed to me in a visit
which I have just been making to Mr. Mordaunt,
Avho, though for some time retired from the eye of the
Avorld, was formerly much before it, and, from the
strong bent of a determined nature in whatever he
undertakes, is no common character. He was bred
to the bar, for which, in many respects, he was emi
nently qualified, having a very logical mind and a
very eloquent tongue, and moreover, from his sense
that it was seriously demanded of him, a most un
tiring perseverance. This was still more promoted
by the necessity of seeking a diversion from one of the
greatest misfortunes that can befall a sensible heart,
the loss, by death, of a lovely and amiable person to
whom he Avas betrothed. His exertions, therefore,
were only heightened by this blow. Every body
thought him rising to eminence, and prognosticated
farther success. He was a favourite in society, mixed
not a little in politics, and parliamentary visions
began to open before him, when of a sudden the suc
cession to an estate of a very few hundreds a year,
and an old religious house and garden which had
long been in his family, altered the Avhole state of
things, though not his natural disposition. For,
while in the world, he was any thing but worldly,
and ambition had not even yet got hold of him. He
had embraced his profession from necessity rather

MORDAUNT. 445
than choice ; and was, in temper and taste, more like
the historian of Selborne, than an Erskine or a Scott,
In the very pretty poem of one little known as a
poet, though immortalised as a commentator on law,
the " Farewell to his Muse," by Sir William Black-
stone, my friend agreed far better with the lament at
separating from Parnassus, than the welcome given
to Westminster Hall :
" Shakspeare no more thy sylvan son,
Nor all the art of Addison,
Pope's heav'n-strung lyre, nor Waller's ease,
Nor Milton's mighty self, must please.
Then welcome business, welcome strife,
Welcome the cares, the thorns of life,
The visage wan, the purblind sight,
The toil by day, the lamp at night,
The tedious forms, the solemn prate,
The pert dispute, the dull debate,
The drowsy bench, the babbling hall,
For thee, fair Justice, welcome all ! "
Mordaunt certainly also met with disgusts which
he was too sensitive not frequently to feel, and the
chief of Avhich arose from the pert dispute noticed
above. This often produced altercations which he
could little bear, and once a quarrel of a serious kind.
His opponent, who had nothing to recommend him
but a most dauntless effrontery, had been so exposed
by the acumen of Mordaunt, that, unable to bear it,
he in his anger insinuated that he had obtained a
piece, of professional preferment, Avhich he had just
received, by unworthy means. Mordaunt thundered
in reply; and, being universally esteemed, his defence
not only acquitted him at once of the imputation, but
so lowered the reputation of his antagonist, that it

446 THE DAY-DREAMER.
even affected his practice, which from that time fell
off to his great detriment. Strange as it may appear,
this operated essentially upon Mordaunt's too morbid
delicacy, and completed a disgust which the profes
sional quarrels and rivalries he had too often witnessed
had begun to create, so that he Avas prepared for the
first opportunity that offered to quit a life which had
never been to his taste. Nor did politics offer him
any consolation. For, though he had conciliated many
powerful friends, he had witnessed, Avith still more
pain, the gross malignity of party, exhibited in such
virulent libels and perversions of truth, that he
thought no man of feeling, no one whose heart was
not callous to abuse, or did not itself delight in it,
could possibly be at ease in snch a pursuit.
It must be owned that, however able my friend
was from the endowments of his mind, with this
diseased sensibility he was totally unfitted for the
life he had chosen, and from which, in fact, he had
long sighed to be delivered, when the death of his
uncle, and the succession I have mentioned, determined
him at once. He therefore, multo lubens, quitted
what necessity (which to him was duty) had alone
made him undertake, and continue so long. Many
of his friends, and among them I for one, opposed
this design. For though, if ever I had any, I had
long parted with worldly ambition myself, I enter
tained it for my friends, and particularly for him,
who had so many of the qualifications for success,
though perhaps not the most necessary one, the

MORDAUNT. 447
poAver to splash with indifference through thick and
thin. But his resolution was taken. He said he
knew himself; and, instead of answering all my fine
reasons, which, he said, applied to others, not him, he
read to me with seemingly peculiar pleasure, some of
those delicious passages in Horace and Yirgil which
made him and Sir William Temple such amiable
moral philosophers, and wound up with the sentiment
of Sir William : " A man ought to choose his course
of life rather by his own humour and temper, than
by common accidents, or the advice of friends."
•Silenced by these arguments and authorities, I had
nothing farther to allege against my friend's determi
nation, except the scantiness of the income on Avhich
he was prepared to retire. This, after the large ex
pense at which he had lived, and having saved nothing
hitherto from his professional income, I thought would
make him repent ; but this fortune, such as it was,
and although, as I have intimated, not above a few
hundreds a year, he said, with his usual decision, he
would force to supply him with all he wanted. " At
any rate," continued he, " it is better than Swift's
summum bonum; for while the six hundred pounds a
year he wished for, the house to lodge a friend, and
the river, and the wood, are all mine, they are also
what he in vain wished his to be when he wrote
' I can't but think 't would sound more clever,
To me and to my heirs for ever.'
But," added poor Mordaunt with a sigh, " you will also

448 THE DAY-DREAMER.
consider that I am now left alone in the world, with
no one to provide for but myself; and, from re»
membrance of that dear person who has been torn
from me, little likely to form any other engagement."
With these words he pressed my hand, and leaping
into the carriage that waited for him, in a few mo*
ments disappeared.

THE RETREAT.

449

No. XII.
THE RETREAT.
" This is some priory ; — In, or we are spoil'd."
Shakspeare : Com. of Errors.
We have said that Mordaunt's retreat was the re
mains of an old religious house. It was called Saint
Julian's, and situated in the Vale of Llangollen, in
North Wales, whose romantic character is too well
known to need description. Here he had been born,
and during the great part of his early youth, at least
in the vacations from school or college, he had passed
much of his time with his uncle, and, from various
pleasing reminiscences of study and sport, as well as
of some of the neighbouring inhabitants, although it
was many years since he had visited it from his
uncle having removed to town, he had always thought
of it with unabated interest. My knowledge of this
made me the more impatiently wait the performance
of a promise he had given, to inform me faithfully
of all the impressions made upon him by this im
portant change. Yet, I confess, my expectation was
not sanguine ; and, in truth, I thought that, like many
others of the same nature, the plan Avould be a failure.
I had the fate of Cowley himself before my eyes ; and,
though not so real, yet of those fully as instructive.
VOL. II. G G

450 THE DAY-DREAMER.
personages, Euphanor* and Columellaf, all of whom
had joyfully left busy society for what they expected
would be happy hermitages, but Avhich proved any
thing but a refuge from the evils which they imagined
had tormented them.
It was full a month before his expected communi
cation came ; and though the interest which it ex
pressed argued tolerably for his success in his ex
periment, yet, as it was only the commencement of
it, allowing for the effects of a new pursuit, I felt
doubtful what to decide, and I therefore think it best
to let the reader judge for himself.
* See an admirable paper on the disappointments of retirement,
No. 37. in the " Mirror," by Mr. Craig.
f Or the "Distressed Anchorite;" the clever and interesting old
novel of the Rev. Richard Graves.

THE LETTER.

451

No. XIII.
THE LETTER OF MORDAUNT.
" Hail, old patrician trees ! so great and good !
Hail, ye plebeian underwood !
AVhere the poetic birds rejoice,
And, for their quiet nests and plenteous food,
Pay with their grateful voice." Cowlbt.
. . " Although, spite of the deference which was
prompted by your arguments, I did not yield to their
efficacy, I assure you they occupied me during the
whole of my long and solitary journey. Let me tell
you, too, you had no mean ally in the gloomy weather
that accompanied me all the way. Had there been
sun, I should perhaps not have attended with half the
respect I did to your representations. Nor was my
arrival at St. Julian's at aU more propitious. For
though it was twenty years since I had been in the
neighbourhood, yet knowing the way of old, I pro
ceeded on a hired horse from Llangollen, to recon
noitre my new domain, totally uncertain of its state,
and how far it would assist me in my vision of
retreat. " When I arrived, I found the house the palace of
silence, and much dismantled on the outside, though
there seemed a promise of a fair habitation within ; and
had not the weather enlisted, as I said, on your side,
G G 2

452 THE DAY-DREAMER.
I might have felt gayer than I own I did. In fact, it
is that sort of rambling old house Avhich shocks a
modern architect ; nor do I say, if I were to build a
new one, I would exactly copy such a model, built
when labour and materials were cheap. But there is
much independence and convenience in these fabrics
which new ones want. The Priory, I remembered,
had at least seven or eight staircases (some of them
taking you to single rooms), and long passages that led
to nothing ; yet I never thought the indoor space too
large, and I particularly enjoyed a gallery (if its nar-
roAvness deserved so dignified a name), for the ample
space its length gave me for walking exercise, so
necessary to the hard student I then was, in the in
tervals of reading or meditation. Immense casements
also suited my taste for domestic objects, for they
all looked upon a sunny orchard, which, Avhen in
bloom, as I expected it now to be, was superb. It
was surrounded by a crenated wall of old stone, so
much disjointed with age, that the ivy alone, with
which it Avas covered, kept it from falling. But what
had delighted me most, young as I was, in the room
I inhabited, was to sit at its windoAV in reverie, watch
ing a flock of pigeons, or tame doves, which coursed
gaily, in a thousand rings, round the ancient dovecote
that rose at a distance ; and beyond, near enough to
delight one who, like myself, loved their hoarse music,
and too far off to be in the least annoying, there lay
scattered a rookery as old as the Conquest. These
sights and sounds, I recollected, had turned the room
into a palace of dreams, Avhich I never failed to enjoy,

THE LETTEK.

453

and made me a moral and natural philosopher, though
a lazy one, for I never stirred from my armchair.
Hoav often had I, Avhen looking from that sunny
window upon the outdoor scene, though then but
tAventy years old, and proprietor only in expectancy,
exclaimed, Avith Alexander Selkirk,
' I am monarch of all I survey ; '
Or, with that other Alexander, Iden,
' This small inheritance my father left me
Contenteth me, and 's worth a monarchy.'
Has the world, for being known, altered these senti
ments ? You know the answer.
" Well, though I arrived in the rain, my heart beat
high Avith these reminiscences ; yet I own the wet
morning, and the moaning of the Avind, rendered still
more melancholy by the total abandonment which ap
peared, at least without, gave me a sort of gloom Avhich
I did not like. It took me full a quarter of an hour to
make myself heard, when there appeared an old menial,
Avho, to my London eyes, by no means made the locale
of Avhich she Avas the guardian appear more comfort
able. She unlocked the gates of a courtyard, Avhich
I had known gay and peopled, but which was now
empty and overrun with docks and nettles; and
though there was a large dog-kennel, where once
dwelt a noble and great favourite of mine, the chain
alone remained, with no animal attached to it. It is re
markable how much these circumstances touched me ;
and you may be sure I inquired of my Sibyl after my
four-footed friend, and found he had died the year my
uncle left the place ; and, as the old lady added, ' it was
G G 3

454 THE DAY-DREAMER.
thought by all the folk he died of ankering after his
master, for he never looked up after.' What trifles
often influence our feelings ! Do you know that this,
and the interest she seemed to take in this good brute,
suddenly changed her in my eyes, so that from think
ing her a harridan, I almost thought her comely.
" At length I followed the dame into the house,
before which movement, had not my design been long
pondered, or had I been ignorant of the comforts of
the place when in my youth I so delighted in it, I
perhaps might have returned immediately, and given
you the triumph of converting me. But I had not
resolved so rashly. Rain and wind, I felt, prevailed
among inhabited as well as uninhabited houses ; and
the gardens of KeAV or Richmond, if abandoned, might
not excel St. Julian's left without its master.
" So I took courage to encounter all the disadvan
tages of my new possession, whatever they might be,
and, as I advanced into the house, I was gradually
and agreeably consoled. The hall, which had been
the refectory of the friars, though perhaps too large
for my fortune, was not so for my taste, especially
when I recollected the blazing of its fire in winter, and
the sort of gymnasium it afforded to my childhood both
in winter and summer, when its whole space was left to
my will and pleasure by my indulgent uncle. Nor
was my pleasure lessened by seeing my grandfather's
arms, in almost original freshness, hung up over the
fireplace, according to the good old custom, at the
close of a shrievalty in the county.
" I presently got familiar Avith a number of old

THE LETTER.

