Books and Authors Part 9

CLEAN HANDS.

Lord Brougham, during his indefatigable canva.s.s of Yorks.h.i.+re, in the course of which he often addressed ten or a dozen meetings in a day, thought fit to harangue the electors of Leeds immediately on his arrival, after travelling all night, and without waiting to perform his customary ablutions. "These hands are clean!" cried he, at the conclusion of a diatribe against corruption; but they happened to be very dirty, and this practical contradiction raised a hearty laugh.

MODERATE FLATTERY.

Jasper Mayne says of Master Cartwright, the author of tolerable comedies and poems, printed in 1651:--

"Yes, thou to Nature hadst joined art and skill; In thee, Ben Jonson still held Shakspeare's quill."

EVERY-DAY LIFE OF JAMES SMITH.

"One of the Authors of the _Rejected Addresses_" thus writes to a friend:[3]--

"Let me enlighten you as to the general disposal of my time. I breakfast at nine, with a mind undisturbed by matters of business; I then write to you, or to some editor, and then read till three o'clock. I then walk to the Union Club, read the journals, hear Lord John Russell deified or _diablerized_, (that word is not a bad coinage,) do the same with Sir Robert Peel or the Duke of Wellington; and then join a knot of conversationists by the fire till six o'clock, consisting of lawyers, merchants, members of Parliament, and gentlemen at large. We then and there discuss the three per cent. consols, (some of us preferring Dutch two-and-a-half per cent.), and speculate upon the probable rise, shape, and cost of the New Exchange. If Lady Harrington happen to drive past our window in her landau, we compare her equipage to the Algerine Amba.s.sador's; and when politics happen to be discussed, rally Whigs, Radicals, and Conservatives alternately, but never seriously,--such subjects having a tendency to create acrimony. At six, the room begins to be deserted; wherefore I adjourn to the dining-room, and gravely looking over the bill of fare, exclaim to the waiter, 'Haunch of mutton and apple tart.' These viands despatched, with the accompanying liquids and water, I mount upward to the library, take a book and my seat in the arm-chair, and read till nine. Then call for a cup of coffee and a biscuit, resuming my book till eleven; afterwards return home to bed. If I have any book here which particularly excites my attention, I place my lamp on a table by my bed-side, and read in bed until twelve. No danger of ignition, my lamp being quite safe, and my curtains moreen. Thus 'ends this strange eventful history,'" &c.

[3] In his Comic Miscellanies.

FRENCH-ENGLISH JEU-DE-MOT.

The celebrated Mrs. Thicknesse undertook to construct a letter, every word of which should be French, yet no Frenchman should be able to read it; while an illiterate Englishman or Englishwoman should decipher it with ease. Here is the specimen of the lady's ingenuity:--

"Pre, dire sistre, comme and se us, and pa.s.s the de here if yeux canne, and chat tu my dame, and dine here; and yeux mai go to the faire if yeux plaise; yeux mai have fiche, muttin, porc, buter, foule, hair, fruit, pigeon, olives, sallette, forure diner, and excellent te, cafe, port vin, an liqueurs; and tell ure bette and poll to comme; and Ile go tu the faire and visite the Baron. But if yeux dont comme tu us, Ile go to ure house and se oncle, and se houe he does; for mi dame se he bean ill; but deux comme; mi dire yeux canne ly here yeux nos; if yeux love musique, yeux mai have the harp, lutte, or viol heere. Adieu, mi dire sistre."

RELICS OF IZAAK WALTON.

Flatman's beautiful lines to Walton, (says Mr. Jesse) commencing--

"Happy old man, whose worth all mankind knows Except himself,"

have always struck us as conveying a true picture of Walton's character, and of the estimation in which he was held after the appearance of his "Angler."

The last male descendant of our "honest father," the Rev. Dr. Herbert Hawes, died in 1839. He very liberally bequeathed the beautiful painting of Walton, by Houseman, to the National Gallery; and it is a curious fact, as showing the estimation in which anything connected with Walton is held in the present day, that the lord of the manor in which Dr.

Hawes resided, laid claim to this portrait as a heriot, though not successfully. Dr. Hawes also bequeathed the greater portion of his library to the Dean and Chapter of Salisbury; and his executor and friend presented the celebrated prayer-book, which was Walton's, to Mr. Pickering, the publisher. The watch which belonged to Walton's connexion, the excellent Bishop Ken, has been presented to his amiable biographer, the Rev. W. Lisle Bowles.

