LITERARY CHARACTERS. | 309 |
Come like shadows—so depart.
|
Faithful to my principle, ever as fresh candidates for literary fame arose, it was to me a source of great pleasure to do all that lay in my power to foster their aspirations, and, in many cases, to advise their course and guide their steps. According to circumstances, I thus became a sort of literary tutor, and the “Gazette” the expositor of my mind with respect to the talents and future prospects of the persons whose productions I exemplified, and whose hopes I cherished. In glancing through a portion of these endeavours I find the names of numbers who have since attained to eminence in the republic of letters; and it is a matter on which I feel something like pride, that my judgment in these cases has very rarely been falsified. As regards actors, artists, and authors, my predictions have been verified by the results with extraordinary fidelity; inasmuch as, among all my multitudinous adventures in the prophetic line, I can scarcely fix upon half-a-dozen which have not realised my opinions, and fulfilled my anticipation.
310 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
When Mr. Robert Montgomery commenced his career, he was roughly handled and greatly discouraged by the critical authorities. Well might he have poured out Churchill’s denunciation:—
Look through the world, in every other trade The same employment’s cause of kindness made; At least appearance of good-will creates, And every fool puffs off the fool he hates; Cobblers with cobblers smoke away the night, And in the common cause e’en players unite: Authors alone, with more than savage rage, Unnatural war with brother authors wage. |
I believe I stood almost alone in vindicating for Montgomery that poetic character which has since been
ratified by the public voice, and even conceded by those who used to rail at his
productions, and improve their critical censures by attacks of personal ridicule. He has,
however, by strange good fortune, written down the former, and outlived the latter, by
twenty-five or more editions of the “Omnipresence of the Deity,” twelve editions
of “Satan, or Intellect without
God,” ten editions of the “Messiah,” eight editions of “Oxford, or Alma Mater,” as many of “Woman,” six editions of “Luther,” and repeated editions of
his minor publications! I persuade myself that this immense popularity proves more than I
ever affirmed of the poet’s merits, and augured of his success. My warmth in favour
of his youthful efforts was no doubt founded upon the sense I entertained of their
intrinsic deserts, but it was probably increased by the ungenerous, unhandsome, and unjust
manner in which they were assailed by a clique of writers of that superabundant class who
seem to fancy that authors are made to be tortured, as wicked schoolboys torment
cock-chaffers, transfix them with a painful instrument, and then laugh at their writhing
gyrations and wretched groans. The argument, from Fun to Death, is nevertheless a very
ROBERT MONTGOMERY. | 311 |
The adverse press, however, prevailed so egregiously against the debut of
Robert Montgomery (who was falsely accused of a
wish to pass off his work as the performance of James, the beautiful and venerable bard of Sheffield), that, on his work
being what is called “subscribed” by Maunder, then starting as a bookseller, the whole Trade took only six
copies! But the “Literary Gazette”
reviews soon turned the scale, and when the third edition was called, the publisher, in
thanking me, stated that he had sold 2000 copies over the counter in ten days—a poetical
sale unequalled since the days of “Childe
Harold.” The “Times”
newspaper distinguished itself by opposing the run made against the young author, and a
laudatory criticism in that powerful organ most materially improved his poetic and prosaic
condition, and augmented the demand for his productions. Fame and Fortune are lovely twins,
and so rarely born in the marriage state of literature, that we may well congratulate the
party on whom such a blessing is shed. Professor
Wilson, in the potent “Blackwood” also put in a good word for “Satan” and his followers, in verse; and Wordsworth, Crabbe,
Bowles, Southey, and other eminent authorities, bore their friendly testimony to
the accession of a brother poet. His great consequent success has furnished a remarkable
comment on the cavil and, literally, hooting with which his early appearance was
encountered. I believe
312 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
“I trouble you with this line merely to say that
Montgomery has written to me from
Bath, desiring me to give you his most grateful thanks, and expressing himself
in terms which do honour to him, and which are well me-
MARY ANN BROWNE. | 313 |
“I beg you will accept my sincere acknowledgments for all kindnesses, and believe me,
“The book goes off well.”