455

acquaintances in the different rooms; pictures and
pieces of furniture, which, to do my good housekeeper
justice, were kept in clean order; and, though the
reverse of modern taste as to lightness and conve
nience, made up for it in respectability and the plea
sure of old remembrances. This pleasure increased
as I mounted the principal staircase to explore the
room and casement I have described ; and. I Avas
pleased to find my old oak chair, and its crimson
cushion of Genoa velvet, exactly in the same place
and condition as when I left them to seek advance
ment and (as I was told) happiness in Lincoln's Inn.
In truth, they seemed to greet me as old friends,
who were so glad of my return, that, they forgave my
having abandoned them. The casement let in the
same prospect which had so charmed me in my
youth ; and the same birds, as I thought, were still
circling in airy mazes round the orchard. At this
window, therefore (could I help it ?), I became a fixture
for many minutes, and rambled back through many a
year, forgetting all that had intervened of business
and struggle since then, and wholly unconscious of
the noiseless foot of time. But the rain had now
quite ceased, the sun had succeeded, and the garden
looked so inviting, that I hurried out of doors, and
found pleasures of the same sort fully equal to those
within. A long green walk was still as smooth and
shaven, and as inviting to contemplation, as when I
used to pace it, after losing myself in Clarendon, and
blessing myself that I did not live amid the horrors
of civil war. The garden, however, I must reserve
G G 4

456 THE DAY-DREAMER.
for another letter, though I cannot help telling you in
this, my pleasure in renewing my acquaintance with
another old friend, in the shape of an antiquated sun
dial, as old as the Priory itself, and which, in child
hood, I thought a conjurer for telling us what it was
o'clock. A gate near this let me into a meadow,
bounded by that sudden mountain scenery which so
beautifully characterises this lovely valley ; and on one
of the heights, the Avell-known house of Lord W. seemed
to beckon me as of old to visit it. The evening,
therefore, being still before me, I resolved to climb up
to it once more, in order to enjoy the grand view,
which I knew it would give me, of my native land.
Nor was I the less tempted from remembering it was
famous for the resort of nightingales, to whose notes
I had long been a stranger. My only wonder was
that Lord W. never visited it himself. But this sub
sided Avhen I recollected that Lord W. was never
happy any where but in Parliament. HoAvever, my
visit did not disappoint me ; for, though the house and
grounds showed all the signs of uninhabitancy, not
only did I enjoy the glorious view of mountain and
valley, so exciting in Welsh scenery, but the ramage
I sought seemed more varied and sweeter than ever.
This, together with the empty halls, brought to
mind some lines of Coleridge, which you will think
appropriate : ' I know a grove
Of large extent, hard by a castle huge,
Which the great lord inhabits not ; and so
This grove is wild with tangling underwood,
And the trim walks are broken up, and grass,

THE LETTER. 4o7
Thin grass, and kingcups grow within the paths.
But never in one place I knew
So many nightingales ; and far and near,
In wood and thicket, over the dusky grove,
They answer, and provoke each other's song
With skirmish and capricious passagings,
And murmurs musical, and swift jug, jug,
And one low piping sound more sweet than all.'
" This made my little excursion delicious, and the
consequence of all this imagery, both of the past and
present, I must consider as happy ; for all doubt as
to my plan, had there been any, was now dispelled ;
my resolution was confirmed. But I will not go on,
though I have still much to say. Meantime I have
given you enough for a dozen dreams ; so adieu."
" P.S. Upon second thoughts I will write no more ;
for if I satisfy your curiosity to the full, I know your
indolence so well, that you will never perform your
promise of coming to see me. If you wish, therefore,
to know more, put yourself into the Ellesmere coach,
and in a few miles more you may find the lay prior
of St. Juhan's in the midst of his glory, the glory of
being able to do what he pleases with himself and his
time."

458 THE DAY-DREAMER.

No. XIY.
THE PRIORY.
" This sacred shade and solitude, what is it ?
'Tis the felt presence of the Deity.
Few are the faults we flatter when alone."
Young.
" Ah ! yet, ere I descend into the grave,
May I a small house and large garden have." Cowley.
I am almost ashamed to proceed with my story of
Mordaunt ; for, except to give me commissions for
what he Avanted in London, he kept his word in not
writing to me; and the indolence to which he adverted
on my part grew to such a height by indulgence, that
it Avas full five years before I mustered up exertion
enough to visit St. Julian's. As to the subject of his
flight from London, we both seemed to have forgotten
it. At last a letter arrived, so full of kindness, and at
the same time of reproach for not performing my pro
mise, that it made my blood tingle, so that, conscience-
struck, I travelled all night and all day till I got to
Llangollen. Thence I proceeded with a guide to
St. Julian's, where I arrived at not quite three hours
and a half post meridiem. What makes me thus par
ticular was the situation in which I found my friend.
A fresh-coloured, active, middle-aged servant in a
groom's fustian jacket took my horse to the stable,

THE PRIORY. 4o9
after showing me the way to the garden, where he
said I should be certain of finding master, rain or sun
shine. And here I did find him, carefully inspecting
the gnomon of that antiquated dial, of which in his
letter he made such honourable mention, and whose
shadow denoted the exact time I have stated.
As I had announced my visit, there was more plea*
sure than surprise at our meeting, a pleasure as mutual
as it was great. The first salutes over, I scanned
somewhat curiously the appearance of my hermit, in
Avhich, notwithstanding a plainness as to dress, and
a sort of old-fashioned manner, the growth of his
country life and estrangement from the higher circles
to which he had been accustomed, I could see nothing
on the score of health and content upon which I was
not ready heartily to congratulate him. The " visage
wan and purblind sight," welcomed by Blackstone,
and accepted, though not welcomed, by Mordaunt,
had totally left him ; and in their stead a rubicund
cheek and a brighter eye than ever I knew in him
(the cheek a little embrowned) glowed and sparkled so
as to leave no doubt, could I have entertained one, of
the sincerity both of the satisfaction which, he said, my
visit gave him, and of that which he had derived from
his retreat. In short, his hale and healthy coun
tenance, elastic tread, and a sort of airy cheerfulness,
instead of the gravity of gait and manner I had known
in him, all showed him a gainer from his change. His
clothes, indeed, were of the plainest and most unex-
pensive kind ; a Duffield coat ; linen coarse, but of
the whitest ; stockings of thread, but well gartered.;

460 THE DAY-DREAMER.
and shoes of an enormous thickness, but highly
blacked ; in short, all of the neatest, and not a speck
but that occasioned by what he called the clean dirt
of the garden. When I expressed my satisfaction,
and rather a compliment upon this, "What!" he
cried, " you expected to find such a distressed an
chorite as in the book you lent me to read, distressed
at having made a false step, and nothing to do. I
trust you will soon know better. Look around, and
see if I have been idle." I obeyed, and beheld most
beautiful results of industry, certainly, in fruits,
shrubs, and floAvers, but by whom performed did not
appear, and so I told him.
" You are resolved, I see," said he, " to give me no
credit as the man of nature I professed myself to be,
when I took my leave of you sons of art. Other-
Avise, as you of course know that the first man was
the first gardener, and acted up to his nature in being
so, you might have so far thought me in earnest as
to believe it possible that I have in some little degree
imitated him. However, to dissipate incredulity, I
must beg leave to tell you, that the health and ru-
bicundity you have been admiring are owing to my
having Avielded with my own hands the spade which
produced many at least (for I do not deny assist
ance) of those beds, whether of flowers or culinary
herbs. As to the latter, I shall expect your highest
praises when you see proofs of their excellence on the
dinner table."
A bell, very like and in fact a real old convent
bell, had noAv been sounding some time, though not

THE PRIORY. 461
four o'clock. Mordaunt asked me if I could possibly
dine at that hour. " It is the hour of nature," said he,
"for those who rise at six and breakfast at seven,
and I therefore have not altered it ; but you are the
master here, and I will obey." I assured him I had
no wish but his in this and every other respect ; and
indeed, as I particularly desired to study him through
out this experiment on himself (for such I considered
it still to be), I Avas even anxious to inspect it to the
letter. " And you call this still an experiment," said he,
" although I have now persisted in it for five years,
the exact period which made Sir William Temple feel
so sure of himself when he turned his back on the
humours of others in order to enjoy his own. How
ever, I thank you for the license you give me, Avhich
I will promise you not to abuse, unless having the
appetite of an ogre, the effect of three hours' labour
this morning, may make you doubt me.
" But come ; it still wants a quarter of an hour
to our repast, and whatever I may have boasted or
written of my garden, you must not suppose that I
wholly live in it. Let me introduce you, therefore,
to the interior of the Priory of St. Julian. Though
you will not be feasted by the lay prior as you would
have been by the jolly priest, had he still presided
there, the heartiness of the welcome must make up
for the Avants you will find in the banquet." At this
we embraced again, and he conducted me through a
labyrinth of herbs and flowers, breathing and bloomino-
with health and sweetness, to what he called his indoor

462 THE DAY-DREAMER.
den. It Avas a cheerful room, notwithstanding its
oak panels, almost black with age, and made still
darker by the physiognomies and vestments of some
eight or ten of the old masters of the place. But a
very white cloth, and two covers in bright silver,
spread upon a small table, gave pleasant note of pre
paration. The room was lighted by but one, but an
exceeding wide, Avindow, casemated, but illumined
by several panes of crosiers and mitres in superb
painted glass, and opening with a full view of the
river which watered the foot of the range of hills on
Avhich the castle of Lord W * * * (mentioned in his
letter) rose proudly, but melancholy, in the distance.
The whole was gilded and burnished by the southern
sun. This was his refectory, as he said (for he Avas
fond of using the ancient language of the place), but
he also, from its beautiful view, made it his sitting
and reception room. Upon my looking rather in
quiringly at this last expression, he observed, " I see I
shall have many mistakes to clear up. Why, I told
you I was no anchorite ¦; and though I have abandoned
ambition, I have not quarrelled with society, as I trust
this very room will ere long prove to you, especially
Avhen the ladies come to take their coffee in it ; and
admire and long for those tapestry curtains, which
they are in vain endeavouring to rob me of." This
rousing my curiosity still farther, I found he alluded
to two very romantic noble ladies from the sister
isle*, who had fled from their homes in early life to
* Lady Elinor Butler and Miss Ponsonby.

THE PRIORY.