Walton died at the house of his son-in-law, Dr. Hawkins, at Winchester.

He was buried in Winchester Cathedral, in the south aisle, called Prior Silkstead's Chapel. A large black marble slab is placed over his remains; and, to use the poetical language of Mr. Bowles, "the morning suns.h.i.+ne falls directly on it, reminding the contemplative man of the mornings when he was, for so many years, up and abroad with his angle, on the banks of the neighbouring stream."

PRAISE OF ALE.

Dr. Still, though Bishop of Bath and Wells, seems not to have been over fond of water; for thus he sings:--

"A stoup of ale, then, cannot fail, To cheer both heart and soul; It hath a charm, and without harm Can make a lame man whole.

For he who thinks, and water drinks, Is never worth a dump: Then fill your cup, and drink it up, May he be made a pump."

DANGEROUS FOOLS.

Sydney Smith writes:--If men are to be fools, it were better that they were fools in little matters than in great; dulness, turned up with temerity, is a livery all the worse for the facings; and the most tremendous of all things is a magnanimous dunce.

BULWER'S POMPEIAN DRAWING-ROOM.

In 1841, the author of _Pelham_ lived in Charles-street, Berkeley-square, in a small house, which he fitted up after his own taste; and an odd _melee_ of the cla.s.sic and the baronial certain of the rooms presented.

One of the drawing-rooms, we remember, was in the Elizabethan style, with an imitative oak ceiling, bristled with pendents; and this room opened into another apartment, a fac-simile of a chamber which Bulwer had visited at Pompeii, with vases, candelabra, and other furniture to correspond.

James Smith has left a few notes of his visit here: "Our host," he says, "lighted a perfumed pastile, modelled from Vesuvius. As soon as the cone of the mountain began to blaze, I found myself an inhabitant of the devoted city; and, as Pliny the elder, thus addressed Bulwer, my supposed nephew:--'Our fate is accomplished, nephew! Hand me yonder volume! I shall die as a student in my vocation. Do thou hasten to take refuge on board the fleet at Misenum. Yonder cloud of hot ashes chides thy longer delay. Feel no alarm for me; I shall live in story. The author of _Pelham_ will rescue my name from oblivion.' Pliny the younger made me a low bow, &c." We strongly suspect James of quizzing "our host."

He noted, by the way, in the chamber were the busts of Hebe, Laura, Petrarch, Dante, and other worthies; Laura like our Queen.

STERNE'S SERMONS.

Sterne's sermons are, in general, very short, which circ.u.mstance gave rise to the following joke at Bull's Library, at Bath:--A footman had been sent by his lady to purchase one of Smallridge's sermons, when, by mistake, he asked for a _small religious_ sermon. The bookseller being puzzled how to reply to his request, a gentleman present suggested, "Give him one of Sterne's."

It has been observed, that if Sterne had never written one line more than his picture of the mournful cottage, towards the conclusion of his fifth sermon, we might cheerfully indulge the devout hope that the recording angel, whom he once invoked, will have blotted out many of his imperfections.

"TOM HILL."

A few days before the close of 1840, London lost one of its choicest spirits, and humanity one of her kindest-hearted sons, in the death of Thomas Hill, Esq.--"Tom Hill," as he was called by all who loved and knew him. His life exemplified one venerable proverb, and disproved another; he was born in May, 1760, and was, consequently, in his 81st year, and "as old as the hills;" having led a long life and a merry one.

He was originally a drysalter; but about the year 1810, having sustained a severe loss by a speculation in indigo, he retired upon the remains of his property to chambers in the Adelphi, where he died; his physician remarking to him, "I can do no more for you--I have done all I can. I cannot cure age."

Hill, when in business at the unlettered Queenhithe, found leisure to acc.u.mulate a fine collection of books, chiefly old poetry, which afterwards, when misfortune overtook him, was valued at 6000_l._ Hill was likewise a Maecenas: he patronized two friendless poets, Bloomfield and Kirke White. The _Farmer's Boy_ of the former was read and admired by him in ma.n.u.script, and was recommended to a publisher. Hill also established _The Monthly Mirror_, to which Kirke White was a contributor.

Hill was the Hull of Hook's _Gilbert Gurney_. He happened to know everything that was going on in all circles; and was at all "private views" of exhibitions. So especially was he favoured, that a wag recorded, when asked whether he had seen the new comet, he replied--"Pooh! pooh! I was present at the private view."