When Mary Ann Browne, in her fifteenth year, produced her precocious poem of “Mont Blanc,” long before Albert Smith got enthusiastic about, and ascended that giant mountain, I hastened, as usual, to welcome the bud of promise, which I pronounced to be fair and fragrant, and asking but fostering care and judicious training to make it a graceful and a lasting shrub beside our English Helicon. Such sounds were music to the young girl’s ear, and a grateful letter from her father quickly acknowledged the kindness, and enclosed to me a sweet composition for the “Gazette,” entitled “The Native Land,” which received immediate insertion, and was the prelude to a number of charming poems from the same finely-gifted being. Among these was an attractive series called “Firsts and Lasts,” to which
* This was D. L. Richardson, a poet of sonnets, &c, in a very small way, but so egregiously vain and greedy of praise, that he published a diamond edition of his volume, and appended to it a hundred quotations from provincial and other newspapers, &c, in its praise; nearly every one of which had been sent from head-quarters as puff paragraphs, together with the bribe of advertisements (see p. 90). This was a way to do critical business! |
314 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
“I send three more ‘Firsts and Lasts.’ I intend, if I can possibly squeeze as many out of my brain, to make this series consist of twelve. But if I cannot make so many, you’re not to be affronted. I shan’t make any apologies about these being longer than the first, because I’ve known you put pieces of Miss Landon’s in three times as long. By the by, I’ll get you to give her the enclosed note, if she is returned. If not, give or send it to her the first opportunity. Thank you for noticing * * * It’s very well you did, or you would have been minus any more ‘Firsts and Lasts,’ as my patience was beginning to get rather threadbare, and it must be a great deal, indeed, that wears out my angelic temper!!!
“Love to all as usual, from Martha and myself; Papa and Mamma send kind compliments. Tell Agnes Martha has found the knife she wrote to her about, so she need not make any further search for it.
“I am very much astonished you do not either send my
‘Farewell’ or the history of its
fate. I had flattered myself it was not one of the very worst things I ever
wrote, and its not having been in the ‘Gazette’ is a matter of marvel to me, my puzzlement not being lessened by your saying it was in
print already. Where? that is what I have
MARY ANN BROWNE. | 315 |
“When I last wrote I had not received your letter, mine must have passed it on the road. I write to say I am very sorry there should have been any misunderstanding between us, which I now discover was all through your substituting the word print for type. You sent me word the ‘Farewell’ was in print, which I always understand to mean printed,* and which I think most people would take in that sense. It now seems you meant in type, ready for printing.* I did not tell you to destroy the ‘Farewell,’ I asked you to send it back, or said I would transmit it to the ‘Morning Post’ on receiving the MS. from you. The piece I said I had sent to that paper was the ‘Lines on New Year’s Day!!’ However, I should be very sorry, on account of former friendship, that there should be any ill-feeling between us, when it can be avoided. I thank you for your expressions of kindness towards me, which I believe to be sincere. Therefore, if you have no objection we will, though ten miles apart, mentally shake hands and give the matter bon repos. In future, therefore, let me subscribe myself,
“By the by, you were in precious humour last time you
* Two neat blunders: for 1st, publishing, and 2nd, being really printed.—W. J. |
316 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
(On back of letter.) “Pray read it, for it’s the clearing-up shower.”
There was much piquancy and charm in the conversation as well as the writings of poor Mary Ann Browne, whose early loss I sincerely lamented. She was a most unaffected and affectionate creature. I often had the pleasure of seeing her in Brompton, and her acquaintance with L. E. L. was all that was amiable and cordial.