463

enjoy their friendship the better in the delicious re
treats of Llangollen. Here, however, they had made
their elegant domicile any thing but a retreat ; for,
from the charm of their manners, their taste, and
cultivation, they had become the centre of attraction
to an extensive and high neighbourhood, and particu
larly to numerous visitors and travellers, who were
eager to pay them their homage. For such persons
the accomplished, though retired and now plain,
Mordaunt seemed expressly fitted as a companion,
and they for him ; so that an intimacy between them
was not less natural than agreeable. It was still
more fostered (though that might not always folloAv)
by a similarity of taste for the antique, which was
shown, as I afterwards found, by the abundance of
their acquisitions in old carved work, tapestry, glass,
and marbles, by which the cottage of these ladies was
tastefully decorated; yet, as Mordaunt said, they
envied him the superior originality and brilliancy of
his old Priory curtains, which they in vain endea-.
voured to persuade him to part with.
But all farther conversation was now suspended by
the entry of some very savoury dishes, Avhich might
have provoked appetite, even without the labour
which the lay prior (as he liked to call himself) said
had earned it. Nor was I myself behindhand, though
I had leisure to remark the neatness of the set-out,
and that we were served by the groom who had taken
my horse at the gate, but had now exchanged his
stable-jacket for a footman's coat. In fact, as I after
wards found, with the exception of the gardener, he

464 THE DAY-DREAMER.
was my friend's only man-servant. The cookery, as
well as the fare, was excellent : trout from his own
stream, a barn-door fowl from his own farmyard, eggs
not an hour old, and small mutton from Snowdon,
where he had a sheep-walk. Then, again, there
were mushrooms absolutely piquante, and cauli
flowers like marroAV, both the production of his own
spade ; home-cured bacon ; and home-brewed ale, the
produce of his own barley, operated upon by the skill
of the aforesaid domestic, who seemed alike meritorious
in all his capacities. In short, the dinner was formed,
as Mordaunt said, upon those pleasant maxims of
Horace in favour of moderation in the art of living,
beginning with
" Quae virtus, et quanta boni sit vivere parvo ; " *
Avhich maxims, Avith their pregnant illustrations, he
said, had become his favourite as well as necessary
code, ever since he had retired on his limited
fortune. "And yet," added he, " you see how much
a limited fortune may be aided by having so many
things within one's self, while the little cares and
labours they occasion keep one in excellent health
and spirits, never suffering, even though books may
fail, a single hour to languish for Avant of interest or
employment. Hence my Avhole life, if only exem
plified in the production of this dinner, makes me
recall with unction that exquisite description in the
* Thus adopted by Pope, in one of his imitations :
" What, and how great, the virtue and the art
To live on little with a cheerful heart ! "

THE PRIORY.

465

' Georgics,' which other poets have in vain attempted
to imitate, or even translate :
' O fortunatos nimium, sua si bona norint,
Agricolas ! quibus ipsa, procul discordibus armis,
Fundit humo facilem victum justissima tellus.'
This, as you well know, " continued Mordaunt, " is
thus incorrectly translated by Dryden :
' O happy, if he knew his happy state,
The swain who, free from business and debate,
Receives his easy food from Nature's hand,
And just returns of cultivated land.'
This is, what I have called it, sadly incorrect ; for the
farmer is any thing but free from business, and there
is nothing about business or debate in the original;
while of what he is said to be free from, namely, dis
cordant arms, not a word is mentioned."
I was charmed with this classical seasoning to his
repast, upon which I could not help complimenting
him in all particulars, not excluding his able servant,
whom he called David, and of whom he gave me the
following account.
" He is, in truth, all you think him, and my ex
cellent factotum in doors and out. Out of doors,
as you have seen, he is an attentive groom, and
does not disdain a hoe or a rake when hands are
wanting and the season requires it. But in doors is
his sphere. Here he is butler, valet, brewer, and
master of the household; he is also an excellent up
holsterer, and no mean librarian, assisting me intelli
gently in the arrangement of my books. Add to all,
that he is not a bad apothecary, owing to his having
kept a drug-shop in Llangollen; and, from sheer
VOL. H. H H

466 THE DAY-DREAMER.
natural disposition to observe it, bestOAved great at
tention to the phenomenon of the pulse."
" A Welshman, no doubt," said I.
" 0 yes ; and, like most Welshmen, sufficiently
proud of it. In fact, but for a sort of family attach
ment, he would not be here, for he was doing very
well in his shop at Llangollen. But, like myself, he
was born in this house, though he will not allow that
I am a Welshman, often twitting me, though never
forgetting his respect, with not being of such pure
Welsh blood as his own family, the Ap Griffiths.
Yet, however this may be, his grandfather conde
scended to take service under mine ; his father under
my uncle ; and as for himself, having, from being four
years older than I, been intrusted with a share in my
education, that is, teaching me fly-fishing and to ride
my pony, he conceived an affection for me which was
not forgotten during twenty years' absence. Hence,
though well to do, as he said, as a shopkeeper in
Llangollen, the moment I came back I found him
urgently entreating to return to the family in his
native home. You may suppose that I gladly yielded,
and more certain it is that neither of us has re
pented." This account made me conceive the highest opinion
of the descendant of the Ap Griffiths, while it in
creased that of my friend's kindness of heart ; and I
complimented him upon this accession to his happi
ness, for such it was, particularly as he did not con
test David's opinion of the superiority of his Welsh
blood. " Still," said I, " my Avonder is, that you could

THE PRIORY. 467
take the step you did, and persevere in it with such
constancy at the time you did, your life not half
over, nay, almost in the heyday of your blood. I
attributed much of this to the poets, and own I
thought you would find yourself mistaken."
"All this," said he, "depends upon one's natural
bent when so decided as mine, and which nothing but
necessity could alter. My uncle's apparently sound
health made it necessary for me to choose a profession,
though what I did choose I never liked, notwith
standing its temptations. I allow the poets did much
in nursing, though not in inspiring, this disposition of
mine. When most occupied, as was supposed, with
ambition, I was under their influence getting less and
less ambitious ; and, like Hume, I might say of my
self, when it was thought I was poring over Yoet and
Yinius, Cicero and Yirgil were the authors I was
devouring.* Yirgil and Horace, in fact,, became my
enchiridion, not a little aided by Cowley, Evelyn,
and Beaumont and Fletcher; and, though still a
votary, I am almost ashamed to say how much in my
youth I was struck by the latter in the following
passage, repeated too often to be forgotten :
' This is a beautiful life now, privacy,
The sweetness and the benefit of essence.
/ see there's no man but may make his paradise ;
And it is nothing but his love and dotage
Upon the world's joys keeps him out on't.
For he that lives retir'd in mind and spirit
Is still in paradise, and has his innocence
Partly allowed for his companion too.'"y

* Hume's own Life.
t The Nice Valour; or, the Passionate Madman, act v. sc. 2.

468 THE DAY-DREAMER.
" And yet," said I, " I always thought CoAvley was
your model."
" That," replied he, " must be taken with a very
large grain of salt. For though delightful in bringing
his various and pleasant stores to bear upon the sub
ject, till I wished, hke him, to possess a life of my
own, I was not blind to his exaggerations, and there
fore disappointments, and, above all, to his affected
hatred and contempt of his fellow-men. For my part,
whether in retreat or in the world, I love my species ;
and, though my taste leads me to comparative solitude,
it is only comparative, and from no sort of disgust.
Hence its permanency."
" He seems, however," observed I, " to have gi
ven you some excellent lessons, which you have
obeyed. "
" He certainly has," rejoined Mordaunt ; who then
read from the book, which was close at hand, the
superior pleasures of moderation, so much more easy
to manage than those of an overgrown fortune, at
tended with care, disquiets, slavery, temptation, and
often with guilt. " ' The extraordinary disadvantage
of great riches,' says the author, ' is, that while the
greatest will not content the possessors, who always
want a little and a little more to be perfectly happy,
it is only when they have recourse to the simplest
and cheapest pleasures that they are so.' "
Here my friend paused again to remember Horace,
who, he said, was his favourite master in this sort of
philosophy, and wound up with an emphasis which
marked his sincerity :

THE PRIORY.

469

" Plerumque grata? divitibus vices,
Mundasque parvo sub lare pauperum
CoenaB, sine aulaiis et ostro,
Solicitam explicuere frontem." *
" But, to return to Cowley, ".continued Mordaunt :
"add sweet liberty ; freedom from the interruption of
fools or commonplace characters, though grandees ;
the sovereignty over yourself; and, above all, the
greater chances of innocence of life ; with these I
am quite prepared to agree Avith the author, that a
low fortune is at least ' better guarded and attended
than a high one,' and I gladly close the subject with
asking, as our philosophical poet did : If this is so,
' Cur valle permutem Sabina,
Divitias operosiores ?' "*
The sincerity of Mordaunt's countenance and
manner in uttering these sentiments, convinced me
that his change of life had not been lightly adopted,
and that there was no fear of his repenting it. In
deed, such an air of contentment shone in and around
him ; the view of the garden was so splendid, lit up
by the evening sun; and the breath of pinks and
roses was so exquisitely improved by a gentle shower,
that filled the whole air with perfume, that I could
not help saying, " You almost persuade me to become
a hermit too."
" You certainly might dream," returned he laugh
ingly, " much more at your ease ; that is, with fewer
* Horat. Od. lib. iii. 29. " Change is frequently agreeable to the rich,
and a neat repast in a poor man's cottage has smoothed an anxious brow
without the help of tapestry or purple."
t Od. lib. iii. 1. "Why should I change my Sabine valley for more
burdensome riches ? "
hh 3

470 THE DAY-DREAMER.
restraints from visitors and spectators, which you
have always professed to dislike, though you live
among them."
" You speak, however, only of yourself," said I.
" Of course," returned he ; " nor can there be a
general rule where every independent man must make
one for himself, according to his bent. Kings, gene
rals, statesmen, orators, may delight in filling the
public eye, while the man of philosophical research
into the nature of morals, apparently in obscurity, is
equally pleased to dive into his own heart, with a
view to confirm or recover his virtue ; and the lover
of woods and fields, and, above all, of gardens,
loves them for the lessons of piety and gratitude, as
well as of knoAvledge, which they give. In this, I own,
I paint myself, I trust after a sufficient experiment ;
and this freedom from ambition, this love of shade,
had the same effect of driving me from the bar, as
the love of poetry had upon the bard we are so fond
of quoting, because, as Pope says of him,
' He, without method, talks us into sense.'
He says, you know, ' Me gelidum nemus,
Nympharumque leves cum Satyris chori,
Secerndnt populo.' " *
" I see," said I, " you are classical, whatever the
subject, and it only proves that your old predilections
have never abandoned you."
* Horat. Od. lib. i. 1. "Me, the love of the cool groves, and the
light dances of the Nymphs and Satyrs, separate from the common
people."

THE PRIORY.

471

" There we agree," said he ; " but, even before I
had thrown off the slavery of pursuits for which I
was not fit, I found more consolation from the charm
of these predilections than in the prospect of reward
from more painful studies." Then, bursting into
enthusiasm, he exclaimed: "0 divine literce hu-
maniores ! what do we not' owe you ! The lawyer,
the divine, the merchant, the soldier, the minister
of state, the sovereign himself, how many hours
of care in all of them have you not softened !
how many wrinkled fronts not smoothed! How
often have you restored us to ourselves when sunk
in a sea of folly, or tortured with the thorns of
ambition! On the other hand, how do they not
enhance the value of the solitary hour (particularly
if in the garden), elevate humble hfe to an equality
with the proudest, and change sensual pursuits into
the refinements of mind ! "
I was about to express my pleasure in this ani
mated apostrophe, when he continued, warming with
the subject : "In fine, ye are like
' Woman ! lovely woman ! form'd to temper man ;
We had been brutes without you.'
Here the Priory clock struck, and Mordaunt,
changing his note, said, " I ask pardon, for I see it is
the hour when the hamlet reposes, past six o'clock.
' Et jam summa procul villarum culmina fumant,
Majoresque cadunt altis de montibus umbrae.'
Anglice: the smoke of the distant chimneys in the
village thatches shows that the good folks are re
turned from Avork, and are preparing their supper.
HH 4

472 THE DAY-DREAMER.
I own this is my usual signal for a walk ; but you
are the master here. Say, how shall we pass the
evening ? "
" In your own manner," said I ; "it cannot be
better." " To the garden, then," cried he ; " and see what it
will do for us."

THE GARDEN. 473
No. XV.
THE GARDEN.
" Fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers, and sweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild." Milton.
The weather indeed, as we sallied forth, appeared to
be bespoke, so quiet, so mild, so hallowed it seemed ;
and Mordaunt's conversation had filled me with such
kindly impressions of the nature of his life, as made
me almost as much a votary to his garden as he was
himself. " You see," said he, as we entered it, " the rain
has made every thing delicious, and it is a sin to stay
Avithin." " It is thoroughly old-fashioned," said I.
" Yes," he replied ; " and I verily believe has scarce
changed its form since the time of the old friars who
cultivated it. I have, therefore, often been quizzed
for not destroying those quaint topiaria and straight
walks. My advisers, however, are like Old Sterling,
who was for none of your straight lines ; but all for
taste, you know, zigzag and crinkum-crankum. * •
But I do believe I would as soon commit treason as
cut down that clipped hedge, alter its long right line,
or destroy those peacocks in yew. As for a straight
Avalk, not merely as an open terrace, but in the most
* Clandestine Marriage.

474 the day-dreamer.
retired part of the inclosure, it is in the essence of
my notion of a garden to retain it."
" In a terrace, if you please," said I ; " but not in
a shrubbery, or to have so many straight lines as I
see here." He paused a little, and then said : " Per
haps you are right as to the number ; yet I have a
reason for it, though it may be peculiar to myself."
We were then advancing into that long green turf-
walk which he mentioned in his letter, and which
was embellished all the way with flowers, and kept
with the nicest care, under his own superintendence ;
and upon my asking what his reason was, he replied :
" Why, I love a day-dream almost as well as yourself,
and a garden is a great day-dream. It is my book
of moral philosophy, my hymn-book, my code of di
vinity. I do not, perhaps, believe with Cowley, that,
during the great civil war, no husbandman ever was
a rebel to his king ; but this I will hazard, that no
real lover or cultivator of a garden can pass his
days in observing the wonderful processes of Nature,
and be a rebel to his God. The intimate knoAvledge
Avhich it promotes of that Nature, pouring her bounties
forth with such a full and unwithdrawing hand,
covering the earth with odours, fruits, and flocks,
no one can feel this, and be such a rebel. The thoughts
that this kindles are sublime, and so absorbing as
to require abstraction ; and I need not say that
abstraction requires us not to be in danger every
moment of knocking our heads against a tree, or kept
on the watch for fear of Mr. Sterling's zigzag. Hence
I love walks, for the most part, to be straight ; they

THE GARDEN. 475
should also "be level and smooth, as you see these
are ; for we would not run the risk of breaking not
only our reverie but our noses too by being tripped
up by a molehill."
I could not help owning he was right, especially
as I knew of old how abstracted, even to absence, he
often was. " Why, yes," he replied; " I agree with
the Frenchman, ' Cesplaisirs sidoux, sipassifs, si bites,
sont precisement ceux qui me conviennent le mieux.'
But another Frenchman represents still better the in
dependence of a man who has thrown away ambition
for a contented life in retirement :
' J'y goute avec plaisir
Les charmes peu connus d'un innocent loisir,
Toujours occupe sans avoir rien ii faire.' *
But these," continued he, " though tranquil, are
only the pleasures of sense, that is, of quiet nerves ;
those of the mind and heart are incalculably higher."
At this I had begun to reverence his doctrines
so deeply, that I could not help being excited with
expectation when I asked him to particularise his
meaning. Nor was I disappointed. " You know it,"
said he, " as well as I do. In a word, as a restorative
when in want of refreshment, whether of mind or
body, a garden, even a homely one of mere potherbs,
but much more if mingled with flowers, is to me like
Nepenthe, ' That Nepenthe, which the wife of Thone
In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena.'
* Destouches.

476 THE DAY-DREAMER.
So says Milton. If you want a more minute descrip
tion of it, take it from Spenser :
' Nepenthe is a drink of sovereign grace,
Devised by the gods, for to assuage
Heart's grief, and bitter gall away to chase,
Which stirs up anguish and contentious rage ;
Instead thereof, sweet peace and quiet age
It doth establish in the troubled mind.' " *
I was delighted, but could say nothing, and he
went on. " This, potent as it was, when administered
by Canace, to assuage the tumultuous rage of two
combatants bent upon blood, was not of more power
than a garden's sedatives are to the troubled mind.
Hence, whenever I enter mine, even if vexed Avith
some worldly care, every feeling becomes tranquil
amid the outAvard aspect of peace. The heart ex
pands with feelings of good-will, and is only alive to
the attractions of Nature in her most pleasing and
softest attire. Had I, therefore, envy or malice, or re
sentment against any of my fellow-creatures, I could
not maintain them in a garden. Hence, no doubt, the
ancient fictions of Elysium placed it ahATays in gardens
and groves, as the emblem of the purest pleasure and
the abode of the good.
' Devenere locos lastos, et amoena vireta
Fortunatorum nemorum, sedesque beatas.'
In fact, so sacred are such places, Avhen properly con
sidered, that the heart in them is still more moA7ed
than the eye. Hence the sentiment inspired by a
rich vegetation is participated in by no animal but
man ; and hence that beautiful burst of Addison on
* Faery Queen, iv. 3. 43.

THE GARDEN. 477
the effects of the cheerfulness of Nature on a good
mind. Hence too, as I have said, even the most
obtuse in faculties can never be an atheist, or doubter
of Providence, if he possess a garden ; for one walk,
one little walk in it, if ever he swerved, would restore
him to God.
" 1 felt this effect," continued Mordaunt, " the mo
ment I returned here ; for my garden occupations in
stantly restored the feelings of kindliness, I may say the
innocence, of my childhood. Wonder not, therefore,
at my saying that I would not exchange the freedom,
the elegance, the beauty, and perfume, but, above all,
the soothing of these walks for all the advantages
that ambition could confer.
' Hie tamen hanc mecum poteris requiescere noctem
Fronde super viridi : sunt nobis mitia poma,
Castanese molles, et pressi copia lactis.' " *
Our evening repast in truth, with only the addition
of some cold chicken and a better bed, seemed to
realise the supposed entertainment given by Tityrus
to his friend Melibceus.
I could not help congratulating my friend, on the
seemingly complete success of his experiment on him
self, which all the incidents I had witnessed appeared
to indicate, and which I owned I at first had doubted
from not being aware, from the tenor of his public
¦life, of the number of qualifications which he possessed
for a private one.
* "Here, however, you may with me repose for the night, upon a bed
of green leaves ; and I have mellow a.pples, soft chestnuts, and plenty of
curds and milk" [for supper].

478 THE DAY-DREAMER.
" And yet," said he, " they are very simple, and
in the power of any man that pleases, provided he
has nothing on his conscience, and is free from the
stings of ambition, the excitements of vanity, or the
anxious pursuit of riches. You, for example, though
you live in observation of the world, have most of the
qualifications we talked of for living out of it."
" I am at least unconscious of them," said I.
" You do yourself injustice," replied he ; " you
possess two of the first of them, moderation and
content of mind. There are others, however, which,
notwithstanding their simplicity, are far from being
in every body's power. ' For,' to return once more to
our friend in retirement (Cowley), ' neither he Avho is
a fop in the world is a fit man to be alone, nor he
who has set his heart upon the world, though he has
never so much understanding ; so that solitude can
be well fitted and set right upon but very few persons.
They must have knowledge of the world enough to
see its vanity, and enough virtue to despise all vanity
whatever.' '"As for the want of employment,'" he still read
from Cowley, " ' the first minister of state has not
so much business in public as a wise man in private.
If the one have little business to be alone, the other
hath less to be in company ; the one has but part of
the affairs of a nation, the other all the works of God.'
" So far," continued Mordaunt, " this (at least) theo
retical philosopher ; and it is therefore obvious, that
the tedium you fear cannot happen, except when the
ground is not properly laid by innocence of life, or

THE GARDEN. 479
where the resolution to retire has been rashly taken.
Where this is so, far from being contented in what
has been called the tomb of a man not properly cured
of ambition, or a lover of the world, but only retiring
in a pet at some particular vexation, he will be like
Plato's ghosts, ' Oft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres,
Lingering and sitting by a new-made grave,
As loth to leave the body that it loved.'
Such a man will never prosper in retreat, but will
either return to the world, or hang himself."
But now the old clock again struck, and Mordaunt
concluded by saying, "We are reminded, however, that
we have prosed long enough for one day, and must
not forget that one of the most wholesome rules of a
retired life is, ' early to bed ; ' so, if you have no
objection, the descendant of the Ap Griffiths shall
light you to your chamber."
With this proposal, my journey alone would have
inclined me to a compliance, while the tumult I had
undergone from my visit prepared me the more for
repose, by no means the less from the day having
been, on every account, one of the most interesting
and exciting, as Avell as the most agreeable, I had ever
passed.

480 THE DAY-DREAMER.

No. XYI.
THE EFFECTS OF DIFFERENT DISPOSITIONS UPON
OLD AGE.
" Great lords ! wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms."
Shakspeare : 1 Hen. VI.

It was said by David Hume of. himself, that he Avas
" ever more disposed to see the favourable, than the
unfavourable side of things ; a turn of mind, " he
adds, " which it is more happy to possess, than to be
born to an estate often thousand pounds a year."*
This influence of the disposition we are born with
is more powerful, and therefore of more consequence,
than all the gifts of fortune, and even all the acquisi
tions of education. Insomuch, that if we were in the
days of the fairies, and on the birth of a child I
were offered the gift which I thought would most
conduce to his happiness, it would be Hume's dispo
sition to the favourable side of things. This I would
prefer to riches, to honours, to fame, to talents, or to
beauty, and I had almost said to health itself. The
reason is plain. None of the above advantages, with
the exception perhaps of the last, constitute happiness
in themselves, but only the means of it.
It would swell into a work of no mean consequence,
to contemplate the numerous failures, and the causes
* Own Life.