For the sake of female union, I skip over a lapse of time (some ten years)
in order to say a few words about another of my great poetical favourites, and her entrance
upon the wild district of print (where types and troubles grow) which she has since so
laudably cultivated and embellished; for I also had the satisfaction to welcome into the
field the now justly popular Eliza Cook. Struck by
some of her productions, which she paid me the compliment to submit to me in manuscript, I
availed myself of the ice being broken to pay a visit to the unknown writer at her neat,
quiet, humble cottage residence in the Old Kent Road; and found, what I expected from the
specimens, a frank, feeling, and right-minded correspondent, not so juvenile as Mary Ann Browne, but yet so young and inexperienced as to
increase my admiration of the talent she possessed, and its touching direction to the great
end of ameliorating the condition of her fellow-creatures. As the needle points to the
pole, so did her inherent philanthropy seem ever to point to the improvement of the lowly,
and her sympathies to be awakened by the sufferings, only to be devoted to the promotion of
the happiness of the oppressed. Her mind and heart were even then in the mission she has so
zealously and beneficially pursued.
ELIZA COOK. | 317 |
The theme of her first letter was—
Few years ago I deem’d the tomb
A dreary place to think upon;
I shiver’d in the churchyard gloom,
And sicken’d at a bleaching bone.
|
Then all were round my warm young heart,
Each kindred tie, each cherish’d form;
I knew not what it was to part,
And give them to the grave and worm.
|
But soon I lost the gems of earth,
I saw the dearest cold in death;
And sorrow changed my laughing mirth
To searing drops and sobbing breath.
|
I stood by graves all dark and deep,
Pale, voiceless, wrapt in mute despair,
And left my sours adored to sleep
In stirless, dreamless, slumber there.
|
And now I steal at night to see
The soft, clear moonbeams playing o’er
Their hallow’d beds, and long to be
Where all most prized have gone before.
|
Now I can calmly gaze around
On tablet stones, with yearning eye,
And murmur o’er the grassy mound:
“’Tis a glorious privilege to die.”
|
The Grave hath lost its conquering might,
And Death its dreaded sting of pain,
Since they but ope the path of light
To lead me to the lov’d again.—Eliza Cook.
|
On these lines it seems I had offered some critical remarks, upon which I received the following:—
318 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
“My ‘fastidious master’ has a pupil, who deems herself honoured by the trouble he bestows on her, and begs to tell him his kind and just criticism is well appreciated; my muse is wild, and my judgment very immature and crazy, but such bland correction as yours at once quickens my perceptions and awakens my gratitude. I have endeavoured to alter the first stanza, whether for the better you must decide—
Few years ago I shunn’d the tomb, And turned me from a tablet stone, I shivered, &c. |
Now I can calmly gaze around On osiered heaps with yearning eye. |
“My reason for paying the postage was this—I thought unpaid letters might be refused at the office, but I now address in your name; if I do wrong, tell me so. You had better not pay postage to me, so this is fair warning, there is much pleasure in spending some twopences. If you can conveniently forward me a ‘Gazette,’ I shall be a happy recipient.
DR. BOWRING. | 319 |
The next inquiry, I think, led to a satisfactory result.
“I venture to trouble you with a question, which I trust your kindness will excuse, as I know of none so likely to solve it, nor to whom I would so confidently apply. The affair is this. The songs of mine which have appeared in the ‘Dispatch,’ have attracted the notice of musical composers, who give me a fair price for them, lately I have sold many to N. J. Sporle, but he has been told by some person that the words being already published may be appropriated by any one, and turned to profit, that they cease to be my property, and that I cannot sell them. Now this seems hardly probable, and I am certain not just. I take no remuneration from the ‘Dispatch’ proprietors, consequently the copyright is not theirs. No composer or publisher has yet thought proper to risk publication without applying to me, and those who have been long in the trade have told me the poetry is still my sole property, although printed in a weekly journal; but the declaration that I cannot secure them has so alarmed my friend Mr. Sporle, that if you would enable me to give him a decided answer, you would much oblige me. Your knowledge on literary matters induces me to address you, and I only hope you will not consider me too presuming if I beg the favour of a line at your leisure.
To return to somewhat earlier dates, Dr.