EFEECTS OF DISPOSITION ON OLD AGE. 481
of them, Avhich have attended the gifts above men
tioned, in the production of the object proposed ; and
it would be proportionably interesting to examine by
what common though valuable means (the means of
good-humour, hope, and contentedness) the posses
sion of this happiness hangs. It is simply what we
have named, the disposition to view things with a
cheerful vision. A man of this character always re
members the sunshine, and forgets the gloom of his
hfe. When he thinks of his early (say his school)
days, he remembers only his play fields and forest
Avalks, and the first impressions of Yirgil ; and quite
passes over the little mortifications of his boyhood,
never even recollecting such a thing as a master's
frown, or a rainy day.
Yet, by how many individuals is this sort of
vision repudiated, and the contrary pursued ! How
many see every thing in the blackest colours, set
themselves against the belief of all good motives,
question all merit, deny all usefulness, and never
open their mouths except to depreciate, defame, and
condemn ! That, such persons should never reach
the goal of happiness, but pass their fives like bats,
uncheered by the light of day, can neither surprise
nor afflict us. But there are others of a far better
nature (indeed devoid of all malignity), who are
quite as unfortunate ; and, from the want of nerve,
or too great delicacy of feelings, seem to possess as
little of the sun of cheerfulness, and, as age presses
on, are any thing but happy. To such dispositions a
dream of past pleasure is misery, because pleasure no
VOL. II. I i

482 THE DAY-DREAMER.
longer ; the future has nothing in prospect, and the
memory of the past is depressed with complaints of
lost happiness. Of this class, a statesman who has
survived his power, but not his wish for it ; a woman
who has survived her beauty, but not her love of ad
miration ; an author his reputation ; or a sensualist
his faculties, are mournful examples.
The radical cause of this, exclusive of the unfortu
nate disposition from nature which has been glanced
at, is weakness of character ; and it is the more de
plorable, because, being too late for improvement,
recovery is impossible. Hence the misery of old
people of this temperament, often even those of fine
minds and the best education. But where they have
not these to fall back upon, when their regrets,
though loud, deep, and incessant, are undignified and
petulant (proceeding, in fact, more from the loss of
sensual than any thing like refined or liberal gratifi
cations), desolate indeed is the lot of age. Under
sensual gratifications, I include the companionship of
those who have contributed to our convenience, and
have been so far necessary to us. I include even
many arts and amusements which, from the decay of
our faculties, we can no longer enjoy ; such are music
and the drama. I also include our sensibility to the
power of beauty, female grace and elegance, which,
for the same reason, must naturaUy wear out. When
this shipwreck of our means of enjoyment has been
suffered, unless a vivid memory and imagination can
supply their places, or (what is most important of all)
religious aspirations elevate us above this life, I know

EFEECTS OF DISPOSITION ON OLD AGE. 483
not where the superannuated old man can fly for
relief. Hence the value of that sunshine we set out
with praising ; a disposition to the favourable side of
things, which will not abandon us to our dying day.
It is in this decline of years, fully as much if not
even more than in the energies of youth, that the
buoyancy praised by Hume is found to be of most
advantage. Reposed in his chair, or even on his
bed, but still more, if able to recline in shade and
meditation, breathe the incense of flowers and wor
ship the sun, to think over the days that are gone,
so far from extinguishing, revives the enjoyment of
the cheerful man. Memory is to him a treat, not a
distress : and the scenes of exertion he has gone
through ; the friendships he has achieved ; the good
he has been able to do ; the services, public or private,
to perform ; and even the excitements that have at
tended the career of his ambition, or his pleasures,
far from saddening his recollection, live there still as
if in a vivid dream. To be sure, from this dream he
must awaken, and be conscious that it is unreal. But
will this prevent its impression while it lasts, or its
renewal at a future time ? If so, what becomes of
the whole range of the pleasures of illusion ; in other
words, of imagination ? If so, where will the most
romantic youth look for the delight of his love tales ;
or find that elasticity of mind which conducts him, as
if it were real, through the fields of Shrewsbury or
Agincourt, the pageants of Kenilworth, or the fas
cinations of Di Yernon ?
All this sunshine belongs to age as well as to youth ;
ii 2

484 • THE DAY-DREAMER.
and strange and pity it is that such recollections,
which renovate the soul of one human creature,
should plunge another into affliction.
And yet I have recently seen this contrast in such
strongly marked colours, that I cannot help de
scribing it in illustration of these observations. For
I have lately visited two of my oldest friends, both
very old men, whose dispositions (as opposite as light
and darkness) exhibit abundant proofs of the truth of
this reasoning. One of them, whom from his melan
choly temper I will designate by the name of Som-
broso, is certainly past the full age of man, and on
this account he says he has already closed his hfe;
though, to look at him, several years seem yet to re
main to him, for his
" Age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly."
He has no secret grief, and as little, perhaps, any
secret sin. Yet he has long fled the world, from the
persuasion that he has survived all its interests ; and
memory, so far from consoling him, only adds to his
griefs. I found him, therefore, in a most mournful
state of querulousness, and though looking still with
a degree of freshness, preparing himself, and wishing,
as he said, to die.
He is fond of the writings of Sir William Temple,
but says, " what he best remembers, and what is most
fit to be remembered, is Sir William's opinion, that
when he considered how many noble, how many es
timable men, and how many lovely and agreeable
women he had outlived, among his friends, he thought

EFFECTS OF DISPOSITION ON OLD AGE. 485
it looked impertinent in him to be alive." In reading
to me this melancholy effusion, Sombroso sighed from
the bottom of his heart, and said : " That is exactly
my case; already in the tomb from the total de
privation of all that can make life interesting, the
sooner I close this rapid existence, and the less I
think of its former aspect, the better."
When I combated this, and told him how much
former usefulness ought to console him, and the
memory of former pleasures refresh him, he observed
with a still deeper sigh, " Remembered only to show
more forcibly that we are pushed from our stools by
more favoured competitors:" and then, in the lan
guage of the sinking king, he burst out with —
" ' Let me not live
After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain.'
"No!
' I wish too,
Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from the hive.' "
In answer to this I observed, that it was true in
old age men should change their objects, and consent
to renounce pleasures for which, by Nature's decree,
they had become unfit ; yet that change was not ex
tinction, and that other pleasures remained to those
who did not disdain to enjoy them; that even a
good dinner and easy chair were not despicable to
some who yet called themselves philosophers ; that
the contemplation of the works of Nature were an
unfailing resource; that he was still alive, if he
ii 3

486 THE DAY-DREAMER.
pleased, to the pleasures of the liberal arts, music and
painting ; and that, even if the perception of these last
were weakened by the weakening of his senses, the
remembrance of his former delight in them might
still afford a rich mental treat. But, superior to
these, I reminded him of the still higher and never
changing satisfaction he must feel in works of bene
volence, for which his fortune sufficed, in looking back
upon a useful and well-spent hfe, and in the many
powerful friendships his public services had achieved.
Finally, and chief of all, I urged the fair hopes of a
hereafter, where disappointment never comes.
To all this he replied, that " the pleasures of mere
ease of body, or of the table, were too sensual to be
valued by a man of mind ; that, as to a well spent
life, all consciousness of it was lost in the reflection of
how many opportunities he had missed of doing
better; that his growing infirmities took away all
power to contemplate the works of Nature ; his fear
for his eyesight, all the pleasures of reading. Then,
as to succouring distress, what was it but to encou
rage idleness, and hold out a premium for ingrati
tude ; and, as to powerful friendships, nothing could
be so miscalled, for the services that created them
being at an end, so were the friendships ; thus all
Avas mockery. Last, and worst of ah, the cheerful
ness of the hope of a hereafter was destroyed by
its fears, and at best by the doubt which everywhere
poisoned it. I have, therefore," concluded he, while
he absolutely groaned, " nothing left but the privilege
of thinking everything vanity and vexation of spirit,

EFFECTS OF DISPOSITION ON OLD AGE. 487
and of seeking some decent corner in which to he
down and die."
Shocked and mortified at this failure of my en
deavour to bring Sombroso to a better state of mind,
and perceiving the inutility of continuing the dis
course, I took my leave in sorrow ; nor, though there
was no immediate danger to his health, did I recover
my tranquillity until after a visit I afterwards paid to
my happier friend Hilario. This gentleman is even
two or three years older than Sombroso, and by no
means in such enjoyable health, being subject to the
gout. He carries it off, however, by congratulating
himself that it is not the stone ; and, though his looks
bespeak him more of an invalid than Sombroso, they
show far more internal happiness. This is entirely
oAving to that constitutional temperament so praised
by Hume, of which he is fully aware, for he makes no
pretence to philosophy, least of all to stoicism.
He too, like Sombroso, has been distinguished in
public life ; from which also, like him, he has retired
with reputation ; but feels not, like him, that he is
undervalued, or his services forgotten, because, in the
struggles in which he owns he is no longer fit to mix,
and from which, therefore, he himself retired, he
cannot be treated as the partisan he was. " To know
when and how to retire," he says, " is one of the great
secrets of life; and, when no longer useful, not to
expect the same treatment as if you were still so,
another. A faded beauty, still seeking the admiration
of a ball-room, is not more deservedly ridiculous," he
says, " than a worn-out worldly politician still seeking

488 THE DAY-DREAMER.
high place. But this superannuation deprives you
not either of the respect or the rewards you have
earned; and the enjoyment of these you will not
the less value, because they are the consequence of
services already performed, not what are expected."
His difference of feeling on this point with Sombroso
is remarkable. The cause of Sombroso's unhappiness
on this subject he knows full well, and says it pro
ceeds entirely from a mistake of his own in thinking
a partnership in a political struggle the same thing
as private friendship. This it is not, unless accom
panied by all those qualities and that intercourse
which combine to establish the reciprocity of private
regard. The other is a mere partnership for a par
ticular object, which being obtained, or laid aside, the
partnership is at an end.
All this is good sense, without requiring more than
common equanimity to steer us without harm through
the changes of life. But where this constitutional
equanimity is wanting, and the unfavourable is the
preferred side of things, as with Sombroso, the
morning as well as the evening of life is overcast,
and our approaching departure from the world loses
all those consolations, which a different constitution,
such as Hilario's, might present. I have said, that
the visit I paid him made amends for that to Som
broso. His cheerfulness was most exhilarating ; his
unaffected content, Avhether he looked backward or
forward, put one in good-humour Avith one's self and
with the world ; but, above all, his remembrance of
things, which to Sombroso Avas a black cloud, was to

EFFECTS OF DISPOSITION ON OLD AGE. 489
him a bright sun. The same contrast seemed every
Avhere to exist between them. Thus, far from think
ing the indulgence of the banquet too sensual for a
man of mind, he hailed it as one of the comforts and
rights of age, and the promoter of that good-fellowship
which age was meant and entitled to enjoy ; besides
which, especially if partaken with old companions, it
revived past pleasures in bringing them back to re
membrance. Hence, as his fortune permitted it, he
did not suffer either the number or the recherche of
his dinners to stagnate, and his repasts included
among those that partook of them the most celebrated
characters of the time, for present or former conse
quence in fashion, literature, or political reputation.
In these meetings, too, his age, for the most part, did
not prevent his shining in conversation with the ad
vantage which his cheerfulness and recollections of
the eminent people he had lived with always gave
him. Hence, as may be supposed, he by no means con
curred with Sombroso in partaking of Sir William
Temple's melancholy feeling. On the contrary, one
of the traits that most struck me in him was the
vivid pleasure, while paying the full tribute of sorrow
for their loss, with which he remembered all the high
merits of his former male friends, and all the elegance
and beauty which made so many females attractive.
They had smoothed and enlivened his path, he said,
through the society he loved, and he beheld them all
still in his mind's eye. He, indeed, did justice to their
virtues and attractions, with almost the same admi
ration and the same warmth as when alive. This

490 THE DAY-DREAMER.
extended itself not merely to friends and companions,
but to those who by their talents had rendered the
fine arts instructive as well as amusing. He talked
warmly of the Kembles and other leaders of the stage,
as well as of the most distinguished in the elegant
sciences, but particularly music, whether performers
or composers. With respect to these last, his en
thusiasm Avas the more remarkable, because it must
have been kept up by a most brilliant memory. For
the chief and almost only infirmity of Hilario's age
Avas deafness, as his most deep-felt passion had
formerly been music. Yet, though long utterly cut
off from enjoying its reahty, remembrance of it alone
gave him, as will be presently seen, the most exquisite
pleasure. The account of this, together with other interests
of his youth, he gave me in the visit I am comme
morating in language I shall not soon forget. For
AA'hen I told him of Sombroso's incredulousness of his
gratification in remembering past pleasures, if only
for the intensity in which he (Sombroso) knew he had
enjoyed them, he replied with a kind of solemnity
Avhich made what he said more impressive. " My old
friend says but true, that memory, whether waking or
sleeping (for my dreams are full of them), tells me
how much I once enjoyed the pleasurable elegancies
of life. But he is not correct in supposing that, on
account of former enjoyment, I am unhappy at their
loss ; a loss which memory, instead of aggravating,
alleviates. For I have still pleasure in fancying I see
and hear those sights and sounds which used to fill