Bowring, only a few nights ago at a Lord Mayor’s fête, did me the favour to remember that when he was, as yet, a
comparatively little known author, and I, a popular wight with an influential
320 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
Of Croly, Proctor, and others of yet earlier dates, I have already spoken so much that I need not include them in this list—though I have materials of much interest, tempting me to encroach even on my now prescribed limits—but I must run over a few other names, out of a great number, which I now at least am obliged to pass in silence, some of them endeared to me by strong ties of friendship, and others connected with agreeable recollections of mutual kindnesses and regard.
Mais encore places aux dames! Of three ladies as
different from each other as the three Goddesses Venus,
Juno, and Minerva, who contended for the golden apple on Mount Ida, I have therefore
to speak; thankful that I am not the Paris, with the
discordant task of awarding the prize to one, but simply the critic who has to pronounce a
few sentences on the merits of all three. Lady
Blessington, Mrs. Loudon, and
Mrs. Carter Hall must therefore come into court.
Of the first, having already spoken, I shall here merely repeat that having advised her
with her first literary production “The Magic Lantern,” from that period I visited her constantly in St.
James’s-square, Mayfair, and Gore House; and the more I saw and knew of her, the more
I loved her kind and generous nature, her disposition
LITERARY CHARACTERS. | 321 |
In the earlier trials of Miss Jane Webb, now
Mrs. Loudon, I took an earnest interest: in
fact, I saved her from sinking, when first exposed to the struggle which a female venturing
upon the rugged path of literature is sure to experience. “The Mummy” is a production of great talent and
imaginative power. After its publication, and ways and means were needed to “carry on
the war,” the amiable Miss Spence and
Miss Webb concerted a periodical between them, which was to be
called “The Tabby’s Magazine;” and a gracious
proposal was made that L. E. L. and myself should
join the projectors, in which case Mr. Ollier
thought it would do exceedingly well, and Miss Webb was convinced that
Colburn would publish it, and it would have a
prodigious run! The promise was that our true allies would trespass as little on my time as
possible, undertake
322 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
The best laid schemes of mice and men Gang oft ajee; |
MRS. LOUDON: MRS. HALL. | 323 |
This is a lively sketch of author-feeling, and when one reflects on the sensitive traits it exhibits, it ought still more forcibly to impress the humane conviction, how base and cruel it is to lacerate and crush emotions so innocent and aspirations so laudable. In Miss Webb’s “Stories of a Bride,” was exemplified the benefit to be derived from attention to common-sense criticism. Whilst it was printing, a review appeared in the “Gazette,” in which I censured the foolish fashion of interlarding English books with phrases and scraps of French on which Miss Webb (now in good heart with prospects of farther success) sportively writes to me, “I am sorry to say that my ‘Bride’ is rather Frenchified, and makes use of more foreign phrases than I should have permitted her to do, if I had read your very able and very witty quiz upon Frenchified English in last week’s ‘Gazette,’ As it is, I have translated all the phrases that I dared, without running the risk of sending Mr. Bentley and all his devils to Bedlam.” On the eve of her marriage, the last time before changing the name I had at any rate done my best to elevate on the roll of literary merit, my too grateful friend writes to announce the coming event, and to assure me that “Mrs. Loudon will never forget the kindness shown to the friendless and unprotected Jane Webb.” And here it is fit to draw the curtain.