EFFECTS OF DISPOSITION ON OLD AGE. 491
me with delight in the days of youth. The ornaments
of the age in which I lived, and the scenes in which I
moved; and all those sounds, whether of voice or
instrument, which brought me, as it were, to heaven,
have never quitted their hold of my senses. I fasten
upon them still in many a reverie. I think over those
accomplished friends of another time, who once had
such power to delight me ; and I still think I listen
to those conversations of the eminent in rank, power,
and sense, who then presided in the world, and gave
so much elevation to those whom they distinguished
by their acquaintance. Nor, strange as it may seem
in one who has lost all power of hearing, does memory
refuse still to melt to those sounds which once had
the power of exciting every tumultuous passion and
every softer feeling; the thunder of Handel, the
vortices of Haydn, the awfulness of Jomelli, the
sensibility of Mozart, and the dreamy enchantment
of Gliick. No ! however tottering or mechanical you
now see me, none of these wonders, or their effects,
are forgotten, but all are remembered Avith a keenness
not exceeded in my youth. Old too, as I am, the
impressions of female beauty and gracefulness still
seem to hghten upon my charmed sight, and make
imagination buoyant ; and yet the loss of their reality
does not make me unhappy, much less the vapid
deadened creature I am supposed to be by some of
those my fellows formerly in the feelings I have de
scribed, but now miserable because they can feel no
longer. For if their youth is remembered, it seems it
is only so to increase the misery of having lost it.

492 THE DAY-DREAMER.
Your picture of my friend Sombroso, who is younger
than myself, shocks me ; and not the less because it
is only his own fault to be consumed by such unavail
ing regrets, and so lost to the hope which comes to
all (if they please, and are unstained Avith crime) —
the hope of heaven."
With this he pressed my hand, and we parted ; I,
all the better for the visit, which left me in a state of
mind of which I have ever since felt the benefit, and
hope never to lose.*
* In winding up this subject, can I do better, though in a note, than
transcribe Pope's imitation of Martial's epigram on Antonius Primus,
which the venerable and cultivated Sir William Trumbull (to whom it
might with equal justice be applied) applies with so much unction to a
friend on his birthday ?
" At length my friend, while Time with still career
Wafts on his gentle wing his eightieth year,
Sees his past days safe out of Fortune's power,
Nor dreads approaching Fate's uncertain hour ;
Reviews his life ; and in the strict survey
Finds not one moment he could wish away,
Pleas'd with the series of each happy day.
Such, such a man extends his life's short space,
And from the goal again renews the race ;
For he lives twice who can at once employ
The present well, and e'en the past enjoy."

THE END.

London :
Spottiswoodes and Shaw,
New-street- Square.

50, Albemarle Street, London. April, 1850.

.MR. MURRAY'S
LIST OF WORKS IN PREPARATION.

LIFE OP ROBERT PLUMER WARD,
(Author of " Tremaine.")
WITH HIS POLITICAL AND LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE, DIARIES, AND REMAINS.
By the Hon. Edmund Phipps.
With Portrait. 2 Vols. 8vo.

FIVE YEARS' ADVENTURES OF
A HUNTER IN THE WILDERNESS QF SOUTH AFRICA.
"WITH NOTICES OF THE NATIVE TRIBES, AND ANECDOTES OF THE CHASE OF THE
LION, ELEPHANT, HIPPOPOTAMUS, RHINOCEROS, &c.
By Roualeyn Gordon Gumming, Esq., of Altyre.
With Illustrations. 2 Vols. Crown 8vo.
An Extract from Lieut. No/pier's Recent Work on South Africa.
" Of all the adventurous, sporting, exploring, or trading travellers (whether Dutch or
English) who have penetrated into the interior of Southern Africa, none can. compete with
the now celebrated Mr. Cumming.* * *
" I remarked, as we' walked along, I had heard so many marvellous stories put down to his
account, that unless confirmed by himself, they "were certainly beyond my powers of belief.
"'What an interesting work your, journal would make,' observed I, 'why do you not
publish it?*
" ' I may do so,' replied he, * some of these daysj when I get tired of my wandering mode
of existence ; ' and no doubt, from the fluency of his conversational powers, Mr. Cumming
could handle the pen with as great facility and effect as he has hitherto wielded the rifle. * * *
" In this journey, it is said, he has penetrated many hundred miles beyond the highest point
reached by any "white man. He shot forty-three elephants, three of which only were females,
(many of the males carried tusks of enormous size, measuring seven feet in length, and
sometimes weighing one hundred pounds each), sixty hippopotami, the finest of the troops to
which they belonged having been singled out for slaughter."

Mr. Murray's List of Works in Preparation.

CHRISTIANITY IN CEYLON.
ITS INTRODUCTION AND PROGRESS UNDER THE PORTUGUESE, THE DUTCH,
THE BRITISH, AND AMERICAN MISSIONS,
WITH AN HISTORICAL VIEW OF THE BKAHMINICAL AND BUDDHIST SUPEKSTITIONS.
By Sir James Emerson Tennent.
With Illustrations. 8vo.

ADDRESSES AND CHARGES,
BY EDWARD STANLEY, D.D., LATE BISHOP OF NORWICH.
WITH A MEMOIR OF HIS LIFE.
By Rev. Arthur Penryhn Stanley, m.a.

LIFE OF GENERAL WASHINGTON.
By Washington Irving, Esq.

8vo.

HISTORY OF POTTERY AND PORCELAIN.
MODERN, EUROPEAN, AND ORIENTAL.
By Joseph Marryat, Esq.
With numerous Coloured Plates and Woodcuts. 8vo.

HISTORY OF ANCIENT POTTERY:
EGYPTIAN, ASIATIC, GREEK, ROMAN, ETRUSCAN, AND CELTIC.
By Samuel Birch, Esq.,
With Numerous Illustrations. 8vo.

 ' nJigflf  ™  ¦ 
Mr. "Murray's List of Works in Preparation,

A NEW CLASSICAL DICTIONARY
OF, GREEK AND ROMAN BIOGRAPHY, MYTHOLOGY, AND GEOGRAPHY.
By William Smith, ll.d.
Editor of the " Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities."
One Vol. 8vo.

THE PERSONAL NARRATIVE OP
AN ENGLISHMAN DOMESTICATED IN ABYSSINIA.
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With Original Sketches made by the Author. 8vo.

HANDBOOK FOR NORTH GERMANY AND THE RHINE.
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f
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L.

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HANDBOOK FOR ENGLAND AND WALES.
A GUIDE BOOK FOR THE TOURIST.
The ohject of this "Work is to give an account of the most remarkable Places and most
frequented Roads in England — enumerating especially the objects calculated to interest
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Touns and Summer Excursions.

Buildings.
Manufactures. Museums and Collections of Art, Nature,
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Public Works.
Ports and Harbours.
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Railroads, Viaducts, Tunnels, Bridges.
Rivers, Lakes, and Canals.
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Seats, Pictures, and Statues.
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Views, Waterfalls, Caverns.
The Cradles and Graves of Remarkable
Persons.
Battle Fields.
Plans of Excursions, Tours, etc.

And the test lines ofltovte/or seeing these objects to advantage, with least expenditure of
time and money.
Map and Plans. Post 8vo.

SALMONIA; OR, DAYS OF FLY-FISHING.
By Sir Humphry Davy.
New Edition, beautifully printed. With Illustrations. Fcap. 8vo.

CONSOLATIONS IN TRAVEL;
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By Sir Humphry Davy.
New Edition, beautifully printed. With Illustrations. Fcap. 8vo.

SPECIMENS OP THE

TABLE TALK OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
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Mr.w?M!rray's List of Works in Preparation. 5
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WITH HINTS FOR EXCURSIONS BT RAIL WAY,_ STEAMBOAT, AND ROAD.
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Post 8vp.
 ? 
SERMONS ON
THE NEW BIRTH OF MAN'S NATURE,
By Archdeacon Wilberforce.
8vo.

TRAYELS IN .CENTRAL AMERICA AND YUCATAN.
By John L. Stephens, Esq.
New Edition. Woodcuts. Post 8vo.

A MANUAL OF ELEMENTARY GEOLOGY;
OR, THE ANCIENT CHANGES OF THE EARTH AND ITS INHABITANTS.
By Sir Charles Lyell, p.r.s., p.g.s.
Third Edition, entirely rewritten. Woodcuts. 8vo.

PRINCIPLES OF GEOLOGY,
OR THE MODERN CHANGES OF THE EARTH AND ITS INHABITANTS.
By Sir Charles Lyell, p.e.s., p.g.s.
Eighth Edition, Carefully revised. Woodcuts. 8vol

THE QUARTERLY REVIEW. VOL LXXX.
BEING AN INDEX TO THE PRECEDING NINETEEN VOLUMES.
8to.

6 Mr. Murray's List of Works in Preparation.
THE WORKS OF ALEXANDER POPE.
EDITED, WITH NOTES, AN ORIGINAL LIFE, AND NUMEROUS UNPUBLISHED LETTERS.
By the Right Hon. John Wilson Oroker.
Portraits. 4 vols. 8vo.

LAVENGRO, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
By George Borrow, Esq.

3 Vols. Post 8vo.

VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY AND RESEARCH WITHIN
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FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD BROUGHT DOWN TO THE PRESENT TIME.
By Sir John Barrow, Bart.
A New and Revised Edition. With Portraits, &c. Post 8vo.

LETTERS AND JOURNALS OF SIR HUDSON LOWE.
REVEALING THE TRUE HISTORY OF NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA.
By the late Sir Harris Nicolas.
With Portrait. 3 Vols. 8vo.

A DICTIONARY OF CHRONOLOGY;
OR, CHRONOLOGY ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED AS A BOOK OF EASY
REFERENCE FOR ALL CLASSES.
One Vol. 8vo.

¦M"°y

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MR. MURRAY'S
LIST OF NEW WORKS NOW READY-

A LETTER TO HIS GRACE
The Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.
BY THE BISHOP OF EXETER.
Eighteenth Edition. 8vo. 3s. 6d.

The Speech of Edward Badeley, Esq.,
ON THE APPEAL OF GORHAM Y. BISHOP OF EXETER.
With a Preface on the Judgment. 8vo. 5*.

A LETTER
On the Present Crisis of the Church.
BY W. P. HOOK, D.D., Vicar of Leeds.
Second Edition. 8vo. 9d.

Two Sermons.
ON THE NONENTITY OF ROMISH SAINTS, AND INANITY OF ROMAN OEDINANCES.
BY W. P. HOOK, D.D., Vicar of Leeds.
Third Edition. With a Preface. 8vo. 2s. 6d.

 x>.  _________ 
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On The Doctrine of Holy Baptism.
WITH REMARKS ON REV. W. GOODE'S EFFECTS OF INFANT BAPTISM.
BY ARCHDEACON ¦WILBERFORCE.
Second Edition. 8vo. 7s. 6d.

On the Doctrine of the Incarnation,
IN ITS RELATION TO MANKIND AND TO THE CHURCH.
BY ARCHDEACON WILBERFORCE.
Third Edition. 8vo. 12s.

Letters of Civis on Indian Affairs,
BY SIR HENRY RUSSELL.
8vo. 2s. 6d.

LIVES OF
Vice- Admiral Sir C. V. Penrose, k.c.b.,
and Captain Trevenen.
BY THEIR NEPHEW, REV. JOHN PENROSE, M.A.

With Portraits. 8vo.

The Campaign of Radetzky in Piedmont;
OR, THE LIFE OF A SOLDIER ON ACTIVE SERVICE.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 01 HAOKLANDKR.
Post 8vO. 6s. 6d.
"Mr. Hacklander had the advantage of heing close to the person of Marshal Radetsky
during the Austrian campaign against the Piedmontese in 1849. Every facility was afforded
him of obtaining accurate information, and he fearlessly exposed himself in order to be an
eye-witness of some of the most striking incidents of the war. He seems to have been a
reporter to the Mlgememe Zeitung, and General itadetsky, with a frankness that might be
safely imitated in our own army, so placed him that no erroneous statements of the operations
of the troops might go forth. The book abounds in anecdote and vigorous descrintion
Allowing something for the difficulties of a translator, the work is nearly perfect a 2 tZ
ZbtTf he wo Th haV6.*10t,Ced ™"J d-<=iplinary points which escape the' civilian" bu we
doubt if he would have given a more entertaining account of the composition of the Austrian
army. We are strongly tempted to indulge in extracts, but want of space prevents ns/'
United Service Gazette.

***Mr. Murray's List of Works now Ready.

Lives of Mahomet and his Successors.
BY WASHINGTON IRVING, ESQ.
Two Vols. 8vo. 21s.
VOL. I. MAHOMET;— VOL. H. HIS SUCCESSORS.
" Mr Irvine's ' Life of Mahomet ' is what its writer intended it to be— an easy, perspicuous,
and flowing narrative of the admitted facts concerning Mahomet, and of the legends and
traditions of him and his faith now wrought into oriental literature. The latter are admirably
handled; and the view of Islamism, with which the volume closes, is a particularly useful
summary. The book presents nothing new in the way of either fact or philosophy, but it is
a gracefully written version of a marvellous and interesting, and often profoundly instructive
narrative The most recent illustrations of German scholars, we should add, have not been
overlooked." Mtammir.
" As a piece of literary work we can award high praise to this ' Life of Mahomet.' It is
Bkilfully constructed out of the material, such as it is ; the style is mellow and musical ; the
narrative flows on without interruption from the first page to the last,— and occasionally it is
brightened by passages of unusual beauty of diction and pictorial effect in the grouping of
ideas and of situations." Athewmtm.
" Those who have read the life of Mahomet, will find in the following pageB-most of their old
acquaintances again engaged, but in a vastly grander field of action ; leading armies, subjugating
empires, and dictating from the palaces and thrones of deposed potentates.
"In constructing his work, which is merely intended for popular use, the author has adopted
a form somewhat between biography and chronicle, admitting of personal anecdote, and a
greater play of familiar traits and peculiarities, than is considered admissible in the stately walk
of history." Preface to Vol. II.

History of Greece.
CONTINUED TO THE END OF THE PELOPONNESIAN WAR, WITH TWO CHAPTERS
ON SOCRATES AND THE SOPHISTS.
BY GEORGE GROTE, ESQ.
Vols. Seven and Eight; With Maps. 8vo. 16s. each.
"Both in stirring incident and in topics for thought and reflection, these volumes are richer
than any of their predecessors ; and the execution worthily corresponds to the material. Those
who have read Mr. Grote's former volumes will have observed that he invariably rises with
his subject and is found most adequate to it where its requirements are greatest. The better
acquainted any one is with Grecian history and with the manner in which that history has
heretofore been written, ttie higher will he his estimation of this work. Few hooks are more
calculated to impress the instructed reader both with admiration of the thorough manner in
which everything which the author attempts to do is done, and with surprise that almost every
thing was left for him to do. An enumeration of the points of Grecian history on ' which
he has thrown new light would comprise almost every one of its important phenomena, or even
its interesting incidents." Spectator.
" We wait the completion of this great work (a term rarely applicable to modern literary
achievement, but "here honestly deserved,) to offer such critical remarks, in the spirit of those
formerly made by us, as the entire view of Mr. Grote's learning and labour will demand for
proper estimation of its results. Our present wish is to indicate claims possessed, by his book
to the attention of readers not ordinarily interested in such subjects. Scholars do not need to
be told that Mr. Grote has gone far to satisfy the leading requirements of his magnificent
theme, as well in critical investigation and philosophical discussion, as in the closeness and
strength of narrative. The prediction is not at all hazardous that judgment will ultimately
pass for Mr. Grote's as the History of Greece." Examwner.

10 Mr. Murray's List of Works now Ready.

THE CAUSES OF THE SUCCESS OF
The English Revolution, 1640-1688.
BY M. GUIZOT.
Translated with a Preface. By Mrs. AUSTIN. Post 8vo, Is.
" The most eminent and most accomplished of all the political philosophers who, unrecog
nised to the extent of their merits at home, have honoured our shores with their presence,
and over-repaid any hospitality we could render them by contributions to our national literature,
has selected for examination and for illustration that period of our history upon which the
sentiments of such a man must be most especially interesting. The style of M. Guizotis most
happy. He avoids alike the effort at perpetual antithesis and epigram, which is the besetting
vice of French composition, and the elephantine march which many English historians consider
an essential of dignity. But he always writes pointedly, and frequently leads you up, by
gentle hut irresistible logical process, to a profound aphorism, in which he embalms a deceased
age and its wisdom. We will simply append an expression of our unaffected gratification, that
England should receive at the hands of M. Guizot so valuable and graceful a token that his
residence among us has only disturbed his literary labour (which is European property) to the
extent of giving it a direction so agreeable to Englishmen." Morning Chronicle.

Travels through Hungary & Transylvania.
WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THEIR CONDITION, SOCIAL, POLITICAL, AND ECONOMICAL.
BY JOHN PAGET, ESQ.
Second Edition. Maps and Woodcuts. 2 Vols. 8vo. 24s.
" We must now turn aside to make a short excursion into Hungary, with Mr. Paget for
our guide. It would not be well possible to choose a better, for he never suffers our interest,
to flag, and appears to have made himself accurately acquainted, not only with the localities
and traditions of the country, but with its whole history aud institutions, which present bo
many points of analogy to those of England, as really to invest the subject with a new and
peculiar interest for an Englishman." Quarterly Review.

Life of John Calvin.
DERIVED FROM AUTHENTIC SOURCES, WITH EXTRACTS FROM HIS CORRESPONDENCE,
BY THOMAS H. DYER, ESQ.
Portrait. 8vo. 15s.
" Mr. Dyer's Life is a careful, painstaking, and elaborate book, grounded upon original
documents, especially Calvin's epistles, and the various biographies of him that have appeared
from the time of Beza to the three contemporary German volumes of Dr. Henry. His frequent
digressions as to the state of religion in various countries, and his biographical notices of. the
different persons who are continually introduced in connexion with Calvin, somewhat impede
the narrative, and sometimes encumber it. The views of the state of religion are, however,
necessary ; the notices are informing ; and perhaps both are in harmony with the scheme of
the book. The whole story of the life and death of Servetus is minutely and clearly told.
Altogether, the book is a careful, solid, and scholar-like performance." A ihenoeum.
" We do not think Mr. Dyer's work is to be reckoned amongst the highest class of
biographies ; at the same time we are willing to allow that he has produced the best Life
of Calvin as yet written in English, that he has exhibited great learning and labour in his
collection of materials, and that the work will amply pay for perusal." Daily News.

+e*wM0** Mr. Murmy's List, of Works now Ready. 11
A Second Visit to the United States.
BY SIR CHARLES LYELL, F.R.S., P.G.S.
Second Edition. 2 vols. Post 8vo. I8s.
" It is less as a book of travels that the Visit is to be regarded than as an account of
remarkable scenery and natural phenomena, and a picture of manners and society. In both
these points of view Sir Charles Lyell possessed great advantages. He looks at Nature with
learned as well as pictorial eyes. He not only sees her wonders and her beauties, but he
knows their sources and consequences ; so that he informs as well as pleases the mind ; and we
think this is done more agreeably than on his first journey." Spectator.

The Cities and Cemeteries of Etruria,
OR THE EXTANT LOCAL REMAINS OF ETRUSCAN ART.
BY GEORGE DENNIS, ESQ.
With Map, Plates, and Woodcuts. 2 Vols. 8vo. 42s.
" The work is replete with elaborate but interesting and useful annotations, as also with
sketches of ruins, representations of works of Art, and maps of ancient sites. But here we
must take leave of it ; satisfied that it will prove itself a valuable accession to our antiquarian
literature. Its object is to make the sepulchre not only yield up its dead, but alBO afford
a clue to the character of the living. It makes the dead Etruscan start to life from the ashes
of his urn. Bearing this in view, its title is a happy one — The Cities and Cemeteries, in
other words', the Living and the Dead of Etruria." • Morning Ohronicle.

Lives of the Lindsays.
BEING A MEMOIR OF THE HOUSES OF CRAWFURD AND BALCARRES.
BY LORD LINDSAY.
3 Vols. 8vo, 42s.
" One of the very best specimens of Family History that our language affords. It is in
great part a compilation from personal Narratives, left in MS. by Lindsays of the two last
generations — and the older history of the race is largely interspersed with letters and docu
ments now first disinterred, with quotations from the monastic and chivalric chronicles of
Scotland, and with details extracted from the richly picturesque records of her criminal
jurisprudence." Quarterly Review.

Gothic Architecture in France.
BEING- AN ENQUIRY INTO THE CHRONOLOGICAL SUCCESSION OF THE ROMANESQUE AND
POINTED STYLES ; WITH NOTICES OF SOME OF THE PRINCIPAL BUILDINGS
ON WHICH IT IS FOUNDED.
BY THOMAS INKERSLEY, ESQ.
With an Index. 8vo. 12s.
" The work embraces an introduction ; extracts from old chronicles, &c, showing by direct
mention or allusion the dates of building certain structures ; and then a fuller description of
the .edifices by Mr. Inkersley. The whole will enable the student to view the practical
history of the architecture of which it treats in a connected manner, and thus to form a clearer
idea of the growth, transition, and decadence of the pointed style. The work is executed with
great diligence and scholarly candour." Spectator.

12 Mr. Murray's List of Works now Ready.
Nineveh and its Remains:
WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE CHALDEAN CHRISTIANS ; THE YEZIDIS, OR DEYIL-
WORSHIPPERS ; AND AN ENQUIRY INTO THE MANNERS AND ARTS OF THE
ANCIENT ASSYRIANS.
BY AUSTEN H. LAYARD, D.C.L.
Fourth Edition. "With Numerous Plates. 2 Vols. 8vo. 36$.
" The most extraordinary work of the present age, whether with reference to the wonderful
discoveries it describes, its remarkable verification of our early biblical history, or of the talent,
courage, and perseverance of its author. We have had our Bruces and Mungo Parks, as well
as our Parrys, Franklins, Backs, and Bosses, but we question whether a more enlightened or a
more enterprising traveller than Mr. Layard is to be met with in the annals of our modern
English history. In these days when the fulfilment of prophecy is engaging so much attention
we cannot hut consider that this work will be found to afiFord many extraordinary proofs of
the truth of biblical history, and of the extreme accuracy of the denunciations of the prophets
Isaiah and Ezekiel against the Kings of Assyria, and of the destruction of Nineveh in
particular." Times.