With Mrs. Hall I had not the
pleasure of a maiden acquaintance; but I enjoyed that gratification with regard to her
works, and, from the first to the last of them, have been their undeviating admirer and her
steadfast friend. It is after so long an interval, a sort of literary and
324 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
MRS. HALL: BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. | 325 |
I suppose there never was a literary brain that did not, at some time or other, contemplate new projects, and indulge in episodiac escapades, which were either left unfinished, or finished only to be laid upon the shelf. Perhaps Mrs. Hall herself has forgotten the schemes respecting which she did me the honour to consult me, but I have met with her memoranda for writing a History of Music, with biographical sketches of celebrated musicians, and an account of the rise and progress of national music from the earliest syllables of recorded time. I think such a work would be likely to be well received, and that her pen would have done, and might still, if she has preserved the materials, do justice to it. Another note refers to a History of Birds, suggested by her fondness for natural history from girlhood; and which I have no doubt she would have written, as she thought she would, con amore; but there are so many and such various publications on ornithology, that it would not be easy for a fresh attempt to make itself heard among the scientific noises, fierce screams, charming melodies, and endless chirpings of such a number of clamorous candidates for notice. Then Mrs. Hall did actually write a play, in three acts, the fate of which is hidden from my sight: and I can but vouch for the fact.
Her contributions to the “Literary Gazette” were a grateful reward; but I may, I am sure, dip,
without offence, into less public litera scripta
to show how much the office of kindly, yet impartial, criticism is valued by the most
deserving. In one instance I had pointed out
326 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
MRS. HALL. | 327 |
“Thank you a thousand times for your kind notice of my book. It would he impossible for any review to touch me as that has done: it brought back the last twelve years—it brought back the hour of intense anxiety, when the ‘Gazette’ lay for an hour upon my table, and yet I had not courage to cut the page—and when I read, I well remember the tears of pure joy that burst from my eyes; those feelings do not often return, but I hope they are never forgotten.
“To me, your name has ever borne the consciousness of wise friendship. You encouraged and cheered me; and I do not think I ever finished a chapter or a tale without wondering, ‘What the “Literary Gazette” would say of that!’
“I think you must enjoy, even at this season, when we all look back upon what we have lost, much real happiness from the knowledge that you have always fostered young talent, given circulation to opinions calculated to promote the influence of religion and morality, and never inflicted a careless wound on any living thing.
As the Cockneys sing, “(H)all’s well”; but other images crowd upon me, and the phantasmagoria is overwhelming. My endeavour to recal and revive them all is hopeless. A cyclopaedia is wanted.
In short, the auto-biographic form will not admit of the weaving in so
miscellaneous a pattern, and at this period of
328 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
Upon this said Memory I have a word to observe to my contemporaries, who, like myself, are often complaining of its slips and deficiencies. Now, it appears to me that we have not quite so much reason for this murmur as we imagine. It is not, in fact, that our memory serves us so badly, as that, having so much more to do, so many more things to remember, in Age than in Youth, it is not surprising that it should be oblivious to a portion of the load! It gives more scope, too, for those curious phenomena of the mind, which, by the windings of a chain or its links, over which the Will has neither power nor control, works the strange work of Re-collecting, which, evolved by this process and in this manner, is a faculty widely different from that of mere direct Re-membrance.
Hoping that I may live and have the opportunity to fashion some of my multitudinous materials (embracing many busy years) into the more practicable shape I have indicated; I must now run very briefly and hastily over a summary of personal and literary relations, which sweetened and variegated the time to which my later chapters have been devoted, and trust to a few letters casually rescued from my heaps, to afford a little farther illustration of my imperfect roll-call.*
Again I give the first place to the sex, and mention with pleasurable feelings the immediate cheering I offered to the earliest publications of Mrs. Bray, Mrs. Gore, Miss
* See Appendix. |
FEMALE ORNAMENTS OF LITERATURE. | 329 |
But when I come to glance at the list of male friends, with whom my vocation and active enterprise in every matter that concerned the Arts and Literature connected me, I find myself overwhelmed even within the limited circle of three or four short years. I cannot enumerate them, far less describe the various kinds and degrees of future intercourse to which they led. Shall I try an approximate but very partial classification?
Pennie, the author of “The Royal Minstrel,” a heroic poem of much
poetic power, in twelve books, and afterwards of “Rogvald,” both written in his humble cot at
Lulworth, in the midst of mental distraction and (literally) physical starvation, was
speedily brought under my notice, and had no cause to regret the circumstance. Haydon and his
330 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
LITERARY CONTEMPORARIES. | 331 |
My countrymen who came to push their literary fortunes in London, were always welcome to my hospitalities and help in their pursuits; and those whom I only knew through correspondence, failed not to find my pen prompt to espouse their interests. Thomas Pringle, A. Picken, Wilson the Scottish ballad minstrel, recommended by Blackwood, Mackay the famous Baillie Nicol Jarvie, recommended by Scott, and almost all the classes who had public objects in view, either came or were consigned to me as to a friend; and such honours to my native land as Professor Wilson, Moir, Pollok, Motherwell, Galt, Burnes (of eastern fame), J. B. Frazer and Baillie, Tytler and the two brothers Chambers—my compatriots, who have accomplished so much for the instruction and elevation of the humbler orders wherever the English language is read—all, received the earnest homage of the “Literary Gazette,” and the use of its utmost exertions to promote the success of their delightful productions and augment the influence of their philanthropic labours. I was well kept up to the knowledge of what was doing in the Edinburgh school, which had raised itself from provincial dependency into so noble and flourishing a head of literary enterprise, by incessant missives from Constable, Blackwood, James Ballantine, Cadell, and others, writers and publishers, whose industry and kindness in supplying me with information, crammed me with the news, and were very valuable in filling up my weekly measures of intelligence.
Nor was I less fortunate in my relations with Ireland
332 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
Mr. Crofton Croker was for many years a great ally
of mine in the “Gazette,” and his
very numerous contributions, derived not only from his own literary and antiquarian tastes,
but from his access to information as a clerk in the Admiralty, were generally very
acceptable. Our intimacy was consequently as close as our intercourse was frequent; and
many a humorous ebullition and piece of practical joke attended it. For devising and
executing these, his
LITERARY CONTEMPORARIES. | 333 |
“Pray accept my best thanks for the beautiful number of the ‘Portrait Gallery’ you were good enough to send me yesterday. The two first engravings, I think perfect, but the third has (to my eye) a kind of Howe-came-you-so? expression about it, as if he had just taken what Captain Hall calls a north-wester—videlicet, a half tumbler of rum filled up with rum and water.
“I do not know whether your experience leads you far enough to know that favours conferred on the female sex emboldens them to ask for more. If, acquainted with this fact, you will not be surprised that I should make direct application for the boon of a stray cookery-book, should such a thing be lying useless on your floor after undergoing the ceremony of reviewal. I have frequently asked Crofton to beg for me, but he is not yet quite epicure enough to remember the commission—which I assure you, to a very ignorant housekeeper, would be a most desirable possession.
“I was very sorry to hear your interior has been
334 | AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. |
“When I see you again, I have still more to say to you, but this is ‘all at present’ from,
“P.S. It might appear impertinent in me to hint at the very talented manner in which the memoirs of the present number are ‘got up.’”
The drollery of the following I presume to be unique.
“I have the pleasure to inform you I was this evening safely delivered as per margin, and that I am doing as well as can be expected.
Son. | Daughter. |
One. |
The last is not unworthy of its precursors.
“If you have heard how ill your godson has
GRAFTS FROM IRISH HUMOUR. | 335 |
“As he is now tolerably well acquainted with his alphabet, I should be glad to know when you purpose commencing his instructions in the Catechism. I have taught him some pretty little tricks myself, but I leave the moral and religious part of his education in the hands of his worthy sponsors.
“I am daily more and more convinced that the Rosery must have been a sweet, attractive spot, so many of our friends used to come to see it. ‘With which I am.’
The Irish humours of a facetious husband were surely well played up to by a spirit like this, and it was the case in many instances when I begged “Mirth admit me of thy crew,” and reaped lots of recreation from my prayer being granted. I have only to add in explanation that the birth announced was that of a young gentleman to whom I stood (with Mr. J. Wilson Croker) as one of the godfathers, and who I believe, in spite of my neglect, has grown up reverentially to follow in the footsteps of his sainted sire.
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