The Monuments of Nineveh,
ILLUSTRATED FROM NUMEROUS DRAWINGS MADE ON THE SPOT.
BY AUSTEN H. LAYARD, D.C.L.
100 Plates. Folio. £10 10s.
" In this magnificent collection of outline engravings of the most interesting discovery of
modern time, we have the means of forming something like an estimate of the full amount
of the debt due to the enterprise and genius of Mr. Layard. Figures of Assyrian monarchs
and rulers ; pictures of their usages and customs, of their buildings, arms, and arts ; repre
sentations of their audiences, sieges, battles, and lion-hunts ; shapes of their deities and idols,
colossal, monstrous, incongruous, yet not without sublimity and grandeur, are here presented
to us fresh from the chisel and the pencil of Assyrian Titians and Angelos, after having lain
buried under mountains of earth and rubbish for at least twenty-five centuries. We have had
no discovery in art that presents so many interesting features of observation and inquiry."

Anthologia Polyglotta ;
A SELECTION OF VERSIONS IN VARIOUS LANGUAGES. CHIEFLY FROM THE GREEK.
BY REV. HENRY WELLESLEY, D.D.
8vo. 15s.
The Versions are by authors of all countries and of all periods, down to the present day;
many of them inedited, and of these the greater number by living writers. The Greek
Originals are prefixed throughout, with a view to contrast the genius of the classical and
modern languages, to illustrate the principles of translation, and exhibit the influence of Greek
poetry upon literature in general. Preface.
" The result is a book which, whatever we may have to object against either its
design or its execution, must secure many pleasing recollections to those who have been
engaged in it, and afford much scope for agreeable relaxation to all who have a taste for the
minor elegances, or as modern parlance would call them, the amenities of literature."
Christian Rememircmcer.

Lives of the Chief Justices of England,
FROM THE NORMAN CONQUEST TO THE DEATH OF LORD MANSFIELD.
BY LORD CHIEF JUSTICE CAMPBELL.
2 Vols. 8vo. 80s.
" Although the period of history embraced by these volumes had been previously traversed
by the recent work of the noble and learned author, and a great portion of its most exciting
incidents, especially those of a constitutional nature, there narrated, yet in " The Lives of the
Chief Justices " there is a fund both of interesting information and valuable matter, which
renders the book well worthy of perusal by everyone who desires to obtain an acquaintance
with the constitutional history of his country, or aspires to the rank of either a statesman or a
lawyer. Few lawyers of Lord Campbell's eminence could have produced such a work as he
has put forth. None but lawyers of his experience and acquirements could have compiled a
work combining the same interest as a narration, to the public generally, with the "same
amount of practical information, for professional aspirants more particularly." Britannia.

A Lecture on Arctic Expeditions,
DELIVERED AT THE LONDON INSTITUTION,
BY 0. R. WELD, ESQ.
Second Edition. Map. Post 8vo. Is.
" An intelligent general. view of the subject of Arctic Discovery from early times, a rapid
hut well-informed sketch of its herpes and its vicissitudes in modern days, a hopeful view of
the chances of Franklin's return, and an account of the circumstances of the original expedition
and of the voyages in search, which will be read with considerable interest just now."
 Examiner.
Aunt Ida's Walks and Talks;
A STORY BOOK FOR YOUNG PERSONS.
BY A LADY.
With Four Illustrations. lGmo. 5s.
"One of the most pleasing little books of stories for children that it has been our
lot lately to meet with. The tales are chiefly translations from the German or Swedish :
the framework is supplied by walks in the neighbourhood of Heidelberg, by aunt Ida and five
little English nieces." Guardian.

The Heiress in Her Minority,
OR, THE PROGRESS OF CHARACTER.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "BERTHA'S JOURNAL."
2 Vols. 12mo. 18*.
" In this work there is a due admixture of religious instruction of a higher class — more
practical, and evincing a greater degree of learning than in most works of the same stamp.
On the whole, the book is a small, readable, compressed cyclopaedia, with a copious index
and distinct chapter heading!! — a very mine for youth, and a happy anodyne for the restless
hours of a wet day in a' country house, when 'bat and ball ' are forbidden, the skipping-rope
is laid aside, and les graces, battledore and shuttlecock, archery, and other amusements of
the same genus, are impossible. Then take up these green covered volumes, ye restless
imps, and sit down in the broad bow-window to revel in the beauties of the insects, and
the birdB, and the glorious flowers, which the ' Heiress ' brings before ye."
Mornmg Chronicle.

The Monasteries of the Levant.
BY THE HON. ROBERT CURZON, JUN.
Third~Edition. Numerous Woodcuts. Post 8vo. 15».
"This work is a most welcome addition to the stock of 'Travels in the East,' and chiefly
because it differs essentially from any which have ever before fallen under our notice, whether
the subject-matter or the mode of handling it be considered. It treats of thoroughly out-of-
the-way and almost untrodden spots and scenes, and in detailing the adventures which befel
him in his rambles in the east in quest of ancient manuscripts the author has contrived to
present to the reader some eight and twenty chapters of most agreeable writing, replete
with information on most interesting points. The result is this delectable book, a bright
and lively emanation from a happy and a cheerful mind — the unpretending yet highly interesting
and amusing ' jottings down ' of an educated traveller while roaming through those lands
endeared to all as the cradle of a pure faith or the early abode of the.arts and poetry. We
may, indeed, say, with perfect justice, that there is an easy gentleman-like style about him — a
fund of humour combined with correct judgment in the art of story-telling, which renders Lim
a, most acceptable companion even to those who may be indifferent to the value set upon
ancient uncial MSS. and early editions of the fathers." Times.

Handbook for London:
BY PETER CUNNINGHAM, F.S.A.
Revised and Enlarged Edition. Conypressed but not Abridged. In One Volume. Post 8vo. 16«.
" Very much to be pitied are those who cannot afford the time, or rather fractions of time
necessary to the enjoyment which Mr. Cunningham sets before them. The most recent of all
our Londiniana is a specimen of the originality which may be achieved by following a better
plan than those who have gone before, and breaking fresh ground for materials. To this
Handbook for London the praise of being most instructive as well as entertaining cannot
be denied."
"Mr. Cunningham has gathered from hitherto unexplored sources, such a 'multvmin
parvo ' of novelty and interest as the subject, not by any means new, seemed scarcely to admit
of. It is a dictionary in which any building, street, institution, or other particular of London
topography may be looked out and found in its alphabetical place, with its whereabouts, its
history, nature, contents, inhabitants, changes and modifications, succinctly given ; and
subjoined, any passages that contain facts, dates, allusions, or anecdotes illustrative of it.11
Quarterly Review.

A Physician's Holiday ;
OR A MONTH IN SWITZERLAND DURING THE YEAR 1848.
BY JOHN FORBES, M.D.
Second Edition. With Illustrations. Post 8vo. 8s. 6d.
" Those who contemplate a thorough or a partial tour through Switzerland will find A
Physician's Holiday very useful. Dr. Forbes gives some good general advice to the tourist,
economical, hygienic, viatorial ; he carries him through good ways, by good modes of locomotion,
to good inns ! he shows him the best out-of-door sights, and takes him out of the high road to
places less known, while he will stimulate the lazy or sauntering traveller by precept and
example." Spectator.

Mr. Murray's List of Works now Ready. 15
Travels in Egypt and the Holy Land.
BY Rev. J. E. SPENCER.
Illustrated with numerous Plates and Woodcuts. 8vo. 21s.

The History of Columbus ;
WITH AN ACCOUNT OF HIS VOYAGES, AND THOSE OF HIS COMPANIONS.
BY WASHINGTON IRVING, ESQ.
Third Edition,, revised. Maps. 8 Vols. 8vo. 31s. 6d.

An Eskimaux and English Vocabulary.
A HANDBOOK FOR TRAVELLERS IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS.
Oblong 16mo. 3s. 6d.

The Hurricane Guide :
BEING AN ATTEMPT TO CONNECT THE ROTATORY GALE, OR REVOLVING STORM,
WITH ATMOSPHERIC WAVES.
BY WILLIAM RADCLIFFE BIRT, ESQ.
With Circles of Cardboard, &c. Post 8vo. 3s.
" This work is one which demands the attention of all who are interested in the well-being
of that large -portion of our fellow countrymen engaged in ' business on the deep waters.' We
would urge all who are in any way connected with those mighty steamers to procure a copy,
study, it well and follow the author's advice. He is well known in scientific circles as having
devoted close attention for many years to the subject of atmospheric waves, and from his
position, his opinions are worthy of the most attentive regard." Hampshire Independent.

Our Chinese Commerce.
WITH REMARKS ON THE TEA DUTIES, HONG KONG, AND THE OPHJM TRADE.
BY SIR GEORGE STAUNTON, BART, M.P.
8vo. 2s.

Hungary :
ITS CONSTITUTION AND ITS CATASTROPHE.

BY CORVINUS.
8vo. 2s. 6d.

16 Mr. Murray's List of Works now Ready.

COMMENTARIES ON THE
War in Russia and Germany, 1812-13.
BY THE HON. COLONEL GEORGE CATHCART.
With 28 coloured Diagrams and Flans. 8vo. 14s.
" This humble but authentic contribution to the general stock of materials from which
historical knowledge is to be derived, is offered as the testimony of an eye-witness of much he
has recorded, and one who had peculiar opportunities of correct information respecting the rest."
Author's Preface.

Travels in Turkey
DURING THE YEARS 1487-8, MADE FOR THE PURPOSE OF ASCERTAINING THE
REAL STATE OF THE COUNTRY.
BT CHARLES MAC FARLANE, ESQ.
2 vols. 8vo. 28s.
"Mr. MacFarlane was altogether eleven months in Turkey during this last visit; re
maining first for a hrief period at Constantinople, then performing a country excursion
principally to the great Pashalik of Brusa, and, after another residence in Constantinople,
visiting Nicomedia and Adrianople. His accounts of the provincial pashaliks appear to us to
possess the greatest interest, and his occasional notices of agricultural or manufacturing
operations in places removed from the capital are ¦well worth reading. These he varies by
cleverly-drawn portraits of people with whom his travel brought him in contact, by remarkable
statistical details not seldom telling against his own views, and by notices of the public
departments of state, and of the leading Ministers, which we are not at all disposed to think
inaccurate or overcharged. The abuses of _the Harem are described generally as in no respect
reformed, melancholy descriptions are given of the manners and morals of women of station,
and Mr. MacFarlane speaks with ill-disguised contempt and sarcasm of the private character
and pursuits of the Sultan." Examiner.

History of Spanish Literature.
BY GEORGE TICKNOR, ESQ.
3 Vols. 8vo, 42s.
" A history of Spanish literature is a desideratum to England, apart from the general utility
of such works when well executed ; and Mr. Ticknoj's history is as well executed as we are
entitled to expect such a book to be. It is a labour of love and of time ; Mr. Ticknor's first
studies in Spanish literature were commenced upwards of thirty years ago, at Madrid and have
been continued with increasing zest to the present" day. In the pursuit of his studies and the
formation of his collection, he has enjoyed the assistance of many Spaniards of literary
eminence, as well as of his countrymen Irving and Prescott. These external aids, however
are of little consequence without natural aptitude, and Mr. Ticknor is in himself well qualified
for his task. His critical taste and acumen are good, with a leaning to the favourable side : he
is not only well read in Spanish literature, but in the collateral lines of French and English
critics and German scholars." Spectator

Bradbury & Evans, Printers, AYliitefriars.

YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY