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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS,
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES AND MARY COWDEN CLARKE, 
 
 AUTHORS OF " THE COMPLETE CONCORDANCE TO SHAKESPEARE," 
 "riches of CHAUCER," ETC. 
 
 WITH LEITERS OF 
 
 CHARLES LAMB, LEIGH HUNT, 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD, AND CHARLES DICKENS; 
 
 AND A 
 
 PREFACE BY MARY COWDEN CLARKE. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, 
 
 743 AND 745 Broadway. 
 \All rights reserved]
 
 C^jf
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 GENERAL RECOLLECTIONS . 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF JOHN KEATS 
 CHARLES LAMB AND HIS LETTERS 
 
 MARY LAMB 
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS . 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD AND HIS LETTERS 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS 
 INDEX • • 
 
 tAGM 
 
 vii 
 I 
 1 20 
 158 
 176 
 190 
 
 273 
 295 
 
 343
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 A PORTION of these " Recollections " apf eared in 
 the Gentleman s Magazine ; but appeared therein 
 imperfect form. They were written by the Author- 
 couple happily together. One of the wedded pair 
 has quitted this earthly life ; and the survivor now 
 puts the " Recollections " into complete and col- 
 lected form, happy at least in this, that she feels 
 she is thereby fulfilling a wish of her lost other 
 self. 
 
 The earliest and best of these "Recollections" 
 (the one on John Keats, written entirely by the 
 beloved hand that is gone) gave rise to the rest. 
 Friends were so pleased and interested by the 
 schoolfellow's recollections of the poet, that they 
 asked for other recollections of writers known to 
 both husband and wife. The task was one of 
 mingled pain and pleasure ; but it was performed
 
 viii PRE FA CE. 
 
 ^like so many others undertaken by them — in 
 happy companionship, and this made the pleasure 
 greater than the pain. 
 
 Charles and Mary Cowden Clarke may with truth 
 be held in tender remembrance by their readers as 
 among the happiest of married lovers for more than 
 forty-eight years, writing together, reading together, 
 working together, enjoying together the perfection 
 of loving, literary consociation ; and kindly sym- 
 pathy may well be felt for her who is left to singly 
 subscribe herself, 
 
 Her readers' faithful servant. 
 
 Mary Cowden Clarke. 
 
 Villa Novello, 
 Genoa, 1S78.
 
 
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 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 John Clarke — Vincent Novello — John Ryland — George Dyer 
 — Rev. Rowland Hill — Dr. Alexander Geddes —Dr. Priestley 
 — Bishop Lowth — Gilbert Wakefield — Mason Good — 
 Richard Warburton Lytton — Abbe Beliard — Holt White- 
 Major and Mrs. Cartwright — John Keats — Edward Holmes 
 — Edward Cowper — Frank Twiss — Mrs Siddons — Miss 
 O'Neil — John Kemble — Edmund Kean — Booth — Godwin. 
 
 To the fact of our having had pre-eminently good and 
 enlightened parents is perhaps chiefly attributable the 
 privilege we have enjoyed of that acquaintance with 
 gifted people which has enabled us to record our recol- 
 lections of many writers. Both John Clarke the school- 
 master and Vincent Novello the musician, with their 
 admirable wives, liberal-minded and intelligent beyond 
 most of their time and calling, delighted in the society 
 and friendship of clever people, and cultivated those 
 relations for their children. 
 
 By nature John Clarke was gentle-hearted, clear-headed, 
 and transparently conscientious — supremely suiting him 
 for a schoolmaster. As a youth he was articled to a 
 lawyer at Northampton ; but from the first he felt a 
 
 B
 
 2 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 growing repugnance to the profession, and this repugnance 
 was brought to unbearable excess by his having to spend 
 one whole night in seeking a substitute for performing the 
 duty which devolved upon him from the sheriff's unwill- 
 ingness to fulfil the absent executioner's office of hanging 
 a culprit condemned to die on the following morning. 
 With success in finding a deputy hangman at dawn, after 
 a night of inexpressible agony of mind, came his deter- 
 mination to seek another profession, and he finally found 
 more congenial occupation by becoming usher at a school 
 conducted by the Rev. John Ryland, Calvinistic minister 
 in the same town. My' father's fellow-usher was no other 
 than George Dyer (the erudite and absent-minded Greek 
 scholar immortalized in Elia's whimsical essay entitled 
 " Amicus Redivivus "); the one being the writing-master 
 and arithmetical teacher, the other the instructor in clas- 
 sical languages. Each of these young men formed an 
 attachment for the head master's step-daughter, Miss Ann 
 Isabella Stott ; but George Dyer's love was cherished 
 secretly, while John Clarke's was openly declared and his 
 suit accepted. The young couple left Northampton with 
 the lady's family and settled in Enfield, her step-father 
 having resolved upon estabhshing a school near I,ondon. 
 For this purpose a house and grounds were taken in that 
 charming village — among the very loveliest in England, — 
 which were eminently fitted for a school ; the house being 
 airy, roomy, and commodious, the grounds sufficiently 
 large to give space for flower, fruit, and vegetable gardens, 
 playground, and paddock of two acres affording pasturage 
 
 1 These are Charles Cowden Clarke's reminiscences. When 
 the first person plural is not used the context will indicate 
 whether it is Charles or Mary Cowden Clarke wlv) speaks.
 
 JOHN RYLAND. 3 
 
 for two cows that supplied the establishment with abun- 
 dant milk. 
 
 One of the earliest figures that impressed itself upon my 
 childish memory was that of my step-grandfather — stout, 
 rubicund, facetious in manner, and oddly forcible when 
 preaching. The pulpit eloquence of John Ryland 
 strongly partook of the well-recorded familiarities in ex- 
 pression that have accompanied the era of the all but 
 adored Rowland Hill. Upon one occasion, when 
 delivering a sermon upon the triumph of spiritual grace 
 over Evil, in connexion with the career of the Apostle 
 Paul, John Ryland's sermon concluded thus : — " And so 
 the poor Devil went off howling to hell, and all Pande- 
 monium was hung in mourning for a month." His 
 favourite grace before meat was : — " Whereas some have 
 appetite and no food, and others have food and no appe- 
 tite, we thank thee, O Lord, that we have both!" Old 
 Mr. Ryland was acquainted with the Rev. Rowland Hill ; 
 and once, when my grandmother expressed a wish to go 
 up to London and hear the famous preacher, her spouse 
 took her to the chapel in the morning and afterwards to 
 Rowland Hill's own house, introducing her to him, say- 
 ing, " Here's my wife, who prefers your sermons to her 
 husband's ; so I'll leave her with you while I go and 
 preach this afternoon." Between the old gentleman and 
 myself there existed an affectionate liking, and when he 
 died, at a ripe age, I declared that if " old sir " (my usual 
 name for him) were taken away I w^ould go with him ; 
 but when the hearse came to the door to convey the 
 remains to Northampton, for burial, according to the wish 
 of the deceased, my boyish imagination took fright, and I 
 ran to my mother, exclaiming, " I don't want to go with 
 old sir in the black coach ! " 
 
 B 2
 
 4 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 It has been said that *' Every one should plant a tree 
 who can ;" and my father was a devoted believer in this 
 axiom. While still a little fellow, I used to be the com- 
 panion of his daily walks in the green fields around oui 
 dwelling ; and many a tree have I seen him plant. I had 
 the privilege of carrying the bag containing his store ot 
 acorns : he would dibble a hole in the earth with his 
 walking-stick, and it was my part to drop an acorn into 
 the opening. It was a proud day for me when, the 
 walking-stick chancing to snap, I was permitted to use 
 the ivory-headed implement, thus fortunately reduced to 
 a proper size for me ; so that when my father had selected 
 a spot, it was / who dibbled the hole as well as dropped 
 in the acorn ! 
 
 In many respects my father was independent-minded 
 far in advance of his time ; and an improvement sys- 
 tematized by him in the scholastic education of the boys, 
 which testifies the humanity of his character as well as 
 the soundness of his judgment, added considerably to 
 the prosperity of his later career. Instead of the old 
 custom of punishing with the cane, a plan was drawn up 
 of keeping an account-book, for and by each scholar, of 
 each performance at his lessons; "B" for bene, "O" 
 for optime, and on the opposite page an " X " for negli- 
 gence or wrong conduct ; and rewards were given at the 
 end of the half-year in accordance with the proportion of 
 good marks recorded. A plan was also adopted for 
 encouraging "voluntary" work in the recreative hours. 
 For French and Latin translations thus performed first, 
 second, and third prizes were awarded each half-year in 
 the shape of interesting books. John Keats (if I mistake 
 not) twice received the highest of these prizes. In his 
 last half-year at school he commenced the translation of
 
 DR. ALEXANDER GEDDES. 5 
 
 the -^neid, which he completed while with his medical 
 master at Edmonton. 
 
 My father was intimate with the celebrated Roman 
 Catholic writer, Dr. Alexander Geddes, and subscribed 
 to all the portions of the Bible that Geddes lived to 
 translate. He was upon equally familiar terms with Dr. 
 Priestley ; and such was my father's Biblical zeal that he 
 made a MS. copy of Bishop Lowth's translation of Isaiah, 
 subjoining a selection of the most important of the trans- 
 lator's notes to the text. This MS., written in the most 
 exquisitely neat and legible hand (the occasionally occur- 
 ring Hebrew characters being penned with peculiar care 
 and finish), bound in white vellum, with a small scarlet 
 label at the back, the slight gilding dulled by age Ixit the 
 whole of the dainty volume in excellent preservation, is 
 still in my possession. He took a peculiar interest in the 
 work, much pursued at that time, of Biblical translation, 
 and closely watched the labours of Gilbert Wakefield, the 
 translator of the New Testament ; and the eminent sur- 
 geon Mason Good — a self-educated classic— who pro- 
 duced a fine version of Job, the result of his Sunday 
 morning's devotion. 
 
 I remember accompanying my father on one occasion 
 in a call upon Dr. Geddes. We found him at lunch ; and 
 I noticed that beside his basin of broth stood a supply of 
 whole mustard seed, of which he took alternate spoonfuls 
 with those of the broth : which he said had been recom- 
 mended to him as a wholesome form of diet. He had a 
 thin, pale face, with a pleasant smile and manner ; and 
 told us several droll, odd things during our stay, in an 
 easy, table-talk style. But Dr. 'Geddes was irritable in 
 controversy, for we heard from George Dyer that at a 
 party given by Geddes, at his lodging, to some literary
 
 6 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 men, the subject of James II. arose, and the Doctor was 
 so furious at the unfavourable estimate of the King's 
 character expressed by his guests that he kicked over the 
 table upon them in his wrath. In those days men's ire 
 *' grew fast and furious " in discussion. 
 
 I was but a mere child, wearing the scarlet jacket and 
 nankeen trousers of the time, with a large frilled cambric 
 collar, over which fell a mass of long, light-brown curls 
 reaching below the shoulders, when, encouraged by him- 
 self and my father, I used to visit Mr. Richard Warbur- 
 ton Lytton, and was hardly tall enough on tip-toe to 
 reach the bell-handle at the front garden-gate. Mr. Lyt- 
 ton, although the owner of Knebworth, one of those old- 
 fashioned mansions built with as many windows as there 
 are days in the year — for some reason known only to 
 himself — dwelt for many years at Enfield, and afterwards 
 at Ramsgate, where he died. He was maternal grand- 
 father to the late Lord Bulwer Lytton, his daughter 
 having married a Mr. Bulwer ; and after Warburton Lyt- 
 ton's death the author of " Pelham" adopted the mater- 
 nal name. 
 
 Richard Warburton Lytton was educated at Harrow, 
 and latterly attained the first class, in which were himself, 
 the eminent Sir William Jones, and Bennett, Bishop 
 of Cloyne. I have heard my father say that Mr. Lytton 
 has read to him long portions of the Greek histories into 
 English with such clear freedom that his dialect had not 
 the least effect of being a translation made at the time of 
 perusal. He was a man of the most amiable and liberal 
 spirit. Several Frenchmen having emigrated to Enfield 
 at the outbreak of the Revolution, Mr. Lytton displayed 
 the most generous sympathy towards them ; and they 
 were periodically invited to entertainments at his house,
 
 RICHARD LYTTON—ABB:^ B^LIARD. 7 
 
 especially on their fast days (more properly speaking, 
 abstinence days), when there was sure to be on his table 
 plenty of choice fish. Among these gentlemen emigres 
 was a certain delightful Abbe Beliard, who became French 
 teacher at our school, and who was so much esteemed 
 and even loved by his pupils that many of them were 
 grieved almost to the shedding of tears — an unusual tri- 
 bute from schoolboy feeling — when he took leave of them 
 all to return to his native land. The bishop of his dis- 
 trict required his return (peace between France and 
 England having been declared), giving him the promise 
 of his original living. Mr. Lytton, upon visiting Rouen, 
 having found poor Beliard in distress (his Diocesan 
 having forfeited his promise), with characteristic gene- 
 rosity received his Enfield guest in his Normandy lodging 
 till the abbe had obtained the relief that had been 
 guaranteed to him. 
 
 Mr. Lytton had a very round, fat face, he was small- 
 featured and fresh-coloured ; in person he was short, fat, 
 and almost unwieldy. I used to see him, taking such 
 exercise as his corpulence would permit, in his old- 
 fashioned so-called " chamber horse " — an easy chair with 
 so rebounding a spring cushion that it swayed him up and 
 down when he leaned his elbows on its arms — while 
 I stood watching him with the interest of a child, and 
 listening with still greater interest to the anecdotes and 
 stories he good-naturedly related to me — stories and 
 anecdotes such as boys most love to hear — adventurous, 
 humorous, and wonderfully varied. 
 
 Another house in our vicinity that I enjoyed the pri- 
 vilege of visiting was' that of Mr. Holt White, nephew to 
 the Rev. Gilbert White, the fascinating historian of the 
 parish and district of Selborne, of which he was the vicar.
 
 8 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Mr. Holt White had purchased a handsome property on 
 the borders of the Chase — then unenclosed — and came 
 there to reside. He made the acquaintance of my father, 
 and placed his little son under his tuition. Mr. White 
 was in person, manner, accomplishments, and intercourse 
 a graceful specimen of the ideal aristocrat. As an 
 author he was strictly an amateur. He made himself one 
 among the band of Shakespearian commentators, and I 
 have a slight recollection that in the latter period of his 
 life he was engaged in editing one of the Miltonian essays 
 — I believe the Areopagitica. He also made an effort to 
 be elected member of Parliament for Essex, but failed. 
 His political opinion was of a broad Liberal character, 
 and one of his most intimate associates was the heartily 
 respected, the bland and amiable Major Cartwright, 
 whose intercourse and personal demeanour in society and 
 on the public platform secured to him from first to last 
 the full toleration of his political opponents I used to 
 meet Major and Mrs. Cartwright at Mr. Holt White's 
 house ; and it was either he himself or Mr. Holt White 
 who told me that, having lost a formidable sum at the 
 gaming-table, Cartwright made a resolution never more 
 to touch card or dice — a resolution that he faithfully 
 kept. Mrs. Cartwright had a m.erry, chatty way with her, 
 and on one occasion at dinner, when she and her hus- 
 band were present, I remember, the conversation having 
 turned upon the great actors and actresses, Mrs. Cart- 
 Avright enlarged upon the talent of " the Pritchard " (a 
 talent commemorated by Churchill, as overcoming even 
 the disadvantages of increasing age and stoutness, in a 
 passage containing the couplet — 
 
 Before such merit all objections fly ; 
 
 Pritchard's genteel and Garrick's six feet high)—
 
 HOLT WHITE— EDWARD HOLMES. 9 
 
 and on my asking if she were equal in talent with Mrs. 
 Siddons — " Siddons ! " echoed Mrs. Cartwright, '* Siddons 
 was not fit to brush Pritchard's shoes " ! So much for the 
 passionate partialities of youth. 
 
 Mr. Holt White had an ingenious arrangement by 
 which he converted the more important works of his 
 collected library into an extensive and useful common- 
 place book. In the course of his reading either an 
 original work or a new translation of a celebrated classic, 
 if he came upon a casual and new opinion upon the 
 general character of an established author he would make 
 an allusion to it, and, with a very brief quotation, insert it in 
 the blank leaves of the work referred to. Thus some of 
 his works — and particularly the popular ones — possessed 
 a fine and interesting catalogue of approbations. For 
 the memory of Mr. Holt White my gratitude and affection 
 will continue with my days. Such was my social freedom 
 and his kind licence that I had only to show him the 
 volume when I had borrowed one of his books, and I 
 had welcome to help myself from his splendid library — 
 a rare and incalculable advantage for a youth of my age 
 in those days. 
 
 I had several favourite chums among the boys at my 
 father's school ; but my chief friends were John Keats, 
 Edward Holmes, and Edward Cowper. Of the first I 
 have spoken fully in the set of " Recollections " specially 
 dedicated to him.- The second I have mentioned at 
 some length in the same place. There was a particularly 
 intimate school-fellowship and liking between Keats and 
 Holmes, probably arising out of their both being of ardent 
 and imaginative temperament, with a decided artistic 
 bent in their several predilections foi poetry and music. 
 
 ■■' See pages 120 and 142.
 
 lo RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Holmes, besides his passionate adoration of music and 
 native talent for that art, had an exquisitely discerning 
 taste in literature. His choice in books was excellent ; 
 his appreciation of style in writing was particularly acute 
 — his own style being remarkably pure, racy, and elegant. 
 He had a very handsome face, with beaming eyes, 
 regular features, and an elevated expression. His mouth 
 and nose were large, but beautifully formed. Thick 
 masses of sunny biown hair, and his inspired look, lent 
 him the air of a young Apollo. We who remember him 
 in youth— one of us even recollecting him in child's frock 
 when he first came to school — felt strangely when, in after 
 years, he was presiding at the pianoforte, and one of his 
 enthusiastic young lady hearers present said, " Dear old 
 man ! how delightfully he plays ! " The words disen- 
 chanted us of the impression we had somehow retained 
 that he was still young, still " Ned Holmes," although the 
 Phoebus clusters were touched with grey, and their gold 
 was fast turning to silver. 
 
 Edward Cowper, even as a boy, gave token of that 
 ingenuity and turn for mechanical invention which, as a 
 man, rendered him eminent. I recollect his fajihioning a 
 little windmill for winding the fibre from off the cocoons 
 of the silkworms that he and I kept at school, and 
 for winding my mother's and sisters' skeins of sewing 
 silk. He used to open the window a certain width that 
 the air might act properly upon his miniature mill, and 
 would stand watching with steady interest the effect of 
 setting in action the machinery. He was a lively, brisk 
 boy, with an alert, animated, energetic manner, which he 
 maintained in manhood. His jocular school-name forme 
 was " Three-hundred," in allusion to my initials, C. C. C. 
 He had a fluent tongue, was fond of talking, and could
 
 EDWARD COWPER— GEORGE DYER, ii 
 
 talk well. Once he joined us in a walk through Hyde 
 Park from Bayswater to the Marble Arch, where we took 
 an omnibus to the east end of Oxford Street ; he deliver- 
 ing a kind of lecture discourse the whole way without 
 ceasing, on some subject in which we were all interested. 
 He gave lectures to young lady pupils in a scientific class, 
 telling us that he always found them especially intelligent 
 hearers, and we had the good fortune to be present at a 
 lecture he delivered in the first Crystal Palace, erected 
 for the International Exhibition of 1 85 1, before it was 
 opened. His subject was the great strength of hollow 
 tube pillars, on the principle of the arch, which he prettily 
 illustrated by piling up, on four small pieces of quill set 
 upright, heavy weights one after another to an amount 
 that seemed incredible. He was the inventor of an im- 
 portant improvement in a celebrated German printing- 
 press, brought over and used by the Times newspaper ; 
 and it was Applegarth, the printer, who helped him to 
 take out the patent for this improvement. 
 
 Among our scholars was a boy named Frank Twiss, 
 who was the son (if I mistake not) of Richard Twiss, the 
 author of various tours and travels. I remember the lad 
 being visited by his father, whose antique courtesy engaged 
 my boyish notice when, as he walked round our garden, 
 he held his hat in his hand until my father begged he 
 would put it on ; upon which Mr. Twiss replied, " No, 
 sir ; not while you are uncovered ;" my father having 
 the habit of often walking bare-headed in our own 
 grounds. 
 
 While at Enfield my father received more than one 
 visit from his fellow-usher in the old — or rather young — 
 Northampton days ; and I well remember George Dyer's 
 even then eccentric ways, under-toned voice, dab-dab
 
 12 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 mode of speaking, and absent manner. He had a trick 
 of filling up his hesitating sentences with a mild little 
 monosyllabic sound, and of finishing his speeches with the 
 incomplete phrase " Well, sir ; but however — ." This 
 peculiarity we used to amuse ourselves by imitating when 
 we talked of him and recalled his oddities, as thus : — 
 *' You have met with a curious and rare book, you say ? 
 Indeed, sir; abd— abd — abd — I should like to see it, 
 sir; abd— abd — abd— perhaps you would allow me to 
 look at it; abd — abd — abd— Well, sir : but however — " 
 Or: " You have been ill, sir, I hear. Dear me ! abd — 
 abd — abd — I'm sorry, I'm sure; abd -abd — abd — Well, 
 sir ; but hov/ever — " Once when he came to see us he 
 told us of his having lately spent some time among a 
 wandering tribe of gipsies, he feeling much desire to 
 know something of the language and habits of this 
 interesting race of people, and believing he could not 
 do so better than by joining them in one of their rambling 
 expeditions. He once wrote a volume of French poems. 
 During a long portion of his life his chief income was 
 derived from the moderate emolument he obtained by 
 correcting works of the classics for the publishers ; but on 
 the death of Lord Stanhope, to whose son he had been 
 tutor, he was left residuary legatee by that nobleman, 
 which placed him in comparatively easy circumstances. 
 Dyer was of a thoroughly noble disposition and generous 
 heart ; and beneath that strange book-worm exterior of 
 his there dwelt a finely tender soul, full of all warmth and 
 sympathy. On one occasion, during his less prosperous 
 days, going to wait at the coach-office for the Cambridge 
 stage, by which he intended to travel thither, he met an 
 old friend who was in great distress. Dj-er gave him the 
 half-guinea meant for his own fare, and walked down to
 
 GEORGE DYER. 13 
 
 Cambridge instead of going by coach. His delicacy, 
 constancy, and chivalry of feeling equalled his generosity : 
 for, many years after, when my father died, George Dyer 
 asked for a private conference with me, told me of his 
 youthful attachment for my mother, and inquired whether 
 her circumstances were comfortable, because in case, as a 
 widow, she had not been left well off he meant to offer 
 her his hand. Hearing that in point of money she had 
 no cause for concern, he begged me to keep secret what 
 he had confided to me, and he himself never made 
 farther allusion to the subject. Long subsequently he 
 married a very worthy lady : and it was great gratification 
 to us to see how the old student's rusty suit of black, 
 threadbare and shining with the shabbiness of neglect, the 
 limp wisp of jaconot muslin, yellow with age, round his 
 throat, the dusty shoes, and stubbly beard, had become 
 exchanged for a coat that shone only with the lustre of 
 regular brushing, a snow-white cravat neatly tied on, 
 brightly blacked shoes, and a close-shaven chin — the whole 
 man presenting a cosy and burnished appearance, like 
 one carefully and affectionately tended. He, like Charles 
 Lamb, always wore black smalls, black stockings (which 
 Charles Lamb generally covered with high black gaiters), 
 and black shoes; the knee-smalls and the shoes both 
 being tied with strings instead of fastened with buckles. 
 His hair, white and stiff, glossy at the time now spoken 
 of from due administration of comb and brush, contrasted 
 strongly with a pair of small dark eyes, worn with much 
 poring over Greek and black-letter characters ; while even 
 at an advanced age there was a sweet look of kindliness, 
 simple goodness, serenity, and almost child-like guileless- 
 ness that characteristically marked his face at all periods 
 of his life.
 
 14 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Before leaving Enfield I used often to walk up to town 
 from my father's house of an afternoon in good time to 
 go to the theatre, and walk back after the play was over, 
 in order to be ready for my morning duties when I had 
 become usher in the school. Dark and solitary enough 
 were the " Green Lanes," as they were called, that lay 
 between Holloway and Enfield — through picturesque 
 Hornsey, rural Wood Green, and hedge-rowed Winchmore 
 Hill — when traversed in the small hours past midnight. 
 Yet I knew every foot of the way, and generally pursued 
 that track as the nearest for the pedestrian. I seldom 
 met a soul ; but once a fellow who had been lying under 
 a hedge by the way-side started up and began following 
 me more nearly than I cared to have him, so I put on 
 my cricketing speed and ran forward with a swiftness 
 that few at that time could outstrip, and which soon left 
 my would-be co-nightranger far behind. Well worth the 
 fatigue of a twelve-mile walk there and another back was 
 to me then the glorious delight of seeing Mrs. Siddons as 
 Lady Macbeth or Queen Constance (though at a period 
 when she had lost her pristine shapeliness of person, for 
 she had become so bulky as to need assistance to rise 
 from the ground in the scene where she throws herself 
 there as her throne, bidding '•' kings come bow to it ") ! 
 of seeing Miss O'Niel as Juliet, Belvidere, Monimia, and 
 such tender heroines, which she played and looked 
 charmingly ; of seeing John Kemble as Coriolanus or 
 Brutus, which he impersonated with true stateliness and 
 dignity both of person and manner. But the greatest 
 crowning of my eager " walks up to town to go to the 
 play " was when Edmund Kean came upon the London 
 stage: and I saw him in all his first perfection. The 
 way in which he electrified the town by his fire, his
 
 EDMUND KEAN. 15 
 
 energy, his vehement expression of natural emotion and 
 passion, in such characters as Othello (in my opinion his 
 masterpiece during his early and mature career), Lear, 
 Hamlet, Richard III., Sir Giles Overreach, Sir Edmund 
 Mortimer, and Shylock (certainly his grandest perfor- 
 mance in his latter days), after the comparatively cold 
 and staid propriety of John Kemble, was a thing never 
 to be forgotten. Such was the enthusiasm of his audi- 
 ences that the pit-door at as early an hour as three 
 o'clock in the afternoon used to be clustered round, like 
 the entrance to a hive of bees, by a crowd of playgoers 
 determined to get places; and I had to obtain extra 
 leave for quitting school early to make me one among 
 them. The excitement rose to feve -pitch wdien — about 
 two years after Kean's first appearance at Drury Lane 
 Theatre — and Booth had been " starring it " as his rival 
 at Covent Garden — it was announced that the two stage- 
 magnates were to act together in the same play, Shake- 
 speare's perhaps grandest tragedy being selected for the 
 purpose — Booth playing lago to Kean's Othello. Both 
 tragedians, of course, exerted themselves to their utmost, 
 and acted their finest ; and the result was a triumph of 
 performance. The house was crammed ; the most dis- 
 tinguished of theatrical patrons, the most eminent among 
 literary men and critics, being present. I remember 
 Godwin, on coming out of the house, exclaiming, rap- 
 turously, " This is a night to be remembered !"
 
 i6 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Leigh Hunt — Henry Robertson — Frederick, William, Henry, 
 and John Byng Gattie — Charles Oilier — Tom Richards — 
 Thomas Moore — Barnes — Vincent Novello — John Keats- 
 Charles and Mary Lamb — Wageman — Rev. W. V. Fryer — • 
 George and Charles Gliddon — Henry Robertson — Dowtcn 
 • — Mrs. Vincent Novello — Horace Twiss — Shelley — Walter 
 Coulson. 
 
 The elder of my two sisters having married and settled 
 in London, I was now able to enjoy something of metro- 
 politan society, and to indulge in the late hours it 
 necessarily required me to keep, by sleeping at my 
 brother-in-law's house, after an evening spent with such 
 men as I now had the privilege of meeting. I was first 
 introduced to Leigh Hunt at a party, when I remember 
 he sang a cheery sea-song with much spirit in that sweet, 
 small, baritone voice which he possessed. His manner — 
 fascinating, animated, full of cordial amenity, and winning 
 to a degree of which 1 have never seen the parallel — 
 drew me to him at once, and I fell as pronely in love 
 with him as any girl in her teens falls in love with her 
 first-seen Romeo. My father had taken in the Examiner 
 newspaper from its commencement, he and I week after 
 week revelling in the liberty-loving, liberty-advocating, 
 liberty-eloquent articles of the young editor; and now 
 thai 1 made his personal acquaintance I was indeed
 
 LEIGH HUNT—HENR Y H OBER TSON. 1 7 
 
 a proud and happy fellow. The company among which 
 I frequently encountered him were co-visitors of no small 
 merit. Henry Robertson — one of the most delightful of 
 associates for good temper, good spirits, good taste in all 
 things literary and artistic; the brothers Gattie — Frederick, 
 William, Henry, and John Byng Gattie, whose agreeable 
 tenor voice is commemorated in Hunt's sonnet addressed 
 to two of the men now under mention, and a third, of 
 whom more presently; Charles Oilier — author of a grace- 
 ful book called " Altham and his Wife," and publisher of 
 Keats' first brought-out volume of " Poems ;" and Tom 
 Richards — a right good comrade, a capital reader, a 
 capital listener, a capital appreciator of talent and of 
 genius. 
 
 My father so entirely sympathized with my devotedl 
 admiration of Leigh Hunt, that when, not very long aftei 
 I had made his acquaintance, he was thrown into Horse- 
 monger Lane Gaol for his libel on the Prince Regent, 
 I was seconded in my wish to send the captive Liberal 
 a breath of open air, and a reminder of the country plea- 
 sures he so well loved and could so well describe, by my 
 father's allowing me to despatch a weekly basket of 
 fresh flowers, fruit, and vegetables from our garden at 
 Enfield. Leigh Hunt received it with his own peculiar 
 grace of acceptance, recognizing the sentiment that 
 prompted the offering, and welcoming it into the spot 
 which he had converted from a prison-room into a bower 
 for a poet by covering the walls with a rose-trellised 
 papering, by book-shelves, plaster casts, and a small 
 pianoforte. Here I was also made welcome, and my 
 visits cordially received ; and here it was that I once 
 met Thomas Moore, and on another occasion Barnes, 
 the then sub-editor of the Times newspaper, "whose 
 
 c
 
 1 8 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 native taste, solid and clear," Leigh Hunt has recorded 
 in a charming sonnet. Barnes had been a schoolfellow 
 of Leigh Hunt's at Christ's Hospital : he was a man of 
 \ sound ability, yet with a sense of the absurd and humor- 
 \ ous ; for Leigh Hunt told me that a foolish woman once 
 asking Barnes whether he were fond of children, received 
 the answer, " Yes, ma'am ; boiled." 
 
 It was not until after Leigh Hunt left prison that my 
 father saw him, and then but once. My father and I 
 had gone to see Kean in " Timon of Athens," and as we 
 sat together in the pit talking over the extraordinary 
 vitality of the impersonation — the grandeur and poetry in 
 Kean's indignant wrath, withering scorn, wild melancholy, 
 embittered tone, and passionate despondency — Leigh 
 Hunt joined us and desired me to present him to my 
 father, who, after even the first few moments, found him- 
 self deeply enthralled by that bewitching spell of manner 
 which characterized Leigh Hunt beyond any man I have 
 ever known. 
 
 I cannot decidedly name the year when I was first 
 made acquainted with the man whose memory I prize 
 after that only of my own father. The reader will 
 doubtless surmise that I am alluding to my father-in-law, 
 the golden-hearted musician Vincent Novello. It was, I 
 believe, at the lodging of Henry Robertson — a Treasury 
 Office clerk, and the appointed accountant of Covent 
 Garden Theatre. My introduction was so informal that 
 it is not improbable my acquaintance with Leigh Hunt 
 may have been known, and this produced so agreeable 
 an interchange of courtesy that a day or two after, upon 
 meeting Mr. Novello in Holborn, near Middle Row, I 
 recollected having that day purchased a copy of Purcell's 
 song in the " Tempest," " Full Fathom Five," and
 
 v:ncent no fell o. i 9 
 
 observing that the symphony had only the bass notes 
 figured, I asked him to have the kindness to write the 
 harmonies for me in the correct chords more legible to 
 my limited knowledge of" music. His immediate answer 
 was that he " would take it home with him ]' and, with 
 an unmistakable smile, he desired me to come for it on 
 the morrow to 240, Oxford Street, where he then resided. 
 This was the opening of the proudest and the happiest 
 period of my existence. The glorious feasts of sacred 
 nmsic at the Portuguese Chapel in South Street, Gros- 
 venor Square, where Vincent Novello was organist, and 
 introduced the masses of Mozart and Haydn for the first 
 time in England, and where the noble old Gregorian 
 hymn tunes and responses were chanted to perfection by 
 a small but select choir drilled and cultivated by him ; 
 the exquisite evenings of Mozartian operatic and chamber 
 music at Vincent Novello's own house, where Leigh 
 Hunt, Shelley, Keats, and the Lambs were invited 
 guests ; the brilliant supper parties at the alternate dwell- 
 ings of the Novellos, the Hunts, and the Lambs, who 
 had mutually agreed that bread and cheese, with celery, 
 and Elia's immortalized " Lutheran beer," were to be the 
 sole cates provided ; the meetings at the theatre, when 
 Munden, Dowton, Liston, Bannister, EUiston, and Fanny 
 Kelly were on the stage ; and the picnic repasts enjoyed 
 together by appointment in the fields that then lay spread 
 in green breadth and luxuriance between the west-end of 
 Oxford Street and the western slope of Hampstead Hill 
 — are things never to be forgotten. Vmcent Novello 
 fully shared my enthusiastic admiration for Leigh Hunt ; 
 and it was at the period of the poet-patriot's leavhig 
 prison that his friend the poetical musician asked Leigh 
 Hunt to sit for his portrait to Wagemaa, the artist who 
 
 c 2
 
 2 RECOLLECTIONS OF V/RITERS. 
 
 was famed for taking excellent likenesses in pencil-sketch 
 style. One of these pre-eminently good likenesses is a 
 drawing made by Wageman of the Rev. William Victor 
 Fryer, Head Chaplain to the Portuguese Embassy, to 
 whom Vincent Novello's first published work — "'A Col- 
 lection of Sacred Music"* — was dedicated, who stood 
 !::od-father to Vincent Novello's eldest child, and who 
 was not only a preacher of noted suavity and eloquence, 
 but a man of elegant reading, refined taste, and most 
 polished manners. The drawing (representing Mr. Fryer 
 in his priest's robes, in the pulpit, with his hand raised, 
 according to his wont when about to commence his 
 sermon) is still in our possession, as is that of Leigh Hunt ; 
 the latter— a perfect resemblance of him as a j'oung man, 
 jwith his jet-black hair and his lustrous, dark eyes, full of 
 mingled sweetness, penetration, and ardour of thought, 
 with exalted imagination — has for many years held its 
 place by our bedside in company with the portraits of 
 Keats, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Jerrold, Dickens, and 
 some of our own lost and loved honoured ones, nearer 
 and dearer still. 
 
 Vincent Novello had a mode of making even simplest 
 every-day objects matter for pleasant entertainment and 
 amusing instruction ; and the mention of the consentedly 
 restricted viands of those ever- to-be-remembered suppei 
 meals, reminds me of an instance. As "bread-and 
 cheese " was the stipulated " only fare " on these occa- 
 sions, Vincent Novello {who knew Leigh Hunt's love for 
 Italy and all things pertaining thereto) bethought him 
 of introducing an Italian element into the British repasts, 
 In the shape of Parmesan, a comparative rarity in those 
 days. He accordingly took one of his children with him 
 to an Italian warehouse kept by a certain Bassano, who
 
 3fRS. VINCENT NO VELLO. 21 
 
 formed a fitting representative of his race, renowned for 
 well-cut features, rich facial colouring, and courteous 
 manner. Even now the look of Signor Bassano, with his 
 spare but curly, dark hair, thin, chiselled nose, olive com- 
 plexion, and well-bred demeanour, remains impressed on 
 the memory of her who heard her father address the 
 Italian in his own language and afterwards tell her of 
 Italy and its beautiful scenery, of Italians and their 
 personal beauty. She still can see the flasks labelled 
 " finest Lucca oil " ranged in the shop, relative to which 
 her father took the opportunity of feeding her fancy and 
 mind with accounts of how the oil and even wirre of that 
 graceful country were mostly kept in flasks such as she 
 then saw, with slender but strong handles of dried, grassy 
 fibre, and corked by morsels of snowy, cotton wool. 
 
 This " Lucca oil " made an element in the delicious 
 fare provided for a certain open-air party and prepared 
 by the hands of Mrs. Novello herself, consisting of a 
 magnificently well-jellied meat pie, cold roast lamb, .and 
 a salad, the conveyance of which to the spot where the 
 assembly met was considered to be a marvel of ingenious 
 management ; a salad being a thing, till then, unheard of 
 in the annals of picnic provision. The modest wines of 
 orange and ginger— in the days when duty upon foreign 
 importations amounted to prohibitory height — more than 
 sufficed for quafters who knew in books such vintages as 
 Horace's Falernian, and Redi's Chianti and Montepul- 
 ciano, whose intellectual palates were familiar with Mil- 
 ton's — 
 
 Wines of Setia, Cales, and Falerne, 
 
 Chios, and Crete ; 
 
 or whose imaginations could thirst " for a beaker full ol 
 the warm Scuth," and behold —
 
 22 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS, 
 
 Tlie true, the blushful Hippocrene, 
 
 With beaded bubbles ^vinking at the brim 
 
 And purple-stained mouth. 
 
 This memorable out-door revel originated in one of the 
 Novdlo children having the option given to her of celebrat- 
 ing her birthday by a treat of "going to the play," or "a 
 day in the fields." After grave consideration and solemn 
 consultation with her brothers and sisters, the latter was 
 chosen, because the month was June and the weather 
 transcendently beautiful. The large and happy party 
 was to consist of the whole Novello family, Hunt family, 
 and Gliddon family, who were to meet at an appointed 
 hour in some charming meadows leading up to Hampstead. 
 " The young Gliddons " were chiefly known to the 
 young Novellos as surpassingly good dancers at their 
 interchanged juvenile balls, and as super-excellently good 
 rompers at their interchanged birthday parties , but one 
 of the members of the family, George Gliddon, became 
 celebrated in England for his erudition concerning Egyp- 
 tian hieroglyphics, and in America for his lectures on 
 this subject ; while his son Charles has since made 
 himself known by his designs for illustrated books. The 
 children frolicked about the fields and had agile games 
 among themselves, while their elders sat on the turf 
 enjoying talk upon all kinds of gay and jest-provoking 
 subjects. To add to the mirth of the meeting, Henry 
 Robertson and I were asked to join them ; both being 
 favourites with the youngsters, both possessing the live- 
 liest of spirits, and known to be famous promoters of fun 
 and hilarity. To crown the pleasure Leigh Hunt, as he 
 lay stretched on the grass, read out to the assembled 
 group, old and young — or rather, growing and grown up 
 — the Dogberry scenes from " Much Ado about Nothing,"
 
 LEIGH HUNT. 23 
 
 till the place rang with shouts and shrieks of laughter. 
 Leigh Hunt's reading aloud was pre-eminently good. 
 Varied in tone and inflection of voice, unstudied, natural, 
 characteristic, full of a keen sense of the humour of the 
 scenes and the wit of the dialogue, his dramatic read- 
 ing was almost unequalled : and we can remember his 
 perusal of the Sir Anthony Absolute scenes in Sheridan's 
 " Rivals," and Foote's farce of " The Liar," as pieces of 
 uproarious merriment. Even Dowton himself — and his 
 acted impersonation of Sir Anthony was a piece of won- 
 derful truth for towering wrath and irrational fury — 
 hardly surpassed Leigh Hunt's reading of the part, so 
 masterly a rendering was it of old-gentlemanly wilfulness 
 and comedy-father whirlwind of raging tyranny. The 
 underlying zest in roguery of gallantry and appreciation 
 of beauty that mark old Absolute's character were de- 
 lightfully indicated by Leigh Hunt's delicate as well as 
 forcible mode of utterance, and carried his hearers along 
 with him in a trance of excitement while he read. 
 
 Having referred to Mrs. Vincent Novello's long-famed 
 meat -pie and salad, I will here " make recordation " of 
 two skilled brewages for which she was renowned : to 
 wit, elder wine — racy, fragrant with spice, steaming with 
 comfortable heat, served in taper glasses with accom- 
 panying rusks or slender slices of toasted bread — and 
 foaming wassail-bowl, brought to table in right old Eng- 
 lish style, with roasted crab apples (though these were 
 held to be less good in reality than as a tribute to antique 
 British usage) : both elder wine and wassail-bowl excel- 
 lently ministering to festive celebration at the Novellos' 
 Christmas, New Year, and Twelfth Night parties. Mrs. 
 Vincent Novello was a woman of Nature's noblest 
 mould. Housewifely — nay, actively domestic in her
 
 24 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 daily duties, methodical to a nicety in all her home 
 arrangements, nurse and instructress to her large family 
 of children — she was nevertheless ever ready to sym- 
 pathize with her husband's highest tastes, artistic and 
 literary ; to read to him when he returned home after 
 a long day's teaching and required absolute rest, or to 
 converse with him on subjects that occupied his eager and 
 alert mind. Not only could she read and converse with 
 spirit and brilliancy, but she wrote with much grace and 
 fancy. At rarely-gained leisure moments her pen pro- 
 duced several tasteful Tales, instinct with poetic idea 
 and romantic imagery. She had an elegant talent for 
 verse, some of her lines having been set to music by her 
 husband. She was godmother to Leigh Hunt's Indicator^ 
 supplying him with the clue to the information which he 
 embodied in the first motto to that periodical,^ and sug- 
 gesting the felicitous title which he adopted. Mrs. 
 Novello contributed a paper to the Indicator, entitled 
 " Holiday Children," and signed "An Old Boy;" also 
 some papers to Leigh Hunt's Tatler and a large portion 
 of a novel (in letters), which was left a fragment in con- 
 sequence of this serial coming to an abrupt close. Per- 
 
 > "There is a bird in the interior of Africa whose habits 
 would rather seem to belong to the interior of Fairyland, but 
 they have been well authenticated. It indicates to honey- 
 hunters where the nests of wild bees are to be found. It 
 calls them with a cheerful cry, which they answer ; and on 
 finding itself recognized, flies and hovers over a hollow tree 
 containing the honey. While they are occupied in collecting 
 it, the bird goes to a little distance, where he observes all that 
 passes ; and the hunters, when they have helped themselves, 
 take care to leave him his portion of the food. This is the 
 Cuculus Indicator of Linnaeus, otherwise called tJie Moroc, 
 Bee Cuckoo, or Honey Bird."
 
 HORACE TWTSS— SHELLEY. 25 
 
 fectly did Mrs. Vincent Novello confirm the assertion 
 that the most intellectual and cultivated women are 
 frequently the most gentle, unassuming, and proficient 
 housewives ; for few of even her intimate friends were 
 aware that she was an authoress, so perpetually was she 
 found occupied with her husband and her children. 
 Horace Twiss, who was acquainted with the Novellos 
 and often visited them at their house in Oxford Street, 
 near Hyde Park, proclaimed himself a devoted admirer 
 of Mary Sabilla Novello, as the next among women to 
 Mary Wolstonecraft, with whom he was notedly and 
 avowedly " deeply smitten." He used to knock at the 
 door, and, when it was opened, inquire whether he could 
 see Mrs. Novello ; while she, from the front-parlour — 
 which was dedicated to the children's use as nursery and 
 play-room— hearing his voice, and being generally too 
 busy of a morning with them to receive visitors, would 
 put her head forth from amid her young flock, and call 
 out to him, with a nod and a smile, ' I'm not at home 
 to-day, Mr. Twiss ! " Upon which he would raise his 
 hat and retire, declaring that she was more than ever 
 adorable. 
 
 Over the low blind of that front-parlour and nursery 
 play-room window the eldest of the young Novellos 
 peeped on a certain afternoon to see pass into the street 
 a distinguished guest, whom she heard had been in the 
 drawing-room upstairs to visit her parents. She watched 
 for the opening of the street door, and then quickly 
 climbed on to a chair that she might catch sight of the 
 young poet spoken so highly and honouringly of by her 
 father and mother — Percy Bysshe Shelley, She saw him 
 move lightly down the two or three stone steps from the 
 entrance, and as he went past the front of the house he
 
 26 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 suddenly looked up at it, revealing fully to view his 
 beautiful poet-face, with its clear, blue eyes surmounted 
 by an aureole of gold-brown hair. 
 
 It was at Leigh Hunt's cottage in the Vale of Health, 
 on Hampstead Heath, that I first met Shelley ; and I 
 remember our all three laughing at the simplicity of his 
 imagining — in his ignorance of journals and journal con- 
 struction — that Leigh Hunt wrote the whole of the 
 Exajuiner himself— right through — " Money Market," 
 *' Price of Coals," and all ! On another occasion I 
 recollect a very warm argument in favour of the Mon- 
 archy upheld by Leigh Hunt and Coulson, and in favour 
 of Republicanism by Shelley and Hazlitt. 
 
 Walter Coulson was editor of the Globe newspaper. 
 He was a Cornish man : and these " pestilent knaves " 
 of wits used to tease him about " The Giant Cormoran," 
 some traditionary magnate oi his native country whose 
 prowess he was supposed to exaggerate. They never- 
 theless acknowledged Coulson to be almost boundless in 
 his varied extent of knowledge, calling him " a walking 
 Encyclopsedia ; " and once agreed that next time he 
 came he should be asked three questions on widely diffe- 
 rent subjects, laying a wager that he would be sure to be 
 able to give a satisfactory answer upon each and all — which 
 he did. If my memory rightly serve me, the questions 
 were these : — The relative value of gold coin in India 
 with sterling money ? The mode of measuring the 
 cubic feet contained in the timber of a tree ? And some 
 moot point of correctness in one of the passages from an 
 ancient classic poet 
 
 It was on a bright afternoon in the early days of my 
 visits to Leigh Hunt at the Vale of Health that the 
 authors of these " Recollections " first saw each other.
 
 WAITER COULSON. 27 
 
 Had some prescient spirit whispered in the ear of each 
 in turn, " You see your future wife ! " and, " That is 
 your future husband !" the prediction would have seemed 
 passing strange. I was in the fresh flush of proud and 
 happy friendship Avith such men as Leigh Hunt and 
 those whom I met at his house, thoroughly absorbed in 
 the intellectual treats I thus constantly enjoyed ; while 
 she was a little girl brought by her parents for a day's run 
 on the Heath with the Hunt children, thinking that 
 " Charles Clarke " — as she heard him called — was " a 
 good-natured gentleman," because, when evening came 
 and there was a proposal for her staying on a few days at 
 Hampstead, he threw in a confirmatory word by saying, 
 " Do let her stay, Mrs. Novello ; the air of the Heath 
 has already brought more roses into her cheeks than 
 were there a few hours ago." 
 
 It must have been a full decade after our first meeting: 
 that we began to think of each other with any feeling of 
 deeper preference ; and during those ten years much 
 that profoundly interested me took place ; while events 
 occurred that carried me away from London and literary 
 associates. When my father retired from the school at 
 Enfield, he went to live in the Isle of Thanet, taking 
 a house at Ramsgate, where he and my mother had 
 frequently before made pleasant sea-side sojourns during 
 " the holidays." Here my younger sister and myself 
 dwelt with our parents for a somewhat long period ; and 
 it was while we were at Ramsgate that I remember hear- 
 ing of Charles Lamb and his sister being at Margate for 
 a " sea change," and I went over to see them. It seems 
 as if it were but yesterday that I noted his eager way of 
 telling me about an extraordinarily large whale that had 
 been captui'ed there, of its having created lively interest
 
 28 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 in the place, of its having been conveyed away in a 
 strong cart, on which it lay a huge mass of colossal height; 
 when he added with one of hi? sudden droll penetrating 
 glances : — The eye has just gone past our window. 
 
 I was at Ramsgate when Leigh Hunt started the 
 " Literary Pocket-Book," asking his friends for prose and 
 verse contributions to that portion of its contents " hich 
 was to form one of its distinguishing characteristics from 
 hitherto published pocket-books. I was among those to 
 whom he applied ; and it was with no small elation that 
 I found myself for the first time in print under the 
 wing of Leigh Hunt. The work appeared in red 
 morocco case for four consecutive years, 1819, '20, '21, 
 and '22, in the second of which he put No. I of 
 " Walks round London," where I described my favourite 
 haunts to the south-west of Enfield, and contributed a 
 small verse-piece entitled " On Visiting a Beautiful Little 
 Dell near Margate," both signed with my initials. Under 
 various signatures of Greek characters and Roman 
 capitals, Shelley, Keats, Procter ("Barry Cornwall"), 
 Charles Oilier, and others, together with Leigh Hunt 
 himself, contributed short poems and brief prose pieces 
 to the " Literary Pocket-Book ;" so that I ventured 
 forth into the world of letters in most "worshipful 
 society." 
 
 Leigh Hunt afterwards paid me a visit at Ramsgate, 
 when the ship in which he and his family were sailing for 
 Italy put into the harbour from stress of weather ; and 
 it was on this occasion that my mother — who had long 
 witnessed my own and my father's enthusiasm for Leigh 
 Hunt, but had never much shared it, not having seen 
 him — now at once underst^-'d the fascination he exer- 
 cised over those who came into personal communion
 
 JOHN KEATS. 29 
 
 with him. " He is a gentleman, a perfect gentleman, 
 Charles ! He is irresistible ! " was her first exclamation 
 to me, when he had left us. 
 
 Another visitor made his appearance at Ramsgate, 
 giving me vivid but short-lived delight. Vincent Novello, 
 whose health had received a severe shock in losing a 
 favourite boy, Sydney, was advised to try what a complete 
 change would do towards restoration, and he came down 
 with the intention of staying a few days ; but, finding 
 that some old friends of my father and mother were on 
 a visit to us, his habitual shyness of strangers took 
 possession of him, and he returned to town, having 
 scarcely more than shaken hands with me. 
 
 Not long after that, anguish kindred to his assailed 
 me. In the December of 1820 I lost my revered and 
 beloved father ; and in the following February my friend 
 and schoolfellow John Keats died.
 
 30 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Jefferson Hogg — Henry Crabbe 
 Robinson — Bryan Waller Procter (" Barry Cornwall ") — 
 Godwin — Mrs. Shelley — Mrs. Williams — Francis Novello 
 — Henry Robertson — Edward Holmes — Mary Lamb — 
 The honourable Mrs. Norton — Countess of Blessington. 
 
 It was in the summer of 182 1 that I first beheld Samuel 
 Taylor Coleridge. It was on the East Clifif at Ramsgate. 
 He was contemplating the sea under its most attractive 
 aspect : in a dazzling sun, with sailing clouds that drew 
 their purple shadows over its bright green floor, and a 
 merry breeze of sufficient prevalence to emboss each 
 wave with a silvery foam. He might possibly have 
 composed upon the occasion one of the most philoso- 
 phical, and at the same time most enchanting, of his 
 fugitive reflections, which he has entitled " Youth and 
 Age ;" for in it he speaks of " airy clifls and glittering 
 sands," and — 
 
 Of those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, 
 On winding lakes and rivers wide. 
 
 That ask no aid of sail or oar, 
 That fear no spite of wind or tide. 
 
 As he had no companion, I desired to pay my respects 
 to one of the most extra^dinary — and, indeed in his 
 department of genius, tJie most extraordinary man of his 
 age. And being possessed of a talisman for securing
 
 COLERIDGE. 31 
 
 his consideration, I introduced myself as a friend and 
 admirer of Charles Lamb. This pass-word was sufficient, 
 and I found him immediately talking to me in the bland 
 and frank tones of a standing acquaintance. A poor 
 girl had that morning thrown herself from the pier-head 
 in a pang of despair, from having been betrayed by a 
 villain. He alluded to the event, and went on to de- 
 nounce the morality of the age that will hound from the 
 community the reputed weaker subject, and continue to 
 receive him who has wronged her. He agreed with me 
 that that question never will be adjusted but by the 
 women themselves. Justice will continue in abe3-ance so 
 long as they visit with severity the errors of their own sex 
 and tolerate those of ours. He then diverged to the 
 great mysteries of life and death, and branched away to 
 the sublimer question — the immortality of the soul. 
 Here he spread the sail-broad vans of his wonderful ima- 
 gination, and soared away with an eagle-flight, and with 
 an eagle-eye too, compassing the effulgence of his great 
 argument, ever ind anon stooping within my own spar- 
 row's range, and then glancing away again, and careering 
 through the trackless fields of etherial metaphysics. And 
 thus he continued for an hour and a half, never pausing 
 for an instant except to catch his breath (which, in the 
 heat of his teeming mind, he did hke a schoolboy re- 
 peating by rote his task), and gave utterance to some of 
 the grandest thoughts I ever heard from the mouth of 
 man. His ideas, embodied in words of purest eloquence, 
 flew about my ears like drifts of snow. He was like a 
 cataract filling and rushing over my penny-phial capacity. 
 I could only gasp and bow my head in acknowledgment. 
 He required from me nothing more than the simple re- 
 cognition of his discourse ; and so he went on like a
 
 32 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 steam-engine — I keeping the machine oiled with my looks 
 of pleasure, while he supplied the fuel ; and that, upon 
 the same theme too, would have lasted till now. What 
 would I have given for a short-hand report of that speech ! 
 And such was the habit of this wonderful man. Like 
 the old peripatetic philosophers, he walked about, pro- 
 digally scattering wisdom, and leaving it to the winds of 
 chance to waft the seeds into a genial soil. 
 
 My first suspicion of his being at Ramsgate had arisen 
 from my mother observing that she had heard an elderly 
 gentleman in the public library, who looked like a Dis- 
 senting minister, talking as she never heard man talk. 
 Like his own " Ancient Mariner," when he had once 
 fixed your eye he held you sptll-bound, and you were 
 constrained to listen to his tale ; you must have been 
 more powerful than he to have broken ihe charm ; and 
 I know no man worthy to do that. He did indeed an- 
 swer to my conception of a man of genius, for his mind 
 flowed on " like to the Pontick sea," that " ne'er feels 
 retiring ebb." It was always ready for action; like the 
 hare, it slept with its eyes open. He would at any given 
 moment range from the subtlest and most abstruse ques- 
 tion in metaphysics to the architectural beauty in contri- 
 vance of a flower of the field ; and the gorgeousness of 
 his imagery would increase and dilate and flash forth such 
 coruscations of similies and startling theories that one 
 was in a perpetual aurora borealis of fancy. As Hazlitt 
 once said of him, " He would talk on for ever, and you 
 wished him to talk on for ever. His thoughts never 
 seemed to come with labour or effort, but as if borne on 
 the gust of Genius, and as if the wings of his imagination 
 lifted him off his feet '^ This is as truly as poetically 
 described. He would net only illustrate a theory or an
 
 COLERIDGE. 33 
 
 argument with a sustained and superb figure, but in pur- 
 suing the current of his thought he would bubble up with 
 a sparkle of fancy so fleet and brilliant that the attention, 
 though startled and arrested, was not broken. He would 
 throw these into the stream of his argument, as waifs and 
 strays. Notwithstanding his wealth of language and pro- 
 digious power in amplification, no one, I think (unless it 
 were Shakespeare or Bacon), possessed with himself equal 
 power of condensation. He would frequently comprise 
 the elements of a noble theorem in two or three words ; 
 and, like the genuine offspring of a poet's brain, it always 
 came forth in a golden halo. I remember once, in dis- 
 coursing upon the architecture of the Middle Ages, he 
 reduced the Gothic structure into a magnificent abstrac- 
 tion — and in two words. " A Gothic cathedral," he said, 
 "is like a petrified religion." 
 
 In his prose, as well as in his poetry, Coleridge's com- 
 parisons are almost uniformly short and unostentatious ; 
 and not on that account the less forcible : they are scri^> 
 lural in character ; indeed it would be difficult to find 
 one more apt to the purpose than that which he has 
 used ; and yet it always appears to be unpremeditated. 
 Here is a random example of what I mean : it is an un- 
 important one, but it serves for a casual illustration of his 
 force in comparison. It is the last line in that strange 
 and impressive fragment in prose, " The Wanderings of 
 Cain :" — " And they three passed over the white sands, 
 and between the rocks, silent as their shadows." It 
 will be difficult, I think, to find a stronger image than 
 that, to convey the idea of the utter negation of sound, 
 with motion. 
 
 Like all men of genius, and with the gift of eloquence, 
 Coleridge had a power and subtlety in interpretation that 
 
 D
 
 34 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 would persuade an ordinary listener against the conviction 
 of his senses. It has been said of him that he could per- 
 suade a Christian he was a Platonist, a Deist that he was 
 a Christian, and an Atheist that he believed in a God. 
 The Preface to his Ode of " Fire, Famine, and 
 Slaughter," wherein he labours to show that Pitt the 
 Prime Minister was 7iot the object of his invective at the 
 time of his composing that famous war-eclogue, is at once 
 a triumphant specimen of his talent for special pleading 
 and ingenuity in sophistication. 
 
 In a lecture upon Shakespeare's " Tempest " Coleridge 
 kept his audience in a roar of laughter by drawing a 
 ludicrous comparison between the monster Caliban and a 
 modern Radical. It was infinitely droll and clever ; but 
 like a true sophist, there was one point of the argument 
 which he failed to illustrate — and, indeed, never alluded 
 to — viz. that Caliban, the Radical, was inheritor of the 
 soil by birth-right : and Prospero, the aristocrat, was the 
 aggressor and self-constituted legislator. The tables thus 
 easily turned upon Mr. Coleridge, would have involved 
 him in an edifying dilemma. The fact is, that Coleridge 
 had been a Jacobin, and was one of the marked men in 
 the early period of the French Revolution. It was at 
 this period of his life that he served as a private in a 
 regiment, and used to preach Liberalism to his brethren ; 
 and I believe he quickly had his discharge. He had 
 also been a professor of Unitarianism, and delivered 
 sermons. He once asked Charles Lamb if he had ever 
 heard him preach ; who replied that he " never heard 
 him do anything else." All these opinions he afterwards 
 ostensibly abjured ; and doubtless he had good reason 
 for making manifest his conversion from what he con- 
 ceived to have been error. Like the chameleon, he would
 
 COLERIDGE. 35 
 
 frequently adopt and reflect the hue of his converser's pre- 
 judices, where neither opinions (rehgious or pohlical) were 
 positively oftensive to him; and thus, from a tranquillity 
 — perhaps I might say, an indolence — of disposition, he 
 would fashion his discourse and frame his arguments, for 
 the time being, to suit the known predilections of his 
 companion. It is therefore idle to represent him as a 
 partisan at all, unless it be for kindness and freedom of 
 thought ; and I know no other party principle worth a 
 button. 
 
 The upper part of Coleridge's face was excessively fine. 
 His eyes were large, light grey, prominent, and ot liquid 
 brilliancy, which some eyes of fine character may be ob- 
 served to possess, as though the orb itself retreated to 
 the innermost recesses of the brain. The lower part of 
 his face was somewhat dragged, indicating the presence 
 of habitual pain ; but his forehead was prodigious, and 
 like a smooth slab of alabaster. A grander head than his 
 has not been seen in the grove at Highgate since his 
 neighbour Lord Bacon lived there. From his physical 
 conformation Coleridge ought to have attained an ex- 
 treme old age, and he probably would have done so but 
 for the fatal habit he had encouraged of resorting to the 
 stimulus of opium. Not many months before his death, 
 when alluding to his general health, he told me that he 
 never in his life knew the sensation of head-ache ; adding, 
 in his own peculiarly vivid manner of illustration, that he 
 had no more internal consciousness of possessing a head 
 than he had of having an eye. 
 
 My married sister having gone to reside with her hus- 
 band and their young family in the West of England, my 
 mother and my unmarried sister went to live near them ; 
 while I returned to London and to delightful friendships 
 
 D 2
 
 r5 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 J 
 
 already formed there. In jenewing my old pleasant 
 relations with men previously nained I had the good for- 
 tune to come into contact with others of literary reputa- 
 tion and social attraction. Jefferson Hogg, author of 
 " A Hundred and Nine Days on the Continent," with his 
 dry humour, caustic sarcasm, and peculiar views of men 
 and things, I met at Lamb's house ; who, one night when 
 Jefferson Hogg sat opposite to him, fastened his eyes on 
 his throat and suddenly asked, " Did you put on your 
 own cravat this morning?" and receiving an answer in 
 the affirmative, rejoined, " Ay, I thought it was a hog- 
 stye !" There I also met Henry Crabbe Robinson ; that 
 agreeable diarist and universal keeper-up of acquaintance. 
 I suppose never man had a larger circle of friends whom 
 he constantly visited and constantly received than he 
 had, or one who was more generally welcome as a diner- 
 out, and better liked as a giver of snug dinners, than 
 himself. Now too, I saw Bryan Waller Procter, whom 
 I had known and admired in his poetry, in his " Dra- 
 matic Scenes," and "Sicilian Story," published under 
 his pen-name of ." Barry Cornwall," and subsequently 
 knew in his poetically beautiful tragedy of " Mirandola " 
 and his collection of lovely " Songs." He had a modest 
 — nay, shy — manner in company ; heightened by a sin- 
 gular nervous affection, a kind of sudden twitch or con- 
 traction, that spasmodically flitted athwart his face as he 
 conversed upon any lofty theme, or argued on some 
 high-thoughted topic. I again also occasionally met 
 Godwin. His bald head, singularly wanting in the organ 
 of veneration (for the spot where phrenologists state that 
 " bump " to be, was on Godwin's head an indentation 
 instead of a protuberance), betokened of itself a remark- 
 able man and individual thinker ; and his laugh — with
 
 GODWIN. 37 
 
 its abrupt, short, monosound — more like a sharp gasp 
 or snort than a laugh — seemed alone sufficient to pro- 
 claim the cynical, satirical, hard-judging, deep-sighted, 
 yet strongly-feeling and strangely-imaginative author of 
 "Political Justice," "Caleb Williams," "St. Leon," 
 and " Fleetwood." His snarling tone of voice exacer- 
 bated the effect of his sneering speeches and cutting re- 
 torts. On one occasion, meeting Leigh Hunt, who com- 
 plained of the shortness of his sight and generally wore 
 attached to a black ribbon a small single eye-glass to aid 
 hun in descrying objects, Godwin answered his com- 
 plaints by saying sharply, " You should wear spectacles." 
 Leigh Hunt playfully admitted that he hardly liked yet 
 to take to so old-gentlemanly-looking and disfiguring an 
 apparatus ; when Godwin retorted, with his snapping 
 laugh, " Ha ! What a coxcomb you must be !" 
 
 The Novellos, after leaving Oxford Street, and residing 
 for a few years at 8, Percy Street, had taken a large, old- 
 fashioned house and garden on Shacklewell Green ; and 
 it was here that they made welcome Mrs. Shelley and Mrs. 
 Williams on their return from Italy, two young and beau- 
 tiful widows, wooing them by gentle degrees into peace- 
 fuller and hopefuller mood of mind after their storm of 
 bereavement abroad. By quiet meetings for home-music; 
 by calmly cheerful and gradually sprightlier converse ; 
 by affectionate familiarity and reception into their own 
 family circle of children and friends, Vincent and Mary 
 Sabilla Novello sought to draw these two fair women into 
 reconcilement with life and its still surviving blessings. 
 Very, very fair, both ladies were : Mary Wolstonecraft 
 Godwin Shelley, with her well-shaped, golden-haired head, 
 almost always a little bent and drooping ; her marble- 
 white shoulders and arms statuesquely visible in the per-
 
 38 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 fectly plain black velvet dress, which the customs of that 
 time allowed to be cut low, and which her own taste 
 adopted (for neither she nor her sister-in-sorrovv ever 
 wore the convent ional "widow's weeds" and "widow's 
 cap "); her thoughtful, earnest eyes ; her short upper lip 
 and intellectually curved mouth, with a certain close- 
 compressed and decisive expression while she listened, and 
 a relaxation into fuller redness and mobility when speak- 
 ing ; her exquisitely-formed, white, dimpled, small hands, 
 with rosy palms, and plumply commencing fingers, that 
 tapered into tips as slender and delicate as those in a 
 Vandyk portrait — all remain palpably present to m.emory. 
 Another peculiarity in Mrs. Shelie/s hand was its singu- 
 lar flexibility, w^iich permitted her bending the fingers 
 back so as almost to approach the portion of her arm 
 above her wrist. She once did this smilingly and re- 
 peatedly, to amuse the girl who was noting its whiteness 
 and pliancy, and who now, as an old woman, records its 
 remarkable beauty. Very sweet and very encouraging 
 was Mary Shelley to her young namesake, Mary Victoria, 
 making her proud and happy by giving her a presentation 
 copy of her wonderful book " Frankenstein " (still in 
 treasured preservation, with its autograph gift- words), and 
 pleasing her girlish fancy by the gift of a string of cut- 
 coral, graduated beads from Italy. On such pleasant 
 terms of kindly intimacy was Mrs. Shelley at this period 
 with the Novellos that she and Mrs. Novello interchanged 
 with one another their sweet familiar name of " Mary; " 
 and she gave the Italianized form of his name to Mr. 
 Novello, calling him " Vincenzo " in her most caressing 
 tones, when she wished to win him into indulging her 
 with some of her especially favourite strains of music. 
 Even his brother, Mr. Francis Novello, she would address
 
 BENR V ROBERTSON. 39 
 
 as " Francesco," as loving to speak the soft Italian syl- 
 lables. Her mode of uttering the word " Lerici " dwells 
 upon our memory with peculiarly subdued and lingering 
 intonation, associated as it was with all that was most 
 mournful in connexion with that picturesque spot where 
 she learned she had lost her beloved " Shelley " for ever 
 from this fair earth. She was never tired of asking 
 *' Francesco " to sing, in his rich, mellow bass voice, 
 Mozart's " Qui sdegno," " Possenti Numi," " Mentre ti 
 lascio," "Tuba mirum," " La Vendetta," " Non piu an- 
 drai," or " Madamina;" so fond was she of his singing 
 her favourite composer. Greatly she grew to enjoy the 
 " concerted pieces " from " Cosi fan tutte," that used to 
 be got up " round the piano." Henry Robertson's dra- 
 matic spirit and vivacity and his capacity and readiness 
 in taking anything, tenor or counter-tenor — nay, soprano 
 if need were — that might chance to be most required, 
 more than made up for the smallness of his voice. His 
 fame for singing Fernando's part in the opening trio, " La 
 mia Dorabella," with the true chivalrous zest and fire of 
 his phrase, '•'•fuore la spada f accompanied by appro- 
 priate action, lasted through a long course of years. 
 Henry Robertson was one of the very best amateur 
 singers conceivable : indefatigable, yet never anxious to 
 sing if better tenors than himself chanced to be present ; 
 an almost faultless "reader at sight," always in tune, in- 
 variably in good temper, and n&ver failingly " in the 
 humour for music," qualities that will at once be appre- 
 ciated by those who know what the majority of amateur 
 singers generally are. Edward Holmes was among the 
 enthusiastic party of enjoyers so often assembUng at 
 Shacklewell in those days. His rapturous love of music. 
 his promptly kindled admiration of feminine beauty,
 
 40 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 caused him to be in a perpetual ecstasy with the Mozart 
 evenings and the charming young-lady widows. He used 
 to be unmercifully rallied about his enamoured fantasies 
 with regard to both; and he took to rallying his old 
 school-mate, " Charles Clarke," in sheer self-defence, on 
 the same score. But the latter was comparatively heart- 
 whole, while " Ned Holmes " was riddled through and 
 through by "the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft." Charles 
 Clarke admired, Ned Holmes adored ; Charles Clarke 
 fluttered like a moth round the brilliant attractions, while 
 Ned Holmes plunged madly into the scorching flames 
 and recked not possible destruction. We used often and 
 through a long train of years to laugh at Edward Holmes 
 for his susceptible heart, lost a dozen times in a dozen 
 months to some fair ''Cynthia of the minute," some 
 prima-donna who sang entrancingly, some sparkler who 
 laughed bewitchingly, or some tragedy beauty who wept 
 with truth and passion. He confided these ephemeral 
 captivations with amusing candour to the first hearer 
 among his favourite associates, often choosing for his con- 
 fidante the eldest daughter of his friend and master-in- 
 music, Vincent Novello, when he shared his opera ticket 
 or his playhouse order with her (in turn with one of her 
 brothers or sisters) by her parents' leave. 
 
 By the time I (C. C. C.) renewed my visits to her 
 father and mother's house, when Mrs. Shelley and Mrs. 
 Williams were first welcomed there, this "eldest daughter" 
 was growing into young girlhood, and 1 (M. C. C.) had 
 changed from the " little girl " allowed to " sit up to 
 supper P.s a great treat " — when Leigh Hunt, " the 
 Lambs," and other distinguished friends met at 240, 
 Oxford Street, in the times of the Parmesan there, or of 
 t>.e "ripe Stilton " at the Vale of Health, or of the "old
 
 MliS. SHELLEY. 41 
 
 crumbly Cheshire" at the Lambs' lodgings — into a damsel 
 approaching towards the age of " sweet sixteen," privi- 
 leged to consider heiself one of the grown-up people. 
 Whereas formerly I had been " one of the children," 
 I now spoke of my younger brothers and sisters as " the 
 children ;" and whereas at the Vale of Health I used to 
 join the Hunt children in their games of play on the 
 Heath, I now knew of the family being in Italy, and was 
 permitted to hear the charming letters received from 
 there; and whereas it was not so very long ago when I had 
 been sent with Emma Isola by Mary Lamb into her own 
 room at Great Russell Street, Co vent Garden, to have a 
 girlish chat together by ourselves unrestrained by the 
 presence of the graver and cleverer talkers, I was now 
 wont to sit by preference with my elders and enjoy their 
 music and their conversation, their mutual banter, their 
 mutual and several predilections among each other. 
 Always somewhat observant as a child, I had now be- 
 come a greater observer than ever; and large and varied 
 was the pleasure I derived from my observation of the 
 interesting men and women around me at this time of 
 my life. Certainly Mary Wolstonecraft Godwin Shelley 
 was the central figure of attraction then to my young- 
 girl sight ; and I looked upon her with ceaseless admira- 
 tion — for her personal graces, as well as for her literary 
 distinction. The daughter of William Godwin and 
 Mary Wolstonecraft Godwin, the wife of Shelley, the 
 authoress of " Frankenstein," had for me a concentration 
 of charm and interest that perpetually excited and engrossed 
 me while she continued a visitor at my parents' house. 
 My father held her in especial regard ; and she evinced 
 equally affectionate esteem for him. A note of hers, dated 
 a few years after the Shacklewell days, sending him the
 
 42 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 priceless treasure of a lock of her illustrious mother's hair, 
 and written in the melodious tongue so dear to both writer 
 and receiver, shall be here transcribed, for the reader to 
 share the pleasure of its perusal with her who has both note 
 and hair carefully enshnned beneath a crystal covering: — 
 
 " Tempo fa, mio caro Vincenzo, vi promisi questa treccia 
 dei capelli della mia Madre — non mi son scordata della mia 
 promessa e vol non vi siete scordato di me^sono sicurissima. 
 II regale presente adunque vi fara rammentare piacevolmente 
 lei chi ama per sempre i suoi amici — fra di quali credera di 
 sempre trovarvi quantunque le circonstanze ci dividono. 
 
 " State felice — e conservatemi almeno la vostra stima, vi 
 
 prega la vostra amica vera, 
 
 " II March, 1828." '• Mary Shelley. 
 
 To my thinking, two other women only, among those 
 I have seen who were distinguish^d for personal beauty 
 as well as for literary eminence, ever equalled in these 
 respects Mary Shelley ; one of them was the Honourable 
 Mrs. Norton, the other the Countess of Blessington ; 
 but these two latter-named stars I never beheld in a 
 familiar sphere, I merely beheld them in their box at the 
 Opera, or at the Theatre. Mrs. Norton was the realiza- 
 tion of what one might imagine a Muse of Poesy would 
 look like, — dark-haired, dark-eyed, classic-browed, and 
 delicate-featured m the extreme, with a bearing of 
 mingled feminine grace and regal graciousness. Lady 
 Blessington, fair, florid-complexioned, with sparkling 
 eyes and white, high forehead, above which her bright 
 brown hair was smoothly braided beneath a light and 
 simple blonde cap, in which were a few touches of sky- 
 blue satin ribbon that singularly well became her, setting 
 off her buxom face and its vivid colouring.
 
 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Leigh Hunt— William Hone— The elder Mathews— John 
 Keats— Charles and Mary Lamb— Sheridan Knowles — 
 Bryan Waller Procter. 
 
 Late in the year 1825 Leigh Hunt returned from Italy 
 to England. THe^thusiastic attachment felt for him by 
 his men friends was felt with equal ardour by the young 
 girl who had always heard him spoken of in the most 
 admiring terms by her father, her mother, and many of 
 those she best loved and esteemed. His extraordinary 
 grace of manner, his exceptionally poetic appearance, 
 his distinguished fame as a man of letters, all exercised 
 strong fascination over her imagination. In childhood 
 she had looked up to him as an impersonation of all that 
 was heroic in suffering for freedom of opinion's sake, of 
 all that was comely in person, of all that was attractive 
 in manner, of all that was tasteful in written inculcation 
 and acted precept. He was her beau-ideal of literary and 
 social manhood. 
 
 As quite a little creature she can well remember creep- 
 ing round to the back of the sofa where his shapely 
 hand rested, and giving it a gentle, childish kiss, and his 
 peeping over at her, and giving a quiet, smiling nod in 
 acknowledgment of the baby homage, while he went on 
 with the conversation in which he was engaged. After- 
 wards, as a growing girl, when she used to hear his
 
 44 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 removal to Italy discussed, and his not too prosperous 
 means deplored, she indulged romantic visions of working 
 hard, earning a fabulously large sum, carrying it in fairy- 
 land princess style a pilgrimage across the Continent 
 barefoot, and laying it at his feet, amply rewarded by 
 one of his winning smiles. Strange -as it seems now to 
 be recounting openly these then secretly cherished fan- 
 cies, they were most sincere and most true at the time 
 they were cherished. If ever were man fitted to inspire 
 such white-souled aspirations in a girl not much more 
 than a dozen years old, it was Leigh Hunt. Delicate- 
 minded as he was, rich in beautiful thoughts, pure in 
 speech and in writing as he was ardently eloquent in 
 style, perpetually suggesting graceful ideas and adorning 
 daily life by elevated associations, he was precisely the 
 man to become a young girl's object of innocent hero- 
 worship. When therefore I met him for the first time 
 after his return from Italy, at the house of one of my 
 parents' friends, all my hoarded feeling on behalf of him 
 and his fortunes came so strongly upon me, and the 
 sound of his voice so powerfully affected me, that I could 
 with difficulty restrain my sobs. He chanced to be sing- 
 ing one of the pretty Irish melodies to which his friend 
 Moore had put words, " Rich and rare were the gems 
 she wore," — and, as I listened to the voice I remembered 
 so well and had not heard for so long, the silent tears 
 fell from my eyes in large drops of mingled pain and 
 pleasure. He was the man in all the world to best in- 
 terpret such an ebullition of feeling had he observed 
 it ; l)ut I was thankful to perceive that he had no idea 
 of the agitation I had been in, when he finished his song 
 and began his usual delightful strain of conversation. 
 Leigh Hunt's conversation was simply perfection. If he
 
 LEIGH HUNT. 45 
 
 were in argiiment — however warm it might be — he would 
 wait fairly and patiently to hear " the other side." Un- 
 like most eager converters, he never interrupted. Even 
 to the youngest among his colloquists he always gave full 
 attention, and listened with an air of genuine respect to 
 whatever they might have to adduce in support of their 
 view of a question. He was peculiarly encouraging to 
 young aspirants, whether fledgling authors or callow 
 casuists; and treated them with nothing of condescension, 
 or affable accommodation of his intellect to theirs, or 
 amiable tolerance for their comparative incapacity, but, 
 as it were, placed them at once on a handsome footing 
 of equality and complete level with himself. When, as 
 was frequently the case, he found himself left master of 
 the field of talk by his delighted hearers, only too glad 
 to have him recount in his own felicitous way one of his 
 " good stories," or utter some of his " good things," lie 
 would go on in a strain of sparkle, brilliancy, and fresh- 
 ness like a sun-lit stream in a spring meadow. Melo- 
 dious in tone, alluring in accent, eloquent in choice of 
 words, Leigh Hunt's talk was as delicious to listen to as 
 rarest music. Spirited and fine as his mode of narrating 
 a droll anecdote in written diction imdoubtedly is, his 
 mode of telling it was still more spirited, and still more 
 fine. Impressive and solemn as is his way of writing 
 down a ghost-story or tragic incident, his power in tell- 
 ing it was still better. Tender and aftecting as is his 
 manner of penning a sad love-story, or a mournful chap- 
 ter in history, and the " Romance of Real Life," his 
 style of telling it went beyond in pathos of expression. 
 He used more effusion of utterance, more mutation of 
 voice, and more energy of gesture, than is common to 
 most Englishmen when under the excitement of recount-
 
 46 RECOLLECTIONS OF V/RITERS. 
 
 ing a comic story ; and this produced corresponding 
 excitement in his hearers, so that the " success " of his 
 good stories was unfaihng, and the laughter that followed 
 him throughout was worked to a climax at the close. 
 Those who have laughed heartily when merely reading 
 his paper entitled " On the Graces and Anxieties of Pig- 
 driving," will perhaps hardly credit us when we assert 
 that Leigh Hunt's own mode of relating the event he 
 there describes of the pig-driving in Long Lane far 
 surpassed the effect produced by the written narration, — 
 polishedly witty and richly humorous as that written 
 narration assuredly is. The way in which Leigh Hunt 
 raised his tone of voice to the highest pitch, hurling him- 
 self forward the while upon air, as if in wild desire to 
 retrieve the bolting pig, as he exclaimed, " He'll go up 
 all manner of streets ! " brought to the hearers' actual 
 sight the anguish of the "poor fellow," who was "not 
 to be comforted in Barbican," and placed the whole 
 scene palpably before them. 
 
 In the summer of 1826 my father and mother went 
 down to a pretty rural sea-side spot near Hastings called 
 LitLle Bohemia, taking me, the eldest of my brothers, 
 and one of my younger sisters, with them for the change 
 of air that these members of our family especially needed; 
 and when we returned home to Shacklewell it chanced 
 that Charles and I met very frequently during the autumn; 
 so frequently, and with such fast-increasing mutual afiec- 
 tion that on the ist of November in that year we became 
 engaged to each other. As I was only seventeen, and 
 my parents thought me too young to be married, our 
 engagement was not generally made known. This 
 caused a rather droll circumstance to happen. Charles, 
 having :)ccasion to call on business connected with the
 
 WILLIAM HONE. 47 
 
 * Everj-day Book," upon William Hone, — who was then 
 under temporary pressure of difficulties and dwelt in a 
 district called " within the rules " of the King's Bench 
 prison, — took me with hira to see that clever and 
 deservedly popular writer. Our way lying through a 
 region markedly distinguished for its atmosphere of 
 London smoke, London dirt, London mud, and Lon- 
 don squalor, some of the flying soots chanced to leave 
 traces on my countenance ; and while we were talking 
 to Mr. Hone, Chades, noticing a large smut on my face, 
 coolly blew it oft", and continued the conversation. Next 
 time they met, Hone said to Charles, " You are en- 
 gaged to Miss Novello, are you not ? " " What makes 
 you think so?" was the rejoinder. "Oh, when I saw you 
 so familiarly puff off that smut on a young lady's cheek, 
 and she so quietly submitted to your mode of doing it, I 
 knew you must be an engaged pair." 
 
 By the time Hone's " Every-day Book " had been 
 succeeded by his " Table Book," I resolved that I would 
 quietly try whether certain manuscript attem[)ts I had 
 made in the art of composition might not be accepted 
 for publication ; and I thought I would send them, on 
 this chance, to Mr. Hone, under an assumed signature. 
 The initials I adopted were " M. H." — meaning thereby 
 " Mary Howard ; " because my father had once when a 
 young man enacted Falstaff, in a private performance of 
 the First Part of Henry IV., as " Mr. Howard." Taking 
 into my confidence none but my sister nearest to me in age 
 (whom I always called " my old woman " when she did 
 me the critical service rendered by Moliere's old maid- 
 servant to her master), and finding that she did not 
 frown down either the written essay or the contemplated 
 enterprise, I fonvarded my first paper, entitled "My
 
 48 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Armchair," and to mine and my lister Cecilia's bcund- 
 less joy found it accepted by Hone, and printed in one 
 of the numbers of the "Table Book" for June, 1827, 
 where also appeared some playful verses by Elia, headed 
 "Gone, or Going," and No. XXII. of his series of ex- 
 tracts from the old dramatists, which he called " Garrick 
 Plays." I shall not easily forget the novice pride with 
 which I showed the miniature essay to Charles, and asked 
 him what he thought of it as written by a girl of seven- 
 teen ; still less can I forget the smile and glance of 
 pleased surprise with which he looked up and recognized 
 who was the girl-writer. 
 
 These are some of the bygone self-memories that such 
 " Recollections " as we have been requested to record 
 are apt to beguile us into ; and such as we must beg 
 our readers to forbear from looking upon in the light of 
 egoism, but rather to regard as friendly chit-chat about 
 past pleasant times agreeable in the recalling to both 
 chatter and chattee. 
 
 My father and mother had left Shacklewell Green and 
 returned to reside in London when Mr. and Mrs. Leigh 
 Hunt and their family lived at Highgate, and invited me 
 (M. C. C.) to spend a few days with them in that pretty 
 suburban spot, then green with tall trees and shrub- 
 grown gardens and near adjoining meadows. Pleasant 
 were the walks taken arm-in-arm with such a host and 
 entertainer as Leigh Hunt. Sometimes towards Holly 
 Lodge, the residence of an actress duchess, — succes- 
 sively Miss Mellon, Mrs. Coutts, and the Duchess of St. 
 Albans \ of whose sprightly beauty, as Volante in the 
 play of " The Honeymoon," Leigh Hunt could give 
 right pleasant description : or past a handsome white 
 detached house in a shrubbery, with a long low gallery
 
 THE ELDER MATHEWS. 49 
 
 built out, where the elder Mathews Hved, whose " Enter- 
 tainments " and "At Homes" I had often seen and could 
 enjoyingly expatiate upon with Leigh Hunt, as we went 
 on through the pretty bowery lane — then popularly 
 known as Millfield Lane, but called in his circle Poets' 
 Lane, frequented as it was by himself, Shelley, Keats, 
 and Coleridge — till we came to a stile that abutted on a 
 pathway leading across by the ponds and the Pine-mount, 
 skirting Caen Wood, to Hampstead, so often and so 
 lovingly celebrated both in prose and verse by him I 
 was walking with. Then there was the row of tall trees 
 in front of Mr. Oilman's house, where Coleridge lived, 
 and beneath which trees he used to pace up and down 
 in quiet meditation or in converse with some friend. 
 Then there was Whittington's Stone on the road to the 
 east of Highgate Hill, in connexion with which Leigh 
 Hunt would discourse delightfully of the tired boy with 
 dusty feet sitting down to rest, and listening to the 
 prophetic peal of bells that bade him tarry and return as 
 the best means of getting forward in life. And some- 
 times we passed through the Highgate Archway, strolling 
 on to the rural Muswell Hill and still more rural Friern 
 Barnet, its name retaining an old English form of plural, 
 and recalling antique monkish fraternities when rations 
 of food were served forth, or rest and shelter given to 
 way-weary travellers. Leigh Hunt's simultaneous walk 
 and talk were charming ; but he also shone brilliantly 
 in his after breakfast pacings up and down his room. 
 Clad in the flowered wrapping-gown he was so fond of 
 wearing when at home, he would continue the lively 
 subject broached during breakfast, or launch forth into 
 some fresh one, gladly prolonging that bright and pleas- 
 ant morning hour. He himself has somewhere spoken
 
 50 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 of the peculiar charm of English women, as "breakfast 
 beauties," and certainly he himself was a perfect speci- 
 men of a " breakfast wit" At the first social meal of the 
 day he was always quite as brilliant as most company 
 men are at a dinner party or a gay supper. Tea to him 
 was as exhilarating and inspiring as wine to others ; the 
 looks of his home circle as excitingly sympathetic as the 
 applauding faces of an admiring assemblage. At the 
 time of which I am speaking, Leigh Hunt was full of 
 some translations he was making from Clement Marot 
 and other of the French epigrammatists ; and as he 
 walked to and fro he would fashion a line or two, and 
 hit off some felicitous turn of phrase, between whiles 
 whistling with a melodious soft little birdy tone in a 
 mode peculiar to himself of drawing the breath inwardly 
 instead of sending it forth outwardly through his lips. I 
 am not sure that his happy rendering of Destouches' 
 couplet epitaph on an Englishman, — 
 
 Ci-git Jean Rosbif, Ecuyer, 
 
 Qui so pendit pour se desennuyer, 
 
 into 
 
 Here lies Sir John Plumpudding of the Grange, 
 Who hung himself one niorning, for a change, 
 
 did not occur to him during one of those after-breakfast 
 lounges of which I am now speaking. Certain am I 
 that at this time he was also cogitating the material for 
 a book Avhich he purposed naming "Fabulous Zoology;" 
 and while this idea was in the ascendant his talk would 
 be rife of dragons, griffins, hippogriffs, minotaurs, 
 basihsks, and " such small deer " and "fearful wild fowl" 
 of the genus monster, illustrated in his wonted dehghtful 
 style by references to the classic poets and romancists.
 
 JOHN KEATS. 51 
 
 Belonging to this period also was his plaa for writing 
 a book of Fairy Tales, some of the names and sketched 
 plots of which were capital — " Mother Fowl " (a story of 
 a grimy, ill-favoured old beldam) being, I remember, one 
 of them. Leign Hunt had an enchanting way of taking 
 you into his confidence when his thoughts were running 
 upon the concoction of a new subject for a book, and of 
 showing that he thought you capable of compreliending 
 and even aiding him in carrying out his intention; at 
 any rate, of sympathizing heartily in his communicated 
 views. No man ever more infallibly won sympathy by 
 showing that he felt you were eager to give it to him. 
 
 The one of Leigh Hunt's children who most at that 
 period engaged my interest and fondness was his little 
 gentle boy, Vincent; who, being a namesake of my 
 father's used to call me his daughter, while I called him 
 " papa." Afterwards, when the news of my being 
 married reached the Hunt family, Vincent was found 
 crying ; and when asked what for, he whimpered out, 
 " I don't like to have my daughter marry without asking 
 her papa's leave." 
 
 Our marriage took place on a fine summer day — 
 July 5th, 1828. The sky was cloudless ; and as we took 
 our way across the fields that lie between Edmonton and 
 Enfield — for we had resolved to spend our quiet honey- 
 moon in that lovely English village, Charles' native 
 place, and had gone down in primitive Darby-and-Joan 
 fashion by the Edmonton stage, after leaving my father 
 and mother's house on foot together, Charles laughingly 
 telling me, as we walked down the street, a story oi a 
 man who said to his wife an hour after the wedding, 
 " Hitherto I have been your slave, madam ; now you 
 are mine " — we lingered by the brook where John Keats 
 
 E 2
 
 52 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 used to lean over the rail of the foot-bridge, looking at 
 the water and watching 
 
 Where swarms of minnows show their little heads, 
 Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the streams, 
 
 To taste the luxury of sunny beams 
 
 Temper'd with coolness : 
 
 and stayed to note the exact spot recorded in Keats' 
 Epistle to C. C. C, where the friends used to part 
 
 Midway between our homes : your accents bland 
 Still sounded in my ears, when I no more 
 Could hear your footsteps touch the giav'jy floor. 
 Sometimes I lost them, and then found again ; 
 You changed the footpath for the grassy plain ; 
 
 and loitered under a range of young oak-trees, now grown 
 into more than stout saplings, that were the result of some 
 of those carefully dropped acorns planted by Charles and 
 his father in the times of yore heretofore recorded. So 
 dear to us always w^ere Enfield and its associations that 
 they were made the subject of a paper without C. C. C.'s 
 signature entitled " A Visit to Enfield," and a letter 
 signed " Felicia Maritata," both of which were published 
 by Leigh Hunt in his Serials : the former in the number 
 of his Toiler for October ii, 1830; the latter in the 
 number oi Leigh Huiifs London Journal for January 21, 
 
 ^835- 
 
 Dear Charles and Mary Lamb, who were then resid- 
 ing at Chase Side, Enfield, paid us the compliment of 
 affecting to take it a little in dudgeon that we should not 
 liave let them know when we "lurked at the Greyhound" 
 so near to them ; but his own letter,^ written soon after 
 that time, shows how playfully and how kindly he really 
 
 ' See page 164.
 
 CHARLES AND MARY LAMB. 53 
 
 took this "stealing a match before one's face." He made 
 us promise to repair our transgi-ession by coming to spend 
 a week or ten days with him and his sister ; and gladly 
 did we avail ourselves of the offered pleasure under name 
 of reparation. 
 
 During the forenoons and afternoons of this memorable 
 visit we used to take the most enchanting walks in all 
 directions of the lo ely neighbourhood. Over by Winch- 
 more Hill, through Southgate Wood to Southgate and 
 back : on one occasion stopping at a village linendraper's 
 shop that stood in the hamlet of Winchmore Hill, that 
 Mary Lamb might make purchase of some little house- 
 hold requisite she needed ; and Charles Lamb, hovering 
 near with us, while his sister was being served by the 
 mistress of the shop, addressed her, in a tone of mock 
 sympathy, with the words, " I hear that trade's falling 
 off, Mrs. Udall, how's this ? " The stout, good-natured 
 matron only smiled, as accustomed to Lamb's whimsical 
 way, for he was evidently familiarly known at the houses 
 where his sister dealt Another time a longer excursion 
 was proposed, when Miss Lamb declined accompanying 
 us, but said she would meet us on our return, as the 
 walk was farther than she thought she could manage. It 
 was to Northaw ; through charming lanes, and country 
 by-roads, and we went hoping to see a famous old giant 
 oak-tree there. This we could not find ; it had perhaps 
 fallen, after centuries of sturdy grosvth ; but our walk 
 was delightful, Lamb being our conductor and con- 
 fabulator. It was on this occasion that — sitting on a felled 
 tree by the way-side under a hedge in deference to the 
 temporary fatigue felt by the least capable walker of the 
 three — he told us the story of the dog - that he had tired 
 * See the chapter" Some Letters of Charles Lamb," page 170.
 
 54 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 out and got rid of by that means. The rising ground of 
 the lane, the way-side seat, Charles Lamb's voice, our 
 own responsive laughter — all seem present to us as we 
 write. Mary Lamb was as good as her word — when was 
 she otherwise? and came to join us on our way back 
 and be with us on our reaching home, there to make us 
 comfortable in old-fashion easy-chairs for " a good rest " 
 before dinner. The evenings were spent in cosy talk ; 
 Lamb often taking his pipe, as he sat by the fire-side, and 
 puffing quietly betv/een the intervals of discussing some 
 choice book, or telling some racy story, or uttering some 
 fine, thoughtful remark. On the first evening of our visit 
 he had asked us if we could play whist, as he liked a 
 rubber ; but on our confessing to very small skill at the 
 game, he said, " Oh, then, you're right not to play ; I 
 hate playing with bad players." However, on one of the 
 last nights of our stay he said, " Let's see what you're 
 like, as whist-players;" and after a hand or two, finding 
 us not to be so unproficient as he had been led to believe, 
 said, " If I had only known you were as good as this, 
 we would have had whist every evening." 
 
 His style of playful bluntness when speaking to his 
 intimates was strangely pleasant— nay, welcome : it gave 
 you the impression of his liking you well enough to be 
 rough and unceremonious with you : it showed you that 
 he felt at home with you. It accorded with Avhat you 
 knew to be at the root of an ironical assertion he made 
 — that he always gave away gifts, parted with presents, 
 and sold keepsakes. It underlay in sentiment the 
 drollery and reversed truth of his saying to us, " I always 
 call my sister Maria when we are alone together, INLary 
 when we are with our friends, and Moll betore the ser- 
 vants."
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 55 
 
 He was at this time expecting a visit from the Hoods, 
 and talked over with us the grand preparations he and 
 his sister meant to make in the way of due entertain- 
 ment : one ot the dishes he proposed being no other 
 than "bubble and squeak." He had a liking for queer, 
 out-of-the-way names and odd, startling, quaint nomen- 
 clatures ; bringing them in at unexpected moments, and 
 dwelling upon them again and again when his interlocu- 
 tors thought he had done with them. So on this occasion 
 " bubble and squeak " made its perpetual reappearance 
 at the most irrelevant points of the day's conversation 
 and evening fire-side talk, till its sheer repetition became 
 a piece of humour in itself. 
 
 He had a hearty friendship for Thomas Hood, es- 
 teeming him as well as liking him very highly. Lamb 
 was most warm in his preferences, and his cordial sym- 
 pathy with those among them who were, like himself, men 
 of letters, forms a signal refutation of the lukewarmness — 
 nay, envy— that has often been said to subsist between 
 writers towards one another. Witness, for example, his 
 lines to Sheridan Knowles " on his Tragedy of Vir- 
 ginius." Witness, too, his three elegant and witty verse 
 compliments to Leigh Hunt, to Procter, and to Hone. 
 The first he addresses " To my friend the Indicator," 
 and ends it witli these ingeniously turned lines : — 
 
 I would not lightly bruise old Priscian's head, 
 Or wrong the rules of grammar understood ; 
 But, with the leave of Priscian, be it said, 
 The Indicative is your Potential Mood. 
 Wit, poet, prose-man, party-man, translator — 
 Hunt, your best title yet is Indicator. 
 
 The second, addressed " To the Author of the Poems 
 publislied under the name of Larry Cornwall," alter
 
 56 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 praising his " Marcian Colonna," " The Sicilian Tale," 
 and " The Dream," bids him 
 
 No longer, then, as " lowly substitute. 
 Factor, or Procter, for another's gains, " 
 Suffer the admiring world to be deceived ; 
 Lest thou thyself, by self of fame bereaved, 
 Lament too late the lost prize of thy pains, 
 And heavenly tunes piped through an alien flute. 
 
 And the third, adtlressed " To the Editor of the ' Every- 
 day Book,' " has this concluding stanza : — 
 
 Dan Phoebus loves your book — trust me, friend Hone — 
 
 The title only errs, he bids me say ; 
 For while such art, wit, reading there are shown, 
 
 He swears 'tis not a work of cvoy day. 
 
 There is another point on which we would fain say a 
 word in vindication of noble, high-natured, true-hearted 
 Charles Lamb ; a word that ought once and for ever to 
 be taken on trust as coming from those who had the 
 honour of staying under his own roof and seeing him day 
 by day from morning to night in familiar home inter- 
 course — a word that ought once and for ever to set at 
 rest accusations and innuendoes brought by those who 
 know him only by handed- down tradition and second- 
 hand report. As so much has of late years been hinted 
 and loosely spoken about Lamb's " habit of drinking" 
 and of "taking more than was good for him," we avail 
 ourselves of this opportunity to state emphatically — from 
 our own personal knowledge — that Lamb, far from taking 
 much, took very little, but had so weak a stomach that 
 what would have been a mere nothing to an inveterate 
 drinker, acted on him like potations " pottle deep." 
 We have seen him make a single tumbler of moderately 
 strong spirits-and-water last through a long evening of
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 57 
 
 pipe-smoking and fireside talk ; and we have also seen 
 the strange suddenness with which but a glass or two of 
 wine would cause him to speak with more than his usual 
 stammer — nay, with a thickness of utterance and impeded 
 articulation akin to Octavius Cesar's when he says, 
 " Mine own tongue splits what it speaks." As to Lamb's 
 own confessions of intemperance, they are to be taken 
 as all his personal pieces of writing — those about himself 
 as well as about people he knew — ought to be, with more 
 than a "grain of salt." His fine sense of the humorous, 
 his bitter sense of human frailty amid his high sense of 
 human excellence, his love of mystifying his readers even 
 while most taking them into his confidence and admitting 
 them to a glimpse of his inner self — combined to make 
 his avowal of conscious defect a thing to be received 
 with large allowance and lenientest construction. Charles 
 Lamb had three striking personal peculiarities : his eyes 
 were of different colours, one being greyish blue, the other 
 brownish hazel ; his hair was thick, retaining its abun- 
 dance and its dark-brown hue with scarcely a single grey 
 hair among it until even the latest period of his life j and 
 he had a smile of singular sweetness and beauty.
 
 58 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Godwin — Horace Smith — William Hazlitt— Mrs. Nesbitt— 
 Mrs. Jordan — Miss M. A. Tree — Coleridge — Edmund 
 Reade — Vincent Novello — Extracts from a diary ; 1830^ 
 John Cramer — Hummel — Thalberg — Charles Stokes — ■ 
 Thomas Adams — Thomas Attwood — Liszt — Felix Men- 
 delssohn. 
 
 We had the inexpressible joy and comfort of remaining 
 in the home where one of us had hved all her days — in 
 the house of her father and mother. Writing the " Fine 
 Arts" for the Atlas newspaper, and the "Theatricals" 
 for the Examiner newspaper, gave us the opportunity of 
 largely enjoying two pleasures peculiarly to our taste. 
 Our love of pictorial art found frequent delight from 
 attending every exhibition of paintings, every private view 
 of new panorama, new large picture, new process of 
 colouring, new mode of copying the old masters in 
 woollen cloth, enamel, or mosaic, that the London season 
 successively produced, while our fondness for " going to 
 the play " was satisfied by having to attend every first 
 performance and every fresh revival that occurred at the 
 theatres. 
 
 This latter gratification was heightened by seeing fre- 
 quently in the boxes the bald head of Godwin, with his 
 arms folded across his chest, his eyes fixed on the stage, 
 his short, thick-set person immovable, save when some 
 absurdity in the piece or some maladroitness of an actor
 
 GODWIN— HORACE SMITH. 59 
 
 caused it to jerk abruptly forward, shaken by his single- 
 snapped laugh ; and also by seeing there Horc.ce Smith's 
 remarkable profile, the very counterpart of that of Socrates 
 as known to us from traditionally authentic sources. 
 With these two men we now and then had the pleasure 
 of interchanging a word, as we met in the crowd when 
 leaving the playhouse ; but there was a third whom we 
 frequently encountered on these occasions, who often sat 
 with us during the performance, and compared notes with 
 lis on its merits during its course and at its close. This 
 was William Hazlitt, then writing the "Theatricals" for 
 the Times newspaper. His companionship was most 
 genial, his critical faculty we all know • it may therefore 
 be readily imagined the gladness with which we two saw 
 him approach the seats where we were and take one be- 
 side us of his own accord. His dramatic as well as his 
 literary judgment was most sound, and that he became 
 a man of letters is matter of congratulation to the reading 
 world ; nevertheless, had William Hazlitt been constant 
 to his first intellectual passion — that of painting, and to 
 his first ambition — that of becoming a pictorial artist, there 
 is every reason to believe that he would have become 
 quite as eminent as any Academician of the eighteenth 
 century. The compositions that still exist are sufficient 
 evidence of his promise. The very first portrait that he 
 took was a mere head of his old nurse ; and so remark- 
 able are the indications in it of early excellence in style 
 and manner that a member of the profession inquired of 
 the person to whom Hazlitt lent it for his gratification, 
 " Why, where did you get that Rembrandt ? " The upper 
 part of the face was in strong shadow, from an over- 
 pending black silk bonnet edged with black lace, that 
 threw the forehead and eyes into darkened effect ; vhile
 
 6o RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 this, as well as the wrinkled cheeks, the lines about the 
 mouth, and the touches of actual and reflected light, 
 were all given with a truth and vigour that might well 
 recall the hand of the renowned Flemish master. It was 
 our good fortune also to see a magnificent copy that 
 Hazlitt made of Titian's portrait of Ippolito dei Medici, 
 when we called upon him at his lodgings one evening. 
 The painting — mere stretched canvas without frame — 
 was standing on an old-fashioned couch in one corner of 
 the room leaning against the wall, and we remained op- 
 posite to it for some time, while Hazlitt stood by holding 
 the candle high up so as to throw the light well on to the 
 picture, descanting enthusiastically on the merits of the 
 original. The beam from the candle falling on his own 
 finely intellectual head, with its iron-grey hair, its square 
 potential forehead, its massive mouth and chin, and eyes 
 full of earnest fire, formed a glorious picture in itself, and 
 remains a luminous vision for ever upon our memory. 
 Hazlitt was naturally impetuous, and feeling that he 
 could not attain the supreme height in art to which his 
 imagination soared as the point at which he aimed, and 
 which could alone suffice to realize his ideal of excellence 
 therein, he took up the pen and became an author, with 
 what perfect success every one knows. His facility in 
 composition was extreme. We have seen him continue 
 writing (when we went to see him while he was pressed 
 for time to finish an article) with wonderful ease and 
 rapidity of pen, going on as if writing a mere ordinary 
 letter. His usual manuscript was clear and unblotted, 
 indicating great readiness and sureness in writing, as 
 though requiring no erasures or interlining. He was fond 
 of using large pages of rough paper with ruled lines, such 
 as those of a bought-up blank account-book — as they
 
 WJLLIAM HAZLITT. 6i 
 
 were. We are so fortunate as to have in our possession 
 Hazlitt's autograph title-page to his " Life of Napoleon 
 Buonaparte," and the proof-sheets of the preface he 
 originally wrote to that work, with his own correcting 
 marks on the margin. The title-page is written in fine, 
 bold, legible hand-writing, while the proof corrections 
 evince the care and final polish he bestowed on what 
 he Avrote. The preface was suppressed, in deference to 
 advice, when the work was first published : but it is 
 strange to see what was then thought "too strong, and 
 outspoken," and what would now be thought simply 
 staid and forcible sincerity of opinion, most fit to be 
 expressed. 
 
 Hazlitt was a good walker; and once, while he was 
 living at Winterslow Hut on Salisbury Plain, he accepted 
 an invitation from a brother-in-law and sister of ours, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Towers, to pay them a visit of some days 
 at Standerwick, and went thither on foot. 
 
 When Hazlitt was in the vein, he talked super-excel- 
 lently ; and we can remember one forenoon finding him 
 sitting over his late breakfast — it was at the time he had 
 forsworn anything stronger than tea, of which he used to 
 take inordinate quantities — and, as he kept pouring out 
 and drinking cup after cup, he discoursed at large upon 
 Richardson's " Clarissa" and *' Grandison," a theme that 
 had been suggested to him by one of us having expressed 
 her predilection for novels written in letter-form, and for 
 Richardson's in particular. It happened that we had 
 once heard Charles Lamb expatiate upon this very 
 subject; and it was with reduplicated interest that we 
 listened to Hazlitt's opinion, comparing and collating it 
 with that of Lamb. Both men, we remember, dwelt 
 with interest upon the character of John Belford, Love-
 
 62 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 lace's trusted friend, and upon his loyalty to him with his 
 loyal behaviour to Clarissa. 
 
 At one period of the time when we met Hazlitt so 
 frequently at the theatres Miss Mordaunt (afterwards 
 Mrs. Nesbitt) was making her appearance at the Hay- 
 market in the first bloom and freshness of her youth and 
 beauty, Hazlitt was " fathoms deep" in love with her, 
 making us the recipients of his transports about her; 
 while we, almost equal fanatics with himself, " poured in 
 the open ulcer of his heart her eyes, her hair, her cheek, 
 her gait, her voice," and " lay in every gash that love had 
 given him the knife that made it." He was apt to have 
 these over-head-and-ears enamourments for some cele- 
 brated beauty of the then stage : most young men of any 
 imagination and enthusiasm of nature have them. We 
 remember Vincent Novello ecstasizing over the enraptur- 
 ing laugh of Mrs. Jordan in a style that brought against 
 him the banter of his hearers ; and on another occasion 
 he, Leigh Hunt, and C. C. C. comparing notes and find- 
 ing that they had all been respectively enslaved by Miss 
 M. A. Tree when she played Viola in " Twelfth Night ;" 
 and, on still another, Leigh Hunt and C. C. C. confessing 
 to their having been cruelly and woefully in love with 
 a certain Miss (her very name is now forgotten !) — a 
 columbine, said to be as good in private life as she was 
 pretty and graceful in her public capacity, — and who, in 
 their " salad days," had turned their heads to desperation. 
 
 William Hazlitt was a man of firmly consistent opinion ; 
 he maintained his integrity of Liberal faith throughout, 
 never swerving for an instant to even so much as a com- 
 promise with the dominant party which might have made 
 him a richer man. 
 
 In an old diary of ours for the year 1830, under the
 
 COLERIDGE. dz 
 
 date Saturday, i8th September, there is this sad and 
 simple manuscript record : — " William Hazlitt (one of 
 the first critics of the day) died. A few days ago when 
 Charles went to see him during his illness, after Charles 
 had been talking to him for some time in a soothing 
 undertone, he said, ' My sweet friend, go into the next 
 room and sit there for a time, as quiet as is your nature, 
 for I cannot bear talking at present.'" Under that 
 straightforward, hard-hitting, direct-telling manner of his, 
 both in writing and speaking, Hazlitt had a depth of 
 gentleness — even tenderness— of feeling on certain sub- 
 jects ; manly friendship, womanly sympathy, touched 
 him to the core ; and any token of either would bring a 
 sudden expression into his eyes very beautiful as well as 
 very heart-stirring to look upon. We have seen this 
 expression more than once, and can recall its appealing 
 charm, its wonderful irradiation of the strong features and 
 squarely-cut, rugged under portion of the face. 
 
 In the same diary above alluded to there is another 
 entry, under the date Friday, 5th March :—" Spent a 
 wonderful hour in the company of the poet Coleridge." 
 It arose from a gentleman — a Mr. Edmund Reade, whose 
 acquaintance we had made, and who begged we 
 would take a message from him to Coleridge concerning 
 a poem lately written by Mr. Reade, entitled " Cain," — 
 asking us to undertake this commission for him, as he 
 had some hesitation in presenting himself to the author 
 of " The Wanderings of Cain." More than glad were we 
 of this occasion for a visit to Highgate, where at 
 Mr. Oilman's house we found Coleridge, bland, amiable, 
 affably inclined to renew the intercourse of some years 
 previous on the cliff at Ramsgate. As he came into the 
 room, large-presenced, ample-countenanced, grand-fore-
 
 64 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 headed, he seemed to the younger visitor a living and 
 moving impersonation of some antique godlike being 
 shedding a light around him of poetic effulgence and 
 omnipercipience. He bent kindly eyes upon her, when 
 she was introduced to him as Vincent Novello's eldest 
 daughter and the wife of her introducer, and spoke a 
 few words of courteous welcome : then, the musician's 
 name catching his ear and engaging his attention, he 
 immediately launched forth into a noble eulogy of music, 
 speaking of his special admiration for Beethoven as the 
 most poetical of all musical composers ; and from that, 
 went on into a superb dissertation upon an idea he had 
 conceived that the Creation of the Universe must have 
 been achieved during a grand prevailing harmony of 
 spheral music. His elevated tone, as he rolled forth his 
 gorgeous sentences, his lofty look, his sustained flow of 
 language, his sublime utterance, gave the effect of some 
 magnificent organ-peal to our entranced ears. It was 
 only when he came to a pause in his subject— or rather, 
 to the close of what he had to say upon it — that he 
 reverted to ordinary matters, learned the motive of our 
 visit and the message with which we were charged, and 
 answered some inquiries about his health by the pertinent 
 bit already quoted in these Recollections respecting his 
 immunity from headache. 
 
 A few other entries in the said old diary, — which pro- 
 bably came to be exceptionally preserved for the sake of 
 the one on Coleridge, and the one on Hazlitt, — are also 
 of some interest: — " 15th February. In the evening we 
 saw Potier, the celebrated French comedian, in the 
 * Chiffonnier,' and ' Le Cuisinier de Bufifon ;' a few hours 
 afterwards the English Opera House was burnt to the 
 ground. God be praised for our escape ! " " 4th March.
 
 JOHN CRAMER. 65 
 
 One of the most delightful evenings I ever enjoyed, — ■ 
 John Cramer was with us."' "25th March. Saw Miss 
 Fanny Kemble play Portia, in the ' Merchant of Venice,' 
 for her first benefit." "21st April. Went to the 
 Diorama, and saw the beautiful view of Mount St. 
 Gothard. In the evening saw the admirable Potier in 
 ' Le Juif and 'Antoine.'" "21st June. Heard the 
 composer Hummel play his own Septet in D Minor, a 
 Rondo, Mozart's duet for two pianofortes, and he extem- 
 porized for about twenty minutes. The performance 
 was for his farewell concert. His hand reminds me of 
 Papa more than of John Cramer." " 21st September. 
 Witnessed Miss Paton's first reappearance in London 
 after her elopement. She played Rosina in ' The Barber 
 of Seville.' Mr. Leigh Hunt was with us." " ist October. 
 Saw a little bit of Dowton's Cantwell on the opening of 
 Drury Lane ; the house was so full we could not get a 
 seat." " i8th October. Saw Mac eady in 'Virginius' 
 at Drury Lane." "21st October. Saw Macready's 
 'Hamlet.'" 
 
 The references to two great musical names in the 
 above entries recall some noteworthy meetings at the 
 Novellos' house. John Cramer was an esteemed friend 
 of Vincent Novello, who highly admired his fine talent 
 and liked his social qualities. Cramer was a peculiarly 
 courteous man : polished in manner as a frequenter of 
 Courts, as much an adept in subtly elegant flattery as 
 a veteran courtier ; handsome in face and person as a 
 Court favourite, distinguished in bearing as a Court 
 ruler, he was a very mirror of courtliness. Yet he could 
 be more than downright and frank-spoken upon particular 
 occasion : for once, when Rossini and Rossini's music 
 were in the ascendant among fashionable coteries, and
 
 66 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Cramer thought him overweening in consequence, when 
 he met him for the first time in society, after something 
 of Rossini's had been played, and he looked at Cramer 
 as if in expectation of eulogy — the latter went to the 
 pianoforte and gave a few bars from Mozart's " Nozze 
 di Figaro" (the passage in the finale to the 2nd Act, 
 accompanying the words, " Deh, Signor, nol contrastate") ; 
 then turned round and said in French to Rossini, 
 " That's what /call music, caro maestro." 
 
 As a specimen of his more usually courtly manner, 
 witty, as well as elegant, may be cited the exquisitely- 
 turned compliment he paid to Thslberg, who, saying 
 with some degree of pique, yet with evident wish to win 
 Cramer's approval, " I understand, Mr. Cramer, you 
 deny that I have the good left hand on the pianoforte 
 which is attributed to me ; let me play you something 
 that I hope will convince you ;" played a piece that 
 showed wonderful mastery in manipulation on the bass 
 part of the instrument. Cramer listened implicitly 
 throughout, then said, " I am still of the same opinion, 
 Monsieur Thalberg ; I think you have no left hand — I 
 think you have tivo right hands.''^ 
 
 John Cramer's own pianoforte-playing was supremely 
 good, quite worthy the author ot the charming volume of 
 Exercises — most of them delightful pieces of composition 
 — known as "J. B. Cramer's Studio." His '•'■ legato" 
 playing was singularly fine : for, having a very strong 
 third finger (generally the weak point of pianists), no 
 perceptible difference could be traced when that finger 
 touched the note in a smoothly equable run or cadence. 
 We have heard him mention the large size of his hand as 
 a stumbling-block rather than as an aid in giving him 
 command over the keys ; and probably it was to his con-
 
 HUMMEL. 67 
 
 sciousness of this, as a defect to be overcome, that may 
 be attributed his excessive delicacy and finish of touch. 
 
 Hummel's hand was of more moderate size, and he 
 held it in the close, compact, firmly-curved, yet easily- 
 stretched mode which forms a contrast to the ungainly 
 angular style in which many pianists splay their hands 
 over the instrument. His mere way of putting his hands 
 on the key-board when he gave a preparatory prelude ere 
 beginning to play at once proclaimed the master— the 
 musician, as compared with the mere pianoforte-player. 
 It was the composer, not the performer, that you immedi- 
 ately recognized in the few preluding chords he struck — 
 or rather rolled forth. His improvising was a marvel of 
 facile musical thought ; so symmetrical, so correct, so 
 mature in construction was it that, as a musical friend — 
 himself a musician of no common excellence, Charles 
 Stokes — observed to us, " You might count the time 
 to every bar he played while improvising." 
 
 Hummel came to see us while he was in London, 
 bringing his two young sons with him ; and we remember 
 one of them making us laugh by the childish abruptness 
 with which he set down the scalding cup of tea he had 
 raised to his lips, exclaiming in dismay, " Ach ! es ist 
 heiss ! " 
 
 The able organ-player Thomas Adams, and Thomas 
 Attwood, who had been a favourite pupil of Mozart, by 
 whom he was pettingly called " Tommasino," were also 
 friends of Vincent Novello ; and Liszt brought letters of 
 introduction to him when he visited England. The first 
 time Liszt came to dinner he chanced to arrive late : the 
 fish had been taken away, and roast lamb was on table, 
 with its usual English accompaniment of mint sauce. 
 This latter, a strange condiment to the foreigner, so 
 
 F 2
 
 68 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 pleased Liszt's taste that he insisted on eating it with the 
 broLight-back mackerel, as well as with every succeeding 
 dish that came to table— gooseberry tart and all ! — he 
 good-naturedly joining in the hilarity elicited by his 
 universal adaptation and adoption of mint sauce. 
 
 Later on v,-e had the frequent delight of seeing and 
 hearing Felix Mendelssohn among us. Youthful in years, 
 face, and figure, he looked almost a boy when he first be- 
 came known to Vincent Novello, and was almost boyish 
 in his unaffected ease, good spirits, and readiness to be 
 delighted with everything done for him and said to him. 
 He was made much of by his welcomer, who so appreci- 
 ated his genius in composition and so warmly extolled his 
 execution, both on the organ and on the pianoforte, that 
 once when Mr. Novello was praising him to an English 
 musical professor of some note, the professor said, " If 
 you don't take care, Novello, you'll spoil that young man.'' 
 " He's too good, too genuine to be spoiled," was the 
 reply. 
 
 We had the privilege of being with our father when he 
 took young Mendelssohn to play on the St. Paul's organ ; 
 where his feats (as Vincent Novello punningly called 
 them) were positively astounding on the pedals of that 
 instrument. ]\Iendelssohn's organ pedal-playing was a 
 real wonder, — so masterful, so potent, so extraordinarily 
 agile. The last piece we ever heard him play in England 
 was Bach's /z/^^ on his own name, on the Hanover Square 
 organ, at one of the concerts given there. We had the 
 good fortune to hear him play some of his own pianoforte 
 compositions at one of the Dusseldorf Festivals ; where 
 he conducted his fine psalm " As the hart pants." On 
 that occasion, calling upon him one morning when there 
 was a private rehearsal going on, we had the singular
 
 MENDELSSOHN. 69 
 
 privilege cjf hearing him sing a few notes, — just to give 
 the vocalist who was to sing the part at performance an 
 idea of how he himself wished the passage sung, — which 
 he did with his small voice but musician-like expression. 
 On that same occasion, too, v/e enjoyed the pleasure of 
 half an hour's quiet talk with him, as he leaned on the 
 back of a chair near us and asked about the London 
 Philharmonic Society, &c., having, like ourselves, arrived 
 at an exceptionally early time before the Grand Festival 
 ball began that evening. And on the same occasion 
 likewise, we spent a pleasant forenoon with him in the 
 Public Gardens at Dusseldorf, where he invited us, in 
 true German social and hospitable style, to partake of 
 some " Mai-Trank'' sitting in the open air, Ustening to 
 the nightingales that abound in that Rhine-side spot; 
 he laughing at us for saying this Rhenish beverage was 
 "delicious innocent stuff," and telling us we must beware 
 lest we found it not so " innocent " as it seemed. Once in 
 England, he came to us the morning after Beethoven's 
 opera of " Fidelio" had been produced for the first time 
 on the English stage, when Mdrae. Schroeder-Devrient 
 was the Leonora, and Haitzinger the Florestan. Men- 
 delssohn was full of radiant excitement about the beauty 
 of the music : and as he enlarged on the charm of this 
 duet, this aria, this round-quartet, this prisoner's chorus, 
 this trio, or this march, — he kept playing by memory bits 
 from the opera, one after another, in illustration of his 
 words as he talked on, sitting by the pianoforte the 
 while. On his wonderful power of improvisation, and 
 that memorable instance of it one night that we witnessed 
 we have elsewhere enlarged ; ' and certainly that was a 
 triumphant specimen of his skill in extempore-playing. 
 * " Life and Labours of Vincent Novello," page y].
 
 70 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Felix Mendelsohn was a gifted man, a true genius ; 
 and he might have shone in several other fields, as well 
 as in that of music, had he not solely dedicated himself 
 to that art. He was a good pictorial artist, and made 
 spirited sketches. He was an excellent classical scholar ; 
 and once at the house of an English musical professor, 
 whose son had been brought up for the Church, and had 
 been a University student, there chancing to arise a 
 difference of opinion between him and Mendelssohn as 
 to some passage in the Greek Testament, when the book 
 was taken down to decide the question Mendelssohn 
 proved to be in the right. He was well read in English 
 literature, and largely acquainted with the best English 
 poets. Once, happening to express a wish to read 
 Burns's poems, and regretting that he could not get them 
 before he left, as he was starting next morning for Ger- 
 many, Alfred Novello and C. C. C. procured a copy of 
 the fine masculine Scottish poet at Bickers's, in Leicester 
 Square, on their way down to the boat by which Men- 
 delssohn was to leave, and reached there in time to put 
 into his hand the wished-for book, and to see his gratified 
 look on receiving the gift. It is perhaps to this incident 
 we owe the c'larming two-part song, " O wert thou in the 
 cauld blast"
 
 71 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Fanny Kemlale — Mr. and Mrs. Charles Kemble— Dowton — 
 Perlet — Macready — Potier — Lablache — Paganini — Don- 
 zelli— Madame Albert— Mdlle. Mars— Mdlle. Jenny Vertpre 
 — Cartigny — Lemaitre — Rachel — " Junius Redivivus" — 
 Sarah Flower Adams — Eliza Flower — Mrs. Leman Grim- 
 stone — Leigh Hunt — Isabella Jane Towers — Thomas 
 James Serle — Douglas Jerrold — Richard Peake — The elder 
 Mathews — Egerton Webb — Talfourd — Charles Lamb^ 
 Edward Holmes — John Oxenford. 
 
 The occurrence of Fanny Kemble's name reminds us to 
 narrate the interest created by her first appearance on 
 the stage, to retrieve the fortunes of the theatre of which 
 her father was then lessee. It was one of those nights 
 not to be forgotten in theatrical annals. The young girl 
 herself — under tw^enty — coming out as the girl-heroine of 
 tragedy, Shakespeare's Juliet ; her mother, Mrs. Charles 
 Kemble, after a retirement from the stage ot some years 
 playing (for this especial night of her daughter's debut 
 and her husband's effort to re-establish the attraction of 
 Covent Garden Theatre) the part of Lady Capulet ; her 
 father, Charles Kemble, a man much past fifty years of 
 age, enacting with wonderful spirit and vigour the mer- 
 curial character of Mercutio ; combined to excite into 
 enthusiasm the assembled audience. The plaudits that 
 overwhelmed Mrs. Charles Kemble, causing her to stand 
 trembling with emotion and melted into real tears that
 
 72 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 drenched the rouge from her cheeks, plaudits that assured 
 her of genuine welcome given by a public accustomed to 
 a long esteem for the name of Kemble, and now actuated 
 by a private as well as professional sympathy for her— these 
 plaudits had scarcely died away into the silence of expec- 
 tancy, when Juliet had to make her entrance on the scene. 
 We were in the stage-box, and could see her standing 
 at the wing, by the motion of her lips evidently endeavour- 
 ing to bring moisture into her parched mouth, and trying 
 to summon courage for advancing ; when Mrs. Davenport, 
 who played in her own inimitable style the part of the 
 Nurse, after calling repeatedly "Juliet! what, Juliet!" 
 went towards her, took her by the hand, and pulled her 
 forward on to the stage— a proceeding that had good 
 natural as well as dramatic effect, and brought forth, 
 the immediately recognizant acclamations of the house. 
 Fanny Kemble's acting was marked by much originality 
 of thought and grace of execution. Seme of the positions 
 she assumed were strik ngly new and appropriate, sugges- 
 tive as they were of the state of feeling and peculiar 
 situation in which the character she was playing happened 
 to be. For instance, in the scene of the second act, 
 where Juliet is impatiently awaiting the return of her nurse 
 with tidings from Romeo, Fanny Kemble was discovered 
 in a picturesque attitude standing leaning on the back 
 of a chair, earnestly looking out of a tall window opening 
 on to a garden, as if eager to catch the first approach of 
 the expected messenger ; and again, in " The Provoked 
 I-Iusband," where the scene of Lady Townley's dressing- 
 room opens in the fifth act, Fanny Kemble was found 
 lying upon her face, stretched upon a sofa, her head 
 buried in the pillow-cushions, as if she had flung herself 
 there in a fit of sleepless misery and shame, thinking of
 
 FANNY KEMBLE—DO WTON. 73 
 
 her desperate losses at the gaming-table overnight. She 
 proved herself hardly less calculated to shine as a 
 dramatic wTiter than as a dramatic performer ; for in 
 about a year or two after she came out upon the stage, 
 her tragedy of " Francis the First " was produced at the 
 theatre and appeared in print - a really marvellous pro- 
 duction for a girl of her age. She showed herself to be a 
 worthy member of a family as richly endowed by nature 
 as the one whose name she bore. One of us could 
 remember John Kemble and Sarah Kemble Siddons ; 
 the other could just remember seeing Stephen Kemble 
 play Falstatf (without stuffing, as it was announced), and 
 frequent'y witnessed Charles Kemble's delightful imper- 
 sonation of Falconbridge, Benedick, Archer, Ranger, 
 Captain Absolute, Young Marlowe, Young Mirabel, and 
 a host of other brilliant youngsters, long after he had 
 reached middle age, with unabated spirit and grace and 
 good looks ; and who both lived to see yet another 
 Kemble bring added laurels to the name in the person of 
 Adelaide Kemble. 
 
 Dowton's Cantwell wns one of those fine embodiments 
 of class character that would alone suffice to make the 
 lasting fame of an actor. Had Dowton never played any 
 other part than this, he would have survived to posterity 
 as a perfect performer ; his sleek condition, his spotless 
 black clothes, his placidly-folded hands, his smooth, 
 serene voice, his apparently cloudless countenance, with 
 nevertheless a furtive, watchful look in the eye, a calmly- 
 compressed mouth, with nevertheless a betraying devil 
 of sensuality lurking beneath the carefully-maintained 
 compression — these sub-expressions of the eye and lip 
 uncontrollably breaking forth in momentary flash and 
 sudden, involuntary quiver, — during the scenes with Lady
 
 74 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Lambert, — vv-ere all finely present, and formed a highly- 
 finished study of a sanctimonious, self-seeking, calculat- 
 ing hypocrite. We have seen Perlet, the French comedian, 
 play the original counterpart of Gibber and Bickerstaff's 
 Doctor Cantwellj — MoUere's Tartuffe ; and Perlet went 
 so far as to paint additional vermilion round his mouth, 
 so as to give the effect of the sensual, scarlet lip ; but 
 Dowton's alternated contraction and revealment of his 
 naturally full lip gave even more vital effect to the 
 characteristically suggestive play of feature. The tone, 
 too, in which Dowton first calls to his secretary, uttering 
 his Christian name, " Charles ! " in silky, palavering voice, 
 when he bids him " Bring me that writing I gave you to 
 lay up this morning,'' as contrasted with his subsequent 
 imperious utterance of the surname, " Seyward ! " when 
 he summons his secretary to abet him in his assertion of 
 supreme mastery in Sir John Lambert's house, formed 
 two admirably telling points in this, his perhaps most 
 renowned performance. At the same time, be it stated, 
 that his tempest of fury, in Sir Anthony Absolute and 
 characters of that class, with his delightfully tolerant 
 good-humour and pleasant cordiality in the part ot 
 Old Hardcastle in Goldsmith's charming comedy, " She 
 Stoops to Conquer," were quite as perfect each in their 
 several ways. 
 
 Of Macready's playing Virginius, Rob Roy, — and sub- 
 sequently King John [one of his very best-conceived 
 impersonations, for our detailed description of which see 
 pages 340-1-2 of " Shakespeare-Characters"], Henry v., 
 Prospero, Benedick, Richelieu, Walsingham, and a score 
 of other admirably characteristic personifications, we will 
 not allow ourselves to speak at length ; owing many 
 private kindnesses and courtesies to the gentleman,
 
 MACREADY-POTIER, 75 
 
 v>'hile we enjoyed so frequently his varied excellences as 
 an actor, and approved so heartily his judicious arrange- 
 ments as a manager. 
 
 Of Potier's acting v^'e had frequent opportunities of 
 judging ; since he, with several of his best brother come- 
 dians, at the time we are referring to, came to London in 
 the successive French companies that then first, and 
 subsequently, repaired thither to act French pieces. It 
 was a novelty that took : for the majority of fashionable 
 play-goers were sufficiently versed in the language to 
 appreciate and enjoy the finished acting and entertaining 
 pieces then produced. In the year 1830 Leigh Hunt 
 started his Tatler, generally writing the Theatre, Opera, 
 and Concert notices in it himself, under the heading oi 
 " The Play-goer ;" but occasionally he asked me (C. C. C.) 
 to supply his place; and accordingly, several of the articles 
 — such as those recording Lablache's initiative appear- 
 ances in London, Paganini's, Donzelli's, charming Madame 
 Albert's, Laporte's, and on the Philharmonic Society, bear 
 witness to our enjoyment of some of the best performances 
 going on during the few years that Leigh Hunt's Tatler 
 existed. Afterwards, we witnessed in brilliant succession 
 Mademoiselle Mars, — whose Ce'limiene in Moliere's 
 " Misanthrope " was unrivalled, and whose playing of 
 Valerie, a blind girl of sixteen, who recovers her lost 
 sight, when Mars was nearly sixty years of age, was a 
 marvel of dramatic success — Mdlle. Plessy, a consummate 
 embodiment of French lady-like elegance ; Jenny Vertpre', 
 whose portrayal of feline nature and bearing beneath 
 feminine person and carriage, as the cat metamorphosed 
 into a woman, was unique in clever peculiarity of 
 achievement ; Cartigny, great in Moliere's " Depit 
 Amoureux" as Gros Rene ; Perlet, exquisite in Moliere's
 
 76 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 " Tartuffe," " Bourgeois Gentilhomme," and " Malade 
 Imaginairej" Lemaitre, pre-eminent in "Robert Macaire," 
 "Trente Ans de la Vie d'un Joueur," "Don Ce'sar de 
 Bazan," and " Le Docteur Noir ;" and, finally, glorious 
 Rachel, peerless among all tragic actresses ever beheld 
 by M. C. C, who never saw Mrs. Siddons. But we will 
 not permit ourselves to be lured away into the pleasant 
 paths of acting reminiscences : return we to our more 
 strictly requested recollections of literary people. In 
 Leigh Hunt's Tatler appeared a clever series of papers 
 signed "Junius Redivivus," which were written by a 
 gentleman who had married Sarah Flower Adams, 
 authoress of the noble dramatic poem " Vivia Perpetua,' 
 and sister to Eliza Flower, composer of " Musical Illus- 
 trations of the Waverley Novels," and other productions 
 that manifested unusual womanly amount of scientific 
 attainment in music. The two sisters were singularly 
 gifted : graceful-minded, accomplished, exceptionally 
 skilled in their respective favourite pursuits. One evening 
 before her marriage we were invited to the house of a 
 friend of hers, where Sarah Flower gave a series of 
 dramatic performances, enacted in a drawing-room, with 
 folding-doors opened and closed between the select 
 audience and herself during the successive presentment 
 of Ophelia's and other of Shakespeare's heroines' chief 
 scenes, dressed in character, and played with much zest 
 of impassioned delivery. 
 
 Another contributor to Leigh Hunt's Tatler was Mrs. 
 Leman Grimstone, whose papers appeared with the 
 signature " M. L. G." She was one of the very first of 
 those who modestly yet firmly advocated women's rights : 
 a subject now almost worn threadbare and hackneyed by 
 zealous partisans, but then put forth diffidently, sedately,
 
 AIRS. LEMAN GRIMSTONE. 77 
 
 with all due deference of appeal to manly justice, reason, 
 and consideration. In the number of the Tatler for 
 22nd March, 1832, Leigh Hunt printed these hnes, 
 preceded by a few words from himself within brackets : — 
 
 The Poor Woman's Appeal to her Husband. 
 
 [We affix a note to the following verses, not from any doubt 
 that their beautiful tenderness can escape the observation of 
 our readers, but because we owe to the fair author an acknow- 
 ledgment for the heartfelt gratification which this and other 
 previous communications from her pen have afforded to 
 ourselves.] 
 
 You took me, Colin, when a girl, unto your home and heart, 
 To bear in all your after fate a fond and faithful part ; 
 And tell me, have I ever tried that duty to forego — 
 Or pined there was not joy for me, when you were sunk in woe ? 
 No — I would rather sharej(??^r tear than any other's glee. 
 For though you're nothing to the world, you're all the world 
 
 to me ; 
 You make a palace of my shed — this rough-hewn bench a 
 
 throne — 
 There's sunlight for me in your smile, and music in your tone. 
 I look upon you when you sleep, my eyes with tears grow dim 
 I cry, " O Parent of the poor, look down from Heaven on 
 
 him — 
 Behold him toil from day to day, exhausting strength and 
 
 soul — 
 Oh look with mercy on him. Lord, for Thou canst make him 
 
 whole ! " 
 And when at last relieving sleep has on my eyelids smiled, 
 How oft are they forbade to close in slumber, by my child ; 
 I take the little murmurer that spoils my span of rest, 
 And feel it is a part of thee I lull upon my breast. 
 There's only one return 1 crave — I may not need it long, 
 And it may soothe thee when Lm where — the wretched feel 
 
 no wrong ! 
 I ask not for a kinder tone — for thou wert ever kind ; 
 I ask not for less frugal fare — my fare I do not mind ;
 
 78 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 I ask not for attire more gay — if such as I ha /e got 
 
 Suffice to make me fair to thcc, for more I murmur not. 
 
 But I would ask some share of hours that you at clubs 
 
 bestow — 
 Of knowledge \h2Xyou prize so much, might /not something 
 
 know ? 
 Subtract from meetings among men, each eve, an hour 
 
 for me — 
 Make me companion of your ^^;//, as I may surely be ! 
 If you will read, I'll sit and work : then think, when you're 
 
 away, 
 
 Less tedious I shall find the time, dear Cohn, of your stay. 
 
 A meet companion soon I'll be for e'en your studious hours— 
 
 And teacher of those little ones you call your cottage flowers ; 
 
 And if we be not rich and great, we may be wise and kind ; 
 
 And as my heart can warm your heart, so may my mind your 
 
 mind. 
 
 M. L. G. 
 
 Leigh Hunt's Toiler was followed early in 1834 by his 
 ' London Journal, to which my (C. C. C.'s) lamented sister, 
 Isabella Jane Towers, contributed some verses, entitled 
 " To Gathered Roses," in imitation of Herrick, as pre- 
 viously, in the Literary Examiner, which he published 
 in 1823, he had inserted her " Stanzas to a Fly that had 
 survived the Winter of 1822." She was the author of three 
 graceful books of juvenile tales, " The Children's Fire- 
 side," " The Young Wanderer's Cave," and " The Wan- 
 derings of Tom Starboard." 
 
 In the spring of 1835 was brought out at the English 
 Opera House a drama entitled " Tlie Shadow on the 
 Wall," and when it made its appearance in printed form 
 it was accompanied by the following dedication : — 
 
 The truest gratification felt by an Author, in laying his 
 •work before the Public, is the hope to render it a memento of 
 private affection. The Writer of
 
 THOMAS JAMES SERLE. 79 
 
 "The Shadow on the Wall » 
 
 can experience no higher pleasure of this kind 
 
 than in inscribing it to 
 
 C. N. 
 
 Kensington, ist May, 1835. 
 
 The writer of " The Shadow on the Wall " was Thomas 
 James Serle, and the initials represented Cecilia Novello, 
 who was his affianced future wife. He had already been 
 known to the theatrical world by his play of " The Mer- 
 chant of London," his tragedy of " The House of Col- 
 berg," his drama of " The Yeoman's Daughter," and his 
 play of "The Gamester of Milan." After his marriage 
 with my (M. C. C.'s) sister Cecilia in 18.36, we watched 
 with enhanced interest the successive production of his 
 dramas and plays, " A Ghost Story," " The Parole of 
 Honour," "Joan of Arc," "Master Clarke," "The Widow' 
 Queen," and "Tender Precautions:" when he com- 
 bined with the career of dramatist that of lecturer, and, 
 subsequently, that of political writer, continuing for many 
 years editor of one of our London newspapers. Ulti- 
 mately he has returned to his first love of literary pro- 
 duction, having of late years written several carefully- 
 composed plays and dramas with the utmost maturity of 
 thought and consideration. It was at his house, imme- 
 diately after his marriage, that we met an entiirely new 
 and delightful circle of literary men, his valued friends 
 and associates. It was there we first met Douglas Jer- 
 rold, learning that he had written his " Black-eyad 
 Susan " when only eighteen, that it was rapidly followed 
 b his " Devil's Ducat," " Sally in Our Alley," " Mutiny 
 at the Nore," " Bride of Ludgate," " Rent Day," " Gol- 
 den Calf," "Ambrose Gwinett," and "John Overy ;" 
 while he himself, soon after our introduction to him
 
 8o RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 gave us a highly-prized presentation volume, containing 
 his " Nell Gwynne," " Housekeeper," " Wedding Gown," 
 " Beau Nash," and " Hazard of the Die." It was our 
 happy fortune to be subsequently present on most of the 
 first nights of representation of his numerous dramas, 
 including "The Painter of Ghent," in which he himself 
 acted the principal character when it was originally 
 brought out at the Standard Theatre, under the manage 
 ment of his brother-in-law, Mr. Hammond. As the 
 piece proceeded, and came to the point where Ichabod 
 the Jew, speaking of his lost son, has to say, " He was a 
 healing jewel to mine eye — a staff of cedar in my hand 
 — a fountain at my foot," the actor who was playing the 
 character made a mistake in the words, and substituted 
 something of his own, saying "a well-spring" instead of 
 " a fountain." A pause ensued ; neither he nor Jerrold 
 going on for some minutes. Afterwards, talking over 
 the event of the night with him, he told us that when his 
 interlocutor altered the words of the dialogue, he had 
 turned towards him and whispered fiercely, "It's neither 
 a well-spring nor a pump ; and till you give me the right 
 cue, I shan't go on." A more significant proof that the 
 author in Jerrold was far stronger than the actor could 
 hardly be adduced. And yet we have seen bim act finely, 
 too. When Ben Jonson's "Every Man in his Humour" 
 was first performed by the amateur company of Charles 
 Dickens and his friends, Douglas Jerrold then playing 
 the part of Master Stephen, he acted with excellent 
 effect ; and, could he but have quenched the intellect in 
 his eyes, he would have looked the part to perfection, so 
 well was he "got up " for the fopling fool. Jerrold had 
 a delightful way of making a disagreeable incident into a 
 delight by the brilliant, cheery way in which he would utter
 
 RICHARD PEAKE. 8i 
 
 a jest in the midst of a dilemma. It was while walking 
 home together from Serle's house, one bleak night of 
 English spring, that, in crossing Westminster Bridge, with 
 an east wind blowing keenly through every fold of cloth- 
 ing we wore, Jerrold said to us, " I blame nobody ; but 
 they call this May !" 
 
 Of him and his super-exquisite wit more will be found 
 in his letters to us, and our comments thereon, which 
 we shall subsequently give in another portion of these 
 Recollections. 
 
 It was at Serle's hospitable board that we met that 
 right "merry fellow," Richard Peake, author of the droll 
 farce " Master's Rival," and who used to write the " En- 
 tertainments " and " At Homes " for the elder Mathews. 
 Peake was the most humorous storyteller and narrator 
 himself; so much so that could he but have conquered 
 his overwhelming native bashfulness he would have made 
 as good an actor, or even monologuist, as the best. We 
 remember hearing him tell a history of some visit he 
 paid in the country, where he accompanied his enter- 
 tainers to their village church, in which was a preacher 
 afflicted with so utterly inarticulate an enunciation, made 
 doubly indistinct by the vanity resonance of the edifice, 
 that though a cavernous monotone pervaded the air yet 
 not a syllable was audible to the congregation. This 
 wabbling, stentorian, portentously solemn, yet ludi- 
 crously inefiicient voice resounding through the aisles of 
 the village temple, seems even yet to ring in our ears ; 
 as well as a certain discordant yell that he affirmed pro- 
 ceeded from the bill of a bereaved goose, pent up with 
 some ducks in the area of a house near to one where 
 he was staying, and which perpetually proclaimed its 
 griefs of captivity and desolation in the single screech of 
 
 G
 
 82 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 execration — " Jeemes ! " — while the ducks offered vain 
 consolation in the shape of a clutter of dull, gurgling 
 quack-quack-quacks that seemed to imply, " What a fool 
 you must be ! Why don't you take it coolly and philo- 
 sophically as we do ? " 
 
 It was Peake's manner and tone that gave peculiar 
 comicality to such things as these when he told them. 
 
 He wrote a whimsical set of tales for a magazine, giving 
 them the ridiculous punning name of "Dogs' Tales;" in 
 which there was a man startled by a noise in a lone house 
 that made him exclaim, " Ha ! is that a rat ? " and then 
 added, " No ! it's only a rat-tat," on discovering that it 
 was somebody knocking at the door. Peake was odd, 
 excessively odd, in his fun. He told us that when he 
 married, his wife continuing much affected by the circle 
 of weeping friends from whom she had just parted, he 
 suddenly snatched her hand in his, gave it a smart tap, 
 and said peremptorily, " Come, come, come, come ! we 
 must have no more of this crying ; we are now in another 
 parish, you belong to me, and I insist upon it, }'OU leave 
 off! " 
 
 Once, when we were spending an evening at Serle's, he, 
 Douglas Jerrold, and Egerton Webbe — who was an ex- 
 ceptionally clever young man in many ways, but who, 
 alas ! died early — happened to be in earnest conversa- 
 tion about Talfourd's account of Charles Lamb, seeming 
 to think that Talfourd overrated Lamb's generosity of 
 character in money-matters. We had listened silently to 
 the discussion for a time, but when the majority of 
 opinion seemed to be settling down into a confirmed 
 belief that there was nothing, after all, so remarkably 
 generous in the traits that Lamb's biographer had re- 
 corded, we stated, what we knew to be the truth, that
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD. 83 
 
 Charles Lamb, out of his small income (barely sufficient 
 for his own and his sister's comfortable maintenance), 
 dedicated a yearly sum of thirty pounds as a stipend to 
 help support his old schoolmistress, an act of generosity 
 which, as compared with his means, we considered to be 
 a really munificent gift. Douglas Jerrold, in his hearty 
 manner, instantly exclaimed, "You're right, Mrs. Cowden 
 Clarke ! you've made out your case completely for 
 Lamb ! " And then he went on to quote, with a tone 
 of warmth that showed he did not utter the words 
 lightly : — 
 
 After my death I wish no other herald, 
 No other speaker of my living actions, 
 To keep mine honour from corruption, 
 But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
 
 Dear Douglas Jerrold ! By a strange chance, years after 
 his death, the " honest chronicler " he had wished for 
 actually had an opportunity of vindicating his fame upon 
 a point in which she heard it impugned, in the light, casual 
 way that people will repeat defamatory reports of those 
 who have enjoyed public favour and renov/n. At an 
 English dinner-table in Italy Douglas Jerrold was spoken 
 of in our presence as one who indulged too freely in 
 wine, and we were able to vindicate his memory from 
 the unfounded charge by asserting positively our kno\/- 
 ledge to the contrary. Like many men of scci J 
 vivacity and brilliant imagination, Douglas Jerrold would 
 join in conviviality with great gusto and with animatedly 
 expressed consciousness of the festive exhilaration im- 
 parted by wine to friendly meetings ; but to say that he 
 habitually suftered himself to be overtaken by wine is 
 utterly false. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Having mentioned Egerton Webbe, reminds us to 
 relate that a sister of his was married to our early admir- 
 able friend Edward Holmes, who, after enjoying scarcely 
 more than two years of happy wedded life with her, — 
 of which he sent us a charming account in his letters to 
 us when we had quitted England, — passed from earth for 
 ever towards the close of the year 1859. 
 
 To our brother-in-law Mr. Serle we owe the pleasure 
 of having known yet another accomplished writer, — Mr. 
 John Oxenford, whom we used frequently to see in the 
 boxes at the theatres after his highly poetical and 
 romantic melodrama, entitled " The Dice of Death," had 
 interested us in it and him by its first performances. In 
 wonderful contrast to the sombre Faustian grandeur of 
 this piece came the out-and out fun and frolic of his two 
 farces, " A Day Well Spent " and " My Fellow Clerk," 
 proving him to be a master of versatility in dramatic' 
 arL
 
 «s 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Macready— Thomas Carlyle— Leigh Hunt— Richard Cobden 
 — John Bright— Charles Pelham VilHers— George Wilson 
 — W.J. Fox — Sir John Bowring — Colonel Perronet Thomp- 
 son — Mrs. Cobden — Thomas Hood — Julia Kavanagh— 
 Mrs. Loudon — Rev. Edward Tagart — Edwin and Charles 
 Landseer — Martin — Miss Martin — Mr. and Mrs. Joseph 
 Bonomi — Owen Jones — Noel Humphreys — Mr. and Mrs, 
 Milner Gibson — Louis Blanc — William Jerdan — Ralph 
 Waldo Emerson — Mrs. Gaskell — Charles Dickens — John 
 Forster — Mark Lemon — John Leech — Augustus Egg — 
 George Cruikshank — Frank Stone — F. W. Topham— 
 George H. Lewes — Charles Knight — J. Payne Collier — 
 Sheriff Gordon — Robert Chambers — Lord and Lady 
 Ellesmere. 
 
 One of the proudest privileges among the many pleasures 
 we received from Macready w^as that of writing our m,me 
 on the free list at the London theatres where he was 
 manager; and we shall not readily forget the exultant 
 sense of distinction with which w^e wrote for the first time 
 in the huge tome, — that magic book, — which conferred 
 the right of entry upon those who might put their signa- 
 tures there. Once, as we stood ready to pen the open- 
 sesame words, we heard a deep voice near to us, and saw 
 a lofty figure with a face that had something ot un- 
 doubted authority and superiority in its marked lines. 
 Voice, figure, face, at once impressed us so potently that 
 we instinctively drew back and yielded him precedence ;
 
 86 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 and when he, with courteous inclination of the majestic 
 head, accepted the priority, signed his name, and went 
 on, we, advancing, saw traced on the hne above the one 
 where we were to write, the honoured syllables — " Thomas 
 Carlyle." It may be imagined with what reverence we 
 placed our names beneath his and followed him up the 
 staircase into the theatre. 
 
 Not very long after that we met him on a superlatively 
 interesting occasion. Leigh Hunt had invited a few 
 friends with ourselves to hear him read his newly-written 
 play ot " A Legend of Florence ;" and Thomas Carlyle 
 was among these friends. The hushed room, its general 
 low light, — for a single well-shaded lamp close by the 
 reader formed the sole point of illumination, — the 
 scarcely-seen faces around, all bent in fixed attention 
 upon the perusing figure ; the breathless presence of so 
 many eager listeners, all remains indelibly stationed in 
 the memory, never to be effaced or weakened. It was 
 not surpassed in interest, — though strangely contrasted in 
 dazzle and tumult, — when the play was brought out at 
 Covent Garden Theatre, and Leigh Hunt was called on 
 to the stage at its conclusion to receive the homage of a 
 public who had long known him through his delightful 
 writings, and now caught at this opportunity to let him 
 feel and see and hear their admiration of those past works 
 as well as of his present poetical play. A touching sight 
 was it to see that honoured head, grown grey in the 
 cause of letters and in the ceaseless promotion of all that 
 is tasteful and graceful, good and noble, a head that we 
 remembered jet black with thick, clustered hair, and 
 held proudly up with youthful poet thought and patriot 
 ardour, now silvered and gently inclined to receive the 
 applause thus for the first time publicly and face to
 
 THOMAS CARLYLE. 87 
 
 facedly showered upon it ; ihe figure that had always 
 held apart its quiet, studious course, devoted to patient, 
 ardent composition, now standing there in sight of men 
 and women the centre of a thousand grateful and ad- 
 miring eyes. His face was pale, his manner staid and 
 simple : as if striving for composure to bear an incense 
 that profoundly stirred him, a kind of resolute calm- 
 ness assumed to master the natural timidity of a man un- 
 accustomed to numerous and overt testimony of approba- 
 tion \ and as if there were a struggle between his desire to • 
 show his affectionate sense of his fellow-men's liking, and 
 his dread lest he should be overcome by it. As he with- 
 drew from the ovation it was evident that the man of 
 retired habits was both glad and sorry, both relieved and 
 regretting, to leave this shouting, welcoming, hurraing 
 crowd. 
 
 There was a public occasion that brought us into 
 contact with several noteworthy men of the time, — the 
 Anti-Corn-Law Meetings at Covent Garden Theatre, 
 and the Anti-Corn- Law-League Bazaar, held there in aid 
 of the funds needed for the promotion of their object. 
 Richard Cobden, John Bright, Charles Pelham Villiers, 
 George Wilson, W. J. Fox, John Bowring (afterwards Sir 
 John), and Colonel Perronet Thompson (afterwards 
 General) were among the chief of these eloquent and 
 earnest speakers. An excellent hit was made by Mr. Fox 
 one night, when dancing was proposed to be got up 
 after the speeches, and some of the demure and over- 
 righteous objected to it as indecorous. Instead of an- 
 swering their objection he took a most ingenious course. 
 He rose to address the audience, and said, " I under- 
 stand that dancing is about to take place, and that some 
 inconsiderate persons have insisted that everybody shall
 
 83 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 dance, myself among the number. Now any one who 
 looks for a moment at me must perceive that my figure 
 wholly disqualifies me for a dancer, and would render it 
 entirely unbecoming in me to take part in an amusement 
 that is charming for the young and the slender. I beg you 
 will excuse me from joining you; but pray, all you who 
 enjoy dancing and can dance have dancing at once." 
 Fox had a neat, epigrammatic mode of expressing himself 
 that told admirably in some of the Anti-Corn-Law- League 
 speeches. In one of them, as an illustration that England 
 depends upon France for many luxuries, he said, " A 
 rich Englishman has a French cook that dresses his 
 dinner for hira, and a French valet that dresses him for 
 his dinner. 
 
 Of Richard Cobden's delightful society we had the 
 honour and pleasure of enjoying a few perfect days in 
 familiar home intercourse, several years afterwards abroad ; 
 he and his wife coming over from Cannes and taking up 
 their abode under our cottage roof at Nice in the 
 most easy, friendly, unaffected way imaginable. Of one 
 Christmas Eve especially we retain strong recollection : 
 when Mrs. Cobden sat helping us women-folk to stone 
 raisins, cut candied fruits, slice almonds, and otherwise 
 to make housewifely preparation for the morrow's plum- 
 pudding— a British institution never allowed to pass into 
 desuetude in our family — while Cobden himself read 
 aloud the English newspapers to us in his own peculiar, 
 practical, perspicuous way — going through the Par- 
 liamentary debates line by line : and as he came to 
 each member mentig ned we observed that he invariably 
 added in parenthesis the constituency as thus : — " Mr. 
 Roebuck [Bath] observed that if Mr. Disraeli [Bucking- 
 hamshire] thought that Mr. Bright [Birmingham] intended
 
 RICHARD COBDEN~COL. THOMPSON. 89 
 
 to say," etc. It was as though Cobden had made this a 
 set rule, so that he might well fix in his mind each in- 
 dividual and the constituency he represented. 
 
 With Colonel Perronet Thompson we subsequently 
 met under very pathetic circumstances. It was by the 
 bedside of a poor young lady in St. George's Hospital, 
 whose friends had asked him to go and see her there 
 while she was in London hoping for cure, and who 
 had hkewise been recommended to our occasional visita- 
 tion during her stay in that excellent establishment. It 
 was by her own brave wish that she had come up to town 
 from a distant northern county, and the visits of the 
 benevolent- hearted veteran were most cheering to her. 
 His steel-grey hair, his ruddy complexion, his bright, 
 intelligent eyes, his encouraging smile, his enlivening 
 conversation, shed a reflection of fortitude and trust 
 around her, and made her youthful face kindle into 
 renewed expectation of recovery as he spoke. The 
 expectation was ultimately and joyfully fulfilled ; for she 
 was so completely cured of her spinal complaint as to 
 return to her home able to walk, to resume her active 
 duties, and, finally, to marry happily and well. 
 
 It was not long before tlie last illness of Thomas 
 Hood that I (C. C. C.) met him at the house of a mutual 
 friend, when his worn, pallid look strangely belied the 
 effect of jocularity and high spirits conveyed by his 
 writings. He punned incessantly but languidly, almost 
 as if unable to think in any other way than in play upon 
 words. His smile was attractively sweet : it bespoke 
 the affectionate-natured man which his serious verses — • 
 those especially addressed to his wife or to his children — 
 show him to be ; and it also revealed the depth of pathos 
 in his soul that inspired his " Bridge of Sighs," " Song of
 
 90 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 the Shirt," and "Eugene Aram." The large-hearted 
 feeUng he had for his fellow-men and his prompt sym- 
 pathy for them were testified by his including me — we 
 having met but this once — in the list of friends to whom 
 he sent on his death-bed a copy of the then recently 
 engraved bust-portrait of himself, subscribed by a few 
 words of " kind regard" in his own handwriting. 
 
 While we were living at Bayswater some friends came 
 to see us, accompanied by a young lady who, with her 
 mother, was a neighbour of theirs, and in whom they 
 took much interest, from her intellectual superiority and 
 her enthusiasm of nature. She had luminous, dark 
 eyes, with an elevated and spiritual cast of countenance ; 
 and was gentle and deferential in manner to her mother, 
 and very kind and companionable towards the children 
 of our friends, who had a large family of boys and girls, 
 eager in play, active in juvenile pursuits, after the wont of 
 their race. She seemed ever at hand to attend upon her 
 mother, ever ready to enter into the delights of the child 
 neighbours ; and yet she was devoted heart and soul to 
 the ambition of becoming an authoress, and spent hours 
 in qualifying herself for the high vocation. Some time 
 afterwards we read her most charming novel of " Na- 
 thalie," and found that the young lady of the dark eyes 
 and gentle, unassuming deportment, Julia Kavanagh, 
 had commenced her career of popular novelist, which 
 thenceforth never stinted or ceased in its prosperous 
 course. 
 
 Our pretty homestead. Craven-hill Cottage, Bayswater, 
 was one of the last lingering remains of the old primitive 
 simplicity of that neighbourhood, ere it became built 
 upon with modern houses, squares, and terraces. Of our 
 own particular nook in that parent-nest —the last that we
 
 MJ^S. LOUDON. 91 
 
 dwelt in together \yith our loved father and mother, ere 
 they migrated to the Continent for warmer winters — 
 Leigh Hunt once said, " This is the most poetical room 
 in a most poetical house." It was a very small abode, 
 and required close packing ; but, for people loving each 
 other as its inmates did, it was a very snug and happy 
 home. 
 
 We had two houses close by us that contained very 
 kindly and pleasant neighbour friends. One was the 
 house of Mrs. Loudon and her daughter ; the other that 
 of the Rev. Edward Tagart, his wife and his family. vSo 
 near to us were they that we could at any time put on 
 hat, hood, or shawl over evening-dress and walk to and 
 from the pleasant parties that were given there. Nay, on 
 one occasion, when Sheridan's " Rivals " was got up at 
 Mrs. Loudon's by her daughter and some of their friends, 
 the Mrs. Malaprop, the Lucy, and the David went on 
 foot ready dressed for their respective parts from Craven- 
 hill Cottage to No. 3, Porchtster Terrace, with merely a 
 cloak thrown over their stage costume.s. The David also 
 enacted Thomas the Coachman, " doubling the parts," 
 as it is called; so that he went in his many-caped 
 driving-coat over his David's dress. It chanced that he 
 arrived just as the gentleman who was to play Fag was 
 drinking tea with Mrs. Loudon, and she gave a cup also 
 to the new arrival. Afterwards she told us that she had 
 been much amused by learning that one of her maids 
 had been overheard to say, " It's very strange, but 
 missus is taking tea with two livery servants." 
 
 At Mrs. Loudon's house we met several persons of 
 note and name : the Landseers, Edwin and Charles ; 
 Martin, the paintei of " Belshazzar's Feast," &c. ; his 
 clever-headed and amiable daughter. Miss Martin ;
 
 92 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 Joseph Bonomi, and his wife, who was another daughter 
 of Martin ; Owen Jones, Noel Humphreys, Mr. and 
 Mrs, Milner Gibson, Louis Blanc, William Jerdan, and 
 others. 
 
 On one occasion, when Mrs. Loudon gave a fancy 
 ball, few costumes, among the many very handsome and 
 characteristic ones that gave picturesque variety to the 
 scene, were more strikingly beautiful and artistic — as 
 might be expected — than those of Owen Jones and the 
 Bonomis. 
 
 Under Mr. Tagart's roof we had the gratification of 
 meeting one evening Ralph Waldo Emerson, who did one 
 of the company the honour of requesting to be introduced 
 to her, and paid her a kind compliment ; while she, be it 
 now confessed, was so occupied with a passage in one of 
 his Essays that she had that morning been perusing with 
 delight, and so longed to quote it to him and thank him 
 for it, yet was so confused with the mingled fear of not 
 repeating it accurately and the dread of appearing mad if 
 she did venture to give utterance to what was passing in 
 her mind, that she has often since had a pang of doubt 
 that, as it was, she must have struck Emerson as pecu- 
 liarly dull and absent and unconscious of the pleasure he 
 really gave her. 
 
 One forenoon Mrs. Tagart, in her usual amiable, 
 thoughtful way, sent round to say that she expected Mrs. 
 Gaskell to lunch, and would we come and meet her ? 
 Joyfully did we accept ; and delightful was the meeting. 
 We found a charming, briUiant-complexioned, but quiet- 
 mannered vroman ; thoroughly unaffected, thoroughly 
 attractive — so modest that she blushed like a girl when 
 we hazarded some expression of our ardent admiration of 
 her " Mary Barton ; " so full of enthusiasm on general
 
 MRS. GASKELL. 93 
 
 subjects of humanity and benevolence that she talked 
 freely and vividly at once upon them ; and so young in 
 look and demeanour that we could hardly believe her to 
 be the mother of two daughters she mentioned in terms 
 that showed them to be no longer children. In a cor- 
 respondence that afterwards passed between her and our- 
 selves, on the subject of an act of truly valuable kindness 
 she was performing anonymously for a young lady anxious 
 to become a public singer, Mrs. Gaskeli showed herself 
 to be actuated by the purest and noblest motives in all she 
 did. She tried her utmost to prevent her agency in the 
 affair from being discovered ; giving as her reason the 
 dread that if it were known it might tend to " injure the 
 freedom of the intercourse " between herself and the 
 young lady in question ; adding, " for I want her to look 
 upon me as a friend rather than as a benefactor." 
 
 It was at a party at the Tagarts' house that we were 
 introduced by Leigh Hunt to Charles Dickens ; when an 
 additional light and delight seemed brought into our life. 
 He had been so long known to us in our own home as 
 " Dear Dickens," or " Darling Dickens," as we eagerly 
 read, month after month, the moment they came out, the 
 successive numbers of his gloriously original and heart- 
 stirring productions, that to be presented to " Mr. 
 Charles Dickens," and to hear him spoken of as " Mr. 
 Dickens," seemed quite strange. That very evening — • 
 immediately — we felt at home and at ease with him. 
 Genial, bright, lively-spirited, pleasant-toned, he entered 
 into conversacion with a grace and charm that made it 
 feel perfectly natural to be chatting and laughing as if we 
 had known each other from childhood. So hearty was 
 his enjoyment of what we were talking of that it caught 
 the attention of our hostess, and she came up to inquire
 
 94 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 what it could be that amused Mr. Dickens so much. It 
 was no other than the successive pictures that had then 
 lately appeared in Punch of Mr. Punch himself j two, 
 in particular, we recollect made Dickens laugh, as we 
 recalled them, till the tears glistened in his eyes with a 
 keen sense of the fun and ridiculous absurdity in the 
 attitudes. They were, Mr. Punch as Caius Marius seated 
 amid the ruins of Carthage, and Mr. Punch swimming in 
 the sea near to a bathing-machine. Charles Dickens had 
 that acute perception of the comic side of things which 
 causes irrepressible brimming of the eyes ; and what eyes 
 his were ! Large, dark bkie, exquisitely shaped, fringed 
 with magnificently long and thick lashes — they now swam 
 in liquid, limpid suffusion, when tears started into them 
 from a sense of humour or a sense of pathos, and now 
 darted quick flashes of fire when some generous indigna- 
 tion at injustice, or some high-wrought feeling of admira- 
 tion at magnanimity, or some sudden emotion of interest 
 and excitement touched him. Swift-glancing, appreci- 
 ative, rapidly observant, truly superb orbits they were, 
 worthy of the other features in his manly, handsome face. 
 The mouth was singularly mobile, full-lipped, well-shaped, 
 a.nd expressive ; sensitive, nay restless, in its suscepti- 
 bility to impression that swayed him, or sentiment that 
 moved him. He, who saw into apparently slightest 
 trifles that were fraught to his perception with deepest 
 significance; he, who beheld human nature with insight 
 almost superhuman, and who revered good and abhorred 
 evil with intensity, showed instantaneously by his expres- 
 sive countenance the kind of idea that possessed him. 
 This made his conversation enthralling, his acting first- 
 rate, and his reading superlative. 
 All three it has been our good-hap to enjoy completely ;
 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 95 
 
 and that we have had this enjoyment will last us as a 
 source of blest consciousness so long as we live. 
 
 His having heard of the recent private performance of 
 " The Rivals " caused Charles Dickens that very evening 
 of our first seeing him to allude in obliging terms to the 
 " golden opinions " he understood my Mrs. Malaprop 
 had won ; and this led to my telling him that I under- 
 stood he was organizing an amateur company to play 
 Shakespeare's " Merry Wives of Windsor,"' and that I 
 should be only too delighted if he would have me for his 
 Dame Quickly. He at first took this for a playfully-made 
 off"er ; but afterwards, finding I made it seriously and in 
 all good faith, he accepted : the details of this enchanting 
 episode in my life I reserve till we come to our Letters 
 and Recollections of Charles Dickens ; but meanwhile I 
 may mention that it brought us into most pleasant ac- 
 quaintance with John Forster, Mark Lemon, John Leech, 
 Augustus Egg, George Cruikshank, Frank Stone, F. W. 
 Topham, George H. Lewes, and, correlatively, with 
 Charles Knight, J. Payne Collier, Sheriff Gordon, and 
 Robert Chambers. Of those who were fellow-actors in 
 the glorious amateur company further will be said in the 
 place above pre-referred to ; but of the four last-named 
 men it is pleasant to speak at once. Both Charles 
 Knight and J. Payne Collier in their conduct towards us 
 thoroughly reversed the more usual behaviour of Shake- 
 spearian editors and commentators among each other : 
 for Charles Knight was marked in his courtesy and kind- 
 ness, -while Payne Collier went so far as to entrust the 
 concluding volume of his 1842-4 edition of Shakespeare, 
 which was then still in manuscript, to Mary Cowden 
 Clarke, that she might collate his readings and incor- 
 porate them in her " Concordance " before publication,
 
 96 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 though she was then personally unknown to him. And 
 when in 1848 she played Mistress Quickly at the Hay- 
 market Theatre, on the evening of the 15th of May, 
 Payne Collier came round to the green-room, introduced 
 himself to her, told her he had just come from the box 
 of Lord and Lady Ellesmere, charged with their compli- 
 ments on her mode of acting the character, and then — 
 with a chivalrous air of gallantry that well became one 
 whose knighthood had been won in Shakespearian fields 
 — added that before taking leave he wished to kiss the 
 hand that had written the " Concordance." This gave 
 her the opportunity she had long wished for, of thanking 
 him for the act of confidence he had performed in pre- 
 vious years, of entrusting one unknown to him with his 
 unprinted manuscript. It is pleasant to record incidents 
 that so completely refute the alleged hostility of feeling 
 that exists between authors ; and to show them, on the 
 contrary, as they mostly are, mutually regardful and 
 respectful. 
 
 John T. Gordon, Sheriff of Mid-Lothian, was one of 
 the most genial, frank-mannered, hearty-spoken men that 
 ever lived. His sociality and hospitality were of the 
 most engaging kind ; and his personal intercourse was as 
 inspiriting as his expressions of friendliness in his letters 
 were cordial. 
 
 Of Robert Chambers's friendly, open-armed reception 
 to those who went to Edinburgh and needed introduction 
 to the beauties of this Queen City of North Britain, no 
 terms can be too strong or too high. He placed himself 
 at the disposal of such visitors with the utmost unreserve 
 and the most unwearied kindness ; and no man was 
 better fitted to act cicerone by the most interesting among 
 the numerous noteworthy objects there to be seen. He
 
 ROBERT CHAMBERS. 97 
 
 shone to great advantage himself while indicating them ; 
 for his talk was intelligent, clear, well-informed, and 
 extremely pleasant. He seemed to enjoy afresh the 
 things he was discussing and displaying for the thousandth 
 time; and to be as much interested in them himself, 
 as he made them doubly and trebly interesting to the 
 person he was guiding.
 
 98 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Lord Murray— John Hunter— Mrs. Stirling— Mrs. Catherine 
 Crowe — Alexander Christie— Professor Pillans — William 
 Smith — R. Mackay Smith — Henry Bowie— Robert Cox — 
 Dr. and Mrs. Hodgson — Samuel Timmins — George 
 Dawson — Mr. and Mrs. Follett Osier — Arthur Ryland — • 
 Francis Clark — Mathew Davenport Hill — Rowland Hill 
 — ^John Adamson — Henry Barry Peacock — Beddoes Pea- 
 cock — Robert Ferguson — Westland Marston — Robert 
 Charles Leslie — Clarkson Stanfield — Sydney Dobell — 
 Henry Chorley — Mrs. Newton Crosland — Miss Mulock — 
 John Rolt — John Varley — William Etty — Leslie — William 
 Havell. 
 
 During the twenty-one years that I (C C. C.) lectured in 
 London and the provinces scarcely any place surpassed 
 Edinburgh in the warmth and cordiality with which I 
 was not only received in the lecture-room, but welcomed 
 into private homes by kindly hospitable men and women. 
 The two men just named ; Lord Murray ; John Hunter 
 of Craig Cook (the " friend of Leigh Hunt's verse," to 
 whom was inscribed his lovely verse-story of " Godiva ") ; 
 .John Hunter's talented sister, Mrs. Stirling (authoress 
 of two gracefully moral novels, *' Fanny Hervey " and 
 " Sedgely Court ") ; Mrs. Catherine Crowe (one of the 
 earliest and perhaps most forcible of the sensational 
 school of romancists) ; Alexander Christie (whose fine 
 painting of " Othello's Despair " was presented, while
 
 GEORGE DAWSON— FRANCIS CLARK. 59 
 
 still personally unknown, to M. C. C, and which still is 
 daily before our eyes in the picture gallery at Villa 
 Novello) ; Professor Pillans, William Smith, R. Mackay 
 Smith, Henry Bowie, and Robert Cox,— are all names 
 associated with many a brilliant and jovial hour spent 
 in " canny Edinburgh." With Liverpool come thronging 
 pleasant hospitable reminiscences of Mr. and Mrs. Richard 
 Yates (linked in delightful memory as co-travellers with 
 Harriet Martineau in her admirable book of " Eastern 
 Life Past and Present ") ; and of Dr. (erudite as kindly 
 and kindly as erudite) and Mrs. Hodgson (worthy help- 
 meet, but, alas ! now lost to him). W^ith Birmingham 
 troop to mind visions of friendliest and constantest 
 Samuel Timmins ; of George Dawson, as we first beheld 
 him there, a youth gifted with extraordinary oratorical 
 eloquence ; of hospitable Mr. and Mrs. FoUett Osier ; of 
 obliging and agreeably-epistolary Arthur Ryland ; and of 
 Francis Clark and his numerous family, who subsequently 
 sought health in the milder-climed region of Australia. 
 A copy of the Adelaide Observer, containing a very 
 pleasant and broadly humorous Anglicised iteration of 
 the old French romance poem of " The Grey Palfrey " 
 (from which Leigh Hunt took the ground-work for his 
 poetical tale called " The Palfrey "), written by Howard 
 Clark, one of the sons of Francis Clark (who is himself 
 no longer living), reached me lately and brought the 
 whole family to my pleased recollection. The Clarks are 
 related to the Hills of Birmingham, the proprietors and 
 conductors of their eminent scholastic establishment of 
 Hazlewood, so eminent as to have attracted the favour- 
 able opinion of so avowed an authority as the Edinburgh 
 Reviewers, The widow of Francis Clark, and mother of 
 the many children who survive him, is sister to the 
 
 H 2
 
 loo RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Hills, — to the eminently intellectual and quite as 
 deliglitful late excellent Recorder of Birmingham, Mathew 
 Davenport Hill ; and to the man among the blessedest 
 benefactors of the human race, — the illustrious and 
 adored re-creator of the postal delivery — Rowland Hill ; 
 who has brought socialism — affectionate and commercial 
 — to humane perfection all over the world; who enabled 
 the labourer at Stoke Pogis to communicate with a brother 
 or friend 
 
 In Borneo's isle, where lives the strange ape. 
 The ourang-outang almost human in shape. 
 
 At Newcastle I met with the scholarly John Adamson, 
 author of " Lusitania lUustrata ;" and on my way thither 
 I encountered a being of whom I cannot do other now 
 than linger a few moments to speak. My most amiable 
 and earliest northern friend, Henry Barry Peacock, of Man- 
 chester, hearing that I was engaged at Newcastle-on-Tyne, 
 recommended me to pause on my journey thither at 
 Darlington, where he would introduce me to his cousin, 
 Beddoes Peacock, the medical professor of the district. 
 This was one of the most interesting events of my social 
 intercourse in life. In the first instance, I was intro- 
 duced to a pale, bland, most cheerful-looking, and some- 
 what young man, lying out upon a sofa, from which he 
 did not rise to greet me. His manner and tone of 
 reception were so graceful, and so remarkable was the 
 expression of an un-commonplace pair of eyes, that I 
 felt suddenly released from the natural suspension of an 
 immediate familiarity. He first of all explained the 
 cause of his not rising to receive me. It was, that he 
 could only move the upper part of his frame. His 
 coachman and " total-help " lifted him from sofa to
 
 DR. PEACOCK. loi 
 
 dinner-table ; and, finally to his night-couch, which was 
 a regular hospital water-bed. This is the most indefinite 
 outline (for the moment) that I can give of the daily- 
 course of action of this most intensely — most attractively 
 engrossing being, who fulfilled a constant series of 
 medical, and (if requisite) of even surgical practice. 
 With all his impedimental difficulties, so thoroughly, so 
 profoundly esteemed was Dr. Peacock that his patients — 
 lady-patients included — submitted to his being brought 
 by his coachman to their bedside. This is a bare 
 glance at his then course of life; with equal brevity 
 I inform my readers that in his younger days he was 
 a very active and athletic sportsman, ready for every 
 action required, from the chase of the otter to the stag- 
 hunt. One day, by some accident — the particulars of 
 which (for evident reason) I would not require of himself — 
 two men were in danger of drowning — one trying to save 
 the other, and both being unable to swim — Dr. Peacock 
 darted into the water, bade them be quiet, and hold 
 back their heads. They were fortunately near enough to 
 the bank for him to pull them within their depth, and 
 he saved both. Whether from the noble service he then 
 performed, or whether from some indescribable cause 
 unknown to himself and his scientific brethren, he, 
 shortly after this heroic act, was seized with the calamitous 
 affection above described. My own opinion is, that the 
 attack was indigenous \ for his sister was prostrated with 
 the same complaint ; and every day, when he went out 
 professionally, he always drove by her house ; and she, 
 expecting him, was always lying by her window, when 
 they cheerfully nodded to each other. I have known 
 very few individuals — not exclusively devoted to literary 
 studies — who possessed so decided an accomplishment in
 
 I02 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 high-class conversation : he was, of course, in education 
 a classic; and for poetic reading he had a passionate 
 fondness. Upon receiving a presentation copy of " The 
 Riches of Chaucer," he acknowledged the gift with a 
 sonnet, which I feel no appreciator of poetical composi- 
 tion will read without a sympathetic feeling : — 
 
 Full many a year, to ease the baleful stound 
 
 Of blows by Fortune given, in mood unkind, 
 
 No greater balm or solace could I find 
 Than wand'ring o'er the sweet oblivious ground 
 Where Poets dwell. The gardens perfumed round 
 
 Of modern Bards first kept me long in thrall : 
 On Shakespeare's breezy heights at length I found 
 
 Freshness eterne — trees, flowers that never pall. 
 Nor farther wish'd to search. A friendly voice 
 
 Whisper'd, " Still onward ! much remains unsung ; 
 Old England's youthful days shall thee rejoice, 
 
 When her strong-hearted Muse first found a tongue : 
 'Mongst Chaucer's groves that pathless seem and dark 
 Wealth is in store for thee." — God bless you, Clarke ! 
 4th June, 1846. Beddoes Peacock. 
 
 When I was at Carlisle nothing could exceed the 
 frank hospitality of Robert Ferguson, then Mayor of 
 that ancient city and fine border town ; and he subse- 
 (piently gratified me by a presentation copy of each of 
 his valuable and interesting books — " The Shadow of the 
 Pyramid," "The Pipe of Repose," "Swiss Men and 
 Swiss Mountains," and " The Northmen of Cumberfand 
 and Westmoreland." 
 
 If it were only for the sterling sound-headed and 
 sound-hearted people with whom my lecture career 
 brought me into delightful connexion, I should always 
 look back upon that portion of my life with a sense of 
 gratification and gratitude.
 
 JOHN ROLT. 103 
 
 We were never able to indulge much in what is called 
 " Society," or to go to many parties ; but at the few to 
 which we were able to accept invitations, we met more 
 than one person whom it was pleasure and privilege to 
 have seen. Westland Marston, Robert Charles Leslie, 
 Clarkson Stanfield, Sydney Dobell, Henry Chorley, Mrs. 
 Newton Crosland (with whom our acquaintance then 
 formed has since ripened into highly-valued letter 
 friendship), and Miss Mulock, we found ourselves in 
 company with ; while at John Rolt's dinners we encoun- 
 tered some of the first men in his profession. It had 
 been our joy to watch the rapid rise of this most 
 interesting and most intellectual man, from his youthful 
 commencement as a barrister, through his promotion as 
 Queen's Counsel, his honours as Solicitor-General 
 Attorney-General, Judge, Sir John Rolt ; and always to 
 know him the same kindly, cordial, warm-hearted friend, 
 and simple-mannered, true gentleman, from first to last. 
 Whether, as the young rising barrister, with his modest 
 suburban home, — w^here we have many times supped 
 with him, and been from thence accompanied by him on 
 our way home in the small hours after midnight, lured 
 into lengthened sittings by his enchanting conversation 
 and taste for literary subjects, — or whether seated at the 
 head of his brilliant dinner circle at his town-house -in 
 Harley Street, — or when he was master of Ozlevvorth 
 Park, possessed of all the wealth and dignity that his 
 own sole individual exertions had won for him, — Rolt 
 was an impersonation of all that is noble and admirable 
 in English manhood. With a singularly handsome face, 
 eyes that were at once penetrating and sweet, and a 
 mouth that for chiselled beauty of shape was worthy of 
 belonging to one of the sculptured heads of Grecian
 
 • 
 
 I04 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 antique art, he was as winning in exterior as he was 
 attractive from mental superiority; and when we have 
 sometimes sat over the fire, late at night, after the 
 majority of his guests had departed, and lingered on, 
 talking of Purcell's music, or Goethe's " Wilhelm Meister," 
 or any topic that chanced for the moment to engage his 
 thoughts, we have felt John Rolt's fascination of appear- 
 ance and talk to be irresistibly alluring. 
 
 The mention of two great artist names reminds us of 
 the exceptional pleasure we have had from what inter- 
 course we have enjoyed with celebrated artists. While one 
 of us was still in her childhood, John Varley was known 
 to her father and mother ; and one or two of his choicest 
 water-colour pictures are still in careful preservation with 
 us. There is one little piece — a view of Cader Idris — 
 on a small square of drawing-paper, that might easily be 
 covered by the spread palms of two hands, which is so 
 exquisite in subdued colouring and effect of light on a 
 mountain-side, that William Etty used to say of it that it 
 made him wish he had been a water-colour painter 
 instead of a painter in oils. Once, when John Varley 
 came to see his friend Vincent Novello, he told of a 
 circumstance that had happened which excited the 
 strongest sympathy and bitterest wrath in the hearers. 
 It appeared that a new maid-servant had taken for kind- 
 ling her fires a whole drawer-full of his water-colour 
 sketches, fancying they were waste-paper ! He was very 
 eccentric ; and at one time had a whim for astrology, 
 believing himself to be an adept in casting nativities. 
 He inquired the date of birth, &c., of Vincent Novello's 
 eldest child ; and after making several abstruse calcula- 
 tions of *' born under this star," and when that planet 
 was " in conjunction with t'other," &c.; Iv. assured Mrs,
 
 WILLIAM HAVELL— WILLIAM ETTY. 105 
 
 Novello that her daughter would marry late, and have a 
 numerous family of children, all of whom would die 
 young. The daughter in question married early, and 
 never had a single child ! 
 
 Another charming water-colour artist known to the 
 Novellos was William Havell ; one of whose woody 
 landscapes is still in treasured existence, as well as a 
 sketch he took of INI. C. C. in Dame Quickly's costume. 
 Holland, too, the landscape painter, was pleasantly known 
 to me (C. C. C.) ; and on one occasion, when I met him 
 at the house of a mutual friend, he showed me an 
 exquisite collection of remarkable sunsets that he had 
 sketched from time to time as studies for future use and 
 introduction into pictures. 
 
 At one time we knew William Etty well. It was soon 
 after his return from Ital)', where he went to study ; and 
 we recollect a certain afternoon, when we called upon 
 him in his studio at his chambers in one of the streets 
 leading off from the Strand down to the Thames, and 
 found him at his easel, whereon stood the picture he was 
 then engaged upon, " The Be\y of Fair Women," from 
 INIilton's " Paradise Lost." We remember the rich reflec- 
 tion of colour from the garland of orange lilies round the 
 waist of one fair creature thrown upon the white creamy 
 skin of the figure next to her, and Etty's pleasure when 
 we rapturized over the effect produced. He was a 
 worshipper of colour effects, and we recollect the enthu- 
 siasm with which he noticed the harmony of blended 
 tints produced by a certain goldy-brown silk dress and a 
 canary-coloured crape kerchief worn by one of his visitors, 
 as she stood talking to him. It was on that same after- 
 noon that he made us laugh by telling us of an order he 
 bad to paint a picture for some society, or board, or
 
 io6 RECOLLECTIONS OL WRITERS. 
 
 company, who gave him for his subject a range of hne-of- 
 battle ships giving fire in a full broadside ! Etty roared 
 with laughter as he exclaimed, " Me ! fancy giving me 
 such a subject ! ! Fancy 7ny painting a battle piece ! ! ! " 
 He said that the English, generally speaking, had little 
 general taste or knowledge in art, adding, "You must 
 always take an Englishman by the hand and lead him up 
 to a painting, and say, ' That's a good picture,' before he 
 can really perceive its merits." 
 
 Of Leslie we entertain the liveliest recollection on an 
 evening when we met him at a party and he fell into 
 conversation about Shakespeare's women as suited for 
 painting, and asked us to give him a Shakespearian subject 
 for his next picture. We suggested the meeting between 
 Viola and Olivia, with Maria standing by ; seeing in 
 imagination the charming way in which Leslie would 
 have given the just-withdrawn veil from Olivia's half- 
 disdainful, half-melting, wholly beautiful face, Viola's 
 womanly loveliness in her page's attire, and Maria's 
 mischievous roguery of look as she watches them both. 
 
 Clarkson Stanfield lives vividly in our memory, as we last 
 saw him, when we were in England in 1S62, in his pretty 
 garden-surrounded house at Hampstead. He showed us 
 a portfolio of gorgeous sketches made during a tour in 
 Italy, two of which remain especially impressed upon our 
 mind. One was a bit taken on Mount Vesuvius about 
 daybreak, with volumes of volcanic smoke rolling from 
 the near crater, touched by the beams of the rising sun ; 
 the other was a view of Esa, a picturesque sea-side 
 village perched on the summit of a little rocky hill, 
 bosomed among the olive-clad crags and cliffs of the 
 Cornice road between Nice and Turbia.
 
 X&7 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Publishers — Critics — George James De Wilde — James Lamb 
 — Thomas Pickering — Thomas Latimer — Isaac Latimer-— 
 Alexander Ireland — Samuel Timmins — Mary Balmanno 
 — Austin Allibone — Dr. Charles Stearns — Rev. Dr. Scadd- 
 ing — Mr. and Mrs. Horace Howard Furness — John Watson 
 Dalby— Mr. and Mrs. Townshend Mayer — Edmund Oilier 
 — Gerald Massey— William Lowes Rushton — Frederick 
 Rule — Dr. C. M. Ingleby— Alexander Main — His Excel- 
 lency George Perkins Marsh — Mrs. John Farrar — Mrs. 
 
 Somerville — Mr. and Mrs. Pulszky IMiss Thackeray — 
 
 Mrs. William Grey — Miss Shirreff — John Bell — Edward 
 Novello — Barbara Guschl — (Mme. * Gleitsman) — Clara 
 Angela Macirone — Mme. Henrietta Moritz — Herbert New 
 — Rev. Alexander Gordon — Rev. John Gordon — Mrs. 
 Stirling — Bryan Waller Procter — James T. Fields — Celia 
 Thaxter. 
 
 The present compliance with the wish expressed that we 
 should record our Recollections of pleasant people we 
 have known, leads us to include oar personal experience 
 of publishers — generally supposed, by an absurd popular 
 fallacy, to be anything but "pleasant people" to authors. 
 We, on the contrary, have found them to be invariably 
 obliging, considerate, and liberal. Besides, without pub- 
 lishers where would authors be ? Evermore in manu- 
 script ! worst of limbos to a writer ! 
 
 There is another class of men connected with authors,
 
 io8 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS, 
 
 and themselves writers, against whom an unfounded pre- 
 judice has existed which we are well qualified to refute. 
 We allude to critics ; generally supposed to be sour, acri- 
 monious, spiteful, even — venomous. Cruelly are they 
 maligned by such an imputation; for the most part inclined 
 to say an encouraging word, if possible ; and rather given 
 to pat a young author on the head than to quell him by 
 a sneer or a knock-down blow. At least this is our ex- 
 perience of literary reviewers. Who tliat knew thee, dear 
 lost George James De Wilde, will accuse criticism of as- 
 perity ? Who that saw thy bland, benign countenance, 
 beaming with a look of universal good-will, as though it 
 expressed affectionate fraternity of feeling toward all 
 human kind, could imagine thee other than the gentle and 
 lenient critic on moderately good attempts, and the largely, 
 keenly appreciative critic on excellent productions that 
 thou really wert ? What shall replace to us thy ever elegant 
 and eloquent pen ? What may console us for the vacancy 
 left in our life from missing thy hearty sympatliy with 
 whatever we wrote, or thy loving comment upon whatever 
 we published, making thy circle of readers in the columns 
 of the Northampton Alcrcury take interest in us and our 
 writings from the sheer influence of thy genial, hearty 
 discriminative notices ? Another kindly critic whose loss 
 we have to deplore is James Lomb, of Paisley, warm- 
 hearted, generous in praise, unfailing in prompt greeting 
 for everything we produced. These men are lost, alas ! 
 to friends on earth, though not to their ever-grateful 
 remembrance. 
 
 Among those still alive, thank Heaven, to encourage 
 in print our endeavours, and to interchange charities of 
 affectionate correspondence with us, are others, who, 
 amid active public and professional work, have found
 
 THOS. PICKERING— THOS. LATIMER. 109 
 
 time to write admirable critiques on literature or music in 
 their local journals. Forgive us for openly naming thee 
 — Thomas Pickering/ of Royston, one of the earliest to 
 promote our lecture views, to cause us to deliver our 
 maiden lecture (on Chaucer) in the Mechanics' Institute 
 of thy town ; to receive us into thine own house ; to let 
 thy young daughters vie with each other who should be 
 the privileged bearer of the MS. Lecture-book to the 
 Lecture Hall ; to incite re-engagement )'ear after year ; 
 to write pleasant notices of each successive lecture ; to 
 pen kindly reviews of every fresh-written work ; and, in 
 short, to combine friend and critic with indefatigable zeal 
 and spirit. Excellent listener to music ! Excellent en- 
 joyer of all things good and beautiful and tasteful and 
 artistic ! Ever full of energy on behalf of those once 
 loved and esteemed by thee, whom we playfully dubbed 
 Thomas Pickering, Esq., F.A. (meaning "Frightful 
 Activity "), take not amiss these our publicly expressed 
 acknowledgments of thy unceasing goodness ; but remem- 
 ber the title by which thou best lovest to call thyself — 
 " Vincent Novello's pupil in musical appreciation and 
 culture" — and take the mention in a tender spirit of 
 pleasure for his sake. 
 
 We beg kindred indulgence from thee, Thomas Lati- 
 mer, of Exeter, whose delicious gift of dainty Devonshire 
 cream, sent by the hands of her husband to thy personally 
 unknown " Concordantia," as thou styledst her, still 
 lingers in delicate suavity of remembered taste on 
 the memory-palate of its recipient ; together with the 
 manifold creamy and most welcome eulogiums of her 
 literary efforts that have flowed from thy iriendly-partial 
 
 » 1878. Now, alas ! dead. M. C. C.
 
 no RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 pen. Like thanks to thee, Isaac Latimer, of Plymouth; 
 for like critical and kindly services ; and to thee, Samuel 
 Timmins, of Birmingham, for a long series of courtesies, 
 thoughtful, constant, cordial, as various in nature as 
 gracefully rendered. Lastly, what may we say to thee, 
 Alexander Ireland, of Manchester, warm friend, racy 
 correspondent ? In Shakespeare's words, " We'll speak to 
 thee in silence ;" for we have so lately had the supreme 
 pleasure of seeing thee eye to eye, of shaking hands with 
 thee, of welcoming thee and thy "other self" in this 
 Italy of ours, that here on paper we rnay well deny our- 
 selves the gratification of putting more down than thy 
 mere deeply loved name. 
 
 Another set of friends from whom we have derived 
 large gratification, and to whom we owe special thanks, 
 are our unknown correspondents ; personally unknown, 
 but whose persons are well known to our imagination, 
 and whose hearts and minds are patent to our knowledge 
 in their spontaneous outpourings by letter. Of one — 
 now, alas, no more ! — we knew as much through a long 
 series of many-paged letters, sent during a period of 
 several years, as we could have done had we met him at 
 dinner-party after dinner-party for a similar length of 
 time. He introduced himself by a quaint and original 
 mode of procedure, which will be described when we 
 come to Douglas Jerrold's letters ; he took delight in 
 making an idol and ideal of his correspondent, calling her 
 his "daughter in love," and his "Shakespearian daugh- 
 ter;" and he scarcely let many weeks pass by without 
 sending her a letter of two sheets closely covered with 
 very small handwriting across the Atlantic from Brooklyn 
 to Bayswater, Nice, or Genoa. Since we lost him, his 
 dear widow follows his affectionate course of keeping up
 
 HORACE FURNESS. iii 
 
 correspondence with his chosen " daughter in love ;" 
 writing the most spirited, clever descriptive letters of" 
 people, incidents, and local scenes. Mary Balmanno ' is 
 the authoress of a pleasant volume entitled " Pen and 
 Pencil ;" and she wrote the " Pocahontas" for M. C, C. in 
 her "World-noted Women." She is as skilful artistically 
 as literarily, for she sent over two beautiful vrater-colour 
 groups she painted of all the Fruits and all the Flowers 
 mentioned by Shakespeare, as a gift to M. C. C, which 
 now adorn the library where the present recollections are 
 being written. 
 
 Austin AUibone, author of that grand monument of 
 literary industry, the " Critical Dictionary of English 
 Literature ;" Dr. Charles Stearns, author of " The Shake- 
 speare Treasury," and of " Shakespeare's Medical Know- 
 ledge;" the Rev. Dr. Scadding, author of "Shakespeare, 
 the Seer, the Interpreter;" and the admirable Shake- 
 spearian couple, Mr. and Mrs. Horace Howard Furness — • 
 he devoting himself to indefatigable labours in producing 
 the completest Variorum Edition of the world's great 
 poet dramat'st ever yet brought out ; and she dedicating 
 several years to the compilation of a " Concordance to 
 Shakespeare's Poems" — are all visible to our mind's eye, 
 in their own individual personalities, through their 
 friendly, delightful, familiarly-affectionate letters, sent 
 over the wide waters of the ocean from America to 
 England ; making us feel towards them as intimates, and 
 to think of them and ourselves in Camillo's words : — 
 " They have seemed to be together, though absent ; 
 shook hands, as over a vast ; and embraced, as it were, 
 from the ends of opposed winds." 
 
 « 1878. Nc w also dead. M. C. C.
 
 112 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Among our cherished unknown correspondents of 
 loiig standing in kindliness of quietly-felt yet earnestly- 
 shown regard, is John Watson Dalby, author of " Tales, 
 Songs, and Sonnets ;" also his accomjolished son-in-law 
 and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Townshend Mayer, of 
 whom (in her childhood) Leigh Hunt spoke affection- 
 ately as " mad-cap," and with whom (in her matronhood) 
 Procter confessed in one of his letters to us that he had 
 fallen secretly in love when he was eighty years of age. 
 
 Another pleasant feature in our unknown correspon- 
 dentship has been the renewal in a second generation of 
 friendships commenced in a first. Thus we have derived 
 double delight from letter intercourse with the author of 
 " Poems from the Greek Mythology; and Miscellaneous 
 Poems. By Edmund Oilier." 
 
 In Shakespearian correspondents — personally unknown 
 yet familiarly acquainted by means of the " one touch of 
 Shakespeare " (or " Nature " almost synonymous !) that 
 " makes the whole world kin" — we have been, and still 
 are, most rich. Gerald Massey, that true poet, and 
 author of the interesting book " Shakespeare's Sonnets 
 and his Private Friends ;" William Lowes Rushton, 
 who commenced a series of several valuable pamphlets 
 on Shakespearian subjects by his excellent one " Shakes- 
 peare a Lawyer ;" Frederick Rule, a frequent and 
 intelligent contributor on Shakespearian subjects to 
 Notes aftd Queries, and Dr. C. M. Ingleby, whose 
 elaborate and erudite Shakespeare Commentaries scarcely 
 more interest us than his graphic accounts, in his most 
 agreeable letters, of his pleasantly-named country 
 residence, "Valentines," with its chief ornament, his 
 equally-pleasantly-named daughter, " Rose." 
 
 A delightful correspondent, that we owed to the loving
 
 MRS. JOHN FA REAR. 1 1 3 
 
 brotherhood in affection for Shakespeare which makes 
 fast friends of people in all parts of the world and inspires 
 attachments between persons dwelling at remotest dis- 
 tance from each other, is Alexander Main, who formed 
 into a choice volume "The Wise, Witty, and Tender 
 Sayings, in Prose and Verse, of George Eliot," and pro- 
 duced another entitled " The Life and Conversations of 
 Dr. Samuel Johnson (founded chiefly upon Bos well)." 
 For a full decade have we continued to receive from him 
 frank, spontaneous, effusive letters, fraught with tokens 
 of a young, enthusiastic, earnest nature, deeply imbued 
 with the glories of poetry and the inmost workings of 
 human nature — more especially, as legibly evolved in the 
 pages of William Shakespeare. 
 
 To the same link of association we are indebted for 
 another eminent correspondent — His Excellency, George 
 Perkins Marsh — also personally unknown to us ; yet who 
 favours us, from his elevation as a distinguished philo- 
 logist and as a man of high position, with interchange of 
 letters, and even by entrusting us for more than two 
 years with a rare work of the Elizabethan era which we 
 wanted to consult during our task of editing the greatest 
 writer of that or any other period. The above is stated 
 i no vaunting spirit, but in purest desire to show how 
 happy such kind friendships, impersonal but solidly firm, 
 make those who have never beheld more than the mere 
 handwriting of their unknown (but well-known) corre- 
 spondents. 
 
 Although we left our beloved native England in 1856 to 
 live abroad, we ceased not occasionally to become ac- 
 quainted with persons whom it is honour and delight to 
 know. While we were living at Nice we learned to know, 
 esteem, and love Mrs. John Farrar, of Springfield, Massa- 
 
 I
 
 114 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 chusetts, authoress of a charming little volume entitled, 
 " The Young Lady's Friend," and " Recollections of 
 Seventy Years." She passed one or two winters at Nice, 
 and continued her correspondence with us after she 
 returned to America, giving us animated descriptions of 
 the civil war there as it progressed. To M"s. Somerville 
 we were first introduced at Turin ; she afterwards visited 
 us in Genoa; and latterly interchanged letters with us 
 from Naples. She was as mild "and of 'her' porte 
 as meek as is a maid ;" utterly free from pretension or 
 assumption of any sort ; she might have been a perfect 
 ignorama, for anything of didactic or dictatorial that 
 appeared in her mode of speerh : nay, 'tis ten to one that 
 an ignoramus would have talked flippantly and pertly while 
 Mary Somerville sat silent ; or given an opinion with 
 gratuitous impertinence and intrepidity when Mrs. Somer- 
 ville could have given hers with modesty and pertinent 
 ability : for, mostly, Mrs. Somerville refrained from speak- 
 ing upon subjects that involved opinion or knowledge, or 
 science; rather seeming to prefer the most simple, ordinary, 
 every-day topics. On one occasion we were having some 
 music when she came to see us, and she begged my 
 brother, Alfred Novello, to continue the song he was 
 singing, which chanced to be Samuel Lover's pretty 
 Irish ballad, " Molly Bawn." At its conclusion Mrs. 
 Somerville was sportively asked whether she agreed with 
 the astronomical theory propounded in the passage, — 
 
 The Stars above are brightly shining, 
 Because they've nothing else to do. 
 
 And she replied, with the Scottish accent that gave 
 characteristic inflection to her utterance, " ^Vell — I'm 
 not just prepared to say they don't do so."
 
 MRS. WILLIAM GREY. 115 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Pulszky, in passing through Genoa on 
 their way to Florence, were introduced to us, and after- 
 wards made welcome my youngest sister, Sabilla Novello, 
 at their house there, while a concert and some tableaux 
 vivants were got up by the Pulszkys to buy off a pro- 
 mising young vioHnist from conscription ; showing — in 
 their own home circle with their boys and girls about 
 them — what plain " family people" and unaffected do- 
 mestic pair the most celebrated personages can often be. 
 
 Not very long ago a lady friend brought to our house 
 the authoress of *' The Story of Elizabeth," " The 
 Village on the Cliff," " Old Kensington," and " Blue- 
 beard's Keys," giving us fresh cause to feel how charm- 
 ingly simple-mannered, quiet, and unostentatious the 
 cleverest persons usually are. While we looked at Miss 
 Thackeray's soft eyes, and listened to her gentle, musical 
 voice, we felt this truth ever more and more impressed 
 upon us, and thanked her in our heart for confirming us 
 in our long-held belief on the point. 
 
 Letters of introduction bringing us the pleasure of know- 
 ing Mrs. William Grey, authoress of " Idols oi Society," 
 and numerous pamphlets on the Education of Women, 
 with her sister Miss Shirreff, editress of the " Journal 
 of the Women's Educational Union," afforded additional 
 evidence of this peculiar modesty and unpretendingness 
 in superiorly-gifted women; for they are both living 
 instances of this noteworthy fact. 
 
 A welcome advent was that of John Bell, the eminent 
 sculptor, who produced the exquisite statue of Shake- 
 speare in the attitude of reflection, and several most 
 graceful tercentenary tributes in relievo to the Poet- 
 Dramatist ' especially beautiful the one embodying the 
 charming invention of making the rays of glory round 
 
 I 2
 
 ii6 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 the head consist of the titles of his immortal dramas. 
 Beyond John Bell's artistic merit, he possesses peculiar 
 interest for us in having been a fellow-student with our 
 lost artist brother Edward Novello, at Mr. Sass's academy 
 for design in early years. 
 
 Three enchanting visits we had from super-excellent 
 lady pianists : Barbara Guschl (now Madame Gleitsmann), 
 Clara Angela Macirone, and Madame Henrietta Moritz, 
 Hummel's niece; all three indulging us to our hearts' 
 content with the divine art of music during the whole 
 time of their stay. 
 
 A pleasant afternoon was spent here in receiving 
 delightful Herbert New, autlior of some sonnets on 
 Keats, to which we can sincerely give the high praise of 
 saying they are worthy of their subject, and also author 
 of some charming little books upon the picturesque 
 English locality in which he lives, the Vale of Evesham. 
 To this single day's knowledge of him and to his fresli, 
 graphically-written letters, we owe many a pleasant 
 thought. 
 
 The Rev. Alexander Gordon, too, brought us news 
 here of our long-esteemed friend, his father, the Rev. 
 John Gordon, of Kenil worth ; both men of real talent 
 and literary accomplishment. Mrs. Stirling, of Edin- 
 burgh, renewed acquaintance with us here in a foreign 
 land, when she and her husband visited Genoa. Dear 
 Alexander Ireland, author of a valuable chronological 
 and critical Hst of Lamb's, Hazlitt's, and Leigh Hunt's 
 writings, brought over the wife who has made the happi- 
 ness of his latter years to make our acquaintance, and 
 give, by the enchanting talk pressed into a few days' 
 stay, endless matter for enlivening memories. Honoured 
 Uryan Waller Procter wrote us a sprightly graceful letter
 
 RETROSPECT. 117 
 
 as late as 186S ; the sprightliness and the grace touched 
 with tender earnestness, as in the course of the letter he 
 makes allusion to Vincent Novello and to Leigh Hunt. 
 Last, not least among the pleasures of communion with 
 distinguished people that we have enjoyed since we have 
 been domiciled in Italy, v/e rejoice in the renewal of 
 intercourse with James T. Fields, of Boston ; to whom 
 we were introduced while in England several years ago. 
 His bright, genial, vivacious letters bring animation and 
 excitement to our breakfast-table whenever they arrive : 
 for the post is generally delivered during that fresh, cheery 
 meal : the reports of his spirited lectures " On Charles 
 Lamb," " On Longfellow," " On Masters of the Situa- 
 tion," and on many attractive subjects besides, come 
 with the delightful effect of evening-delivered discourses 
 shedding added brilliancy on the morning hour : while 
 his "yesterdays with Authors" afforded several happy 
 readings-aloud by one of us to the other, as she 
 indulged in her favourite needle-work. To cordial, 
 friendliest Mr. Fields we owe our knowledge of a most 
 original, most poetical, most unique little volume, called 
 "Among the Isles of Shoals ;" and likewise sweet, ingenu- 
 ous, characteristic letters from its author, Celia Thaxter : 
 who seems to us to be a pearl among women- writers. 
 
 In coming to a close of this portion of our Recol- 
 lections of ^V'r iters known to us, we look back relieved 
 from the sense of anxiety that beset us at its outset, when 
 we contemplated the almost bewildering task of selection 
 and arrangement amid such heaps of material as lay 
 stored in unsorted mingledom within the cells of our 
 brain : and now we can take some pleasure in hoping 
 that it is put into at least readable form. To us, this 
 gallery of memory-portraits is substantial ; and its figures,
 
 ii8 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 while they presented themselves to our remembrance in 
 succession, arose vivid and individual and distinct as any 
 of those immortal portraits limned by Titian, Vandyck, 
 Velasquez, or our own Reynolds, Gainsborough, Romney, 
 and Lawrence. To have succeeded in giving even a 
 faint shadow of our own clearly-seen images will be 
 something to reward us for the pains it has cost us ; for 
 it has been a task at once jDainful and pleasurable. 
 Painful in recalling so many dearly loved and daily seen 
 that can never again be embraced or beheld on earth ; 
 pleasurable in remembering so many still spared to cheer 
 and bless our life. Sometimes, when lying awake during 
 those long night-watches, stretched on a bed the very 
 opposite to that described by the wise old friar — 
 
 But where unbruised youth, with unstuff'd brain, 
 Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign ; 
 
 — we, unable to enjoy that lulling vacancy of thought, 
 are fain to occupy many a sleepless hour by calling np 
 these mind-portraits, and passing in review those who 
 in themselves and in their memories have been a true 
 beatitude to us. We behold them in almost material 
 shape, and in spiritual vision, hoping to meet them 
 where we trust to have fully solved those many forms of 
 the "Great Why and Wherefore" that have so often and 
 so achingly perplexed us in this beautiful but imperfect 
 state of existence. 
 
 Uy day, our eyes feasting on the magnitude and mag- 
 nificence of the unrivalled scene around us — blue expanse 
 of sea, vast stretch of coast crowned by mountain ranges 
 softened by olive woods and orange groves, with above 
 all the cloudless sky, sun-lighted and sparkling, we often 
 find ourselves ejaculating, "Ah, if Jerrold could have
 
 RESIROSFECT. 119 
 
 seen this!" "Ah, how Hohiies would have enjoyed 
 this!" — and ardently wishing for those we have known 
 to be with us upon this beautiful Genoese promontory ; 
 making them still, as well as we can, companions in our 
 pleasurable emotions, and feeling, through all, that 
 indeed 
 
 A " loving friendship " is a joy for ever.
 
 120 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF JOHN KEATS. 
 
 BY CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE. 
 
 In the village of Enfield, in Middlesex, ten miles on the 
 North road from London, my father, John Clarke, kept 
 a school. The house had been built by a West India 
 merchant in the latter end of the seventeenth or begin- 
 ning of the eighteenth century. It was of the better 
 character of the domestic architecture of that period, the 
 whole front being of the purest red brick, wrought by 
 means of moulds into rich designs of flowers and pome- 
 granates, with heads of cherubim over niches in the 
 centre of the building. The elegance of the design and 
 the perfect finish of the structure were such as to secure 
 its protection when a branch railway was brought from 
 the Ware and Cambridge line to Enfield. The old 
 school-house was converted into the station-house, and 
 the railway company had the good taste to leave intact 
 one of the few remaining specimens of the graceful Eng- 
 lish architecture of long-gone days. 
 
 Here ic was that John Keats all but commenced and 
 did complete his school education. He was born on the 
 29th of October, 1795; and he was one of the little 
 fellows who had not wholly emerged from the child's 
 costume upon being placed under my father's care. It 
 will be readily conceived that it is difficult to recall from
 
 JOHN KEATS. 121 
 
 the " dark backward and abysm " of seventy odd years 
 the general acts of perhaps the youngest individual in a 
 corporation of between seventy and eighty youngsters ; 
 and very little more of Keats's child-life can I remember 
 than that he had a brisk, winning face, and was a favour- 
 ite with all, particularly my mother. His maternal grand- 
 father, Jennings, was proprietor of a large livery-stable, 
 called the " Swan and Hoop," on the pavement in 
 Moorfields, opposite the entrance into Finsbury Circus. 
 He had two sons at my father's school : the elder was 
 an officer in Duncan's ship off Gamperdown. After the 
 battle, the Dutch admiral, De Winter, pointing to young 
 Jennings, told Duncan that he had fired several shots at 
 that young man, and always missed his mark ;— no credit to 
 his steadiness of aim, for Jennings, like his ownadmiral, was 
 considerably above the ordinary dimensions of stature. 
 
 Keats's father was the principal servant at the Swan and 
 Hoop stables — a man of so remarkably fine a common- 
 sense, and native respectability, that I perfectly remember 
 the warm terms in which his demeanour used to be can- 
 vassed by my parents after he had been to visit his boys, 
 John was the only one resembling him in person and 
 feature, with brown hair and dark hazel eyes. The 
 father was killed by a fall from his horse in returning 
 from a visit to the school. This detail may be deemed 
 requisite when we see in the last memoir of the poet the 
 statement that " John Keats was born on the 29th of 
 October, 1795, '" the upper rank of the middle class." 
 His two brothers — George, older, and Thomas, younger 
 than himself— were like the mother, who was tall, of good 
 figure, with large, oval face, and sensible deportment. 
 The last of the family was a sister— Fanny, I think, much 
 younger than all, and I hope still living— of whom I
 
 122 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 remember, when once walking in the garden with her 
 brothers, my mother speaking of her with much fondness 
 for hei pretty and simple manners. She married Mr. 
 Llanos, a Spanish refugee, the author of " Don Esteban," 
 and " Sandoval, the Freemason." He was a man of 
 liberal principles, very attractive bearing, and of more than 
 ordinary accomplishments. 
 
 In the early part of his school-life John gave no extra- 
 ordinary indications of intellectual character ; but it was 
 remembered of him afterwards, that there was ever 
 present a determined and steady spirit in all his under- 
 takings : I never knew it misdirected in his required 
 pursuit of study. He was a most orderly scholar. The 
 future ramifications of that noble genius were then closely 
 shut in the seed, which was greedily drinking in the 
 moisture which made it afterwards burst forth so kindly 
 into luxuriance and beauty. 
 
 My father was in the habit, at each half-year's vacation 
 of bestowing prizes upon those pupils who had performed 
 the greatest quantity of voluntary work ; and such was 
 Keats's indefatigable energy for the last two or tliree 
 successive half-years of his remaining at school, that, upon 
 each occasion, he took the first prize by a considerable 
 distance. He was at work before the first school-hour 
 began, and that v.'as at -seven o'clock ; almost all the 
 intervening times of recreation were so devoted ; and 
 during the afternoon holidays, when all were at play, he 
 would be in the school — almost the only one— at his 
 Latin or French translation ; and so unconscious and 
 regardless was he of the consequences of so close and 
 persevering an application, that he never would have 
 taken the necessary exercise had he not been sometimes 
 driven out for the purpose by one of the masters.
 
 JOHN KEATS. 123 
 
 It has just leen said that he was a favourite with all. 
 Not the less beloved was he for having a highly pugna- 
 cious spirit, which, when roused, was one of the most 
 picturesque exhibitions— off the stage — I ever saw. One 
 of the transports of that marvellous actor, Edmund Kean 
 — whom, by the way, he idolized — was its nearest resem- 
 blance ; and the two were not very dissimilar in face and 
 figure. Upon one occasion, when an usher, on account 
 of some impertinent behaviour, had boxed his brother 
 Tom's ears, John rushed up, put himself in the received 
 posture of offence, and, it was said, struck the usher — 
 who could, so to say, have put him into his pocket. His 
 passion at times was almost ungovernable ; and his 
 brother George, being considerably the taller and 
 stronger, used frequently to hold him down by main 
 force, laughing when John was in " one of his moods," 
 and was endeavouring to beat him. It was all, however, 
 a wisp-of-stravv conflagration ; for he had an intensely 
 tender affection for his brothers, and proved it upon the 
 most trying occasions. He was not merely the " favourite 
 of all," like a pet prize-fighter, for his terrier courage ; but 
 his high-mindcdness, his utter unconsciousness of a mean 
 motive, his placability, his generosity, wrought so general 
 a feeling in his behalf, that I never heard a word of dis- 
 approval from any one, superior or equal, who had known 
 him. 
 
 In the latter part of the time — perhaps eighteen months 
 — that he remained at school, he occupied the hours 
 during meals in reading. Thus, his whole time was 
 engrossed. He had a tolerably retentive memory, and 
 the quantity that he read was surprising. He must 
 in those last months have exhausted the school library, 
 which consisted principally of abridgments of all the
 
 124 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 voyages and travels of any note ; Mayor's collection, also 
 his " Universal History ;" Robertson's histories of Scot- 
 land, America, and Charles the Fifth ; all Miss Edge- 
 worth's productions, cogether with many other works 
 equally well calculated for youth. The books, however, 
 that were his constantly recurrent sources of attraction 
 were Tooke's " Pantheon," Lempriere's " Classical Dic- 
 tionary," which he appeared to learn, and Spence's 
 " Polymetis." This was the store whence he acquired 
 his intimacy with the Greek mythology ; here was he 
 " suckled in that creed outworn ;" for his amount of 
 classical attainment extended no farther than the 
 " ^neid ;" with which epic, indeed, he was so fascinated 
 that before leaving school he had voluntarily translated 
 in writing a considerable portion. And yet I remember 
 that at that early age — mayhap under fourteen - notwith- 
 standing, and through all its incidental attractiveness, he 
 hazarded the opinion to me (and the expression riveted 
 my surprise), that there was feebleness in the structure of 
 the work. He must have gone through all the better 
 publications in the school library, for he asked me to lend 
 him some of my own books ; and, in my "mind's eye," I 
 now see him at supper (we had our meals in the school- 
 room), sitting back on the form, from the table, holding 
 the folio volume of Burnet's " History of his Own Time " 
 between himself and the table, eating his meal from 
 beyond it. This work, and Leigh Hunt's Examiner — 
 which my father took in, and I used to lend to Keats — 
 no doubt laid the foundation of his love of civil and 
 religious liberty. He once told me, smiling, that one of 
 his guardians, being informed what books I had lent him 
 to read, declared that if he had fifty children he would not 
 send one of them to that school. Bless his patriot head !
 
 JOHN KEATS. 125 
 
 When he left Enfield, at fourteen years of age, he was 
 apprenticed to ]\Ir. Thomas Hammond, a medical man, 
 residing in Church Street, Edmonton, and exactly two 
 miles from Enfield. This arrangement evidently gave 
 him satisfaction, and I fear that it was the most placid 
 period of his painful life ; for now, with the exception of 
 the duty he had to perform in the surgery — by no means 
 an onerous one— his whole leisure hours were employed 
 in mdalging his passion for reading and translating. 
 During his apprenticeship he finished the " yEneid." 
 
 The distance between our residences being so short, 1 
 gladly encouraged his inclination to come over when he 
 could claim a leisure hour ; and in consequence I saw 
 him about five or six times a month on my own leisure 
 afternoons. He rarely came empty-handed ; either he 
 had a book to read, or brought one to be exchanged. 
 When the weather permitted, we always sat in an arbour 
 at the end of a spacious garden, and — in Bosvvellian 
 dialect — " we had good talk." 
 
 It were difficult, at this lapse of time, to note the spark 
 that fired the train of his poetical tendencies ; but he must 
 have given unmistakable tokens of his mental bent ; 
 otherwise, at that early stage of his career, I never could 
 have read to him the " Epithalamion '" of Spenser ; and 
 this I remember having done, and in that hallowed old 
 arbour, the scene of many bland and graceful associations 
 — the substances having passed away. At that time he 
 may have been sixteen years old ; and at that period of 
 life he certainly appreciated the general beauty of the 
 composition, and felt the more passionate passages; 
 for his features and exclamations were ecstatic. How 
 often, in after-times, have I heard him quote these 
 lines : —
 
 126 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Behold, while she before the altar stands, 
 
 Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks, 
 
 And blesses her with his two happy hands, 
 
 How the red roses flush up to her cheeks ! 
 
 And the pure snow, with goodly vermeil stain, 
 
 Like crimson dyed in grain, 
 
 That even the angels, which continually 
 
 About the sacred altar do remain, 
 
 P'orget their service, and about her fly, 
 
 Oft pecphig in her face, that seems inore fair^ 
 
 The 7!iore they on it stare; 
 
 But her sad eyes, still fasten'd on the ground, 
 
 Are governed with goodly modesty. 
 
 That suffers not one look to glance awry, 
 
 Which may let in a little thought unsound. 
 
 That night he took away with him the first volume of 
 the " Faerie Queene," and he went through it, as I 
 formerly told his noble biographer, " as a young horse 
 would through a spring me.idow — ramping ! " Like a 
 true poet, too — a poet " born, not manufactured," a poet 
 in grain, he especially singled out epithets, for that felicity 
 and power in which Spenser is so eminent. He hoisted 
 himself up, and looked burly and dominant, as he said, 
 "what an image that is — ' sea-shojildering whales/'" It 
 was a treat to see as well as hear him read a pathetic 
 passage. Once, when reading the " Cymbeline " aloud, 
 I saw his eyes fill with tears, and his voice faltered when 
 he came to the departure of Posthumus, and Imogen 
 saying she would have watched him — 
 
 'Till the diminution 
 Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle ; 
 Nay follow'd him till he had melted from 
 The smallness of a gnat to air ; and then 
 Have turn'd mine eye and wept.
 
 JOHN KEATS. 127 
 
 I cannot remember the precise time of our separating at 
 this stage of Keats's career, or which of us first went to 
 London; but it wasupon an occasion, when walking thither 
 to see Leigh Hunt, who had just fulfilled his penalty of 
 confinement in Horsemonger Lane Prison for the unwise 
 libel upon the Prince Regent, that Keats met me ; and, 
 turning, accompanied me back part of the way. At the 
 last field-gate, when taking leave, he gave me the sonnet 
 entitled, " Written on the day that Mr. Leigh Hunt left 
 Prison/' This I feel to be the first proof I had received 
 of his having committed himself in verse ; and how 
 clearly do I recall the conscious look and hesitation 
 with which he offered it ! There are some momentary 
 glances by beloved friends that fade only with life. 
 His biographer has stated that " The Lines in Imitation 
 of Spenser " — 
 
 Now Morning from her orient chamber came. 
 And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill, &c., 
 
 are the earliest known verses of his composition ; a 
 probable circumstance, from their subject being the 
 inspiration of his first love, in poetry — and such a love ! 
 — but Keats's ^I'sX published ^otxti was the sonnet — 
 
 O Solitude ! if I must with thee dwell, 
 Let it not be among the jumbled heap 
 Of murky buildings ; climb with me the steep- 
 Nature's observatory — whence the dell, 
 In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell 
 May seem a span ; let me thy vigils keep 
 'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap 
 Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell. 
 
 But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee, 
 Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind. 
 Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
 
 128 RECOLLECTIONS OL WELTERS. 
 
 Is my soul's pleasure ; and it sure must be 
 Almost the highest bliss oi human kind, 
 
 When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee. 
 
 This sonnet appeared in the Examiner, some time, 
 I think, in 1816. 
 
 When we both had come to London— Keats to enter 
 as a student of St. Thomas's Hospital — he was not long 
 in discovering my abode, which was with a brother-in- 
 law in Clerkenwell ; and at that time being housekeeper, 
 and sohtary, he would come and renew his loved gossip ; 
 till, as the author of the " Urn Burial " says, " we were 
 acting our antipodes — the huntsmen were up in America, 
 and they already were past their first sleep in Persia." 
 At the close of a letter which preceded my appointing 
 him to come and lighten my darkness in Clerkenwell, is 
 his first address upon coming to London. He says, — • 
 " Although the Borough is a beastly place in dirt, 
 turnings, and windings, yet No. 8, Dean Street, is not 
 difficult to find ; and if you would run the gauntlet over 
 London Bridge, take the first turning to the right, and, 
 moreover, knock at my door, which is nearly opposite a 
 meeting, you would do me a charity, which, as St. Paul 
 saith, is the father of all the virtues. At all events, let 
 me hear from you soon : I say, at all events, not except- 
 ing the gout in your fingers." This letter, having no 
 date but the week's day, and no postmark, preceded our 
 first symposium ; and a memorable night it was in my 
 life's career. 
 
 A beautiful copy of the folio edition of Chapman's 
 translation of Homer had been lent me. It was the 
 property of Mr. Alsager, the gentleman who for years had 
 contributed no small share of celebrity to the great 
 reputation of the Times newspaper by the masterly
 
 JOHN KEATS. 129 
 
 manner in which he conducted the money-market de- 
 partment of that journal. Upon my first introduction to 
 Air. Alsager he Uved opposite to Horsemonger Lane 
 Prison, and upon Mr. Leigh Hunt's being sentenced for 
 the hbel, his first day's dinner was sent over by Mr. Aisager. 
 Well, then, we were put in possession of the Homer of 
 Chapman, and to work we went, turning to some of the 
 " famousest " passages, as we had scrappily known them 
 in Pope's version. There was, for instance, that perfect 
 scene of the conversation on Troy wall of the old 
 Senators with Helen, who is pointing out to them the 
 several Greek Captains \ with the Senator Antenor's 
 vivid portrait of an orator in Ulysses, beginning at the 
 237th line of the third book : — 
 
 But when the prudent Ithacus did to his counsels rise, 
 He stood a little still, and fix'd upon the earth his eyes, 
 His sceptre moving neither way, but held it formally. 
 Like one that vainly doth affect. Of wrathful quality, 
 And frantic (rashly judging), you would have said he was ; 
 But when out of his ample breast he gave his great voice 
 
 pass, 
 And words that flew about our ears like drifts of wintei-*s 
 
 snow. 
 None thenceforth might contend with him, though naught 
 
 admired for show. 
 
 The shield and helmet of Diomed, with the accom- 
 panying simile, in the opening of the third book ; and 
 the prodigious description of Neptune's passage to the 
 Achive ships, in the thirteenth book : — 
 
 The woods and all the great hills near trembled beneath the 
 
 weight 
 Of his immortal-moving feet. Three steps he only took. 
 Before he far-off yEgas reach'd, but with the fourth, it shook 
 With his dread entry. 
 
 K
 
 I30 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 One scene I couM not fail to introduce to him — the 
 shipwreck of Ulysses, in the fifth book of the " Odysseis," 
 and I had the reward of one of his delighted stares, upon 
 reading the following lines : — 
 
 Then forth he came, his both knees falt'ring, both 
 His strong hands hanging down, and all with froth 
 His cheeks and nostrils flowing, voice and breath 
 Spent to all use, and down he sank to death. 
 The sea had soa¥d his heart th7^0Hgh; all liis veins 
 His toils had rack'd t' a labouring woman's pains. 
 Dead-weary was he. 
 
 On an after-occasion I showed him the couplet, in 
 Pope's translation, upon the same passage : — 
 
 From mouth and nose the briny torrent ran, 
 And lost in lassitude lay all the man. [!! !] 
 
 Chapman ^ supplied us with many an after-treat ; but 
 it was in the teeming wonderment of this his first intro- 
 duction, that, when I came down to breakfast the next 
 morning, I found upon my table a letter with no other 
 enclosure than his famous sonnet, " On First Looking 
 into Chapman's Homer." We had parted, as I have 
 already said, at day-spring, yet he contrived that I should 
 receive the poem from a distance of, may be, two miles 
 by ten o'clock. In the published copy of this sonnet he 
 made an alteration in the seventh line : — 
 
 Yet did I never breathe its pure serene. 
 
 The original which he sent me had the phrase — 
 
 Yet could I never tell what men could mean ; 
 
 which he said was bald, and too simply wondering. No 
 
 ' With what joy would Keats have welcomed Mr. Richard 
 Hooper's admirable edition of our old version !
 
 JOHN KEATS. 131 
 
 one could more earnestly chastise his thoughts than 
 Keats. His favourite among Chapman's " Hymns of 
 Homer " was the one to Pan, which he himself rivalled 
 in the " Endymion :" — 
 
 O thou whose mighty palace-roof doth hang, &c. 
 
 It appears early in the first book of the poem ; the first 
 line in which has passed into a proverb, and become a 
 motto to Exhibition catalogues of Fine Art : — 
 
 A thing of beauty is a joy for ever : 
 Its loveliness increases ; it will never 
 Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep 
 A bower quiet for us, and a sleep 
 Full of sweet dreams, &c. 
 
 The " Hymn to Pan" alone should have rescued this 
 young and vigorous poem— this youngest epic — from the 
 savage injustice with which it was assailed. 
 
 In one of our conversations, about this period, I 
 alluded to his position at St. Thomas's Hospital, coasting 
 and reconnoitring, as it were, for the purpose of discover- 
 ing what progress he was making in his profession ; which 
 I had taken for granted had been his own selection, and 
 not one chosen for him. The total absorption, therefore, 
 of every other mood of his mind than that of imaginative 
 composition, which had now evidently encompassed him, 
 induced me, from a kind motive, to inquire what was his 
 bias of action for the future ; and with that transparent 
 candour which ibrmed the mainspring of his rule of 
 conduct, he at once made no secret of his inability to 
 sympathize with the science of anatomy, as a main pur- 
 suit in life ; for one of the expressions that he used, in 
 describing his unfitness for its mastery, was perfectly 
 characteristic. He said, in illustration of his argument, 
 
 K 2
 
 132 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 *' The other day, for instance, during the lecture, there 
 came a sunbeam into the room, and with it a whole troop 
 of creatures floating in the ray; and I was off with them 
 to Oberon and fairyland." And yet, with all his self- 
 styled unfitness for the pursuit, I was afterwards informed 
 that at his subsequent examination he displayed an 
 amount of acquirement which surprised his fellow-students, 
 who had scarcely any other association with him than 
 that of a cheerful, crotchety rhymester. He once talked 
 with me, upon my complaining of stomachic derange- 
 ment, with a remarkable decision of opinion, describing 
 the functions and actions of the organ with the clearness 
 and, as I presume, technical precision of an adult prac- 
 titioner ; casually illustrating the comment, in his charac- 
 teristic way, with poetical imagery : the stomach, he said, 
 being like a brood of callow nestlings (opening his capa- 
 cious mouth) yearning and gaping for sustenance ; and, 
 indeed, he merely exemplified what should be, if possible, 
 the " stock in trade " of every poet, viz , to knotu all that 
 is to be known, " in the heaven above, or in the earth 
 beneath, or in the waters under the earth." 
 
 It was about this period that, going to call upon Mr. 
 Leigh Hunt, who then occupied a pretty little cottage in 
 the Vale of Health, on Hampstead Heath, I took with me 
 two or three of the poems I had received from Keats. I 
 could not but anticipate that Hunt would speak en- 
 couragingly, and indeed approvingly, of the compositions 
 — written, too, by a youth under age ; but my partial 
 spirit was not prepared for the unhesitating and prompt 
 admiration which broke forth before he had read twenty 
 lines of the first poem. Horace Smith happened to be 
 there on the occasion, and he was not less demonstrative 
 n his appreciation of their merits. The piece which he
 
 JOHN KEATS. 133 
 
 read out was the sonnet, " How many Bards gild the 
 Lapses of Time ! " marking with particular emphasis and 
 approval the last six lines : — 
 
 So the unnumber'd-sounds that evening store, 
 The songs of birds, the whisp'ring of the leaves, 
 The voice of waters, the great bell that heaves 
 
 With solemn sound, and thousand others more, 
 That distance of recognizance b:reavcs, 
 
 Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar. 
 
 Smith repeated with applause the line in italics, saying, 
 " What a well-condensed expression for a youth so 
 young ! " After making numerous and eager inquiries 
 about him personally, and with reference to any pecu- 
 liarities of mind and manner, the visit ended in my 
 being requested to bring him over to the Vale of Health. 
 
 That was a *' red-letter day " in the young poet's life, 
 and one which will never fade with me while memory 
 lasts. 
 
 The character and expression of Keats's features would 
 arrest even the casual passenger in the street ; and now 
 they were wrought to a tone of animation that I could 
 not but watch with interest, knowing what was in store 
 for him from the bland encouragement, and Spartan 
 deference in attention, with fascinating conversational 
 eloquence, that he was to encounter and receive. As we 
 approached the Heath, there was the rising and accele- 
 rated step, with the gradual subsidence of all talk. The 
 interview, which stretched into three " morning calls," 
 was the prelude to many after-scenes and saunterings 
 about Caen Wood and its neighbourhood ; for Keats was 
 suddenly made a familiar of the household, and was 
 always welcomed. 
 
 It was in the library at Hunt's cottage, where an
 
 134 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 extemporary bed had been made up for him on the sofa, 
 that he composed the frame-work and many hnes of the 
 poem on " Sleep and Poetry " — the last sixty or seventy 
 being an inventory of the art garniture of the room, com- 
 mencing, — 
 
 It was a poet's house who keeps the keys 
 Of Pleasure's temple. * * * 
 
 In this composition is the lovely and favourite little 
 cluster of images upon the fleeting transit of life — a 
 pathetic anticipation of his own brief career : — 
 
 Stop and consider ! Life is but a day ; 
 A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way 
 From a tree's summit ; a poor Indian's sleep 
 While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep 
 Of Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan ? 
 Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown ; 
 The reading of an ever-changing tale ; 
 The light uplifting of a maiden's veil ; 
 A pigeon tumbling in the summer air ; 
 A laughing school-boy, without grief or care, 
 Riding the springy branches of an elm. 
 
 Very shortly after his installation at the cottage, and on 
 the day after one of our visits, he gave in the following 
 sonnet, a characteristic appreciation of the spirit in 
 which he had been received : — 
 
 Keen fitful gusts are whispering here and there 
 Among the bushes half leafless and dry ; 
 The stars look very cold about the sky, 
 And I have many miles on foot to fare ; 
 Yet I feel little of the cool bleak air. 
 Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily, 
 Or of those silver lamps that burn on high, 
 Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair : 
 For 1 am brimful of the friendliness
 
 JOHN KEATS. 135 
 
 That in a little cottage I have found j 
 Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress, 
 
 And all his love for gentle Lycid' drown'd; 
 Of lovely Laura in her light green dress, 
 
 And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd. 
 
 The glowing sonnet upon being compelled to " Leave 
 Friends at an Early Hour " — 
 
 Give me a golden pen, and let me lean, &c., 
 
 followed shortly after the former. But the occasion that re- 
 curs with the liveliest interest was one evening when — some 
 observations having been made upon the character, habits, 
 and pleasant associations with that reverend denizen of 
 the hearth, the cheerful little grasshopper of the fireside — 
 Hunt proposed to Keats the challenge of writing then, 
 there, and to time, a sonnet " On the Grasshopper and 
 Cricket." No one was present but myself, and they 
 accordingly set to. I, apart, with a book at the end of 
 the sofa, could not avoid furtive glances every now and 
 then at the emulants. I cannot say how long the trial 
 lasted. I was not proposed umpire ; and had no stop- 
 watch for the occasion. The time, however, was short 
 for such a performance, and Keats won as to time. But 
 the event of the after-scrutiny was one of many such 
 occurrences which have riveted the memory of Leigh 
 Hunt in my affectionate regard and admiration for un- 
 affected generosity and perfectly unpretentious encourage- 
 ment. His sincere look of pleasure at the first line — 
 
 The poetr}' of earth is never dead. 
 
 " Such a prosperous opening ! " he said ; and when hf 
 came to the tenth and eleventh lines : — 
 
 On a lone winter evening, ivhen the frost 
 Has wroughi a silence —
 
 136 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 " Ah ! that's perfect ! Bravo Keats ! " And then he 
 went on in a dilatation upon the dumbness of Nature 
 during the season's suspension and torpidity. With all 
 the kind and gratifying things that were said to him, Keats 
 protested to me, as we were afterwards walking home, 
 that he preferred Hunt's treatment of the subject to his 
 own. As neighbour Dogberry would have rejoined, 
 " 'Fore God, they are both in a tale ! " It has occurred 
 to me, upon so remarkable an occasion as the one here 
 recorded, that a reunion of the two sonnets will be gladly 
 hailed by the reader. 
 
 ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. 
 
 The poetry of earth is never dead : 
 
 When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, 
 And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run 
 
 From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead ; 
 
 That is the Grasshopper's, — he takes the lead 
 In summer luxury, — he has never done 
 W^ith his delights, for when tired out with fun 
 
 He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. 
 
 The poetry of earth is ceasing never ; 
 
 On a lone winter evening, when the frost 
 
 Has wrought a silence ; from the stove there thrills 
 
 The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, 
 And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, 
 
 The Grasshoppei'^s among some grassy hills. 
 
 Dec. 30, 1816. John Keats. 
 
 ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET. 
 
 Green little vaulter in the sunny grass 
 
 Catching your heart up at the feel of June, 
 Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, 
 
 W^hen ev'n the bees lag at the summoning brass; 
 
 And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
 
 JOHN KEATS. 137 
 
 With those who think the candles come too soon, 
 
 Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune 
 Nick the glad silent moments as they pass : 
 Oh sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, 
 
 One to the fields, the other to the hearth, 
 Both have your sunshine ; both though small are strong 
 
 At your clear hearts ; and both were sent on earth 
 To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song, — 
 
 In doors and out, Summer and Winter, Mirth ! 
 
 Dec. 30, 1 816. Leigh Hunt. 
 
 Keats had left the neighbourhood of the Borough, and 
 was now living with his brothers in apartments on the 
 second floor of a house in the Poultry, over the passage 
 leading to the Queen's Head Tavern, and opposite to one 
 of the City Companies' halls — -the Ironmongers', if I 
 mistake not. I have the associating rv-^miniscence of 
 many happy hours spent in this abode. Here was deter- 
 mined upon, in great part written, and sent forth to the 
 world, the first little, but vigorous, offspring of his 
 
 brain : — 
 
 POEMS 
 
 By 
 John Keats. 
 
 " What more felicity can fall to creature 
 Than to enjoy delight wiih liberty ! " 
 
 Fate of the Btitterjly : Spenser. 
 
 London : 
 
 Printed for C. and J. Oilier, 
 
 3, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square. 
 
 1817. 
 
 And here, on the evening when the last proof-sheet was 
 brought from the printer, it was accompanied by the 
 information that if a " dedication to the book was in- 
 tended it must be sent forthwith," Whereupon he with-
 
 138 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 drew to a side-table, and in the buzz of a mixed conver- 
 sation (for there were several friends in the room) he 
 composed and brought to Charles Oilier, the publisher, 
 the Dedication Sonnet to Leigh Hunt. If the original 
 manuscript of that poem— a legitimate sonnet, with every 
 restriction of rhyme and metre — could now be produced, 
 and the time recorded in which it was written, it would 
 be pronounced an extraordinary performance : added to 
 which the non-alteration of a single word in the poem (a 
 circumstance that was noted at the time) claims for it a 
 merit with a very rare parallel. The remark may be here 
 subjoined that, had the composition been previously pre- 
 pared for the occasion, the mere writing it out would 
 have occupied fourteen minutes ; and lastly, when I refer 
 to the time occupied in composing the sonnet on " The 
 Grasshopper and the Cricket," I can have no hesitation in 
 believing the one in question to have been extempore. 
 
 " The poem which commences the volume," says Lord 
 Houghton in his first memoir of the poet, " was suggested 
 to Keats by a delightful summer's day, as he stood beside 
 the gate that leads from the battery on Hampstead 
 Heath into a field by Caen Wood ;" and the following 
 lovely passage he himself told me was the recollection of 
 our having frequently loitered over the rail of a foot- 
 bridge that spanned (probably still spans, notwithstanding 
 the intrusive and shouldering railroad) a little brook in 
 the last field upon entering Edmonton : — 
 
 Linger awhile upon some bending planks 
 That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, 
 And watch intently Nature's gentle doings; 
 They will be found softer than ring-dove's cooings. 
 How silent comes the water round that bend ! 
 Not the minutest whisper docs it send
 
 JOHN KEATS. 139 
 
 To the o'er-hanging sallows ; blades of grass 
 Slowly across the chequer'd shadows pass. 
 Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach 
 To where the hurr>'ing freshnesses aye preach 
 -A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds ; 
 Where swarms of minnows show their little heads, 
 Staying their luavy bodies 'gainst the streams, 
 To taste the luxury of sunny beams 
 Temper'd with coolness. How they -wrestle 
 Wiih their own delight, and ever nestle 
 Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand! 
 If you but scantily hold out the hand. 
 That very instant not one will reinain; 
 But turn your eye and they are there again. 
 
 He himself thought the picture correct, and acknow- 
 ledged to a partiality for it. 
 
 Another example of his promptly suggestive imagina- 
 tion, and uncommon facility in giving it utterance, 
 occurred one day upon returning home and finding me 
 asleep on the sofa, with a volume of Chaucer open at the 
 " Flower and the Leaf." After expressing to me his admira- 
 tion of the poem, which he had been reading, he gave 
 me the fine testimony of that opinion in pointing to the 
 sonnet he had written at the close of it, which was an 
 extempore effusion, and without the alteration of a single 
 word. It lies before me now, signed "J. K., Feb., 181 7. 
 If my memory do not betray me, this charming out-door 
 fancy scene was Keats's first introduction to Chaucer. 
 The " Troilus and Cresseide" was certainly an after ac- 
 quaintance with him ; and clearly do I recall his appro- 
 bation of the favourite passages that had been marked in 
 my own copy. Upon being requested, he retraced the 
 poem, and with his pen confirmed and denoted those 
 which were congenial with his own feeling and judgment.
 
 140 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 These two circumstances, associated with the literary 
 career of this cherished object of his friend's esteem and 
 love, have stamped a priceless value upon that friend's 
 miniature i8mo. copy of Chaucer. 
 
 The first volume of Keats's minor muse was launched 
 amid the cheers and fond anticipations of all his circle. 
 Every one of us expected (and not unreasonably) that it 
 would create a sensation in the literary world ; for such a 
 first production (and a considerable portion of it from a 
 minor) has rarely occurred. The three Episdes and the 
 seventeen sonnets (that upon " first looking into Chap- 
 man's Homer" one of them) would have ensured a 
 rousing welcome from our modern-day reviewers. 
 Alas ! the book might have emerged in Timbuctoo 
 with far stronger chance of fame and approbation. It 
 never passed to a second edition; the first was but a 
 small one, and that was never sold off. The whole 
 community, as if by compact, seemed determined to 
 know nothing about it. The word had been passed 
 that its author was a Radical; and in those days of 
 " Bible-Crown-and-Constitution" supremacy, he might 
 have had better chance of success had he been an Anti- 
 Jacobin. Keats had not made the slightest demonstra- 
 tion of political opinion ; but with a conscious feeling of 
 gratitude for kindly encouragement, he had dedicated his 
 book to Leigh Hunt, Editor of the Examiner, a Radical 
 and a dubbed partisan of the first Napoleon ; because 
 when alluding to him, Hunt did not always subjoin the 
 fashionable cognomen of " Corsican Monster." Such 
 an association was motive enough with the dictators of 
 that day to thwart the endeavours of a young aspirant 
 who should presume to assert for himself an unrestricted 
 course of opinion. Verily, " the former times were not
 
 JOHN KEATS. 141 
 
 better tnan these." Men may now utter a word in favour 
 of " civil liberty" without being chalked on the back and 
 hounded out. 
 
 Poor Keats ! he little anticipated, and as little merited, 
 the cowardly treatment that was in store for him upon 
 the publishing of his second composition — the " Endy- 
 mion." It was in the interval of the two productions 
 that he had moved from the Poultry, and had taken a 
 lodging in Well Walk, Hampstead — in the first or second 
 house on the right hand, going up to the Heath. I have 
 an impression that he had been some weeks absent at the 
 seaside before settling in this district ; for the " Endy- 
 mion " had been begun, and he had made considerable 
 advances in his plan. He came to me one Sunday, and 
 we passed the greater part of the day walking in the 
 neighbourhood. His constant and enviable friend, 
 Severn, I remember, was present upon the occasion, by 
 a little circumstance of our exchanging looks upon Keats 
 reading to us portions of his new poem with which he 
 himself had been pleased ; and never will his expression 
 of face depart from me ; if I were a Reynolds or a 
 Gainsborough I could now stamp it for ever. One of 
 his selections was the now celebrated " Hymn to Pan " 
 in the first book : — 
 
 O thou whose mighty palace-roof doth hang 
 From jagged roofs ; 
 
 which alone ought to have preserved the poem from un- 
 kindness ; and which would have received an awarding 
 smile from the " deep-brow'd " himself. And the other 
 selections were the descriptions in the second book of 
 the " bower of Adonis," and the ascent and descent of 
 the silver car of Venus, air-borne : —
 
 142 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Whose silent wheels, fresh wet from clouds of morn, 
 Spun off a drizzling dew. 
 
 Keats was indebted for his introduction to Mr. Severn 
 to his schoolfellow Edward Holmes, who also had been 
 one of the child scholars at Enfield; for he came there 
 in the frock-dress. 
 
 Holmes ought to have been an educated musician 
 from his first childhood, for the passion was in him. I 
 used to amuse myself widi the pianoforte after supper, 
 when all had gone to bed. Upon some sudden occasion, 
 leaving the parlour, I heard a scuffle on the stairs, and 
 discovered that my young gentleman had left his bed, to 
 hear the music. At other times, during the day, in the 
 intervals of school-hours, he would stand under the 
 window listening. At length he entrusted to me his 
 heart's secret, that he should like to learn music, when I 
 taught him his tonic alphabet, and he soon knew and 
 could do as much as his tutor. Upon leaving school, he 
 was apprenticed to the elder Seeley, the bookseller ; but, 
 disliking his occupation, he left it, I think, before he was 
 of age. He did not lose sight of his old master, and I 
 introduced him to Mr. Vincent Novello, who had made 
 himself a friend to me ; and who, not merely with rare 
 profusion of bounty gave Holmes instruction, but 
 received him mto his house and made him one of 
 his family. With them he resided some years. I was 
 also the fortunate means of recommending him to the 
 chief proprietor of the Atlas newspaper ; and to that 
 journal during a long period he contributed a series of 
 essays and critiques upon the science and practice of 
 music, which raised the journal into a reference and an 
 authority in the art. He wrote for the proprietors of the 
 Atlas an elegant little book of dilettante criticism, "A
 
 JOHN KEATS. 143 
 
 Ramble among the Musicians in Germany." Ar.d in the 
 later period of his career he contributed to the Musical 
 Thnes a whole series of masterly essays and analyses upon 
 the masses of Haydn, Mozart, and Beetlioven. His own 
 favourite production was a " Life of Mozart," in which 
 he performed his task with considerable skill and equal 
 modesty, contriving by means of the great musician's 
 own letters to convert the work into an autobiography. 
 
 I have said that Holmes used to listen on the stairs. 
 In after-years, when Keats was reading to me the manu- 
 script of " The Eve of St. Agnes," upon the repeating of 
 the passage when Porphyro is listening to the midnight 
 music in the hall below, — 
 
 The boisterous midnight festive clarion, 
 The kettle-drum and far-heard clarionet, 
 Affray his ears, tnough but in dying tone : 
 The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is f;o7iej — 
 
 " that line," said he, " came into my head when I re- 
 membered how I used to listen in bed to your music at 
 school." How enchanting would be a record of the 
 germs and first causes of all the greatest artists' con- 
 ceptions I The elder Brunei's first hint for his " shield " 
 in constructing the tunnel under the Thames was taken 
 from watching the labour of a sea insect, which, having 
 a projecting hood, could bore into the ship's timber 
 unmolested by the waves. 
 
 It may have been about this time that Keats gave a 
 signal example of his courage and stamina, in the recorded 
 instance of his pugilistic contest with a butcher bo}^ He 
 told me, and in his characteristic manner, of their 
 " passage of arms." The brute, he said, was tormenting 
 a kitten, and he interfered ; when a threat offered was 
 enough for his mettle, and they " set to." He thought
 
 144 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 he should be beaten, for the fellow was the taller and 
 stronger; but like an authentic pugilist, my young poet 
 found that he had planted a blow which " told " upon 
 his antagonist ; in every succeeding round, therefore (for 
 they fought nearly an hour), he never failed of returning 
 to the weak point, and the contest ended in the hulk 
 being led home. 
 
 In my knowledge of fellow-beings, I never knew one 
 who so thoroughly combined the sweetness with the 
 power of gentleness, and the irresistible sway of anger, as 
 Keats. His indignation would have made the boldest 
 grave ; and they who had seen him under the influence 
 of injustice and meanness of soul would not forget the 
 expression of his features — "the form of his visage was 
 changed." Upon one occasion, when some local tyranny 
 was being discussed, he amused the party by shouting, 
 " Why is there not a human dust-hole, into which to 
 tumble such fellows? " 
 
 Keats had a strong sense of humour, although he was 
 not, in the strict sense of the term, a humorist, still less 
 a farcist. His comic fancy lurked in the outermost and 
 most unlooked-for images of association ; which, indeed, 
 may be said to form the components of humour ; never- 
 theless, they did not extend beyond the quaijit in fulfil- 
 ment and success. But his perception of humour, with 
 the power of transmitting it by imitation, was both vivid 
 and irresistibly amusing. He once described to me his 
 having gone to see a bear-baiting, the animal the property 
 of a Mr, Tom Oliver. The performance not having 
 begun, Keats was near to, and watched, a young aspirant, 
 who had brought a younger under his wing to witness the 
 solemnity, and whom he oppressively patronized, instruct- 
 ing him in the names and qualities of all the magnates
 
 JOHN KEATS. 145 
 
 present. Now and then, in his zeal to manifest and 
 impart his knowledge, he would forget himself, and stray 
 beyond the prescribed bounds into the ring, to the lash 
 ing resentment of its comptroller, Mr. William Soames, 
 who, after some hints of a practical nature to " keep 
 back," began laying about him with indiscriminate and 
 unmitigable vivacity, the Peripatetic signifying to his 
 pupil, " My eyes ! Bill Soames giv' me sich a licker !" 
 evidently grateful, and considering himself complimented 
 upon being included in the general dispensation. Keats's 
 entertainment with and appreciation of this minor scene 
 of low life has often recurred to me. But his concurrent 
 personification of the baiting, with his position — his legs 
 and arms bent and shortened till he looked like Bruin on 
 his hind legs, dabbing his fore paws hither and thither, as 
 the dogs snapped at him, and now and then acting the 
 gasp of one that had been suddenly caught and hugged 
 — his own capacious mouth adding force to the persona- 
 tion, was a remarkable and as memorable a display. I 
 am never reminded of this amusing relation but it is 
 associated with that forcible picture in Shakespeare, in 
 " Henry VI. :"— 
 
 . . . As a bear encompass'd round with dogs, 
 Who having ^/«t7zW a few and made tliem cry, 
 The rest stand all aloof and bark at him. 
 
 Keats also attended a prize fight between the two most 
 skilful " light weights " of the day, Randal and Turner ; 
 and in describing the rapidity of the blows of the one, 
 while the other was falling, he tapped his fingers on the 
 window-pane. 
 
 I make no apology for recording these events in his 
 life ; they are characteristics of the natural man, and 
 prove, moreover, that the partaking in such exhibitions 
 
 L
 
 146 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 did not for one moment blunt the gentler emotions of his 
 heart, or vulgarize his inborn love of all that was beauti- 
 ful and true. He would never have been a " slang gent," 
 bc^iuse he had other and better accomplishments to make 
 him conspicuous. His own line was the axiom of his 
 moral existence, his civil creed : " A thing of beauty is a 
 joy for ever," and I can fancy no coarser association able 
 to win him from his faith. Had he been born in squalor 
 he would have emerged a gentleman. Keats was not an 
 easily swayable man ; in differing with those he loved his 
 firmness kept equal pace with the sweetness of his per- 
 suasion, but with the rough and the unlovable he kept 
 no terms — within the conventional precincts, of course, 
 of social order. 
 
 From Well Walk he moved to another quarter of the 
 Heath, Wentworth Place, I think, the name. Here he 
 became a sharing inmate with Charles Armitage Brown, 
 a retired Russia merchant upon an independence and 
 literary leisure. With this introduction their acquaintance 
 commenced, and Keats never had a more zealous, a 
 firmer, or more practical friend and adviser than Armitage 
 Brown. Mr. Brown brought out a work entitled, 
 "Shakespeare's Autobiographical Poems. Being his 
 Sonnets clearly developed ; with his Character drawn 
 chiefly from his Works." It cannot be said that the 
 author has clearly educed his theory ; but, in the face of 
 his failure upon the main point, tlie book is interesting 
 for the heart-whole zeal and homage with which he has 
 gone into his subject. Brown accompanied Keats in his 
 tour in the Plebrides, a worthy event in the poet's career, 
 seeing that it led to the production of that magnificent 
 sonnet to " Ailsa Rock." As a passing observation, and 
 to show how the minutest circumstance did not escape
 
 JOHN KEATS. i47 
 
 him, he told me that when he first came upon the view 
 of Loch Lomond the sun was setting, the lake was in 
 shade, and of a deep blue, and at the further end was 
 " a slash across it of deep orange." The description of 
 the traceried window in the "Eve of St. Agnes" gives 
 proof of the intensity of his feeling for colour. 
 
 It was during his abode in Wentworth Place, that 
 unsurpassedly savage attacks upon the " Endymion " 
 appeared in some of the principal reviews — savage attacks, 
 and personally abusive ; and which would damage the 
 sale of any magazine in the present day. 
 
 The style of the articles directed against the writers 
 whom the party had nicknamed the " Cockney School " 
 of poetry, may be conceived from its producing the 
 following speech I heard from Hazlitt : " To pay those 
 fellows in their own coin, the way would be to begin with 
 Walter Scott, and have at his clui?ip foot." "Verily, the 
 former times were not better than these." 
 
 To say that these disgusting misrepresentations did not 
 affect the consciousness and self-respect oi Keats would 
 be to underrate the sensitiveness of his nature. He did 
 feel and resent the insult, but far more the injustice of 
 the treatment he had received ; and he told me so. They 
 no doubt had injured him in the most wanton manner ; 
 but if they, or my Lord Byron, ever for one moment 
 supposed that he was crushed or even cowed in spirit by 
 the treatment he had received, never were they more 
 deluded. " Snuffed out by an article," indeed ! He had 
 infinitely more magnanimity, in its fullest sense, than that 
 very spoiled, self-willed, and mean-souled man — and I 
 have unquestionable authority for the last term. To say 
 nothing of personal and private transactions. Lord 
 Houghton's observations, in his life of our poet, will be 
 
 L 2
 
 148 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 full authority for my estimate of Lord Byron. " Johnny 
 Keats " had indeed " a little body with a mighty heart," 
 and he showed it in the best way ; not by fighting the 
 " bush-rangers " in their own style — though he could have 
 done that — but by the resolve that he would produce brain 
 work which not one of their party could exceed ; and he 
 did, for in the year 1820 appeared the "Lamia," "Isa- 
 bella," " Eve of St. Agnes," and the " Hyperion " — that 
 illustrious fragment, which Shelley said " had the character 
 of one of the antique desert fragments;" which Leigh Hunt 
 called a " gigantic fragment, like a ruin in the desert, or 
 the bones of the Mastodon ;" and Lord Byron confessed 
 that " it seemed actually inspired by the Titans, and as 
 sublime as ^schylus." 
 
 All this wonderful work was produced in scarcely more 
 than one year, manifesting — with health — what his brain 
 could achieve ; but, alas ! the insidious disease which 
 carried him off had made its approach, and he was prepar- 
 ing to go to, or had already departed for, Italy, attended 
 by his constant and self sacrificing friend Severn. Keats's 
 mother died of consumption ; and he nursed his younger 
 brother, in the same disease, to the last ; and, by so doing, 
 in all probability hastened his own summons. 
 
 Upon the publication of the last volume of poems, 
 Charles Lamb wrote one of his finely appreciative and 
 cordial critiques in the Morning Chronicle. At that 
 period I had been absent for some weeks from London, 
 and had not heard of the dangerous state of Keats's 
 health, only that he and Severn were going to Italy : it 
 was, therefore, an unprepared-for shock which brought 
 me the news of his death in Rome. 
 
 Lord Houghton, in his 1848 and first "Biography of 
 Keats," has related the anecdote of the young poet's
 
 JOHN KEATS. 149 
 
 introduction to Wordsworth, with the latter's appreciation 
 of the " Hymn to Pan " (in the " Endymion "), which the 
 author had been desired to repeat, and the Rydal-Mount 
 poet's snow-capped comment upon it — " H'm ! a pretty 
 piece of Paganism ! " The lordly biographer, with his 
 genial and placable nature, has made an amiable apology 
 for the apparent coldness of Wordsworth's appreciation, 
 " that it was probably intended for some slight rebuke 
 to his youthful compeer, whom he saw absorbed in an 
 order of ideas that to him appeared merely sensuous, and 
 would have desired that the bright traits of Greek 
 mythology should be sobered down by a graver faith." 
 Keats, like Shakespeare, and every other real poet, put 
 his whole soul into what he had imagined, portrayed, or 
 embodied ; and hence he appeared the true young 
 Greek. The wonder is that Wordsworth should have 
 forgotten the quotation that might have been made from 
 one of his own deservedly illustrious sonnets : — 
 
 The world is too much with us. 
 
 Great God ! I'd rather be 
 A pagan suckled in a creed outworn ; 
 So might I, standing on diis pleasant lea, 
 Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
 Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; 
 Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 
 
 From Keats's description of his mentor's manner, as 
 well as behaviour that evening, it would seem to have 
 been one of the usual ebullitions of egoism, not to say of 
 the uneasiness known to those who were accustomed to 
 hear the great moral philosopher discourse upon his 
 own productions, and descant upon those of a con- 
 tem.porary. During that same interview, some one hav- 
 ing observed that the next Waverley novel was to be 
 " Rob Roy," Wordsworth took down his volume of
 
 ISO RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Ballads, and read to the company " Rob Roy's Grave ;" 
 then, returning it to the shelf, observed, " I do not 
 know what more Mr. Scott can have to say upon the 
 subject." Leigh Hunt, upon his first interview with 
 Wordsworth, described his having lectured very finely 
 upon his own writings, repeating the entire noble sonnet, 
 " Great men have been among us " — " in a grand and 
 earnest tone : " that rogue, Christopher North, added, 
 " Catch him repeating any other than his own." Upon 
 another and similar occasion, one of the party had quoted 
 that celebrated passage from the play of " Henry V.," 
 " So work the honey-bees ; " and each proceeded to pick 
 out his " pet plum " from that perfect piece of natural 
 history ; when Wordsworth objected to the line, " The 
 singing masons building roofs of gold," because, he .said, 
 of the unpleasant repetition of " ing" in it ! Vv^hy, where 
 were his poetical ears and judgment ? But more than 
 once it has been said that Wordsworth had not a genuine 
 love of Shakespeare : that, when he could, he always 
 accompanied a '■'■pro" with his '■'■con." and, Atticus-like, 
 would "just hint a fault and hesitate dislike." Mr 
 James T. Fields, in his delightful volume of *' Yesterdays 
 with Authors," has an amiable record of his interview 
 with Wordsworth; yet he has the following casual re- 
 mark, " I thought he did not praise easily those whose 
 names are indissolubly connected with his own in the 
 history of literature. It was languid praise, at least, and 
 I observed he hesitated for mild terms which he could 
 apply to names almost as great as his own." Even Crabb 
 Robinson more than once mildly hints at the same in- 
 firmity. ** Truly are we all of a mingled yarn, good and 
 ill together." 
 
 When Shelley left England for Italy, Keats told me 
 that he had received from him an invitation to become
 
 JOHN KEATS. 151 
 
 his guest, and, in short, to make one of his household. 
 It was upon the purest principle that Keats declined his 
 noble proffer, for he entertained an exalted opinion of 
 Shelley's genius — in itself an inducement j he also knew 
 of his deeds of bounty, and, from their frequent social 
 intercourse, he had full faith in the sincerity of his pro- 
 posal ; for a more crystalline heart than Shelley's has 
 rarely throbbed in human bosom. He was incapable of 
 an untruth, or of deceit in any form. Keats said that in 
 declining the invitation his sole motive was the conscious- 
 ness, which would be ever prevalent with him, of his 
 being, in its utter extent, not a free agent, even v/ithin 
 such a circle as Shelley's — he himself, nevertheless, being 
 the most unrestricted of beings. Mr. Trelawne)'', a 
 familiar of the family, has confirmed the unwavering 
 testimony to Shelley's bounty of nature, where he says, 
 " Shelley was a being absolutely without selfishness." The 
 poorest cottagers knew and benefited by his thoroughly 
 p?-actical and unselfish nature during his residence at 
 Marlow, when he would visit them, and, having gone 
 through a course of medical study in order that he might 
 assist them with advice, would commonly administer the 
 tonic, which such systems usually require, of a good basin 
 of broth or pea-soup. And I believe that I am infring- 
 ing on no private domestic delicacy when repeating that 
 he has been known upon an immediate urgency to purloin 
 — " Convey the wise it call " — a portion of the warmest of 
 Mrs. Shelley's wardrobe to protect some poor starving 
 sister. One of the richer residents of Marlow told me 
 that " they all considered him a madman." I wish he 
 had bitten the whole squad. 
 
 No settled senses of the world can match 
 The " wisdom " oi that madness.
 
 152 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Shelley's figure vras a little above the middle height, 
 slender, and of delicate construction, which appeared the 
 rather from a lounging or waving manner in his gait, as 
 though his frame was compounded barely of muscle and 
 tendon; and that the power of walking was an achievement 
 with him and not a natural habit. Yet I should suppose 
 that he was not a valetudinarian, although that has been 
 said of him on account of his spare and vegetable diet : 
 for I have the remembrance of his scampering and bound- 
 ing over the gorse-bushes on Hampstead Heath late one 
 night, — now close upon us, and now shouting from the 
 height like a wild school-boy. He was both an active 
 and an enduring walker— feats which do not accompany 
 an ailing and feeble constitution. His face was round, 
 flat, pale, with small features ; mouth beautifully shaped ; 
 hair bright brown and wavy ; and such a pair of eyes as 
 are rarely in the human or any other head, — intensely 
 blue, with a gentle and lambent expression, yet wonder- 
 fully alert and engrossing ; nothing appeared to escape 
 his knowledge. 
 
 Whatever peculiarity there might have been in Shellev's 
 religious faith, I have the best authority for believing that 
 it was confined to the early period of his life. The 
 pi'actical result of its course of adion, I am sure, had its 
 source from the " Sermon on the Mount." There is not 
 one clause in that Divine code which his conduct towards 
 his fellow mortals did not confirm and substantiate him 
 to be — in action a follower of Christ. Yet, when the 
 news arrived in London of the death of Shelley and 
 Captain Williams by drowning near Spezzia, an evening 
 journal of that day capped the intelligence with the 
 following remark : — " He will now know whether there 
 is a Hell or not" I hope there is not one journalist ol
 
 JOHN KEATS. 153 
 
 the present day who would dare to utter that surmise in 
 his record. So much for the progress of freedom and the 
 power of opinion. 
 
 At page 100, vol. i., of his first " Life of Keats," Lord 
 Houghton has quoted a literary portrait which he received 
 from a lady who used to see him at Hazlitt's lectures at 
 the Surrey Institution. The building was on the south, 
 right-hand side, and close to Blackfriars Bridge. I 
 believe that the whole of Hazlitt's lectures on the 
 British poets and the writers of the time of Elizabeth 
 were delivered in that institution during the years 181 7 
 and 181 8 ; shortly after which the establishment appears 
 to have been broken up. The lady's remark upon the 
 character and expression of Keats's features is both 
 happy and true. She says, " His countenance lives in 
 my mind as one of singular beauty and brightness ; it 
 had an expression as if he had been lookingon some glorious 
 sight." That's excellent. " His mouth was full, and less 
 intellectual than his other features." True again. But 
 when our artist pronounces that " his eyes were large and 
 blue" and that " his hair was aubur?i" I am naturally 
 reminded of the " Chameleon " fable : — " They were 
 brown, ma'am — bro7vn, I assure you ! " The fact is, the 
 lady was enchanted — and I cannot wonder at it — with 
 the whole character of that beaming face; and "blue" 
 and " auburn " being the favourite tints of the front 
 divine in the lords of the creation, the poet's eyes conse- 
 quently became " blue " and his hair " auburn." Colours, 
 however, vary with the prejudice or partiality of the 
 spectator ; and, moreover, people do not agree upon the 
 most palpable prismatic tint. A writing-master whom we 
 had at Enfield was an artist of more than ordinary merit, 
 but he had one dominant defect, he could not distinguish
 
 154 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 between true blue and true green. So that, upon one 
 occasion, when he was exhibiting to us a landscape he 
 had just completed, I hazarded the critical question, why 
 he painted his trees so bliiel "Blue!" he replied, 
 " What do you call green ? " Reader, alter in your copy 
 of the "Life of Keats," vol. i., page 103, "eyes" light 
 hazel, " hair " lightish brown and tvavy. 
 
 The most perfect and favourite portrait of hirn was the 
 one— the first— by Severn, published in Leigh Hunt's 
 " Lord Byron and his Contemporaries," which I remem- 
 ber the artist sketching in a few minutes, one evening, 
 when several of Keats's friends were at his apartments in 
 the Poultry. The portrait prefixed to the " Life" (also 
 by Severn) is a most excellent one-look-and-expression 
 likeness— an every-day and of "the earth, earthy" one; 
 and the last, which the same artist painted, and which 
 is now in the possession of Mr. John Hunter, of Craig 
 Crook, Edinburgh, may be an equally felicitous rendering 
 of one look and manner ; but I do not intimately recog- 
 nize it. There is another and a curiously unconscious 
 likeness of him in the charming Dulwich Gallery of 
 Pictures. It is in the portrait of Wouvermans, by Rem- 
 brandt. It is just so much of a resemblance as to remind 
 the friends of the poet, although not such a one as the 
 immortal Dutchman would have made had the poet been 
 his sister. It has a plaintive and melancholy expression 
 which, I rejoice to say, I do not associate with Keats. 
 
 There is one of his attitudes during familiar conversa- 
 tion which at times (wdth the whole earnest manner and 
 sweet expression of the man) ever presents itself to me 
 as though I had seen him only last week. How gracious 
 is the boon that the benedictions and the blessings in our 
 life careers last Ir nger, and recur with stronger influences
 
 JOHN KEATS. 155 
 
 than the ill-deeds and the curses ! The attitude I speak 
 of was that of cherishing one leg over the knee of the 
 other, smoothing the instep Avith the palm of his hand. 
 In this action I mostly associate him in an eager parley 
 with Leigh Hunt in his little Vale of Health cottage. 
 This position, if I mistake not, is in the last portrait of 
 him at Craig Crook ; if not, it is a reminiscent one, 
 painted after his death. His stature could have been 
 very little more than five feet ; but he was, withal, com- 
 pactly made and well-proportioned ; and before the 
 hereditary disorder which carried him off began to show 
 itself, he was active, athletic, and enduringly strong— as 
 the fight with the butcher gave full attestation. 
 
 His perfect friend, Joseph Severn, writes of him, 
 *' Here in Rome, as I write, I look back through forty 
 years of worldly changes, and behold Keats's dear image 
 again in memory. It seems as if he should be living with 
 me now, inasmuch as I never could understand his 
 strange and contradictory death, his falling away so 
 suddenly from health and strength. He had a fine 
 compactness of person, which we regard as the promise 
 of longevity, and no mind was ever more exultant in 
 youthful feeling." 
 
 The critical world — by which term I mean the censor- 
 ious portion of it, for many have no other idea of 
 criticism than that of censure and objection — the critical 
 world have so gloated over the feebler, or, if they will, 
 the defective side of Keats's genius, and his friends have 
 so amply justified him, that I feel inclined to add no more 
 to the category of opinions than to say that the only 
 fault in his poetry I could discover was a redundancy of 
 imagery — that exuberance, by the way, being a quality of 
 the greatest promisCj seeing that it is the constant acconi-
 
 156 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 paniment of a young and teeming genius. But his steady- 
 friend, Leigh Hunt, has rendered the amplest and truest 
 record of his mental accomplishment in the preface to his 
 " Foliage," quoted at page 150 of the first volume of the 
 *' Life of Keats ;" and his biographer has so zealously, 
 and, I would say, so amiably, summed up his character 
 and intellectual qualities, that I can add no more than 
 my assent. 
 
 With regard to Keats's political opinions I have little 
 doubt that his whole civil creed was comprised in the 
 master principle of "universal liberty" — viz. "Equal 
 and stern justice to all, irom tlie duke to the dustman." 
 
 There are constant indications through the memoirs 
 and in the letters of Keats of his profound reverence for 
 Shakespeare. His own intensity of thought and expression 
 visibly strengthened with the study of his idol ; and he 
 knew but little of him till he had himself become an 
 author. A marginal note by him in a folio copy of the 
 plays is an example of the complete absorption his mind 
 had undergone during the process of his matriculation ; 
 and, through life, however long with any of us, we are all 
 in progress of matriculation, as we study the " myriad- 
 minded's " system of philosophy. The note that Keats 
 made was this:— "The genius of Shakespeare was an 
 innate timversality ; wherefore he laid the achievements of 
 human intellect prostrate beneath his indolent and kingly 
 gaze ; he could do easily jneii's 71 1 most. His plan of tasks to 
 come was not of this world. If what he proposed to do 
 hereafter would not in the idea answer the aim, how tre- 
 mendous must have been his conception of ultimates !" I 
 question whether any one of the recognized high priests 
 of the temple has uttered a loftier homily in honour of 
 the world's intellectual homage and renown.
 
 JOHN KEATS. 157 
 
 A passage in one of Keats's letters to me evidences 
 that he had a "firm belief in the immortality of the soul," 
 and, as he adds, " so had Tom," whose eyes he had 
 just closed. I once heard him launch into a rhapsody on 
 the genius of Moses, who, he said, deserved the bene- 
 diction of the whole world, were it only for his institution 
 of the ''Sabbath." But Keats was no "Sabbatarian" in 
 the modern conventional acceptation of the term. 
 " Every day," he once said, was " Sabbath" to him, as it 
 is to every grateful mind, for blessings momentarily 
 bestowed upon us. This recalls Wordsworth's lines 
 where he tells us that Nature, — 
 
 Still constant in her worship, still 
 Conforming to th' Eternal will. 
 Whether men sow or reap the fields, 
 Divine admonishments she yields, 
 That not by hand alone we live, 
 Or what a hand of flesh can give ; 
 That every day should have some part 
 Free for a Sabbath of the heart : 
 So shall the seventh be truly blest. 
 From morn to eve with hallow'd rest. 
 
 Sunday was indeed Keats's " day of rest," and I may 
 add, too, of untainted mirth and gladness ; as I believe, 
 too, of unprofessing, unostentatious gratitude. His whole 
 course of life, to its very last act, was one routine of un- 
 selfishness and of consideration for others' feelings. The 
 approaches of death having come on, he said to his 
 untiring nurse-friend, — "Severn — I — lift me up. I am 
 dying. I shall die easy ; doiit be frightened ; be firm, and 
 thank God it has come." 
 
 Now burning through the inmost veil of heaven, 
 
 The soul of Adonais, hke a star. 
 
 Beams from the abode where the Eternal are.
 
 15S RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS, 
 
 SOME LETTERS OF CHARLES LAMB; 
 
 WITH 
 
 Reminiscences of Himself awakened thereby. 
 
 by mary covvden clarke. 
 
 The other day, in looking over some long-hoarded 
 papers, I came across the following letters, which struck 
 me as being too intrinsically delightful to be any longer 
 withheld from general enjoyment. The time when they 
 were written — while they had all the warm life ot 
 affectionate intercourse that refers to current personal 
 events, inspiring the wish to treasure them in privacy — 
 has faded into the shadow of the past. Some of the 
 persons addressed or referred to have left this earth ; 
 others have survived to look back upon their young 
 former selves with the same kindliness of consideration 
 with which Charles Lamb himself confessed to looking 
 back upon " the child Elia — that ' other me,' there, in 
 the background," and cherishing its remembrance. Even 
 the girl, then known among her friends by the second of 
 her baptismal names, before and not long after she had 
 exchanged her maiden name of Mary Victoria Novello 
 for the married one with which she signs her present 
 communication, can feel willing to share with her more 
 recent friends and readers the pleasure derived from dear
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 159 
 
 and honoured Charles Lamb's sometimes playful, some- 
 times earnest allusions to her identity. 
 
 The first letter is, according to his frequent wont, 
 undated ; and the post-mark is so much blurred as to be 
 undecipherable ; but it is addressed " V. Novello, Esqre., 
 for C. C. Clarke, Esqre. :"— 
 
 My dear Sir, — Your letter has lain in a drawer of my 
 desk, upbraiding me every time I open the said drawer, but 
 it is almost impossible to answer such a letter in such a place, 
 and I am out of the habit of replying to epistles otherwhere 
 than at office. You express yourself concerning H. like a true 
 friend, and have made me feel that I have somehow neglected 
 him, but without knowing very well how to rectify it. I live 
 so remote from him — by Hackney — that he is almost out of 
 the pale of visitation at Hampstead. And I come but seldom 
 to Cov' Gard" this summer time — and when I do, am sure to 
 pay for the late hours and pleasant Novello suppers which I 
 incur. I also am an invalid. But I will hit upon some way, 
 that you shall not have cause for your reproof in future. But 
 do not think I take the hint unkindly. When I shall be 
 brought low by any sickness or untoward circumstance, 
 write just such a letter to some tardy friend of mine — or come 
 up yourself with your friendly Henshaw face — and that will 
 be better. I shall not forget in haste our casual day at 
 Margate. May we have many such there or elsewhere ! 
 God bless you for your kindness to H., which I will remem- 
 ber. But do not show N. this, for the flouting infidel doth 
 mock when Christians cry God bless us. Yours and his, too, 
 and all our little circle's most affect* C. Lamb. 
 
 Mary's love included. 
 
 " H." in the above letter refers to Leigh Hunt ; but the 
 initials and abbreviated forms of words used by Charles 
 Lamb in these letters are here preserved verbatim. 
 
 The second letter is addressed " C. C. Clarke, Esqre.," 
 and has for post-mark " Fe. 26, 1828 :" —
 
 t6o RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Enfield, 25 Feb. 
 
 My dear Clarke, — You have been accumulating on me 
 such a heap of pleasant obligations that I feel uneasy in writing 
 as to a Benefactor. Your smaller contributions, the little weekly 
 rills, are refreshments in the Desart, but your large books 
 were feasts. I hope Mrs. Hazlitt, to whom I encharged it, 
 has taken Hunt's Lord B. to the Novellos. His picture of 
 Literary Lordship is as pleasant as a disagreeable subject can 
 be made, his own poor man's Education at dear Christ's is 
 as good and hearty as the subject. Hazlitt's speculative 
 episodes are capital; I skip the Battles. But how did I 
 deserve to have the Book ? The Companion has too much 
 of Madam Pasta. Theatricals have ceased to be popular 
 attractions. His walk home after the Play is as good as the 
 best of the old Indicators. The watchmen are emboxed in a 
 niche of fame, save the skaiting one that must be still fugitive. 
 I wish I could send a scrap for good will. But I have been 
 most seriously unwell and nervous a long long time. I have 
 scarce mustered courage to begin this short note, but con- 
 science duns me. 
 
 I had a pleasant letter from your sister, greatly over 
 acknowledging my poor sonnet. I think I should have 
 replied to it, but tell her I think so. Alas for sonnetting, 'tis 
 as the nerves are ; all the summer I was dawdling among 
 oreen lanes, and verses came as thick as fancies. I am sunk 
 winterly below prose and zero. 
 
 But I trust the vital principle is only as under snow. That 
 I shall yet laugh again. 
 
 I suppose the great change of place affects me, but I could 
 not have lived in Town, I could not bear company. 
 
 I see Novello flourishes in the Del Capo line, and dedica- 
 tions are not forgotten. I read the Atlas. When I pitched 
 on the Ded° I looked for the Broom ol " Cowden knows " to 
 be harmonized, but 'twas summat of Rossini's. 
 
 I want to hear about Hone, does he stand above water, 
 how is his son ? I have delay'd writing to him, till it seems 
 impossible. Break the ice for me. 
 
 The wet ground here is intolerable, the sky above clear 
 and delusive, but under foot quagmires from night showers,
 
 CHARLES LAAIB, 1 6 1 
 
 and I am cold-footed and moisture-abhorring as a cat; never- 
 theless I yesterday tramped to Waltham Cross ; perhaps the 
 poor bit of exertion necessary to scribble this was owing to 
 that unusual bracing. 
 
 If I get out, I shall get stout, and then something will 
 out — I mean for the Companion — you see I rhyme in- 
 sensibly. 
 
 Traditions are rife here of one Clarke a schoolmaster, and 
 a runaway pickle named Holmes, but much obscurity hangs 
 over it. Is it possible they can be any relations ? 
 
 'Tis worth the research, when you can find a sunny day, 
 with ground firm, &c. Master Sexton is intelligent, and for 
 half-a-crown he'll pick you up a Father. 
 
 In truth we shall be most glad to see any of the Novellian 
 circle, middle of the week such as can come, or Sunday, as 
 can't. But Spring will burgeon out quickly, and then, we'll 
 talk more. 
 
 You'd like to see the improvements on the Chase, the new 
 Cross in the market-place, the Chandler's shop from whence 
 the rods were fetch'd. They are raised a farthing since the 
 spread of Education. But perhaps you don't care to be 
 reminded of the Holofernes' days, and nothing remains of the 
 old laudable profession, but the clear, firm, impossible-to-be- 
 mistoken schoolmaster text hand with which is subscribed 
 the ever-welcome name of Chas. Cowden C. Let me crowd 
 in both our loves to all— C. L. [Added on the fold-down 
 of the letter :] Let me never be forgotten to include in my 
 rememb"' my good friend and whilom correspondent Master 
 Stephen. 
 
 How, especially, is Victoria ? 
 
 I try to remember all I used to meet at Shacklewell. The 
 little household, cake-producing, wine-bringing out Emma^ 
 the old servant, that didn't stay, and ought to have staid, and 
 was always very dirty and friendly, and Miss H., the counter- 
 tenor with a fine voice, whose sister married Thurtell. They 
 all live in my mind's eye, and Mr. N.'s and Holmes's walks 
 with us half back after supper. Troja fuit ! 
 
 His hearty yet modestly-rendered thanks for lent and 
 
 M
 
 1 62 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 given books ; his ever-affectionate mention of Christ's 
 Hospital ; his enjoyment of Hazlitt's " Life of Napoleon," 
 minus "the battles ;" his cordial commendation of Leigh 
 Hunt's periodical, the CoDipanioii (with the witty play on 
 the word " fugitive "), and his wish that he could send 
 the work a contribution from his own pen ; his touching 
 reference to the susceptibility of his nervous system ; the 
 sportive misuse of musical terms when alluding to his 
 musician friend Vincent Novello, immortalized in Ella's 
 celebrated " Chapter on Ears ;" his excellent pun in the 
 word "insensibly;" his humorous mode of touching upon 
 the professional avocation of his clerkly correspondent's 
 fother and self— the latter having been usher in the school 
 kept some years previously at Enfield by the former — 
 while conveying a genuine compliment to the handwriting 
 which at eighty-five is still the " clear, firm, impossible-to- 
 be-mistaken schoolmaster text hand " that it was at forty- 
 one, when Lamb wrote these words ; the genial mention 
 of the hospitable children ; the whimsically wrong- 
 circumstanced recollection of the " counter-tenor " lady ; 
 the allusion to the night w\alks " half back " home ; and 
 the classically-quoted words of regi^et— are all wonderfully 
 characteristic of beautiful-minded Charles Lamb. In 
 connexion with the juvenile hospitality may be recorded 
 an incident that illustrates his words. When William 
 Etty returned as a young artist student from Rome, and 
 called at the Novellos' house, it chanced that the parents 
 were from home ; but the children, who were busily 
 employed in fabricating a treat of home-made hard-bake 
 (or toffy), made the visitor welcome by offering him a piece 
 of their just-finished sweetmeat, as an appropriate refection 
 after his long walk ; and he declared that it was the most 
 veritable piece of spontaneous hospitality he had ever
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 163 
 
 met with, since the children gave him what they thought 
 most dehcious and best worthy of acceptance. Charles 
 Lamb so heartily shared this opinion of the subsequently 
 renowned painter that he brought a choice condiment in 
 the shape of ajar of preserved ginger for the little Novellos' 
 delectation ; and when some officious elder suggested 
 that it was lost upon children, therefore had better be 
 reserved for the grown up people, Lamb would not hear 
 of the transfer, but insisted that children were excellent 
 judges of good things, and that they must and should 
 have the cate in question. He was right, for long did the 
 remembrance remain in the family of that delicious rarity, 
 and of the mode in which " Mr. Lamb " stalked up and 
 down the passage with a mysterious harberingering look and 
 stride, muttering something that sounded like conjuration, 
 holding the precious jar under his arm, and feigning to have 
 found it stowed away in a dark chimney somewhere near. 
 Another characteristic point is recalled by a concluding 
 sentence of this letter. On one occasion — when Charles 
 Lamb and his admirable sister Mary Lamb had been 
 accompanied "halfback after supper" by Mr. and Mrs. 
 Novello, Edward Holmes, and Charles Cowden Clarke, 
 between Shacklewell Green and Colebrooke Cottage, 
 beside the New River at Islington, where the Lambs 
 then lived, the whole party interchanging lively, brightest 
 talk as they passed along the road that they had all to 
 themselves at that late hour — he, as usual, was the noblest 
 of the talkers. Arrived at the usual parting-place. Lamb 
 and his sister walked on a few steps ; then, suddenly 
 turning, he shouted out after his late companions in a 
 tone that startled the midnight silence, " You're very nice 
 people ! " sending them on their way home in happy 
 laughter at his friendly oddity. 
 
 M 2
 
 1 64 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 The third is addressed to "C. C. Clarke. Escjre.," 
 without date; but it must have been written in 1828 : — 
 
 Dear Clarke, — We did expect to see you with Victoria 
 and the Novellos befoie this, and do not quite understand 
 why we have not. Mrs. N. and V. [Vincent] promised 
 us after the York expedition ; a day being named before, 
 which fail'd. 'Tis not too late. The autumn leaves drop gold, 
 and Enfield is beautifuUer — to a common eye — than when 
 you lurked at the Greyhound. Benedicks are close, but how 
 I so totally missed you at that time, going for my morning 
 cup of ale duly, is a mystery. 'Twas stealing a match 
 before one's face in earnest. But certainly we had not a 
 dream of your appropinquity. I instantly prepared an 
 Epithalamium, in the form of a Sonata — which I was sending 
 to Novello to compose — but Mary forbid it me, as too light 
 for the occasion — as if the subject required anything heavy — 
 ■ — so in a tiff with her, I sent no congratulation at all. Tho' 
 I promise you the wedding was very pleasant news to me 
 indeed. Let your reply name a day this next week, when you 
 will come as many as a coach will hold ; such a day as we 
 had at Dulwich. My very kindest love and Mary's to Victoria 
 and the Novellos. The enclosed is from a friend nameless, but 
 highish in office, and a man whose accuracy of statement may 
 be relied on with implicit confidence. He wants the cxposi 
 to appear in a newspaper as the " greatest piece of legal and 
 Parliamentary villainy he ever rememb''," and he has had 
 experience in both ; and thinks it would answer afterwards 
 in a cheap pamphlet printed at Lambeth in 8° sheet, as 16,000 
 families in that parish are interested. I know not whether the 
 present Examiner keeps up the character of exposing abuses, 
 for I scarce see a paper now. If so, you may ascertain Mr. 
 Hunt of the strictest truth of the statement, at the peril of 
 my head. But if this won't do, transmit it me back, I beg, per 
 coach, or better, bring it with you. Yours unaltered, 
 
 C. Lamb. 
 
 This letter quaintly rebukes, yet, at the same time, most 
 affectionately congratulates, the friend addressed for
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 165 
 
 silently making honeymoon quarters of the spot where 
 Charles Lamb then resided. But lovely Enfield — a very 
 beau-ideal of an English village — was the birthplace of 
 Charles Cowden Clarke ; and the Greyhound was a sim- 
 ple hostehy kept by an old man and his daughter, where 
 there was a pretty white-curtained, quiet room, with a 
 window made green by bowering vine leaves ; combining 
 much that was tempting as an unpretending retirement 
 for a town-dweller to take his young new-made wife to. 
 The invitation to " name a day this next week " was 
 cordially responded to by a speedy visit ; and very likely 
 it was on that occasion Charles Lamb told the wedded 
 pair of another bridal couple who, he said, when they 
 arrived at the first stage of their marriage tour, found each 
 other's company so tedious that they called the landlord 
 upstairs to enliven t':em by his conversation. The 
 " Epithalamium," here called a "Sonata," is the 
 " Serenata " contained in the next letter, addressed to 
 "Vincent Novello, Esqre.:" — 
 
 My dear Novello,— I am afraid I shall appear rather 
 tardy in offering my congratulations, however sincere, upon 
 your daughter's marriage.' The truth is, I had put together 
 a little Serenata upon the occasion, but was prevented from 
 sending it by my sister, to whose judgment I am apt to defer 
 too much in these kind of things ; so that, now I have her 
 consent, the offering, I am afraid, will have lost the grace of 
 seasonableness. Such as it is, I send it. She thinks it a little 
 too old-fashioned in the manner, too much like what they 
 wrote a century back. But I cannot write in the modern style, 
 if I try ever so hard. I have attended to the proper divisions 
 for the music, and you will have little difficulty in composing 
 it. If I may advise, make Pepusch your model, or Blow. It 
 will be necessary to have a good second voice, as the stress 
 of the melody lies there : — 
 
 * Which marriage took place 5th July, 1828.
 
 i66 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 SERENATA, FOR TWO VOICES, 
 
 On the Mcwriage of Charles Coiudoi Clarke, Esqre., to 
 Victoria, eldest daughter of Vincent Novello, Esqre. 
 
 Duetto. 
 
 Wake th' harmonious voice and string, 
 Love and Hymen's triumph sing, 
 Sounds with secret charms combining, 
 In melodious union joining, 
 Best the wondrous joys can tell, 
 That in hearts united dwell. 
 
 Recitative. 
 
 First Voice. To young Victoria's happy fame 
 
 Well may the Arts a trophy raise, 
 Music grows sweeter m her praise. 
 And, own'd by her, with rapture speaks hex 
 
 name. 
 To touch the brave Cowdenio's heart. 
 
 The Graces all in her conspire ; 
 Love arms her with his surest dart, 
 Apollo with his lyre. 
 
 Air. 
 
 The list'ning Muses all around her 
 
 Think 'tis Phcebus' strain they hear ; 
 And Cupid, drawing near to wound her, 
 Drops his bow, and stands to hear. 
 
 Recitative. 
 
 Second Voice. While crowds of rivals with despair 
 
 Silent admire, or vainly court the Fair, 
 Behold the happy conquest of her eyes, 
 A Hero is the glorious prize! 
 In courts, in camps, thro' distant realms 
 renown'd, 
 Cowdenio comes .'—Victoria, see, 
 He comes with British honour crown'd, 
 Love leads his eager steps to thee.
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 167 
 
 Air. 
 
 In tender sighs he silence breaks, 
 The Fair his flame approves, 
 
 Consenting blushes warm her cheeks, 
 She smiles, she yields, she loves. 
 
 Recitative. 
 
 Fitst Voice. Now Hymen at the altar stands, 
 
 And while he joins their faithful hands, 
 
 Behold ! by ardent vows brought down, 
 Immortal Concord, heavenly bright, 
 Array'd in robes of purest light. 
 
 Descends, th' auspicious rites to crown. 
 Her golden haqj the goddess brings; 
 
 Its magic sound 
 Commands a sudden silence all around. 
 And strains prophetic thus attune the 
 strings. 
 
 Duetto. 
 First Voice. The Swain his Nymph possessing, 
 
 Second Voice. The Nymph her swain caressing. 
 First Ss^ Second. Shall still improve the blessing, 
 
 For ever kind and true. 
 Both. While rolling years are flying 
 
 Love, Hymen's lamp supplying, 
 
 With fuel never dying, 
 
 Shall still the flame renew. 
 
 To so great a master as yourself I have no need to suggest 
 
 that the peculiar tone of the composition demands sprightli- 
 
 ness, occasionally checked by tenderness, as in the second 
 
 air,^ 
 
 She smiles, — she yields, — she loves. 
 
 Again, you need not be told that each fifth line of the two 
 first recitatives requires a crescendo. 
 
 And your exquisite taste will prevent your falling into the 
 error of Purcell, who at a passage similar to that in my first
 
 i68 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 Drops his bow, and stands to hear, 
 directed the first violin thus : — 
 
 Here the first violin must drop his bow. 
 
 But, besides the absurdity of disarming his principal per- 
 former of so necessary an adjunct to his instrument, in such 
 an emphatic part of the composition too, which must have 
 had a droll effect at the time, all such minutiae of adaptation 
 are at this time of day very properly exploded, and Jackson 
 of Exeter very fairly ranks them under the head of puns. 
 
 Should you succeed in the setting of it, we propose having 
 it performed (we have one very tolerable second voice here, 
 and Mr. Holmes, I dare say, would supply the minor parts) 
 at the Greyhound. But it must be a secret to the young 
 couple till we can get the band in readiness. 
 
 Believe me, dear Novello, 
 Yours truly, 
 
 Enfield, 6 Nov., '29. C. Lamb. 
 
 Peculiarly Elian is the humour throughout this last 
 letter. The advice to " make Pepusch your model, or 
 Blow;" the affected "divisions" or "Duetto," "Reci- 
 tative," " Air," " First Voice," " Second Voice," " First 
 and Second," "Both," &c. ; the antiquated stiffness of 
 the lines themselves, the burlesque " Love and Hymen's 
 triumph sing ;" the grotesque stiltedness of " the brave 
 Cowdenio's heart," and " a Hero is the glorious prize ;" 
 the ludicrous absurdity of hailing a peaceful man of let- 
 ters (who, by the way, adopted as his crest and motto an 
 oak-branch with Algernon Sydney's words, '■' Placidam 
 sub libertate quietem ") by " In courts, in camps, thro' 
 distant realms renown'd, Cowdenio comes ! " ; the adula- 
 tory pomp of styling a young girl, nowise distinguished 
 for anything but homeliest simplicity, as "the Fair," 
 " the Nymph," in whom "the Graces all conspire ;" the 
 droll, illustrative instructions, suggesting " sprightliness,
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 169 
 
 occasionally checked by tenderness," in setting lines pur- 
 posedly dull and heavy with old-fashioned mythological 
 trappings ; the grave assumption of technicality in the in- 
 troduction of the word " crescendo ; " the pretended 
 citation of " Purcell " and "Jackson of Exeter;" the 
 comic prohibition as to the too literal " minutise of adap- 
 tation " in such passages as ^^ Drops his bow, and stands 
 to hear;" the pleasant play on the word in "the minor 
 parts ;" the mock earnestness as to keeping the proposed 
 performance " a secret to the young couple ;" are all in 
 the very spirit of fun that swayed Elia when a sportive 
 vein ran through his Essays. 
 
 The next letter is to Charles Cowden Clarke ; though 
 it has neither address, signature, date, nor postmark : — 
 
 My dear three C'S, — The way from Southgate to Colney 
 Hatch thro' the unfrequentedest Blackberry paths that ever 
 concealed their coy bunches from a truant Citizen, we have 
 accidentally fallen upon — the giant Tree by Cheshunt we have 
 missed, but keep your chart to go by, unless you will be our 
 conduct — at present I am disabled from further flights than 
 just to skirt round Clay Hill, with a peep at the fine back 
 woods, by strained tendons, got by skipping a skipping-rope 
 at 53 — hei m hi non sum qualis — but do you know, now you 
 come to talk of walks, a ramble of four hours or so — there 
 and back — to the willow and lavender plmtations at the 
 south corner of Northaw Church by a well dedicated to Saint 
 Claridge, with the clumps of finest moss rising hillock fashion, 
 which I counted to the number of two hundred and sixty, and 
 are called " Claridge's covers " — the tradition being that that 
 saint entertained so many angels or hermits there, upon occa- 
 sion of blessing the waters ? The legends have set down the 
 fruits spread upon that occasion, and in the Black Book of St. 
 Alban's some are named which are not supposed to have been 
 introduced into this island till a century later. But waiving 
 the miracle, a sweeter spot is not in ten counties round ;
 
 I70 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 you are knee deep in clover, that is to say, if you are not 
 above a middling man's height — from this paradise, making a 
 day of it, you go to see the ruins of an old convent at March 
 Hall, where some of the painted glass is yet whole and fresh. 
 
 If you do not know this, you do not know the capabilities 
 of this country, you may be said to be a stranger to Enfield. 
 I found it out one morning in October, and so delighted was 
 I that I did not get home before dark, well a-paid. 
 
 I shall long to show you the clump meadows, as they are 
 called ; we might do that, without reaching March Hall — 
 when the days are longer, we might take both, and come 
 home by Forest Cross, so skirt ver Pennington and the 
 cheerful little village of Churchley to Forty Hill. 
 
 But these are dreams till summer ; meanwhile we should 
 be most glad to see you for a lesser excursion — say, Sunday 
 next, you and another, or if more, best on a weekday with a 
 notice, but o' Sundays, as far as a leg of mutton goes, most 
 welcome. We can squeeze out a bed. Edmonton coaches 
 run every hour, and my pen has run out its quarter. Heartily 
 farewell. 
 
 Charles Lamb's enjoyment of a long ramble, and his 
 (usually) excellent powers of walking are here denoted. 
 He was so proud of his pedestrian feats and indefatig- 
 ability, that he once told the Cowden Clarkes a story of 
 a dog possessed by a pertinacious determination to follow 
 him day by day when he went forth to wander in the 
 Enfield lanes and fields ; until, unendurably teased by 
 the pertinacity of this obtrusive animal, he determined, to 
 get rid of him by fairly tiring him out ! So he took him 
 a circuit of many miles, including several of the loveliest 
 spots round Enfield, coming at last to a by-road with an 
 interminable vista of up-hill distance, where the dog turned 
 tail, gave the matter up, and laid down beneath a hedge, 
 panting, exhausted, thoroughly worn out and dead beat ; 
 while his defeater walked freshly home, smiling and 
 triumphant.
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 171 
 
 Knowing Lamb's fashion of twisting facts to his own 
 humorous view of them, those who heard the story well 
 understood that it might easily have been wryed to 
 represent the narrator's real potency in walking, while 
 serving to cover his equally real liking for animals under 
 the semblance of vanquishing a dog in a contested foot- 
 race. Far more probable that he encouraged its volun- 
 teered companionship, amusing his imagination, the while 
 by picturing the wild impossibility of any human creature 
 attempting to tire out a dog — of all animals ! As an in- 
 stance of Charles Lamb's sympathy with dumb beasts, his 
 two friends here named once saw him get up from table, 
 while they were dining with him and his fisterat Enfield, 
 open the street-door, and give admittance to a stray 
 donkey into the front strip of garden, where there was a 
 glass-plot, which he said seemed to possess more attraction 
 for the creature than the short turf of the common on 
 Chase-side, opposite to the house where the Lambs then 
 dwelt. This mixture of the humorous in manner and the 
 sympathetic in feeling always more or less tinged the 
 sayings and the doings of beloved Charles Lamb ; there 
 was a constant blending of the overtly whimsical expres- 
 sion or act with betrayed inner kindliness and even 
 pathos of sentiment. Beneath this sudden opening of 
 his gate to a stray donkey that it might feast on his 
 garden grass while he himself ate his dinner, possibly 
 lurked some stung sense of wanderers unable to get a 
 nseal they hungered for when others revelled in plenty, — 
 a kind of pained fancy finding vent in playful deed or 
 speech, that frequently might be traced by those who 
 enjoyed his society. 
 
 The next letter is addressed " C. C. Clarke, Esqre.," with 
 the postmark (much defaced} "Edmonton, Fe. 2, 1829:" —
 
 172 RECOLLECTIONS OF WELTERS. 
 
 Dear Cowden, — Your books are as the gushing of streams 
 in a desert. By the way, you have sent no autobiographies. 
 Your letter seems to imply you had. Nor do I want any. 
 Cowden, they are of the books which I give away. What 
 damn'd Unitarian skewer-soul'd things the general biogra- 
 phies turn out. Rank and Talent you shall have when 
 Mrs. May has done with 'em. Mary likes Mrs. Bedinfield 
 much. For me I read nothing but Astrea— it has turn'd my 
 brain — I go about with a switch turn'd up at the end for a 
 crook ; and Lambs being too old, the butcher tells me, my 
 cat follows me in a green ribband. Becky and her cousin 
 are getting pastoral dresses, and then we shall all four go 
 about Arcadizing. O cruel Shepherdess ! Inconstant yet 
 fair, and more inconstant for being fair ! Her gold ringlets 
 fell in a disord^ superior to order ! 
 
 Come and join us. 
 
 I am called the Black Shepherd — you shall be Cowden 
 with the Tuft. 
 
 Prosaically, we shall be glad to have you both, — or any 
 two of you — drop in by surprise some Saturday night. 
 
 This must go off. 
 
 Loves to Vittoria. 
 
 C. L. 
 
 The book he refers to as " Astrea " was one of those 
 tall folio romances of the Sir Philip Sidney or Mdme. de 
 Scudery order, inspiring him with the amusing rhapsody 
 that follows its mention ; the ingeniously equivocal 
 '■'■ Lambs being too old;" the familiar mingling of "Becky" 
 (their maid) " and her cousin " with himself and sister 
 in " pastoral dresses," to " go about Arcadizing ; " the 
 abrupt bursting forth into the Philip-Sidneyan style of 
 antithetical rapturizing and euphuism ; the invented 
 Arcadian titles of " the Black Shepherd " and " Cowden 
 with the Tuft " — are all in the tone of mad-cap spirits 
 which were occasionally Lamb's. The latter name 
 (" Cowden with the Tuft ") slyly implies the smooth
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 173 
 
 baldness with scant curly hair distinguishing the head o? 
 the friend addressed, and which seemed to strike Charles 
 Lamb so forcibly, that one evening, after gazing at it for 
 some time, he suddenly broke forth with the exclamation, 
 " ' Gad, Clarke ! what whiskers you have behind your 
 head !" 
 
 He was fond of trying the dispositions of those with 
 whom he associated by an odd speech such as this ; and 
 if they stood the test pleasantly, and took it in good part, 
 he liked them the better ever after. One time that the 
 Novellos and Cowden Clarkes went down to see the 
 Lambs at Enfield, and he was standing by his book- 
 shelves, talking with them in his usual delightful, cordia 
 way, showing them some precious volume lately added 
 to his store, a neighbour chancing to come in to remind 
 Charles Lamb of an appointed ramble, he excused him- 
 self by saying, "You see I have some troublesome 
 people just come down from town, and I must stay and en- 
 tertain them; so we'll take our walk together to-irorrow." 
 Another time, when the Cowden Clarkes were staying a 
 few days at Enfield with Charles Lamb and his sister, 
 they, having accepted an invitation to spend the evening 
 and have a game of whist at a lady-schoohiiistress's house 
 there, took their guests with them. Charles Lamb, giving 
 his arm to " Victoria," left her husband to escort Mary 
 Lamb, who walked rather more slowly than her brother. 
 On arriving first at the house of the somewhat prim and 
 formal hostess, Charles Lamb, bringing his young visitor 
 
 into the room, introduced her by saying, " Mrs. , 
 
 I've brought you the wife of the man who mortally hates 
 your husband ; " and when the lady replied by a polite 
 inquiry after " Miss Lamb," hoping she was quite well, 
 Charles Lamb said, "She has a terrible fit o' toothache,
 
 174 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 and was obliged to stay at home this evening ; so Mr. 
 Cowden Clarke remained there to keep her company." 
 Then, the lingerers entering, he went on to say, "Mrs. 
 Cowden Clarke has been telling me, as we came along, 
 that she hopes you have sprats for supper this evening." 
 The bewildered glance of the lady of the house at Mary 
 Lamb and her walking-companion, her poHtely stifled 
 dismay at the mention of so vulgar a dish, contrasted 
 with Victoria's smile of enjoyment at his whimsical words, 
 were precisely the kind of things that Charles Lamb liked 
 and chuckled over. On another occasion he was 
 charmed by the equanimity and even gratification with 
 which the same guests and Miss Fanny Kelly (the skilled 
 actress whose combined artistic and feminine attractions 
 inspired him with the beautiful sonnet beginning 
 
 You are not, Kelly, of the common strain, 
 
 and whose performance of " The Blind Boy " caused him 
 to address her in that other sonnet beginning 
 
 Rare artist ! who with half thy tools or none 
 Canst execute with ease thy curious art, 
 And press thy powerful'st meanings on the heart 
 
 Unaided by the eye, expression's tiirone !) 
 
 found themselves one sunny day, after a long walk 
 through the green Enfield meadows, seated with Charles 
 Lamb and his sister on a rustic bench in the shade, 
 outside a small roadside inn, quaffing draughts of his 
 favourite porter with him from the unsophisticated 
 pewter, supremely indifferent to the strangeness of the 
 situation ; nay, heartily enjoying it luith him. The um- 
 brageous elm, the water-trough, the dip in the road where 
 there was a ford and foot bridge, the rough wooden table 
 at which the little party were seated, the pleasant voices
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 175 
 
 of Charles and Mary Lamb and Fanny Kelly, — all are 
 vividly present to the imagination of her wlio now writes 
 these few memorial lines, inadequately describing the 
 ineffaceable impression of that happy time, when Lamb 
 so cordially delighted in the responsive ease and enjoy- 
 ment of his surrounders. 
 
 The last letter is addressed "V. Novello, Esqre.," with 
 post-mark " No. 8, 1830 :" — 
 
 Tears are for lighter griefs. Man weeps the doom 
 
 That seals a single victim to the tomb. 
 
 But when Death riots, when with whelming sway 
 
 Destruction sweeps a family away ; 
 
 When Infancy and Youth, a huddled mass, 
 
 All in an instant to obHvion pass. 
 
 And Parents' hopes are crush'd ; what lamentation 
 
 Can reach the depth of such a desolation ? 
 
 Look upward. Feeble Ones ! look up, and trust 
 
 That He, who lays this mortal frame in dust, 
 
 Still hath the immortal Spirit in His keeping. 
 
 In Jesus' sight they are not dead, ' ut sleeping. 
 
 Dear N., will these lines do? I despair of better. Poor 
 Mary is in a deplorable state here at Enfield. 
 
 Love to all, 
 
 C. Lamb. 
 
 These tenderly pathetic elegiac lines were written at 
 the request of Vincent Novello, in memory of four sons 
 and two daughters of John and Ann Rigg, of York. 
 All six — respectively aged 19, 18, 17, 16, 7, and 6 — were 
 drowned at once by their boat being run down on the 
 river Ouse, near York, August 19, 1830. The unhappy 
 surviving parents had begged to have hues for an epitaph 
 from the best poetical hand ; but, owing to some local 
 authority's interference, another than Charles Lamb's 
 verse v/as ultimately placed on the monument raised to 
 the lost children.
 
 176 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 MARY LAMB 
 
 Those belonging to a great man — his immediate family 
 connexions, who are, as it were, a part of himself — are 
 always reflectively interesting to his admirers. His female 
 relatives especially, who form so integral a portion of his 
 home existence, possess this interest, perhaps, beyond all 
 others. In a more than usual degree was Charles Lamb's 
 sister, Mary Lamb, blended with his life, with himself — 
 consociated as she was with his every act, word, and 
 thought, through his own noble act of self-consecration to 
 her. The solemn story of this admirable brother-and- 
 sister couple is told in all its pathetic circumstances by 
 Thomas Noon Talfourd, in his " Final Memorials of 
 Charles Lamb ;" and there Miss Lamb is pictured with 
 esteeming eloquence of description. To that account of 
 her are here appended a few remembered touches, by one 
 who enjoyed the privilege of personal communion with 
 " the Lambs," as they were afiectionately styled by those 
 who knew them in what Wordsworth calls their beautiful 
 " dual loneliness" of life together. So simple, so holy a 
 sobriety was there in all their ways, that to the unper- 
 ceiving eyes of youth they scarce appeared so great as 
 they really were ; and yet less did any idea of the pro- 
 foundly tragic secret attaching to their early years pre- 
 sent itself to the imagination of her who knew them as
 
 MARY LAMB. 177 
 
 ' Mr. and Miss Lamb," prized friends of her father and 
 mother, taking kindly notice of a young girl for her 
 parents' sake. 
 
 Miss Lamb bore a strong personal resemblance to her 
 brother ; being in stature under middle height, possessing 
 well-cut features, and a countenance of singular sweetness, 
 with intelligence. Her brown eyes were soft, yet penetrat- 
 ing ; her nose and mouth very shapely ; while the general 
 expression was mildness itself. She had a speaking-voice, 
 gentle and persuasive ; and her smile was her brother's 
 own — winning in the extreme. There was a certain catch, 
 or emotional breathingness, in her utterance, which gave 
 an inexpressible charm to her reading of poetry, and 
 which lent a captivating earnestness to her mode of 
 speech when addressing those she liked. This slight 
 check, with its yearning, eager effect in her voice, had 
 something softenedly akin to her brother Charles's impedi- 
 ment of articulation : in him it scarcely amounted to a 
 stammer ; in her it merely imparted additional stress to the 
 fine-sensed suggestions she made to those whom she coun- 
 selled or consoled. She had a mind at once nobly-toned 
 and practical, making her ever a chosen source of confi- 
 dence among her friends, who turned to her for consola- 
 tion, confirmation, and advice, in matters of nicest 
 moment, always secure of deriving from her both aid 
 and solace. Her manner was easy, almost homely, so 
 quiet, unaffected, and perfectly unpretending was it. 
 Beneath the sparing talk and retired carriage, few casual 
 observers would have suspected the ample information 
 and large intelligence that lay comprised there. She was 
 oftener a Hstener than a speaker. In the modest- 
 havioured woman simply sitting there, taking small share 
 in general conversation, few who did not know her would 
 
 N
 
 178 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 have imagined the accomplished classical scholar, the 
 excellent understanding, the altogether rarely-gifted being, 
 morally and mentally, that Mary Lamb was. Her apparel 
 was always of the plainest kind ; a black stuff or silk 
 gown, made and worn in the simplest fashion. She took 
 snuff liberally — a habit that had evidently grown out of 
 her propensity to sympathize with and share all her 
 brother's tastes ; and it certainly had the effect of en- 
 hancing her likeness to him. She had a small, white, and 
 delicately-formed hand ; and as it hovered above the 
 tortoise-shell box containing the powder so strongly 
 approved by them both, in search of the stimulating 
 pinch, the act seemed yet another link of association 
 between the brother and sister, when hanging together 
 over their favourite books and studies. 
 
 As may be gathered from the books which Miss Lamb 
 wrote, in conjunction with her brother—" Poetry for 
 Cnildren," *' Tales from Shakespeare," and " Mrs. Leices- 
 ter's School," — she had a most tender sympathy with the 
 young. She was encouraging and affectionate towards 
 them, and won them to regard her with a familiarity and 
 fondness rarely felt by them for grown people who are 
 not their relations. She entered into their juvenile ideas 
 with a tact and skill quite surprising. She threw herself 
 so entirely into their way of thinking, and contrived to 
 take an estimai of things so completely from their point 
 of view, that she made them rejoice to have her fcr 
 their co-mate in affairs that interested them. While thus 
 lending herself to their notions, she, with a judiciousness 
 peculiar to her, imbued her words with the wisdom and 
 experience that belonged to her maturer years \ so that, 
 while she seemed but the listening, concurring friend, she 
 was also the helping, guiding friend. Her valuable moni-
 
 MARY LAMB. 179 
 
 tions never took the form of reproof, but were always 
 dropped in with the air of agreed propositions, as if they 
 grew out of the subject in question, and presented them- 
 selves as matters of course to both her young companions 
 and herself. 
 
 One of these instances resulted from the kind per- 
 mission which Mary Lamb gave to the young girl above 
 alluded to — Victoria Novello — that she should come to 
 her on certain mornings, when Miss Lamb promised to 
 hear her repeat her Latin gram.mar, and hear her read 
 poetry with the due musically-rhythmical intonation. Even 
 now the breathing murmur of the voice in which Mary 
 Lamb gave low but melodious utterance to those opening 
 lines of the " Paradise Lost," — 
 
 " Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
 Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
 Brought death into the world, and all our woe," — 
 
 sounding full and rounded and harmonious, though so 
 subdued in tone, rings clear and distinct in the memory 
 of her who heard the reader. The echo of that gentle 
 voice vibrates through the lapse of many a revolving year, 
 true and unbroken, in the heart where the low-breathed, 
 sound first awoke response ; teaching, together with the 
 fine appreciation of verse music, the finer love of intellect 
 conjoined with goodness and kindness. The instance of 
 wise precept couched in playful speech pertained to the 
 Latin lessons. One morning, just as Victoria was about 
 to repeat her allotted task, in rushed a young boy, who, 
 like herself enjoyed the privilege of Miss Lamb's instruc- 
 tion in the Latin language. His mode of entrance — 
 hasty and abrupt — sufficiently denoted his eagerness to 
 have his lesson heard at once and done with, that he 
 
 N 2
 
 i8o RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 might be gone Again ; accordingly, Miss Lamb, asking 
 Victoria to give up her turn, desired the youth — HazUtt's 
 son — to repeat his pages of grammar first. Off he set ; 
 rattled through the first conjugation post-haste ; darted 
 through the second without drawing breath ; and so on, 
 right through in no time. The rapidity, the volubility, 
 the triumphant slap-dash of the feat perfectly dazzled the 
 imagination of poor Victoria, who stood admiring by, an 
 amazed witness of the boy's proficiency. She herself, — a 
 quiet, plodding little girl — had only by dint of diligent 
 study, and patient, persevering poring, been able to 
 achieve a slow learning, and as slow a repetition of her 
 lessons. This brilliant, oiT-hand method of despatching 
 the Latin grammar was a glory she had never dreamed of. 
 Her ambition was fired : and the next time she presented 
 herself, book in hand, before Miss Lamb, she had no 
 sooner delivered it into her hearer's, than she attempted 
 to scour through her verb at the same rattling pace which 
 had so excited her emulative admiration. Scarce a 
 moment, and her stumbling scamper was checked. 
 " Stay, stay ! how's this ? What are you about, little 
 Vicky ? " asked the laughing voice of Mary Lamb. " Oh, 
 I see. Well, go on : but gently, gently : no need of 
 hurry." She heard her to an end, and then said, "I 
 see what we have been doing — trying to be as quick and 
 clever as William, fancying it vastly grand to get on at 
 a great rate as he docs. But there's this diff"erence : 
 it's natural in him, while it's imitation in you. Now, 
 far better go on in your old, staid way — which is your 
 own way — than try to take up a way that may be- 
 come him but can never become you, even were you to 
 succeed in acquiring it. We'll each of us keep to
 
 MARY LAMB. i8i 
 
 our own natural ways, and then we shall be sure to do our 
 best" 
 
 On one of these occasions of the Latin lessons in 
 Russell Street, Covent Garden, where Mr. and Miss 
 Lamb then lived, Victoria saw a lady come in, who 
 appeared to her strikingly intellectual-looking, and still 
 young; she was surprised, therefore, to hear the lady say, 
 in the course of conversation, " Oh, as for me, my dear 
 Miss Lamb, I'm nothing now but a stocking-mending 
 old woman." When the lady's visit came to an end, and 
 she was gone, Mary Lamb took occasion to t^U Victoria 
 who she was, and to explain her curious speech. The 
 lady was no other than Miss Kelly ; and Mary Lamb, 
 while describing to the young girl the eminent merits 
 of the admirable actress, showed her how a tempo- 
 rary depression of spirits in an artistic nature some- 
 times takes refuge in a half-playful, half-bitter irony of 
 speech. 
 
 At the house in Russell Street Victoria met Emma 
 Isola; and among her pleasantest juvenile recollections 
 is the way in which Mary Lamb thought for the natural 
 pleasure the two young girls took in each other's society, 
 by bringing them together ; and when, upon one occasion, 
 there was a large company assembled. Miss Lamb 
 allowed Emma and Victoria to go together into a room 
 by themselves, if they preferred their mutual chat to the 
 conversation of the elder people. In the not too spacious 
 London lodging, Mary Lamb let them go into her own 
 bedroom to have their girlish talk out, rather than let 
 them feel restrained. Most, most kind, too, was the 
 meeting she planned for them, when Euuua was about to 
 repair to school, at the pleasant village of Dulwich. Miss
 
 1 82 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Lamb made a charming little dinner : a dinner for three, 
 herself and the two girls, — a dinner most toothsome to 
 young feminine appetite ; roast fowls and a custard- 
 pudding. Savoury is the recollection of those embrowned 
 and engravied birds I sweet the remembrance of that 
 creamy cate ! but pleasant, above all, is the memory 
 of the cordial voice which said, in a way to put the 
 little party at its fullest ease, " Now, remember, we all 
 piciv our bones. It isn't considered vulgar here to pick 
 bones." 
 
 Once, when some visitors chanced to drop in unex- 
 pectedly upon her and her brother, just as they were 
 going to sit down to their plain dinner of a bit of roast 
 mutton, with her usual frank hospitality she pressed them 
 to stay and partake, cutting up the small joint into five 
 equal portions, and saying in her simple, easy way, so 
 truly her own, " There's a chop a-piece for us, and we 
 can make up with bread and cheese if we want more." 
 With such a woman to carve for you and eat with you, 
 neck of mutton was better than venison, while bread and 
 cneese more than replaced varied courses of richest or 
 daintiest dishes. 
 
 Mary Lamb, ever thoughtful to procure a pleasure for 
 young people, finding that one of her and her brothers 
 acquaintances — Howard Payne — was going to France, 
 she requested him, on his way to Paris, to call at 
 Boulogne and see Victoria Novello, who had been placed 
 by her parents in a family there for a time to learn the 
 language. Knowing how welcome a visit from any one 
 who had lately seen her friends in England would be to 
 the young girl. Miss Lamb urged Howard Payne not 
 to omit this ; her brother Charles seconding her by
 
 MARY LAMB, 183 
 
 adding, in his usual sportive style, " Do ; you needn't 
 be afraid of Miss Novello, she speaks only a little coast 
 French." 
 
 At "the Lambs' house," Victoria several times saw 
 Colonel PhilUps (the man who shot the savage that killed 
 Captain Cook), and heard him describe IVIadame de 
 Stael's manner in society, saying that he remembered she 
 had a habit while she discoursed of taking a scrap of 
 paper and a pair of scissors, and snipping it to bits, as 
 an employment for her fingers; that once he observed 
 her to be at a loss for this her usual mechanical resource, 
 and he quietly placed near her the back of a letter from 
 his pocket: afterwards she earnestly thanked him for this 
 timely supply of the means she desired as a needful aid 
 to thought and speech. He also mentioned his reminis- 
 cence of Gibbon the historian, and related the way in 
 which the great man held a pinch of snuff between his 
 finger and thumb while he recounted an anecdote, 
 invariably dropping the pinch at the point of the story. 
 The colonel once spoke of Garrick, telling how, as a raw 
 youth, coming to town, he had determined to go and see 
 the great actor, and how, being but slenderly provided 
 in pocket, he had pawned one of his shirts ("and shirts 
 were of value in those days, with their fine linen and 
 ruffles," he said), to enable him to pay his entrance at the 
 theatre. Miss Lamb being referred to, and asked if she 
 remembered Garrick, replied, in her simple- speeched way, 
 " I saw him once, but I was too young to understand 
 much about his acting. I only know I thought it was 
 mighty fine." 
 
 There was a certain old-world fashion in Mary Lamb's 
 diction which gave it a most natural and quaintly pleasant
 
 1 84 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 effect, and which heightened rather than detracted from 
 the more heartfelt or important things she uttered. She 
 had a way of repeating her brother's words assentingly 
 when he spoke to her. He once said (with his pecuUar 
 mode of tenderness, beneath blunt, abrupt speech)r 
 "You must die first, Mary." She nodded, with hei 
 little quiet nod and sweet smile, " Yes, I must die first, 
 Charles." 
 
 At another time, he said in his whimsical way, plucking 
 out the words in gasps, as it were, between the smiles 
 with which he looked at her, " I call my sister ' Moll,' 
 before the servants; ' Mary,' in presence of friends; and 
 * Maria,' when I am alone with her." 
 
 When the inimitable comic actor Munden took his 
 farewell of the stage. Miss Lamb and her brother failed 
 not to attend the last appearance of their favourite, and 
 it was upon this occasion that Mary made that admirable 
 pun, which has sometimes been attributed to Charles — 
 " Sic transit gloria Ahinden ! " During the few final per- 
 formances of the veteran comedian, Victoria was taken 
 by her father and mother to see him, when he played Old 
 Dornton in "The Road to Ruin,'' and Crack in "The 
 Turnpike Gate." Miss Tamb, hearing of the promised 
 treat, with her usual kindly thought and wisdom, urged 
 the young girl to give her utmost attention to the actor's 
 style. " When you are an old woman like me, people 
 will ask you about Munden's acting, as they now ask me 
 about Garrick's, so take particular care to observe all he 
 does, and /loui he does it." Owing to this considerate 
 reminder, the very look, the very gesture, the whole 
 bearing of Munden — first in the pathetic character of the 
 gentleman- father, next in the farce-character of the village
 
 MAJiV LAMB. 185 
 
 cobbler— remain impressed upon the brain of her who 
 witnessed them as if beheld but yesterday. The tipsy 
 lunge with which he rolled up to the table whereon stood 
 that tempting brown jug ; the leer of mingled slyness and 
 attempted unconcernedness with which he slid out his 
 furtive thought to the audience — " Some gentleman has 
 left his ale ! " then, with an unctuous smack of his lips, 
 jovial and anticipative, adding, " And some other gentle- 
 man will drink it ! "—all stand present to fancy, vivid and 
 unforgotten. 
 
 Still more valuable was Mary I^amb's kindness at a 
 period wlien she thought she perceived symptoms of an 
 unexplained dejection in her young friend. How gentle 
 was her sedate mode of reasoning the matter, after 
 delicately touching upon the subject, and endeavouring 
 to draw forth its avowal ! more as if mutually discussing 
 and consulting than as if questioning, she endeavoured to 
 ascertain whether uncertainties or scruples of faith had 
 arisen in the young girl's mind, and had caused her pre- 
 occupied, abstracted manner. If it were any such source 
 of disturbance, how wisely and feelingly she suggested 
 reading, reflecting, weighing; if but a less deeply-seated 
 depression, how sensibly she advised adopting some 
 object to rouse energy and interest ! She pointed out 
 the efficacy of studying a language (she herself at 
 upwards of fifty years of age began the acquirement of 
 French and Italian) as a remedial measure \ and advised 
 Victoria to devote herself to a younger brother she had, 
 in the same way that she had attended to her own brother 
 Charles in his infancy, as the wholesomest and surest 
 means of all for cure. 
 
 For the way in which Mary Lamb could minister to a
 
 i86 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 stricken mind, witness a letter of hers addressed to a 
 friend — a mother into whose home death had for the 
 first time come, taking away her last-born child of barely 
 two months old. This letter, sacredly kept in the family 
 of her to whom it was written, is here given to the eyes 
 of the world. Miss Lamb wrote few letters, and fewer 
 still have been published. But the rareness of her effusions 
 enhance their intrinsic worth, and render it doubly impera- 
 tive that their gentle beauty of sense and wisdom should 
 not be withheld from general knowledge. The letter bears 
 date merely " Monday, Newington," and the post-mark is 
 undecipherable; but it was written in the spring of 1820, 
 and was directed to Mrs. Vincent Novello : — 
 
 My dear Friend, — Since we heard of your sad sorrow, 
 you have been perpetually in our thoughts ; therefore, you 
 may well imagine how welcome your kind remembrance of 
 us must be. I know not how enough to thank you for it. 
 You bid me write you a long letter ; but my mind is so pos- 
 sessed with the idea that you must be occupied with one 
 only thought, that all trivial matters seem iirsperdnent. I 
 have just been reading again Mr. Hunt's delicious Essay,* 
 which I am sure must have come so home to your hearts, I 
 shall always love him for it. I feel that it is all that one can 
 think, but which none but he could have done so prettily. 
 May he lose the memory of his own babies in seeing them all 
 grow old around him ! Together with the recollection of your 
 dear baby, the image of a litde sister I once had comes as 
 fresh into my mind as if I had seen her as lately. A little 
 cap with white satin ribbon, grown yellow with long keeping, 
 
 * Entitled " Deaths of Little Children," which appeared in 
 the Jndicater for 5th April, 1820, and which had its 
 origin in the sorrowful event that occasioned Miss Lamb's 
 letter.
 
 MARY LAMB. 187 
 
 and a lock of light hair, were the only relics left of her. The 
 sight of them always brought her pretty, fair face to my view, 
 that to this day I seem to have a perfect recollection of her 
 features. I long to see you, and I hope to do so on Tuesday 
 or Wednesday in next week. Percy Street ! ^ I love to 
 write the word: what comfortable ideas it brings with it ! We 
 have been pleasing ourselves ever since we heard this piece 
 of unexpected good news with the anticipation of frequent 
 drop-in visits, and all the social comfort of what seems almost 
 next-door neighbourhood. 
 
 Our solitary confinement has answered its purpose even 
 better than I expected. It is so many years since I have 
 been out of town in the Spring, that I scarceh' knew of the 
 existence of such a season. I see every day some new flower 
 peeping out of the ground, and watch its growth ; so that I 
 have a sort of an intimate iriendship with each. I know the 
 effect of every change of weather upon them — have learned 
 all their names, the duration of their lives, and the whole 
 progress of their domestic economy. My landlady, a nice, 
 active old soul that wants but one year of eighty, and her 
 daughter, a rather aged young gentlewoman, are the only 
 labourers in a pretty large garden ; for it is a double house, 
 and two long strips of ground are laid into one, well stored 
 with fruit-trees, wliich will be in full blossom the week after 
 I am gone, and flowers, as many as can be crammed in, of 
 all sorts and kinds. But flowers are flowers still ; and I 
 must confess I would rather live in Russell Street all my life, 
 and never set my foot but on the London pavement, than be 
 doomed always to enjoy the silent pleasures I now do. We 
 go to bed at ten o'clock. Late hours are life-shortening 
 things ; but I would rather run all risks, and sit every night 
 — at some places I could name — wishing in vain at eleven 
 o'clock for the entrance of the supper tray, than be always 
 up and alive at eight o'clock breakfast as I am here. We have 
 
 2 Whither Miss Lamb's friend was about to remove hel 
 residence from the farther (west) end of Oxford Street.
 
 1 88 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 a. scheme to reconcile these things. We have an offer of a 
 very low-rented lodging a mile nearer town than this. Our 
 notion is, to divide our time, in alternate weeks, between 
 quiet rest and dear London weariness. We give an answer 
 to-morrow ; but what that will be, at this present writing, I 
 am unable to say. In the present state of our undecided 
 opinion, a very heavy rain that is now falling may turn the 
 scale. " Dear rain, do go away," and let us have a fine 
 cheerful sunset to argue the matter fairly in. My brother 
 walked seventeen miles yesterday before dinner. And not- 
 withstanding his long walk to and from the office, we walk 
 every evening ; but I by no means perform in this way so 
 well as I used to do. A twelve-mile walk one hot Sunday 
 morning made my feet blister, and they are hardly well now. 
 Charles is not yet come home ; but he bid me, with many 
 thanks, to present his /cn^e to you and all yours, to all whom 
 and to each individually, and to Mr. Novello in particular, I 
 beg to add mine. With the sincerest wishes for the health 
 and happiness of all, believe me, ever, dear Mary Sabilla, 
 your most affectionate friend, 
 
 Mary Ann Lamb. 
 
 Many a salutary influence through youth, and many a 
 cherished memory through after-years, did Victoria owe 
 to her early knowledge of Charles Lamb's sister. This 
 revered friend entered so genuinely and sympathetically 
 into the young girl's feelings and interests, that the great 
 condescension in the intercourse was scarcely compre- 
 hended by the latter at the time ; but as age and 
 experience brought their teaching, she learned to look 
 back upon the gracious kindness shown her in its true 
 light, and she became keenly aware of the high privilege 
 she had once enjoyed. Actuated by this consciousness, 
 she has felt impelled to record her grateful sense of Mary 
 Lamb's generous genial goodness and noble qualities
 
 MARY LAMB. 189 
 
 by relating her own individual recollections of them, and 
 by sharing with others the gratification arising out of their 
 treasured reminiscences. 
 
 This Victoria Novello was a namesake of honoured 
 Mary Lamb, having been christened " Mary " Victoria. 
 When she married, she abided by her first and simpler 
 baptismal name, as being more in consonance with the 
 good old English (plain but clerkly) surname of her 
 husband, and became known to her readers as their 
 faithful servant, 
 
 Mary Cowden Clarke.
 
 I90 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 
 
 We have said that Leigh Hunt's conversation even sur- 
 passed his A\Titing, and that his mode of telhng a story in 
 speech was still better than his mode of narrating it with 
 his pen. His letters and friendly notes have something 
 of both his conversation and his style of composition — 
 they are easy, spirited, genial, and most kindly. To 
 receive a letter from him was a pleasure that rendered 
 the day brighter and cheerier ; that seemed to touch 
 London smoke with a golden gleam ; that made prosaic 
 surroundings take a poetical form ; that caused common 
 occurrences to assume a grace of romance and refine- 
 ment, as the seal was broken and the contents were 
 perused. The very sight of his well-known handwriting, 
 with its delicate characters of elegant and upright slender- 
 ness, sent the spirits on tip-toe with expectation at what 
 was in store. 
 
 At intervals, through a long course of years, it was our 
 good fortune to be the receivers of such letters and notes, 
 a selection from which we place before our readers, that 
 they may guess at our delight when the originals reached 
 us. Inasmuch as many of them are undated, it has been 
 difficult to assign each its particular period ; and there- 
 fore we give them not exactly in chronological order; 
 though as nearly according to the sequence of time in
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 191 
 
 which they were probably ;\Titten and received as may be. 
 The first five belong to the commencement of the ac- 
 quaintance between Leigh Hunt and C. C. C, and to 
 the "Dear Sir" stage of addressing each other; yet are 
 quite in the writer's charming cordiality of tone, and make^ 
 allusion in his own graceful manner to thebasket of fresh 
 flowers, fruit, and vegetables sent weekly from the garden 
 at Enfield : — 
 
 To Mr. C. C. Clarke. 
 
 Surrey Jail, Tuesday, July 13th, 18 13. 
 Dear Sir, — I shall be truly happy to see yourself and 
 your friend to dinner next Thursday, and can answer for the 
 mutton, if not for the " cordials " of which you speak. How- 
 ever, when you and I are together there can be no want, I 
 trust, of cordial hearts, and those are much better. Remem- 
 ber, we dine at three ! Mrs. Hunt begs her respects, but 
 will hear of no introduction, as she has reckoned you an old 
 acquaintance ever since you made your appearance before 
 us by proxy in a basket. — Very sincerely yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 To C. C. C. 
 
 Surrey Jail, January 5th, 1814. 
 
 Dear Sir, — . . . . The last time I saw your friend P., he 
 put into my hands a letter he had received from your father 
 at the time of our going to prison — a letter full of kindness 
 and cordiality. Pray will you give my respects to Mr. Clarke, 
 and tell him that had I been aware of his good wishes towards 
 my brother and myself, I should have been anxious to say so 
 before this ; but I know the differences of opinion that 
 sometimes exist in families, and something like a feeling to 
 that effect kept me silent. I should quarrel with this rogue P. 
 about it if, in the first place, I could aftbrd to quarrel with 
 anybody, and if I did not believe him to be one of the best- 
 natured men in the world. 
 
 Should your father be coming this way, I hope he will do 
 me the pleasure of looking in. I should have sent to your-
 
 192 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 self some weeks ago, or at least before this, to come and see 
 how we enjoy your vegetables, only I was afraid that, like 
 most people at this season of the year, you might be involved 
 in a round of family engagements with aunts, cousins, and 
 second cousins, and all the list at the end of the Prayer-book. 
 As soon as you can snatch a little leisure, pray let us see you. 
 You know our dinner-hour, and can hardly have to learn, at 
 this time of day, how sincerely I am, my dear sir, your friend 
 .and servant, Leigh Hunt. 
 
 To C. C. C, Enfield. 
 
 Surrey Jail, May 17th, 1814. 
 My dear Sir,—. ... I am much obliged to Mr. Holt 
 White for his communication. Your new-laid eggs were 
 exceedingly welcome to me at the time they came, as I had 
 just then begun once more to try an &gg every morning ; but 
 I have been obliged to give it up. Perhaps I shall please 
 you by telling you that I am writing a Mask ' in allusion to 
 the late events. It will go to press, I hope, in the course 
 of next week, and this must be one of my excuses both for 
 having delayed the letter before me, and for now abruptly 
 concluding it. I shall beg the favour of your accepting a 
 copy when it comes out, as I should have done with my last 
 little publication," except for a resolution to which some of my 
 most intimate friends had come for a particular reason, and 
 which induced me to regard you as one of those to whom I 
 could pay the compliment of «f/ sending a copy. This reason 
 is now no longer in force, and therefore you will oblige me 
 by waiting to hear from myself instead of your bookseller. — 
 Yours, my dear sir, most sincerely, Leigh Hunt. 
 
 To C. C. C. 
 
 Surrey Jail, November 2nd, 18 14. 
 
 My dear Sir, — I hope you have not been accusing your 
 
 friends Oilier and Robertson of forgetting you — or, at least, 
 
 thinking so — for all the fault is at my own door. The tiuth 
 
 is, that when I received your request relative to the songs of 
 
 » « The Descent of Liberty." * *' The Feast of the Poets."
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 193 
 
 Mozart, I had resolved to answer it myself, and did not 
 say a word on the subject to either one or the other ; so that 
 I am afraid I have been hindering two good things — your own 
 enjoyment of the songs, and an opportunity on the part of 
 Messrs. O. and R. of showing you that they were readier 
 correspondents than myself. After all, perhaps a little of the 
 fault is attributable to yourself, for how can you expect a man 
 rolling in hebdomadal luxuries —pears, apples, and pig— should 
 think of anything? By the way, now I am speaking of 
 luxuries, let me thank you for your very acceptable present of 
 apples to my brother John. If you had ransacked the garden 
 of the Hesperides, you could not have made him, I am sure, 
 a more welcome one. I believe his notion of the highest point 
 
 of the sensual in eating is an apple, hard, juicy, and fresh 
 
 The printers have got about half through with my Mask. 
 You will be pleased to hear that I have been better for some 
 days than ever I have felt during my imprisonment — and in 
 spite too of rains and east winds. 
 
 To C. C. C, Enfield. 
 
 Vale of Health, Hampstead, 
 Tuesday, Nov. 7th, 181 5. 
 My dear Sir,— You have left a picture for me, I under- 
 stand, at Paddington, where the rogues are savagely with- 
 holding it from me. 1 shall have it, I suppose, in the course 
 of the day, and conjecture it to be some poet's or politician's 
 head that you have picked up in turning over some old 
 engravings. I beg you to laugh very heartily, by the bye, if 
 I am anticipating a present, where there is none. I am 
 apt, from old remembrances, to tall into this extravagance 
 respecting the Enfield quarter, and do it with the less scruple, 
 inasmuch as you are obliging enough to consult my taste in 
 this particular — which is, small gifts from large hearts. I 
 am glad, however, in the piesent instance that I have been 
 made to wait a little, since it enables me, for once, to be 
 beforehand with you, and I can at least send you your long- 
 promised books. The binder, notwithstanding my par- 
 ticular injunctions, and not having seen, I suppose, the colour 
 of the fields lately enough to remember it, has made the 
 
 O
 
 194 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 coveis red instead of green. You must fancy the books are 
 blushing lor having been so long before they came. — Yours 
 most sincerely, LEIGH Hunt. 
 
 The books here referred to were "The Descent of 
 Liberty" and " The Feast of the Poets, with other pieces 
 in verse." The binder to whom I (C. C. C.) subse- 
 quently entrusted the task of putting Leigh Hunt's 
 volume of poems entitled " Foliage" into an appropriately 
 coloured cover of green played me a similar trick to the 
 one above recorded, by sending the book home encased 
 in bright blue ! 
 
 The next letter alludes to John Keats, by the playful 
 appellation that Leigh Hunt gave him of " Junkets," and 
 commences by a pleasanter and more familiar form of 
 address to C. C. C. than the previously used *' Dear 
 Sir :"— 
 
 To C. C. C. 
 
 Maida Hill, Paddington, July ist, 1817. 
 My dear Friend, — .... I saw Mr. Hazlitt here last 
 night, and he apologizes to me, as 1 doubt not he will to you, 
 for having delayed till he cannot send it [the opera-ticket] at 
 all. You shall have it without fail if you send for it to the 
 office on Thursday, though with still greater pleasure if you 
 come and fetch it yourself in the meantime. You shall read 
 " Hero and Leander " with me, and riot also in a translation 
 or two from Theocritus, which are, or ought to be, all that is 
 fine, floral, and fruity, and any other /that you can find to 
 furnish out a finished festivity. But you have not left off 
 your lectures, I trust, on punctuality. Pray do not, for I am 
 very willing to take, and even to profit by them ; and ecce 
 signuin / I answer your letter by return of post. You 
 began this reformation in me ; my friend Shelley followed it 
 up nobly ; and you must know that friendship can do just as 
 much with me as enmity can do little. What has become of 
 Junkets I know not. I suppose Queen Mab has eaten him.
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 195 
 
 ... I came to town last Wednesday, spent Saturday even- 
 ing with Henry Robertson, who has been unwell, and supped 
 yesterday with Novello. Harry tells me that there is news 
 oi the arrival of Havell; and so we are conspiring to get all 
 together again, and have one of our old evenings, joco-serio- 
 musico-pictorio-poetical. — Most sincerely yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 The next three letters bear date in the same year. 
 
 " Ave Maria" and "Salve Regina" were names sportively 
 
 given by Leigh Hunt to Mrs. Vincent Novello and her 
 
 sister, in reference to their being dear to a composer of 
 
 Catholic Motets. " Marlowe" was where Percy Bysshe 
 
 Shelley then resided, and where Leigh Himt and his 
 
 family were then staying on a siunmer visit with his poet 
 
 friend. The jest involved in the repeated recurrence to 
 
 " Booth" is now forgotten : — 
 
 To Vincent Novello, :240, Oxford Street. 
 
 Hampstead, April 9th, 1817. 
 
 My dear Novello, — Pray pardon — in the midst of our 
 hurry — this delay in answering your note. My vanity had 
 already told me that you would not have stayed away on 
 Wednesday for nothing ; but 1 was sorry to find the cause 
 was so painful a one. I believe you take exercise ; but are 
 you sure that you always take enough, and stout enough .? 
 All arts that involve sedentary enjoyment are great affecters 
 of the stomach and causers of indigestion ; and I have a 
 right to hint a little advice on the occasion, having been a 
 great sufferer as well as sinner on the score myself. If you 
 do not need it, you must pardon my impertinence. We set 
 off at eleven to-morrow morning, and are in all the chaos of 
 packed trunks, lumber, Utter, dust, dirty dry fingers, &c. 
 But Booth is still true to the fair, so my service to them, 
 both Ave Maria and Salve Regina. The ladies join with me 
 in these devoirs, and so does Mr Keats, as in poetry bound. 
 Ever my dear Novello most heartily yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt, 
 
 P.S. — I will write to you from the country. 
 
 o 2
 
 196 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 To Vincent Novello. 
 
 Marlowe, April 17th, 18 17. 
 My dear Novello,— One oi Mr. Shelley's great objects 
 is to have a pianoforte as quickly as possible, so that though 
 he cannot alter his ultimatum with regard to a grand one, 
 he wishes me to say that, if Mr. Kirkman has no objection, 
 he will give him the security requested, and of the same date 
 of years, for a cabinet piano from fifty to seventy guineas. 
 Of course he would like to have it as good as possible, and 
 under your auspices. Will you put this to the builder of 
 harmonies? I have been delighted to see in the Chronicle 
 an advertisement of Birchall's, announcing editions of all 
 Mozart's works ; and shall take an early opportunity of 
 expressing it and extending the notice. I would have 
 Mozart as common in good libraries^ as Shakespeare and 
 Spenser, and prints trom Raphael. Most of us here envy 
 you the power of seeing " Don Giovanni ; " yet we still 
 muster up virtue enough to wish you all well, and to send 
 our best remembrances in return to Ave and Salve, to whom 
 I am as good a Boothite as 1 can be, considering that I am 
 also very truly yours, LEIGH HUNT. 
 
 To Vincent Novello, 240, Oxford Street. 
 
 Albion House, Marlowe, Bucks, 
 
 June 24th, 18 17. 
 My dear Novello, — You must not think ill of me for 
 having omitted to write to you before, except, indeed, as far 
 as concerned an old bad habit of delay in these matters, 
 which all my friends have reproved in turn, and which all 
 help to spoil me by excusing. I begged Mr. Clarke to let 
 you know how much we liked the piano here ; but when you 
 wrote about poor Wesley, I happened myself to be suffering 
 under a pretty strong fever, which lasted me from one Friday 
 to the next, and from which I did not quickly recover. I 
 have since got well again, however, and yet I have not 
 written ; nay, I am going to make an excuse out of my very 
 
 3 [Thanks to Vincent Novello, this is now the case. C.C. C, 
 1875.]
 
 LEIGH H UNT AND HIS LE TTERS. 1 9 7 
 
 impudence (I hope the ladies are present), and plainly tell 
 you, that the worse my reason is for writing at last, the better 
 you will be pleased with it, for we are coming home to- 
 morrow. If that will not do, I have another piece of pre- 
 sumption, which I shall double my thrust with, and fairly 
 run you through the heart; and this is, that we are coming 
 to live near you, towards the end of the new road, 
 Paddington. 
 
 I am sorry I can tell you nothing about the music of this 
 place, except as far as the birds make it. I say the music, 
 because it seems there are a party of the inhabitants who are 
 fond of it. At least, 1 was invited the other day in a very 
 worshipful manner to one, and regret I was not able to go, 
 as I fear it might have been misconstrued into pride. There 
 are other things, however, which you are fond of — beautiful 
 walks, uplands, valleys, wood, water, steeples issuing out of 
 clumps of trees, most luxuriant hedges, meads, c(irn fields, 
 brooks, nooks, and pretty looks. (Here a giggle, and a shake 
 of the head from the ladies. Ave and Salve, be quiet.) 
 The other day a party of us dined in a boat under the hang- 
 ing woods of Clcveden — mentioned, you know, by Pope : — 
 
 Cleveden's proud alcove 
 
 The bower of wan' on Shrewsbury and Love. 
 
 (Giggle and shake) and a day or two before we spent a most 
 beautiful day, dining, talking, wining, spruce-beering, and 
 walking, in and about Medmenham Abbey, where strangers 
 are allowed to take this liberty in memory of a set Oj. "lay 
 friars" who are said to have taken miny more, — I mean 
 Wilkes and his club, who feasted and slept here occasionally, 
 performing profane ceremonies, and others perhaps which 
 the monks would have held to bo not quite so. (Giggle and 
 shake.) — If these people were the gross libertines they were 
 said to be, the cause of kindly virtue was indeed in bad 
 hands, — hands but just better than the damnatory and selfish 
 ones to which the world has usually committed it ; — but 
 there is little reason to doubt thac the stories of them (such 
 as the supposed account for instance in " Crysal, or the
 
 198 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 Adventures of a Guinea ") have been much exaggerated. If 
 men of the most heartfelt principle do not escape, although 
 they contradict in theory only the vile customs of the world, 
 what can be expected from more libertine departers from 
 them ?— It is curious that the people at Medmenham itself 
 do not seem to think so ill of the club as others. To be sure, 
 it is not easy to say how far sonx^ family feelings may not 
 be concerned in the matter ; but so it is ; and together with 
 their charity, they have a great deal of health and beauty. 
 It was said with equal naivete and shrewdness, the other 
 day, by a very excellent person that " faith and charity are 
 incompatible," and so the {illegible, torn by seal^ seem re- 
 solved to maintain ; but hope and charity are excellent com- 
 panions, and seem [illegible] of St. Paul's reading, I would 
 have the three Graces completed thus, — Charity, Hope, and 
 Nature. I have done nothing to my proposed Play here : — 
 I do not know how it is ; but I love things essentially 
 dramatic, and yet I feel less inclination for dramatic writing 
 than any other, — I mean my own, of course. Considering 
 also what the taste of the day has been, — what it is to run 
 the gauntlet through managers, actors, and singers, — and 
 what a hobgoblin I have been in my time to the playwrights 
 themselves, I cannot help modestly repeating to myself some 
 lines out of your favourite Address of Beaumont to Fletcher 
 about the Faithful Shepherdess, — upon which, by the bye, I 
 am writing this letter, seated on a turfy mound in ni)- friend's 
 garden, a little place with a rustic seat in it, shrouded and 
 covered with trees, with a delightful field of sheep on one 
 side, a white cottage among the leaves in a set of fields on 
 the other, and the haymakers mowing and singing in the 
 fields behind me. On the side towards the lawn and house, 
 it is as completely shut in, as Chaucer's "pretty parlour" in 
 the ■' Flower and the Leafe." — Mrs. Hunt in the meantime is 
 revenging the cause of all uninspired fiddlers, — namely, 
 scraping Apollo. Pray let the ladies remain out of the secret 
 of this as long as the suspense shall give them any pleasure ; 
 and then tell them that the said Apollo, whatever they may 
 think or even hope to the contrary, is no gentleman, but a 
 plaster statue, which Marianne is puttnig into a proper con-
 
 LEIGH HUN J AND HIS LETTERS. 199 
 
 dition for Mr. Shelley's library. A Venus is already scraped, 
 to my infinite relief, who sympathized extremely with her 
 ribs, — a sentiment which the ladies nevertheless are not 
 very quick to show towards theirs. I beg pardon of Ave, — 
 I mean are very,— "nevertheless " being a shocking and 
 involuntary intrusion, suggested by my unjustifiable forget- 
 fulness oi Mr. Booth. 
 
 I will let you know where I am when I return. If I have 
 written no play, I have not been idle with other verses, and 
 am in all things the same as I was when I left town, so that 
 I need not say I am sincerely yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 The following letter has no date \ but its postscript 
 explanation of the verse-signatures in the " Literary 
 Pocket-Book" shows it to have been written in 1819, which 
 was the first year in which that publication appeared. It 
 begins without set form of address, plunging at once, in 
 sportive tashion, into a whimsically-worded yet most 
 kindly rebuke to C. C. C. for having been impatient at 
 his friend's delay in answering a communication. The 
 reference to the actor Fawcett and his grating laugh 
 comes in with as pleasant an effect as the reference to 
 John Keats's loss ol his brother Tom strikes with pain- 
 fully vivid impression after this long lapse of years : — 
 
 To C. C. C, [No date.] 
 
 And so Charles Clarke is very angry with me for not 
 sooner answering his two letters, and talks to my iriends 
 about my "regal scorn." Well, — I have been guilty cer- 
 tainly of not sooner answering said two ; — I have not 
 answered them, even though they pleased me infinitely : — 
 Charles Clarke also sent me some verses, the goodness of 
 which (if he will not be very angry) even surprised me, yet I 
 answered not : — he sent me them again, yet I answered 
 not :— undoubtedly I have been extremely unresponsive ; I 
 have seemed to neglect him, — I have been silent, dilators,
 
 200 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 unepistolary, strange, distant ( miles), and (if the 
 
 phrase " regal scorn " be true) without an excuse. 
 
 C. C. C. (meditative, but quick) — Ho, not without an ex- 
 cuse, I dare say. Come, come, I ought to have thought of 
 that, before I used the words " regal scorn." I did not 
 mean them in fact, and therefore I thought they would touch 
 him. Bless my soul, I ought to have thought of an excuse 
 for him, now I think of it ; — let me see ; — he must have been 
 very busy ; — yes, yes, he was very busy, depend upon it : — I 
 should not v/onder if he had some particular reason for being 
 busy just now ; — I warrant you he has been writing like the 
 Devil ; — I'll stake my life on't, — he has almost set his ting- 
 ling head asleep like my foot, with writing ; — and then too, 
 you may be certain he reproached himself every day never- 
 theless with not writing to me ;— I'll be bound to say that he 
 said : I will write to Charles Clarke to-day, and I will not 
 forget to give, another notice to him in tlie Examiner (for he 
 did give one), and above all, he will see his verses there, and 
 then he will guess all ; — then one day he is busy till it is too' 
 late to write by the post, and in some cursed hurry he forgets 
 me on Saturday, and then — and what then ? Am I not one 
 of his real friends .'' Have I not a 7-ight to be forgotten or 
 rather unwritten to by him, for weeks, if by turning his looks, 
 not his heart, av/ay from me, he can snatch repose upon the 
 confidence of my good opinion of him ? I think 1 see him 
 asking me this ; and curse me (I beg your pardon, Miss 
 Jones), but confound me, I should say — no, I should not 
 say, — but the deuce take — in short, here's the beginning of 
 his letter, and so there's an end of my vagaries. 
 
 My dear friend, you are right. I luxve been very busy, — 
 so busy both summer and winter, that summer has scarcely 
 been any to me ; and my head at times has almost grown 
 benumbed over my writing. I have been intending eveiy- 
 thing and anything, except loyal anti-constitutionalism and 
 Christian want of charity. I have written prose, I have 
 written poetry, I have written levities and gravities, I have 
 written two acts of a Tragedy, and {oil Diva pecunia) I have 
 written a Pocket-Book ! Let my Morocco blushes speak for 
 
 e ; for with this packet comes a copy. When you read my
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 201 
 
 Calendar of Nature, you will /^^/ that I did ijc forget you ; 
 for you are one of those in whose company I always seem to 
 be writing these things. Had your poetry arrived soon 
 enough, I should have said " Oh, ho ! "' and clapped it among 
 my Pocket-Book prisoners. As it is, it must go at large in 
 the Examiner, where it will accordingly be found in a week 
 or two. And here let me say, that bad as I have been, I 
 begged Mr. Holmes to explain why I had not written ; so 
 that if he has been a negligent epistolian as well as myself, 
 why — there are two good fellows who have done as they 
 ought not to have done, and there is no epistle in us. (Here 
 Charles Clarke gives a laugh, which socially speaking is very 
 musical ; but abstractedly, resembles fifty Fawcetts, or ten 
 rusty iron gates scraping along gravel.) You must know 
 that you must keep my tragic drama a secret, unless you 
 have one female ear into which you can own for me the rough 
 impeachment. (Here ten gates.) It is on the same subject 
 as the " Cid " of Corneille ; and I mean it to be ready by the 
 middle of January for the so theatre; if you will get your 
 hands in training meantime, I trust, God willing, the ground- 
 lings will have their ears split. If not, I shall make up my 
 mind, like a damned vain fellow, that they are too large and 
 tough ; and so with this new pun in your throat, go you 
 along with me in as many things as you did before, my dear 
 friend, for I am ever the same, most truly yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt, 
 P.S — The verses marked <I> in the Pocket-Book are mine, 
 A Mr. Shelley's, P.R. a Mr. Procter's, and 1. Keats's, who has 
 just lost his brother Tom after a most exemplary attendance 
 on him. The close of such lingering illness, however, can 
 hardly be lamented. Mr. Richards, who has just dropped in 
 upon me, begs to be remembered to you. 
 
 The following letter alludes to a project for a work 
 which was to be published by Power, was to be entitled 
 *' Musical Evenings," and was to consist of poetry, 
 original or selected, by Leigh Hunt, adapted to melodies, 
 original or selected, by Vincent Novello. The work,
 
 202 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 most tasteful in conception and most tastefully carried 
 out by the poet and musician in concert (so far as it pro- 
 ceeded towards execution), was ultimately given up, as 
 being much too far in advance of the then existing public 
 taste for music, and from the conviction that not enough 
 copies would be sold to make the enterprise profitable to 
 either publisher, poet, or musician : — 
 
 To V. N. 
 
 13, Mortimer Terrace, Kentish Town, 
 Feb. 15th, 1820. 
 
 My dear Novello,— Unless you should avail yourself of 
 the holiday to-morrow to transact any unprofessional business 
 elsewhere, will you oblige me by coming and taking your 
 chop or your tea here to-morrow, to talk over a proposal 
 which Power has made me, and which I think you will con- 
 sider a good one? The truth is, I want you, if you have no 
 objection, to negotiate the money part of the business between 
 him and me ; as I have no face in these matters but a 
 mediating one, like your own. I will chop at half-past three. 
 At all events, in case you go to Hampstead, and can come 
 after your schooling. Hampstead is now in my eye, hill, trees, 
 church and all, from the slopes near Caen wood to my right, 
 and Primrose and Haverstock Hills with Steele's cottage tomy 
 left. I trust I shall have an early opportunity of introducing 
 Mrs. Novello to Pan — both in his frying and sylvan character. 
 When I add that we have been in great confusion (it is not 
 ^reat now), I do it to bar all objections from you on that score, 
 and to say that I expect you the more confidently on that very 
 account, if you can come at all. The house is most conve- 
 nient and cheerful, and considered by us as quite a bargain. 
 
 P.S. — Power is half prepared to welcome you, if you have 
 no objection. He speaks of ji^z^r power (I must call him 
 fondly my Power) in the highest terms ; but this, I suppose, 
 is no new thing to your lyrical ears. 
 
 If you can come early, we will make a whole holiday, which 
 will be a great refreshment to me^
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 203 
 
 The " original " manuscript copy of Leigh Hunt's 
 translation of Tasso's " Amyntas," alluded to in the next 
 letter, Vincent Novello caused to be bound in green and 
 gold, together with the printed presentation copy of the 
 first edition ; and the volume is still in excellent preserva- 
 tion. On the title-page is written in Leigh Hunt's hand, 
 " To Vincent Novello, from his affectionate friend the 
 translator;" and inside the cover is written in Vincent 
 Novello's hand, beneath his own name and address, 
 " I prize this volume, which was so kindly presented 
 to me by my dear friend Leigh Hunt, as one of the 
 most valuable books in my library ; and I particularly 
 request that it may be carefully preserved as an heir- 
 loom in my family when I am no more. — V. N." 
 The " sorrows" to which Leigh Hunt sympathizingly 
 refers were those of losing a beautiful boy of four years 
 old, Sydney Vincent Novello : — 
 
 To V. N. (8, Percy Street.) 
 
 Kentish Town, Wednesday, 
 July, 1820. 
 My dear Novello, — In addition to the " Morgante," I 
 send you the first volume of " Montaigne," which I have 
 marked (so that I shall be in a manner in your company if 
 you read any of it), and also the promised copy of " Amyntas," 
 with the original to compare it with in any passage, as you 
 seem to like those awful confrontings. Pray get an " Ariosto," 
 if you have time. I am sure his natural touches and lively 
 variety will delight you. The edition I spoke of is Boschini's, 
 a little duodecimo or eighteens, printed by Schuize and 
 Dean, Poland Street, where I believe it is to be bought. But 
 you could get it at any foreign bookseller's. Be good enough 
 to leave the Cenci MS. out for me with the Gliddons. I 
 should not care about it, but the Gisbornes are about to 
 return to Italy, and I am not sure whether they have given 
 or lent it me. God bless you. You know how I lespect
 
 204 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 sorrow : — you know also how I respect the wisdom and kind- 
 ness that try to be cheerful again. I need not add how much 
 the feelings of you and Mrs. Novello (to whom give our 
 kindest good wishes in case we do not see you to-morrow) 
 are respected, and sympathized with, by your ever affectio- 
 nate friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt, 
 P. S. — Do not trouble yourself to answer this note. Go 
 out instead and buy the " Ariosto." It is the pleasantest little 
 pocket-rogue in the world. The translation of " Montaigne" 
 is an excellent one, by Cotton the poet, old Izaak Walton's 
 friend. 
 
 The next letter is superscribed after the pleasant 
 fashion that Leigh Hunt occasionally adopted, in direct- 
 ing his letters to his friends, of putting some gay jest 
 outside, as if he must add a last word or two in sending 
 off a communication with those he loved, and as if he 
 could not bear to conclude his chat or take leave of 
 them : — 
 
 To C. C. C 
 
 Bellevue House, Ramsgate. 
 By favour of Mrs. Gliddon — post unpaid. 
 
 Percy Street, August 31st, 182 1. 
 
 My dear -u^zi^—'zrz 
 
 Si si si 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Novello tell me that you will be gratified at 
 having a word from me, however short What word shall I 
 send you, equally short and sweet ? I believe I must refer 
 you to the postwoman ; for the ladies understand these 
 beatic brevities best. However, if I cannot prevail on myself 
 to send you a mere word or a short one, I will send you a 
 true one, which is, that in spite of all my non-epistolary 
 offences — -(come, it is a short one too, after all) — I am, my 
 dear Clarke, very truly and \\ea.vi\\y yojirs, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 P.S. — Novello and I are just putting the finishing touch to
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 205 
 
 our first Musical Evening, which I hope Power will put it 
 into 7ny ditto to send you a copy of. 
 
 It is difficult to ascertain the period when the follow- 
 ing note was written, but it appears to belong to an 
 early one : — 
 
 To C. C. C. 
 
 [No date.'J 
 My dear Friend, — . ... I send you on the opposite 
 side some verses which my Summer Party sing on the grass 
 after dinner. I forgot, by-the-bye, to tell you yesterday a 
 piece of news which has flattered me much — that Stothard 
 told an acquaintance of mine the other day he had been 
 painting a subject from " Rimini :" — 
 
 To the Spirit great and good, 
 Felt, although not understood, — 
 By whose breath, and in whose eyes, 
 The green earth rolls in the blue skies,— 
 Who we know, from things that bless, 
 Must delight in loveliness ; 
 And who, therefore, we believe. 
 Means us well in things that grieve,— 
 
 Gratitude ! Gratitude ! 
 Heav'n be p'-aised as heavenly should, 
 Not with slavery, or with fears, 
 But with a face as towards a friend, and with thin sparkling 
 
 [tears. 
 The next five letters were written while Leigh Hunt 
 and his family were on their way to Italy. The allusion 
 to " Fanchon" refers to an arrangement of Himmel's so- 
 named opera, which Vincent Novello had brought out 
 in four books of Pianoforte duets. 
 
 " Wilful Woman" was an affectionate nickname of 
 Leigh Hunt's for Mrs. Vincent Novello, in recognition 
 of her having a decided " will " in matters right and good. 
 A woman less " wilful" in the unreasonable sense of the
 
 2o6 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 term, or more full of will in the noblest sense of the term, 
 could not be cited than herself: — 
 
 To V. N. [_m pencil.'] 
 
 2, High Street, Ramsgate, 
 
 Monday, December 3rd, 1821. 
 
 My dear Novello,— Here we are in absolute quiet, with 
 a real flat place to sit upon, and several foot square of par- 
 lour to walk about when one pleases : in short, in lodgings — 
 the rudder ot the vessel having been so broken that she 
 cannot set sail, fair wind or foul, till Wednesday evening. 
 
 We now, with a rascally selfishness, wish that the wind 
 may not change for a whole week, though the 200 sail in the 
 harbours should be groaning every timber ; for though we 
 were much alarmed at first in moving my wife, she already 
 seems wonderfully refreshed by this little taste of shore ; and 
 at all events while we do remain at Ramsgate, I am sure it is 
 much better for both of us that we should be here. Only 
 think ! we shall have a quiet bed at night, and even air! If 
 we were moving on at sea, it would be another matter ; but I 
 confess the idea of lying and lingering in that manner in a 
 muddy harbour was to me, in my state of health, like rotting 
 alive. 
 
 When I say, we can go on Wednesday, I do not mean that 
 we shall do so, or that I think we shall ; for the wind is still 
 in the west, and I suspect after all these winds, we shall have 
 a good mass of rain to fall, of which diey are generally the 
 avant-couriers. What say you then .^ Will you come and 
 beatify us again.?- And will Mrs. Novello come with you? 
 W^hy not give the baby a dip in a warm bath, if they must be 
 still one and indivisible. I think we can get you a bed in the 
 house ; if not, there are plenty in the neighbourhood. Pray 
 remember me cordially to the Gliddons, and tell the fair one 
 that her sugar-plums have been a shower of aids and assist- 
 ance to us with the children. I shall see if I can't send her 
 something as sweet from Italy. In the meantime I send her 
 and Mrs. Novello, and all of you, the best salutations you 
 can couple with the idea of 
 
 L. H.
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 207 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. Novello, and Mr. and Mrs. G. 
 (Percy Street.) 
 
 Dartmouth, December 24th, 1821. 
 Dear Friends, — Here we are again in England, after 
 beating twice up and down the Channel, and getting as far 
 as the Atlantic. What we have suffered I will leave you to 
 imagine, till you see my account of the voyage ; but we were 
 never more inclined to think that " All's well that ends well,'' 
 and what we hoped we still hope, and are still prepared to 
 venture for. We arrived on Saturday, which was no post- 
 day. Next day I wrote to my brother and Miss Kent, and 
 begged the latter to send you news of our safety ; for I was 
 still exhausted with the fatigue and anxiety, and I knew well 
 that you would willingly wait another day for my handwriting 
 when you were sure of our welfare. I had hoped that this 
 letter would reach you in the middle of what / would reach 
 in vain — your Christmas festivities ; so that a bit of my soul 
 if not of my body, of my handwriting if not my grasping 
 hand, might come in at your parlour door and seem to join 
 you as my representative ; but a horrid matter-of-fact woman 
 at the Castle Inn here, who proclaims the most unwelcome 
 things in a voice hideously clear and indisputable, says that 
 a post takes two nights and a day. I hope, however, to hear 
 from you, and to write again, for the vessel has been strained 
 by the bad weather, and must be repaired a little, and the 
 captain vows he will not go to sea again till the wind is 
 exquisitely fair. Above all, Dartmouth is his native place, 
 and who shall say to him, " Get up from your old friends and 
 fireside, and quench yourself in a sea fog.'"' Not I, by St. 
 Vincent and St. Sabilla, and King Arthur and Queen Anas- 
 tasia. I am sorry to say that the alarms which it is impos- 
 sible not to help feeling on such occasions have done no good 
 to Mrs. Hunt's malady, though when she was in repose the 
 sea air was evidently beneficial. For my part, I confess I 
 was as rank a coward many times as a father and husband 
 who has seven of the best reasons for cowardice can be ; but 
 Hope and Mutuality you know are my mottoes. And so, 
 with all sorts of blessings upon your heads, farewell, dear 
 friends, till we hear from each other again. — Stop ! Here is
 
 2o8 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 a Christmas Carol in which perhaps some of yon will pay ma 
 a visit — Mistletoe and Holly ! Mistletoe and Holly ! 
 
 L. H. 
 Remember me to the Lambs, to Mr. Clarke, to the Robert- 
 sons, etc. 
 
 To V. N. 
 
 Stonehouse, near Plymouth, Feb. nth, 1822. 
 Oh Novello ! what a disappointing, wearisome, vexatious, 
 billowy, up-and-downy, unbearable, beautiful world it is ! I 
 cannot tell you all I have gone through since I wrote to you ; 
 but I believe, after all, that all has been for the best, bad as 
 it is. The first stoppage, unavoidable as it was, almost put 
 me beside myself. Those sunshiny days and moonlight 
 nights ! And the idea of running merrily to Gibraltar ! I 
 used to shake in my bed at night with bilious impatience, 
 and feel ready to rise up and cry out. But knowing what I 
 since know, I have not only reason to believe that my wife 
 would have suffered almost as terribly afterwards as she did 
 at the time, but I am even hapjjy that we underwent the 
 second stoppage at this place, — at least as happy as a man 
 can be whose very relief arises from the illness oi one dear to 
 him. Marianne fell so ill the day on which the new vessel 
 we had engaged sailed from Plymouth, that she was obliged 
 to lose forty-six ounces of blood in twenty-four hours, to 
 prevent inflammatory fever on the lungs. With the exception 
 of a few hours she has been in bed ever since, sometimes 
 improving, sometimes relapsing and obliged to lose more 
 blood, but always so weak and so ailing that, especially 
 during the return of these obstinate S.W. winds, I have con- 
 gratulated myself almost every hour that circumstances con- 
 spired with my fears for her to hinder us from proceeding. 
 Indeed I should never have thought ot doing so after her 
 Dartmouth illness, had she not, as she now confesses, in her 
 eagerness not to be the means of detaining me again, mis- 
 represented to me her power of bearing the voyage. I shall 
 now set myself down contentedly till spring, when we shall 
 have shorter nights, and she will be able to be upon deck in the 
 daytime. She will then receive benefit from the sea, as she
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 209 
 
 ought to do, instead of being shaken by it ; and as to gun- 
 powder ! be sure I shall always make inquiries enougli about 
 that. She starts sometimes to this hour in tlie middle of the 
 night, with the horror or it, out of her sleep. It gave a sort 
 of horrible sting to my feet sometimes as I walked the deck, 
 and fancied we might all be sent shattered up in the air in the 
 twinkling of an eye ; but I seldom thought of this danger, and 
 do not believe there was any to be seriously alarmed at, though 
 the precautions and penalties connected with the carriage of 
 such an article were undoubtedly sufficient to startle a fresh- 
 water imagination, to say nothing of that of a sick mother 
 with six children. The worst feeling it gave me was when it 
 came over me down in the cabin while we were comparati^eJy 
 comfortable, — especially when little baby was pla.\ing his 
 innocent tricks. I used to ask myself what right I had to 
 bring so much innocent flesh and blood into such an atrocious 
 possibility of danger. But what used chiefly to rouse my 
 horrors was the actual danger of shipwreck during the gales ; 
 and of these, as you may guess from my being imaginative, 
 I had my full share. Oh the feelings with which I have gone 
 out from the cabin to get news, and have stood at the top of 
 that little staircase do-an which you all came to bid me good- 
 bye ! How I have thought of you in your safe, warm rooms, 
 now merrily laughing, now " stopping the career of laughter 
 with a sigh'" to wonder how the " sailors " might be going on! 
 My worst sensation of all was the impossibility I felt of 
 dividing myselt into seven different persons in case anything 
 happened to my wife and children. But as the voyage is not 
 yet over^remember, however, that the worst part, the winter 
 part, is over. You shall have an account of that as well as 
 the rest when I get to Italy ane write it for the new work. 
 Remember in the meantime what I tell you, and that we 
 mean to be very safe, very cowardly, and vernal all the rest 
 of the way. It was a little hard upon me, — was it not? that 
 I could not have the [qu ? reward — illegible] of finishing the 
 voyage boldly at once, especially as it was such fine weather 
 when they set off again, and I can go through any danger as 
 stubbornly as most persons, provided you allow me a pale 
 face and a considerable quantity of internal poltroonery: — 
 
 P
 
 2IO RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 but my old reconciling philosophy, such as it is, has not 
 forsaken me ; and well it may remain, for God only knows 
 what I should have done, had my wife been seized with this 
 illness during the late return of the winds. I am very uneasy 
 about her at all times : but in that case, considering too 
 I might have avoided bringing her into such a situation, 
 I should have been almost out of my wits. The vessel in 
 which we intended to resume our journey (besides being 
 more ornamental than solid, and never yet tried by a winter 
 passage, except three days of one, which shattered it grievously) 
 must have had a bad time of it : and it is the opinion of 
 everybody here, both doctors and seamen, that her life was 
 not to be answered for had we encountered such weather. 
 So I look at her in her snug, unmoving bed, and hope and 
 trust she is getting strength enough from repose to renew 
 her journey in the spring. We set off in April. — As to myself, 
 my health is not at its best, but it is not at its worst. I 
 manage to write a little, though the weather has been against 
 me. I read more, and sometimes go to the Plymouth public 
 library, where a gentleman has got me admission, and receive 
 infinite homage from Examinerions in these parts, who have 
 found me out. They want me to meet a "hundred admirers"' 
 at a public dinner : but this, you know, is not to my taste. 
 I tell them I prefer a cup of tea with one of them now and 
 then in private, and so they take me at my word, and I find 
 them such readers as I like, — good-natured, cordial men, 
 with a smack of literature. — I saw the announcement of the 
 4th part ol your " Fanchon " in the London Mas^asine. You 
 cannot imagine how the look of your name delighted me. 
 You must know I had a design upon you for our jtew lialian 
 work when I bore away your " Fanchon." So, say nothing 
 about it (I mean to myself), but wait for an increase of your 
 ].nu-el from a hand you love. I think it will come with a 
 good and profitable effect from such a quarter. — Tell Mrs. 
 Gliddon, albeit she retains a piece of them, that I have found 
 the cheeks which she and her sister left in Devonshire. 
 There is a profusion of such, — faces that look built up of 
 cream and roses, and as good-natured as health can make 
 them. In looking for lodgings I lit also upon a namesake of
 
 LEIGH HUN2 AND HIS LETTERS. 211 
 
 hers, no relation, who spelt her name with a Y. I suppoi;e a 
 hundred and fitcieth cousin. She was a pleasant, chattering 
 old woman with a young spirit, who, not being able to accom- 
 modate us herself, recommended her neighbours all round, 
 and told me millions of things in a breath. — Dear Novello, I 
 cannot tell you how I feel the kindness of my friends, — kind- 
 ness, of which I know that you and Mrs. Novello, together 
 with Bessie Kent, have been the souls. God bless you all. 
 I will say more to you all from Italy. You will see my hand 
 in the Examine?- again in a week or two (about the time I 
 could have written on the subject from abroad) with a few 
 touches for Southey and the Quarterly. — It delights me to 
 see the intimacy there is between you and Miss K. ; she 
 speaks in the most affectionate terms ot you and your wife, 
 and receives all the solace from your intercourse which I 
 expected. Take a dozen hearty shakes ol the hand from me, 
 dear Novello, and give (you see how much I can ask of you) 
 as many kisses of the same description to Mrs. Novello, 
 unless " dear Mr. Arthur " is present and will do it for us. 
 Convey also as many kisses to Mrs. Gliddon as the said dear 
 Mr. Arthur could have given my wife had she been at youi 
 Christmas festivities, taking care (as in the iormer instance) 
 that they be in high taste and most long and loud. — And so, 
 Heaven bless you all and make us to send many good wishes 
 to and from Italy to each other till we meet again face to 
 face. — Your affectionate friend, Leigh Hunt. 
 
 P.S. — I can tell you nothing of the Plymouth neighbour- 
 hood, being generally occupied with my wife's bedside ; but 
 the town is a nice clean one ; and after being at Dartmouth 
 I felt all the price oi Mirabeau's gratitude, who when he came 
 into England, and saw streets paved, fell on his knees and 
 thanked God there was a country in the world where some 
 regard was had for foot-passengers. Dartmouth is a kind of 
 sublime Wapping, being a set 01 narrow muddy streets in a 
 picturesque situation on the side of a hill. The people too, 
 poor creatures, are as dirty there as can be, having lost all 
 their trade ; whereas at Plymouth they are all fat and flourish- 
 ing. — Stonehouse is a kind of separate suburb to Plymouth 
 
 P 2
 
 212 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 on the seashore. — My wife's kmdest remembrances. — And 
 niine to all rememberers. 
 
 To M. S. N. Percy Street. 
 
 March 2nd, 1822. 
 
 Dear Mary Novello,— Your letter was a very great 
 pleasure to us indeed, though it made us very impatient to 
 be in the midst of our friends. We are like Alahomet's coffin 
 at present, suspended between our two attractions ; but the 
 ship will carry us off in April, and turn us again into living 
 creatures. No : it is you and Novello who must revive us 
 meanwhile. Do you know, I was going to ask you to come 
 down hei^e, and see us once m.ore before we go ; but I was 
 afraid you would think there was no end of my presuming 
 upon your regards. Guess, however, what pleasure your own 
 intimation gave us. You must fulfil it, now you have given 
 it. No excuse — no sort of excuse. Novello must tear him- 
 self from all the boarding-school ladies, let them lay hold of 
 the flaps of his coat never so Potipharically. There are, as 
 you say, stages, waggons, carts, trucks, wheelbarrows, &c. : 
 — there are also kind hearts in stout bodies : and finally, our 
 direction is, Mrs. L'Amoureux, Devil's Poitit, Stonehouse, 
 Plymouth, Devonshire. 
 
 You see the way we are in, in this Devon of a county. 
 Then there are the Devonshire creams, too good ; Mount 
 Edgecombe here close at our elbow looking like a Hampstead 
 in the sea ; boats and smooth harbours to sail about in ; the 
 finest air in England, with a little bit of the South of Europe 
 in it ; all sorts of naval curiosities ; sunshine every day, and 
 moonlight too, just now, every night ; and finally, dear friends, 
 who want the society of dear friends to strengthen them 
 through their cares and delays. I must not forget, that the 
 road between London and Plymouth is said to be excellent, 
 and that there is a safety-coach just set up, which boasts 
 itself to be worthy of the road. So we shall expect yoti in 
 the course of the week, — mind that I shall expect a letter too, 
 to arrive just before you. You must send it oft" on Monday 
 evening, and tollow it with all your miglit and muscles. At 
 least Novello must do so. I forgot, that lac^aes have no
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 213 
 
 niu!;cles. They have only eyes and h'mbs. You must not 
 talk of your music, till Novello is here to inspii-e a pianoforte 
 which I have just hired for a month. It is the only pleasure 
 to which I have treated myself, and without him I find it but 
 a pain. There is a regiment stationed here, who have a band 
 that plays morning and evening. It plays Mozart too, and 
 pretty well, only I longed to jog their elbows the other day, 
 when they came to the 2nd part of" Batti, batti." However, 
 It was so beautiful, that I could not stand it out ; it reminded 
 me of so many pleasures, that between you and me and two 
 or three others, the tears came into my eyes, and I was 
 obliged to go out of the place to hide them. . , . 
 
 Your truly atVcctionate friend, 
 
 L. H. 
 
 Stonehouse, near Plymouth, March 26th, 1822. 
 Dear Mary Novello, — Your last letter was a great dis- 
 appointment to me, but I have been so accustomed to dis- 
 appointments of late, that I looked out for the pleasant points 
 it contained to console me, and for these I am very thankful. 
 I should have written before, but I have been both ill and 
 rakish, which is a very bad way of making oneself better, at 
 least anywhere but in old places with old iriends, and there 
 it does not always do. Remember me affectionately to the 
 Lambs. There are no Lambs here, nor Martin Burneys 
 neither; "though by your smiling you don't seem to think 
 so." Smile as you may, I find I cannot comfortably give up 
 anybody whom I ha^e been accustomed to associate with the 
 idea of friends in London ; and besides, there are some men, 
 like Collins's music, " by distance made more sweet ;" which 
 is a sentiment I beg you will not turn to ill account. How 
 cheerful I find myself getting, when fancying myself in Percy 
 Street ! I hope Mr. Clarke will find himself quite healthy 
 again in Somersetshire. He ought to be so, considering the 
 prudence, and the good nature, and the stout legs, and the 
 pleasant little bookeries which he carries about with him; but 
 then he must renounce those devils and all their works, the 
 cheesemonger and pieman. Perhaps he has ; but his com- 
 plexion is like mine, and I remember what a world of back-
 
 214 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 sliding and nightmare I went through before I could deliver 
 myself from the crumbling ?/;/-crumblingness of Cheshire 
 cheese, and that profound attraction, the under-crust of a veal 
 or mutton pie. . . . 
 
 It is kind of you to tell me of the gratification which Mr. 
 Holmes says I have been the means of giving him. Tell him 
 I hope to give him more with my crotchets before I die, and 
 receive as much from his crotchets. How much pleasure 
 have you all given me ! And this reminds me that I must 
 talk a little to NovelJo ; so no more at present, dear black- 
 headed, good-hearted, wilful woman, from yours most 
 sincerely, L. H. 
 
 The next two letters explain themselves : — 
 
 To V. N. and M. S. N. 
 
 Genoa, June 17th, 1822. 
 Amici veri e costanti,— Miss Kent will have told you 
 the reason why I did not write on Saturday. The boatman 
 was waiting to snatch the letters out of my hand ; and besides 
 hers, I was compelled to write three — one to my brother John, 
 one to Mr. Shelley, and another to Lord B. — Neither can I 
 undertake to write you a long letter at present, and I must 
 communicate with my other friends by driblets, one after the 
 other ; for my head is yet very tender, though I promise to 
 get more health, and you know I have a great deal of writing 
 to think about and to do. Be good enough therefore to show 
 this letter to the Gliddons, the Lambs, Mr. Coulson, and Mr. 
 Hogg, whom I also request to show you theirs, or such parts, 
 of them as contain news of Italy and nothing private. Need 
 I add, that of whatever length my letters may be, my heart is 
 still the same towards you ? I wish you could know how 
 often we have thought and talked of you. You know my 
 taste for travelling. I should like to take all my friends with 
 me, like an Arabian caravan. Fond as I am of home, my 
 home is dog-like, in the persons — not cat-like, in the place ; 
 and I should desire no better Paradise, to all eternity, than 
 gipsyizing with those I love all over the world. But 1 must tell 
 you news, instead of olds. I wrote the preceding page, seated
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 215 
 
 upon some boxes on deck, surrounded by the shipping and 
 beautiful houses Oi Genoa ; an awning over my head, a fine 
 air in my lace, and only comtortably warm, though the natives 
 themselves are complaining 01" the heat. (I have not for- 
 gotten, by the bye, that your family, Novello, came from 
 Piedmont, so that I am nearer to your old original country, 
 and to England too, than I was two or three weeks ago.) I 
 was called down from c'.cck to Mrs. Hunt, who is very weak ; 
 a winter passage would certainly have killed her. Tlie 
 " Placidia " had a long passage for winter with rough winds ; 
 and even the agitatrons Ox summer travelling are almost too 
 much for my wife ; nor has that miserable spitting of blood 
 ceased at all. But we hope much from rest at Pisa. As for 
 the " Jane," she encountered a violent storm in the Guif of 
 Lyons which laid her on her side, and did her great injury. 
 Only think — as the young ladies say. Captain Whitney was 
 destined after all to ianct me in Italy, for the " Jane " is here, 
 and he accompanied me yesterday evening when I first went 
 onshore. 1 found him a capital aaw/zt-, and he seemed pleased 
 to perform the office. My sensations on first touching the 
 shore I cannot express to you. Genoa is truly la supcrba. 
 Imagine a dozen Hampsteads one over the other, intermingled 
 with trees, rock, and white streets, houses, and palaces. 
 The harbour lies at the foot in a semicircle, with a quay full 
 of good houses and public buildings. Bathers, both male 
 and female, are constantly going by our vessel of a morning 
 in boats with awnings, both to a floating bath, and to swim 
 (/. e., the male) in the open sea. They return dressing them- 
 selves as they go, with an indelicacy, or else delicacy, very 
 startling to us Papalengis. The ladies think it judicious to 
 conceal their absolute ribs ; but a man (whether gentleman 
 or not I cannot say) makes nothing of putting on his shirt, 
 as he returns ; or even of ali'rescoing it without one, as he 
 goes; and people, great and small, arc swimming about u.:. in 
 all directions. The servant, a jolly Plymouth dam3el (for 
 Elizabeth was afraid to go on), thinks it necessarj' to let us 
 know that she takes no manner of interest in such spectacles. 
 I had not gone through a street or two on shore before I had 
 the luck to meet a religious procession, the last this season.
 
 2i6 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Good God ! whr.t a thing ! It consisted, impri)ins, of soldiers; 
 secondly, of John the Baptist, four years of age, in a sheep- 
 skin ; thirdly, of the Virgin, fi\-e or six ditto, with a crown on 
 her head, led by two ladies ; fourthly, friars— the young ones 
 (with some fine faces among them) looking as if they were in 
 earnest, and rather melancholy— the others apparently getting 
 worldly, sceptical, and laughing in proportion as they grew 
 old ; fifthly, a painting of St. Antonio ; sixthly, monks with 
 hideous black cowls all over their faces, with holes to look 
 . through ; seventhly, a crucifix as large as life, well done 
 (indeed, eveiy work of art here has an «/r of that sort if nothing 
 else) ; eighthly, more friars, holding large wax-lights, the ends 
 of which were supported, or rather pulled down, by the rag- 
 gedest and dirtiest boys in the city, who collect the dropping 
 wax in paper and sell h for its virtues; ninthly, music, with 
 violins ; tenthly and lastly, a large piece of waxwork, carried 
 on a bier by a large number of friars, who were occasionally 
 encouraged by others to trot stoutly (for a shuffling trot is 
 their pace), and representing St. Antonio paying homage to 
 the Virgin, both as large as life, surrounded with lights and 
 artificial flowers, and seated on wax clouds and cherubim. 
 It would have made me melancholy had not the novelty of 
 everything and the enormous quantity of women of all ranks 
 diverted my thoughts. The women are in general very plain, 
 and the men too, though less so ; but when you do meet with 
 fine faces, they are fine indeed ; and the ladies are apt to have 
 a shape and air very consoling for the want of better features. 
 But my trembling hands, as well as the paper, tell me that I 
 must leave off, and that I have gone, like Gilpin, "farther 
 than I intended." God bless you, dear friends. La Sposa 
 and you must get me up a good long letter. My wife sends 
 her best remembrances. Your ever afieclionate friend, 
 
 L. H. 
 
 To V. N. and M. S. N. (By favour of Mrs. Williams.) 
 
 Pisa, September 9th, 1822. 
 Dear, kind Friends,— The lady who brings you this is 
 the widow of Lieutenant Willianis. You know the dreadful 
 calamity we have sustained heie— an unspeakable one to me
 
 LEIGH H UNT AND HIS LE TTERS. 2 1 7 
 
 AS well as to her ; but we are on every account obliged and 
 bound to be as patient as possible under it. The nature of 
 the friends we have lost at once demands it and renders it 
 hard. I have reason to be thankful that I have suffered so 
 much in my life, since the habit renders endurance more 
 tolerable in the present instance. Think of me as of one 
 going on altogether very well, and who still finds a reason in 
 everything for reposing on those who love him. 
 
 Mrs. Williams wishes to know you, and from what I have 
 seen and heard of her is worthy to do so. My departed 
 friend had a great regard for her. She is said to be an 
 elegant musician, but she has not had the heart to touch an 
 instrument since I have known her. Distance and other 
 scenes will doubtless show her the necessity of breaking 
 through this tender dread. There is something peculiar in 
 her history which she will one day perhaps inform you of, but 
 I do not feel myself at liberty to disclose it, tliough it does her 
 honour. When she relates it, you will do justice to my 
 reasons for keeping silence. I envy her the sight of you, the 
 hearing of the piano, the sharing of your sofa, the bookcase 
 on the right hand, the stares of my young old acquaintances, 
 &c. But I still hope to see the best part of these movables 
 in Italy. I dare not dwell upon the break-up that was given 
 here to all the delights I had anticipated. Lord B. is very 
 kind, and I may possibly find a new acquaintance or two that 
 will be pleasant ; but what can fill up the place that such a 
 man as S. occupied in my heart ? Thank God it has places 
 still occupied by other friends, or it would be well content to 
 break at once against the hardness of this toiling world. But 
 let me hold on. It is a good world still while it is- capable of 
 producing such friends. I must also tell you, to comfort you 
 for all this dreary talking, that we have abundance of mate- 
 rials for our new work, the last packet for the first number of 
 which goes to England this week. 
 
 I can also work in this climate better than in England, and 
 my brother and I are such correspondents again as we ought 
 to be. This is much. My wife also is much better, and I 
 hear good accounts of her sister and other dear friends. I 
 had heard of the Lambs and their ultra voyages, with what
 
 2i8 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 pleasure at first and with what melancholy at last, you may 
 guess. Remember me to all the kind friends who send me 
 //z£'/V remembrances— Mr. Clarke, Mr. Holmes, and particu- 
 larly the Gliddons, whom I recollect with a tenderness which 
 they will give me credit for when they see — what they shall 
 see, to wit, the letter which accompanies the present one, and 
 which I beg you will give them. 
 
 The work will very speedily be out now, entirely made up 
 by Lord B., dear S., and myself. I refer you to it for some 
 account of Pisa. 
 
 God bless you. A kiss for you, Mary, and a shake of the 
 hand for you, Vincent. — Your affectionate friend, 
 
 L. H. 
 
 P.S. — We drank Novello's health on his birthday. Be sure 
 that we always drink healths on birthdays. 
 
 The next seven are still from Italy, the concluding one 
 showing how strong was his yearning to be back in dear 
 old England. 
 
 To V. N. (By favour of Mrs. Shelley.) 
 
 Albaro, July 24th, 1823. 
 My dear Novello, — Mary Wollstonecraft's daughter 
 brings you this letter. I know you would receive her with all 
 your kindness and respect for that designation alone ; but 
 there are a hundred other reasons why you will do so, includ- 
 ing her own extraordinary talents (which, at the same time, no 
 woman can be less obtrusive with), the pleasure you will find 
 in her society, and last not least, her love of music and regard 
 for a certain professor of ditto — but I have spoken of this 
 introduction already. I do not send you a long letter, for 
 reasons given in the same place ; but I trust it will be as good 
 as a long letter in its returns to me, because it sets you the 
 example of writing a short one when you cannot do more. 
 How I envy Mary Shelley the power of taking you all by the 
 hands and joining your kind-hearted circle ! But I am there 
 very often myself, I assure you ; invisible, it is true, and 
 behind the curtain : but it is possible, you know, to be behind 
 a curtain and yet be very intensely present besides. But do
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 219 
 
 not let any one consider Mary S. in the light of a Blue, of 
 which she has a great horror, but as an unaffected person, 
 with her faults and good qualities like the rest of us ; the 
 former extremely corrected by all she has seen and endured, 
 the latter inclining her, like a wise and kind being, to receive 
 all the consolation which the good and the kind can give her. 
 She will be grave with your gravities and laugh as much as 
 you please with your merriments. For the rest, she is as 
 quiet as a mouse, and will drink in as much Mozart and 
 Paesiello as you choose to afford her, with an enjoyment that 
 you might take for a Quaker's, unless you could contrive 
 some day to put her into a state of pain, when she will 
 immediately grow as eloquent and say as many fine 
 pleasurable things as she can discourse in a novel. 
 
 God bless you, dear Novello- From Florence I shall send 
 you some music, especially what you wanted in Rome, 
 
 From this place I can send you nothing except a ring of 
 my hair, which you must wear for the sake of your affectionate 
 friend, 
 
 L. H. 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. Novello and Mr. and Mrs. Gliddon,//;///'/;;^^.* 
 secondly, to Mrs. Novello alone. (Favoured by Mrs. 
 Shelley.) 
 
 Albaro, July 25th, 1823. 
 Dear Friends, — I send you these modicums of dis- 
 tributive justice first because, though now getting well 
 again, I have been unwell, and secondly, because 1 have so 
 much to do with my pen just now that, as I wish to keep a 
 head on my shoulders for all your sakes, I am sure you would 
 not willingly let me tax it beyond my strength. I shall 
 answer, however, whatever letters you have been kind enough 
 to send me by the box separately and at proper length. But 
 lo ! the box has not yet arrived, and when it will arrive hox 
 knows. Meanwhile let me introduce to you all in a body the 
 dear friend who brings you this letter, and with whom you 
 are already acciuainted in some measure both privately and 
 publicly. You will show her all the kindness and respect in 
 your power, I am sure, for her husband's sake, and for her
 
 2 20 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 mother's sake, and for my sake, and for her own. I am 
 getting grave here. So now we are all in company again I 
 will rouse my spirits and attack you separately ; and first for 
 "Wilful Woman:'-'— 
 
 Mary Novello, 
 I know not your fellow 
 For having your way 
 Both by night and by day. 
 
 It was thus I once began a letter in verse to the said Mary 
 Novello, which happened not to be sent ; and it is thus I now 
 begin a letter in prose to her because it is of course as 
 applicable as ever — is it not, thou "wilful woman".? (Here 
 I look full in the face of the same M. N., shaking my head 
 at her : upon which she looks ditta at me — for we cannot 
 say ditto of a lady — and shakes her head in return, impru- 
 dently denying the fact with her good-humoured, twinkling 
 eyes and her laughing mouth, which, how it ever happened to 
 become wilful, odd only knows — odd is to lae read in a genteel 
 Bond Street style, Novello knows how.) So I understand. 
 Wilful, that you sometimes get up during the perusal of 
 passages of these mine epistles and unthinkingly insist that 
 tired ladies who have a regard for you should eat their dinners, 
 as if the regard for me, Wilful, is not to swallow up everv- 
 thing — appetite, hunger, sickness, faintness, and all. Do 
 you HEAR.? The best passage in all Mr. Reynolds's plays is 
 one that Mary Shelley has reminded me of. It is where a 
 gentleman traveller and the governor of a citadel compliment 
 each other in a duet, dancing, I believe, at the same tune :— 
 
 DaJicing (governor ! 
 Pleasing Traveller ! 
 
 Now you must know that the Attorney-General once, in an 
 indictment for libel, had the temerity to designate me as " a 
 yeoman" — "Leigh Hunt, yeoman." However, the word 
 rhymes to " Woman," which is a pleasing response : so I 
 shall end my present epistle with imagining you and me on 
 a Twelfth Night harmoniously playing at cross purposes, and 
 singing to one another —
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 221 
 
 Wilful Woman ! 
 Revengeful Yeoman ! 
 
 God bless the hearts of you both. — Your affectionate 
 friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 P.S. — I send you a ring of my hair, value 2s. 8d. When 
 I can afford another such splendid sum I will try and get 
 some little i.iscription engraved on it, and would have done 
 so indeed already had I thought of it in time. I'd have you 
 to know, at the same time, that the gold is " right earnest," 
 which, if you mention the sum, I'd be glad you'll also let the 
 curious inquirers understand. So don't be ashamed, now, 
 but wear it. If you don't YW. pinch back. 
 
 The ring tvas worn by " Mary Novello," and the name 
 of" Leigh Hunt" was engraved upon the small piece of 
 "gold" as an " inscription." It is now in our possession, 
 mounted on a card, bearing these memorial lines : — • 
 
 SONNET ON A RING OF LEIGH HUNT'S HAIR. 
 
 Nor coal, nor jet, nor raven's wing more black 
 Than this small crispy plait of ebon hair : 
 And well I can remember when the rare 
 
 Young poet-head, in eager thought thrown back, 
 
 Boie just such clusters ; ere the whitening rack 
 Of years and toil, devoted to the care 
 For human weal, had blanch'd and given an air 
 
 Of snow-bright halo to the mass once black. 
 
 In public service, in high contemplations, 
 In poesy's excitement, in the earnest 
 
 Culture of divinest aspirations. 
 
 Thy sable curls grew grey ; and now thou turnest 
 
 Them to radiant lustre, silver golden, 
 
 Touch'd by that Light no eye hath yet beholden. 
 
 To M. S. N. 
 
 Albaro, August 21st, 1823. 
 Wilful Woman ! — And so you have got a great, large,
 
 222 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 big Shacklewell house, and a garden, and good-natured trees 
 in it (like those in my Choice) — 
 
 And Clarke and Mr. Holmes are seen 
 Peeping from forth their alleys green ; 
 
 and you are looking after the " things," and you are all to be 
 gay and merry, and I am not to be there. Well, I don't 
 deserve it, whatever Fate may say, and it shall go hard but 
 I'll have my revenge, and ;;// house, and my garden and 
 things, all at Florence ; and friends, fair and brown too, will 
 come to see me there, though you won't ; and I'll peep, with- 
 out being seen, from forth tny alleys green. 
 
 We go off to-morrow, and I shall send you such accounts 
 as shall make you ready to ask Clara's help (she being the 
 bigger) to toss you all, as she threatened, " out of the windows." 
 There is nobody that will do it with so proper and grave a 
 face. So there's for your Shacklewell house and your never- 
 not-coming-at-all to Italy. And now you shan't get a word 
 more out of me for the present, excepting that I am your old, 
 grateful, and affectionate friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 Mrs, Hunt joins in love to all the old circle. 
 
 To V. N. (favoured by Mrs. Payne.) 
 
 Florence, Sept. 9th, 1823. 
 My dear Novello, — You must not imagine I am going 
 to send you all the pleasant people I may happen to meet 
 with ; but I could not resist the chance ol introducing you to 
 the grand-daughter of Dr. Burney, daughter of Captain 
 Cooke's Burney, niece of Evelina's and Camilla's Eurney, 
 friend of Charles and Mary Lamb, and a most lively, refresh- 
 ing, intelligent, good-humoured person to boot, who is also a 
 singer and pianoforte-player. All this, at least, she seems to 
 me, in my gratitude for having met with a countrywoman 
 who could talk to me of my old friends. I cannot write 
 farther, for I hear the voices of gentlemen who have come to 
 go with me, to take leave ol her and her husband : but 
 whether she happens to bring this letter or not, I could not 
 help giving you the chance I speak oi, nor her that o. know-
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 223 
 
 ing you and yours, your music, &c., which is the best return 
 I can make her for the recreation she has afforded me : and, 
 besides, this will show you we were going on well. Florence, 
 besides its other goods, has libraries, bookstalls, and Cock- 
 ney meadows ; and we begin to breathe again. I hope by 
 this time you and Mrs. Shelley have shaken cordial hands. 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 L. H. 
 
 To V. N. and M. S. N. 
 
 Florence, January 9th, 1824. 
 
 Happy New Years for all of us : and may we all, as we do 
 now, help to make them happier to one another. 
 
 Vincenzo mio, I have at length found out the secret of 
 making you write a whole letter. It is to set you upon some 
 painful task for your friends ; so having the prospect now 
 before me of getting out of my troubles, I think I must con- 
 trive to fall into some others, purely in order that you maybe 
 epistolary. Dear Novello, how heartily I thank you ! I 
 must tell you that I had written a long letter to my brother 
 in answer to his second one, in which I had agreed to submit 
 the whole matter to arbitration, and had called upon your 
 friendship to enter into it, especially in case you had any 
 fears that you should be obliged in impartiality to be less for 
 me than you wished. His third letter has done away with 
 the necessity of sending this, and he will show you the letter 
 I have written to him instead. All will now proceed amicably ; 
 but if you think me a little too inordinate and haggling, I beg 
 you first of all to count the heads of seven of your children 
 with their mother besides them. I have no other arithmetic 
 in my calculations. But I will not return to my melancholy 
 now that you have helped to brighten life for me again. I 
 assure you it was new-burnished on New Year's Day, for then 
 I received all your letters at once. . . . But enough. Judge 
 only from what a load of care you have helped to relieve me, 
 and take your pride and pleasure accordingly, you, you — you 
 Vincent, you. Observe, however : — all this is not to hinder from 
 the absolute necessity and sworn duty o coming to see us as 
 you promised. /<- will be sheer inhwiianuy ij you do not;
 
 2 24 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 always excepting- it would make you ill to be away from home 
 (Mary Shelley will laugh to hear this) ; but then you are to 
 have companions, who will also be very inhuman to all of us, 
 if they do not do their duty. The cheating of the Italians in 
 conjunction with all the other circumstances have made us 
 frightened, or rather agreeably economical (a little difference !). 
 We have taken wood, oil, and every possible thing out of the 
 hands of the servants, locking it up and doling it out, and 
 even (oh, new and odd paradise of sensation !) chuckling over 
 the crazie andqiiaitriiii that we save. I tell you this to show 
 you how well we prepare for visitors. But wine, and very 
 pleasant wine too, and wholesome, is as cheap in this country 
 as small beer ; and then there will be ourselves, and your 
 selves, and beautiful walks and weather, and novelty, and 
 God knows how many pleasures besides, for all are comprised 
 in the thought of seeing friends from En(^lund. So mind— I 
 will not hear of the least shadow of the remotest approach to 
 the smallest possible distant hint of a put-olT. All the " Gods 
 in Council" would rise up and say, " This is a shame !" So 
 in your next tell me when you are coming. I must only 
 premise that it must be when the snows are well off the 
 mountain road. You see by this how early, as well as how 
 certainly, I expect you. I must leave off and rest a little ; 
 for I have had much letter-writing after much other writing, 
 and I am going to have much other writing. But my head 
 and spirits have both bettered with my prospects ; at least 
 the latter have, and I have every reason to believe the former 
 will, though I shall have niore original composition to do 
 than of late. But I shall work with certainties upon me, in 
 my old paper, and not be tied down to paiticular dimensions. 
 As you have seen all my infirmities, I must tell you of a 
 virtue of mine, which is, that having no pianoforte at present, 
 I lent, with rage and benevolence in my heart, all the new 
 music you sent me to a lady who is going to Rome. It is 
 very safe, or you may believe my benevolence would not 
 have gone so far. Besides, it was to be played and sung by 
 the Pope's own musicians. Think of that, thou chorister. I 
 shall have it back before you come, and shall lay aside a 
 particular hoard to hire an instrument for your playing it
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 225 
 
 Thank Charles Clarke for his letter, and tell him that he will 
 be as welcome in Italy as he was in my less romantic prison 
 of Horsemonger Gaol. I am truly obliged to him, also, for 
 his kindness to Miss Kent's book, and shall write to tell him 
 so after I have despatched a few articles for the Examiner — • 
 all which articles, observe also, are written to my friends. 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt, 
 
 To Mrs. Novello. 
 
 Oh thou wilful — for art thou not wilful ? Charles Clarke 
 says no, and that your name is Brougham; "but I, Mr., 
 calls him Brufifam" — but art thou not always wilful woman, 
 and oughtest thou not for ever to remain so, seeing that thy 
 vvill is bent upon " inditing a good matter," and that thou 
 sittest up at midnight with an infinitely virtuous profligacy to 
 write long and kind and delightful letters to exiles on their 
 birthdays .'' Do not think me ungrateful for not having 
 answered it sooner. It is not, as you might suppose, my 
 troubles that have hindered me, saving and except that the 
 quantity of writing that I have had, or rather the eftect which 
 writing day after day has upon me, made me put off an 
 answer which I wished to be a very long one. Had I not 
 wished that, I should have written sooner ; and wishing it or 
 not, I ought to have done so ; but your last letter shows that 
 you can afford to forgive me. Latterly, I will confess that 
 the pitch of trouble to which my feelings had been wrought 
 made it more difficult for me than usual to come into the 
 company of my friends, wnth the air they have always in- 
 spired me with ; but I bring as well as receive a pleasure 
 now, and wish I could find some means of showing you how 
 grateful I am for all your sendings, those in the box included. 
 Good God ! I have never yet thanked you even for that. 
 But you know how late it must have come. My wife has 
 been brilliant ever since in the steel bracelets, which she finds 
 equally useful and ornamental. They were the joy and 
 amazement of an American artist (now in Rome), who had 
 never been in England, and who is wise enough to be proud 
 of the superior workmanship of his cousins the Enghsh, 
 
 Q
 
 2 26 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 though a sturdy Republican. (Speaking of Rome, pray tell 
 Novello to send me the name of the musical work which he 
 wanted there, which I have put away in some place so very 
 safe that it is undiscoverable.) The needles also were more 
 than welcome. As to the pencils, I made a legitimate use of 
 my despotic right as a father of a family, and appropriated 
 them almost all to myself " Consider the value cf such 
 timber here." Here the needles don't prick, and the pencils 
 do : and as to elastic bracelets, you may go to a ball, if you 
 please, in a couple of rusty iron hoops made to fit. Do you 
 know that I had half a mind to accept your ofier of coming 
 over to take us to England, purely that you might go back 
 without us — including your stay in the meantime. You must 
 not raise such images to exiles without realizing them. I 
 hope some day or other to be able to take some opportunity 
 of running over during a summer, though Mary Shelley will 
 laugh at this, and I know not what Marianne Hunt would 
 say to it. Profligate fellow that I om ! I never slept out of 
 my bed ever since I was married, but two nights at Syden- 
 ham. As to coming to England to stay, it is quite out of the 
 Cjuestion for either of us at present. The winters would kill 
 her side and my head. On the other hand, the vessel in her 
 side is absolutely closing again here in winter time, and our 
 happier prospects in other respects render the pi'ospect 
 happier in this. Cannot you as well as C. C. come with 
 Novello? Bring some of the children with you. Why can- 
 not you all come — you and Statia, and Mrs. Williams, and 
 Mary S., and Miss Kent, and Holmes (to study), and every 
 other possible and impossible body? Write me another 
 good, kind, long letter, to show that you forgive me heartily 
 for not writing myself, and tell me all these and a thousand 
 other things. I think of you all every day more or less, but 
 particularly on such days as birthdays and Twelfthdays. 
 We drank your health the other night sitting in our country 
 solitude, and longing iiijiiiitcly, as we often do, for a larger 
 party — but always a party from home. What a birthnight 
 you gave me ! These are laurels indeed ! Tell me in your 
 next how all the children are, not forgetting Clara, who 
 threatened in a voice of tender acquiescence to throw us all
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 227 
 
 out of the window, herself inckided. All our children con- 
 tinue extremely well, little Vincent among them, who is one 
 of the liveliest yet gentlest creatures in the world. 
 
 Pray remember me to Mr. and Mrs. B. H. I would give 
 anything at present to hear one of her songs ; and I suppose 
 she would give anything to have a little of my sunshine. 
 Such is the world ! But it makes one love and help one 
 another too. So love me and help me still, dear friends all. 
 
 L. H. 
 
 To M. S. N. 
 
 Florence, November 13th, 1824. 
 Oh, Wilful! — Am I to expect another birthday letter? 
 If so (but two such birthdays can hardly come together), I 
 will do my best to be grateful, and send you a mirth-day 
 letter. Do you know that however dilTerently-shaped you 
 may regard yourself at present at Shacklewell, here at 
 Florence you are a square f and that I am writing at present 
 in one of your second stories at Mrs. Brown's lodgings, who 
 can only hnd me this hnlf sheet of paper to write upon.? I 
 should have thought better of you, considering you have the 
 literary interest so much at heart. Your name is Sancta 
 Maria Novella^ and there is a church in a corner of you, 
 which makes a figure in the opening of Boccaccio's " De- 
 cameron." So adieu, dear Sancta. — Ever yours, sick or 
 merry, 
 
 L. H. 
 
 To Mrs. Novello, to Mrs. Gliddon, to "dear Arthur." 
 
 Florence, September 7th, 1825. 
 The Ladies first— To Mrs. Novello. 
 Madam, — My patience is not so easily worn out as your 
 Wilfulship imagines. I allow you have seen me impatient of 
 late on one subject ; but I beg you to believe I confine my 
 want of philosophy to that single point. That is the wolf in 
 my harmony. On all other matters (a three-years-and-a-hali's 
 dilapidation excepted) you will find me the same man I was 
 ever — half melancholy and half mirth — and gratefully ready 
 to forego the one whenever in the compsjiy of my friends. 
 
 Q
 
 2 28 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 So, madam, I'd have you to know that I am extremely 
 patient, and that if I do not take courage it is because I have 
 it ah-eady ; and you must farther know, madam, that we do 
 not mean to Hve at Plymouth, but at a reasonable distance 
 from town ; and also that if we cannot get a cottage to go 
 into immediately we shall go for a month or two into metro- 
 politan lodgings : itan, that we shall all be glad to hear of 
 any cottage twenty or twenty- five miles off, or any lodgings 
 in any quiet and cheap street in London ; farthermore, that, 
 besides taking courage, we have taken ' the coach from 
 Florence to Calais ; and finally, that we set off next Saturday, 
 the loth instant, and by the time you receive this shall be at 
 the foot of the Alps. " I think here be proofs." We go by 
 Parma, Turin, Mont Cenis, Lyons, and Paris. Mrs. Shelley 
 will be better able to tell you where a letter can reach us 
 than I can — yet a calculation, too, might be made, for we 
 travel forty miles a day, and stop four days out of the thirty- 
 one allotted to us : one at Modena, one at Turin, one at 
 Lyons, one at Paris. Can we do anything for you ? I wish 
 I could bring you some bottled sunshine for your fruit-trees. 
 It is a dmg we are tired of here. Mud— mud — is our object ; 
 cold v/eather out of doors, and warm hearts within. By the 
 way, as you know nothing about it, I must tell you that 
 somebody has been dedicating a book to me under the title 
 of "A Day in Stowe Gardens" (send and buy it for my sake), 
 and it is a very pretty book, though with the airs natural to 
 a dedicatee, I have picked some verbal faults with it here 
 and there. What I like least is the story larded with French 
 cookery. Some of the others made me shed tears, which is 
 very hard upon me, from an Old Boy (for such on inspection 
 you will find the author to be) ; I should not have minded it 
 had it been a woman. The Spanish Tale ends with a truly 
 dramatic surprise ; and the Magdalen Story made me long 
 to hug all the parties concerned, the writer included. So get 
 the book, and like it, as you regard the sympathies and 
 honours of yours, ever cordially, 
 
 L. H.
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 229 
 
 To Mrs. Glidclon. 
 
 Well, madam, and as to you. They tell me you are getting 
 rich : so you are to suppose that during my silence I have 
 been standing upon the dignity of my character, as a pooi 
 patriot, and not chosen to risk a suspicion of my inde- 
 pendence. Being "Peach-Face," and "Nice-One," and 
 missing your sister's children, I might have ventured to 
 express my regard ; but how am I to appear before the rich 
 lady and the Sultana ? I suppose you never go out but in a 
 covered litter, forty blacks clearing the way. Then you enter 
 the bath, all of perfumed water, and beautiful attendant 
 slaves, like full moons : after which you retire into a delicious 
 apartment, walled with trellis-work of mother-of-pearl, covered 
 with myrtle and roses, and whistling with a fountain ; and 
 clapping your hands, ten slaves more beautiful than the last 
 sen-e up an unheard-of dinner : after which, twenty slaves, 
 much more beautiful than those, play to you upon lutes ; after 
 which the Sultan comes in, upon which thirty slaves, infinitely 
 more beautiful than the preceding, sing the most exquisite 
 compliments out of the Eastern poets, and a pipe, forty yards 
 long, and fresh from the Divan, is served up, burning with 
 the Sultan's mixture, and the tonquin bean. However, I 
 shall come for a chop. 
 
 Dear Mr. Arthur,— I am called off in the midst of my 
 oriental description, and have only time to say that I thank 
 you heartily for your zeal and kindness in my behalf, and am 
 sure Novello could not have chosen a second more agreeable 
 to myself, whatever the persons concerned may resolve upon, 
 I hope soon to shake you by the hand. 
 
 The following one affords a specimen of the manful 
 way in which Leigh Hunt dealt with depression, and 
 strove to be cheery for his friends' sake, in acknowledg- 
 ment of their friendship for him : — 
 
 To V. N. and M. S. N. 
 
 Paris, October 8th, 1825. 
 Dear Friends, — I can write you but a word. We shall
 
 2 so RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 be in London next Thursday, provided there is room in the 
 steamboat, as we understand there certainly will be ; but we 
 are not certain of the hour of arrival. They talk here at the 
 agency office of the boats leaving Calais at two in the morn- 
 ing (night-time). If so, we ought to be in town at one. 
 This, however, is not to be depended on ; and there will not 
 be time to write to you again. The best way, I think, would 
 be to send a note for us (by the night post) to the place where 
 the boat puts up, stating where the lodgings are. The lodg- 
 ings you will be kind enough to take for us (if there is time) 
 in the quietest and airiest situation you have met with. We 
 prefer, for instance, the street in the Hampstead Road, or 
 thereabouts, to the one in London Street, to which said street 
 I happen to have a particular objection ; said particular 
 objection, however, being of no account, if it cannot be 
 helped. Should any circumstance prevent our having a note 
 at the boat-office we shall put up in the neighbourhood for 
 the night, and communicate with you as fast as pos- 
 sible I write in ill spirits, which the sight of your 
 
 faces, and the firm work I have to set about, will do away. 
 1 feel that the only way to settle these things is to meet and 
 get through them, sword in hand, as stoutly as I may. If 
 I delayed I might be pinned for ever to a distance, like a 
 fluttering bird to a wall, and so die in that helpless yearning. 
 I have been mistaken. During my strength my weakness, 
 perhaps, only was apparent ; now that I am weaker, indigna- 
 tion has given a fillip to my strength. But how am I di- 
 gressing ! I said 1 should only write a word, and I certainly 
 did not intend that that word should be upon any less 
 agreeable subject than a steamboat. Yet I must add, that I 
 remember the memorandum you allude to about the balance. 
 I laid it to a very different account ! Lord ! Lord ! Well, 
 my dear Vincent, you have a considerable fool for your friend, 
 but one who is nevertheless wise enough to be, very truly 
 yours, 
 
 L. H. 
 
 P-S. — Thanks to the two Marys for their kind letters. I 
 must bring them the answers myself. This is what women
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 231 
 
 ought to do. They ought to be very kind and write, and 
 read books, and go about through the mud for their friends. 
 
 The three next give an excellent idea of Leigh Hunt's 
 manner of writing to a friend suffering from nervous 
 illness : by turns remonstrating, rallying, urging, humour- 
 ing, consoling, and strengthening —all done tenderly, 
 and with true affection for the friend addressed : — 
 
 To V. N. 
 
 30, Hadlow Street, Dec. 6th, 1825. 
 My DEAR NOVELLO, — I expected you at Harry Robertson's, 
 and I looked for you last fine Wednesday at Highgat-i, and 
 I have been to seek you to-day at Shacklewell. 1 thought 
 we were sometimes to have two Sabbaths, always one, and I 
 find we have none. How is this ? If you are not well 
 enough to meet me at Highgate, and will not make yourself 
 better by coming and living near your friends somewhere, 
 why I must come to you at Shacklewell on a Wednesday, 
 that's all ; and come I will, unless you will have none of me. 
 I should begin to have fears on that score, when I hear that 
 you are in town twice a week, and yet never come near me ; 
 but in truth, coxcomb as I have been called, and as I some- 
 times fear I show myself when I talk of prevailing on my 
 friends to do this and that, tliis is a blow which would really 
 be too hard for the vanity of, and let me add, the affection of 
 your ever true friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 Will you not give us a call this evening, and at what time ? 
 Have I not a chop for a friend ? And is there not Souchong 
 in the town of Somers .'' 
 
 To Vincent Novello. 
 
 [No date.] 
 My dear Novello, — As I am not sure that you were at 
 Mrs. Shelley's last night, I write this to let you know that a 
 violent cold, which I am afraid of tampering with any longer, 
 has kept me at home the two last eveaings, and will do the 
 same on this. I defied it for some nights, but found myself
 
 232 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 under the necessity, on every account, of doing so no longer. 
 You know how bad it was on Wednesday ; but Wednesday 
 night's return home made it worse. I repent this the more, 
 because I wish to see you very much. I want to chat with 
 you on the musical and other matters, and to assent to my 
 privilege of a friend in doing all I can to make you adopt 
 certain measures I have in view equally useful to both of us, 
 for the recovery of your health. I said equally pleasant, and 
 I trust and feel certain they would be so in the long-run; but 
 undoubtedly in the first instance you might find them painful. 
 However, as I never yet found an obstacle like this stand in 
 your way when a friend was to be obliged, I give you notice 
 that you have spoilt me in that matter, and that I shall not 
 expect it now. 
 
 " Hunt, you are very kind, but — " Novello, so are you ; and 
 therefore I do not expect to be put off" with words. Besides, 
 did I not have a long conversation the other evening with 
 Mary ? And did she not promise me, like a good wife as she 
 was, not to listen to a word you had to say 1 I mean, against 
 putting yourself in the best possible position for recovering 
 your health. Or rather, did she not say, with good wifely 
 tears in her eyes, that she would let you do all you pleased, 
 which of course ties up your hands — only she hoped you 
 would think as I did, if it was really as much for your good 
 as I supposed — which of course ties them up more ? And 
 does not all that she has said, and all that I have said, and 
 all that I mean to say, (which is quite convincing, I assure 
 you, in case you are not convinced already, as you ought to 
 be,) prove to )ou that you must leave that dirty Shacklewell, 
 that wet Shacklewell, that flat, floundering and foggy 
 Shacklewell, that distant, out-of-the-way, dreary, unfriendly, 
 unheard-of, melancholy, moping, unsocial, unmusical, un- 
 meeting, uneveningy, un-Hunt-helping, unimproper, un-Glid- 
 dony, un-Kentish-towny, un-Hampsteady, un-Hadlowincial, 
 far, foolish, faint, fantastical, sloppy, hoppy, moppy, brick- 
 fieldy, bothery, mothery, misty, muddling, meagre, megrim, 
 Muggletonian, dim, dosy, booty, cold-arboury, plashy, mashy, 
 squashy, Old-Street-Roady, Balls-Pondy, Hoxtony, hurtful, 
 horrid, lowering, lax, languid, musty, sepulchral, shameful,
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 233 
 
 washy, dim, cold, sulky, subterraneous, sub-and-supra- 
 lapsarian, whity-brown, clammy, sick, silent, cheap, expen- 
 sive, blameable, gritty, hot, cold, wheezy, vapourish, inconse- 
 quential, what-next?-y,go-to-beddy, lumpish, glumpish,mump- 
 ish, frumpish, pumpish, odd, thievish, coining, close-keeping, 
 chandlering, drizzling, mizzling, duck-weedy, rotting, per- 
 jured, forsaking, flitting, bad, objected-to, false, cold-potatoey, 
 inoperative, dabby, draggle-tailed, shambling, huddling, 
 indifferent, spiteful, meek, milk-and-watery, inconvenient, 
 lopsided, dull, doleful, damnable Shacklewell. Come, " 1 think 
 here be proofs." 
 
 Ever dear N.'s affectionate 
 
 L. H. 
 P.S. — I know not what Holmes thinks of Shacklewell ; but 
 he can hardly have an opinion in favour of it after this Rabelais 
 argument. Clarke is bound to side with all friends at a 
 distance. 
 
 To V. N. 
 
 Hadlow Street, 19th January, 1826. 
 My dear Novello,— Pray do not think that I did, or 
 shall, or ever can feel angry at my friend's ill-health. I have 
 suffered bitterly from ill -health myself; and know too well, 
 even now, what it is. If I have plagued you at all about 
 Shacklewell, or anything else, I can do so no more when you 
 talk to me thus ; especially when I see you doing what you 
 so much dislike, to gratify your friends. I recognize there 
 my old friend triumphant, however he may suffer for a time. 
 That you suffer extremely I doubt not, being in the agony of 
 the passage from one mode of diet and living to another — a 
 voyage enough to shake the most Ancient Mariner. But 
 believe one who speaks from experience — that these things 
 have an end. A little medicine will, I doubt not, do you 
 good, especially if you follow it up with some appeals to 
 natural remedies — such as walking, early rising, etc. Upon 
 early rising (always spcakiiig from experience) I think the 
 very greatest stress ought to be laid, and I reserve this one 
 subject to plague you upon — always provided that you get up 
 to a warm fire and speedy and good breakfast. Do not
 
 234 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 plague yourself till you are better about coming to me. I 
 will, in the meantime, come to you on your own Sundays as 
 well as mine, and I am sorry I cannot do so on Sunday next. 
 Suffer not a moment's uneasiness about the Lambs. They 
 will set all down to the very best account, depend upon it ; 
 and, besides, you were as cheerful, and more so, than anybody 
 could reasonably expect from a sick man ; and your going 
 away was no more than what Lamb does himself. 
 
 The necessity of being heroical under nervousness, tensions 
 of the head, and "other gentilities" (as Metastasio has it) is, 
 says he, a great nuisance. But he got over them : so have I, 
 and so will you ; so have hundreds of others. The thing is 
 common when people come to compare notes. Lady Suffolk, 
 who had a head of this sort, and lived to see a tranquil old 
 age, said she never knew a head without them " that was 
 ANOrth anything." Think of that ; and she knew the wits and 
 poets of two generations. Love to dear Mary and dear 
 Vincent. 
 
 From their truly affectionate friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 The following was addressed to Mrs. Vincent Novello, 
 when her husband and she and three of their children 
 went to the seaside near Hastings : — 
 
 To the Queen of Little Bohemia. 
 
 Highgate, ist August, 1826 
 Gypsy, — I know not what there is in this word gypsy, but 
 somehow or other it makes me very tender, and if I were 
 near you, I should be obliged to turn round and ask Vincent's 
 permission to give you a considerable thump on the blade- 
 bone. I believe it is the association of ideas with tents, 
 green fields, and black eves— a sort of Mahomedan heaven 
 upon earth— very touching to my unsophisticated notions. I 
 wish we were all of us gypsies ; I mean all of us who have a 
 value for one another ; and that we could go seeking health 
 and happiness without a care up all the green lanes in 
 England, half gypsy and half gentry, with books instead of 
 pedlary. I should prefer working for three or four hours of a
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 235 
 
 morning, if it were only to give the rest of the day a greater 
 zest ; then we would dine early, chat or read under the trees, 
 tea early (I think we must have some tea), and so to stray about 
 by starlight if it is fine, and sit and hug ourselves with the 
 thought of being well sheltered from the rain on a dripping 
 night. I don't think we would have candles. Our hours 
 should be too good. Up with the lark, fresh air, green 
 bowers, russetin apple cheeks — why the devil doesn't the 
 world live in this manner, or allow honest people to do so 
 that would ? Oh, but we must wait a long while first, if ever; 
 and meanwhile we must hav-e a great number of children 
 (" Leigh Hunt for instance — just so "), purely to worry our- 
 selves about more than will ever do them any good ; and we 
 must have a vast number of fine clothes, and visitors, and 
 cooks (to provide us with all the fever we have not got 
 already), and Doctors, and gossips, and tabernacle , and 
 cheese-cakes, and other calamities; and we must all sacrihce 
 ourselves for our children, and they must all sacrifice them- 
 selves for theirs, and they for theirs, and so on to the third 
 and fourth generation of them that worry us, wondering all 
 the while (poor devils ! both we and they) how it is that so 
 much good love and good will (for there the sting lies, that 
 the unhappiness should arise out of the very love on all sides) 
 does not hit upon modes of existence a little discreeter. 
 Only let the world come to me — leave me alone with him, as 
 the lady said ; and /W teach him how to make his children 
 grateful, what pleasures to substitute for his cookery, and how 
 he should cultivate mind and muscle by a pleasing alterna- 
 tion. But I am getting moral, and I am sure I didn't intend 
 to be so. Don't think ill of me. I intended in this letter to 
 be all full of pleasure, as I should be if we could do as I say. 
 As to the cookery and all that, I sometimes fear that the 
 theories of Vincent's friends (which, between you and my 
 conscience, are much better than their practice) set him upon 
 an extreme of diet which has done him no good, and which it 
 might be to his advantage to contradict a little more. He 
 did himself harm by great sudden gulps of dinner and tea (no 
 man being less of a gourmand than he was), rendered more 
 hurtful by long fasting and overwork ; and I sometimes feai
 
 2 36 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 he too suddenly went counter to all this. Well, patience is a 
 rascally necessity, as the poet said, and he has enough of it ; 
 but patience is rewarded at last. We have such miraculous 
 accounts in the newspapers of cures of the spirits as well as 
 body effected by the gymnastic exercises now spreading 
 abroad, that I cannot help wishing Vincent would give them 
 a trial when he returns ; especially as in spite of the fat he 
 had, I remember he used to be very active, and a vaulterovcr 
 gates. So now, gypsy, stand in awe of me and my knowledge 
 (which is what I like on the part of the sex), and then, sus- 
 pectmg me nevertheless to be not a jot more awful than 
 yourself (rather the reverse, if you knew all), give me the 
 most insolent pinch of the cheek you can think of (which is 
 what I like much better), and in spite of all my airs and 
 assumptions, keep for me one of the little corners that a large 
 heart like yours possesses, and there let me occupy it when 
 I please, with " dear Mr. Arthur," and dearer Statia, and one 
 or two others who would willingly hold the rest of it, and its 
 inmate among them, in their affectionate arms, till he got well 
 and made us all happy again. 
 
 Ever most truly yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 P.S. — Pray write again speedily, and we will be better boys 
 and girls, and rewrite instantly. . . . Oh, the letters of Lady 
 Suffolk and the Genlis which you ought to have had long ago. 
 I send them now, with one or two other works which I think 
 may amuse you, and a proof sheet of an article of mine (the 
 Dictionary of Love and Beauty), which you must take with 
 all its mistakes of the press on its head. . . . Marianne begs 
 her kindest remembrances. She is very well and in excellent 
 spirits, with the exception of a swollen eye, given her by that 
 mysterious personage called a Blight. I tell her it looks very 
 conjugal ; and yet I am sure I ought not to tell her so, but 
 I may tell her that it is " all my eye." Do you remember the 
 Merry Wives of Tavistock ? Statia and she are at present 
 the Merry Wives of Highgate. We only want the other 
 Tavistock one in good spirits again to beat the Windsor ones 
 hollow.
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LE TIERS. 237 
 
 The next is a very characteristic example of one of his 
 playful notes of invitation : — 
 
 To V. N., Great Queen Street. 
 
 Sunday morninpf, 27th Dec. [Query 1828]. 
 My dear Vincent, — Tho' it is very proper that people 
 should go out in cold weather to see their friends, it does not 
 appear to me quite so proper that they should go out after 
 dinner as before ; ergo, this comes to say that I hope, in 
 consideration of the frost and snow, you will come at three 
 to-morrow instead of five. I will treat you exactly as you 
 treated me, therefor: there is to be no excuse on that score. 
 If anybody prefers it, I will not treat them so well ; they shall 
 have a cold potatoe at a sideboard, with their feet in a pail 
 of water. So pray come. Our meeting will be two hours 
 the earlier ; and not to dine with me, under all the circum- 
 stances, would be indecent. 
 
 Ever truly yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 COME AT 3 (a pla^-ard j^//, or Clarke whisper). 
 
 P.S. — I find that my exactly is not quite exact. There is 
 to be a piece of boiled beef to-morrow ; but then we have 
 mutton to-day, which will be conveniently cold for those who 
 prefer the worse fare. By the way I hope you all like boiled 
 beef. I think I recollect that you and Mary do, but not so 
 sure of the Clarkes. I must presume, with them, upon the 
 ground of its being generally liked. 
 
 The three following, being sent from " Cromwell Lane," 
 are grouped together ; but no date being affixed to them, 
 it is difficult to trace the period when they were 
 written : — 
 
 To M. S. N. (66, Queen Street.) 
 
 Cromwell Lane, Dec. 23rd, Wednesday. 
 
 Dear Mary, — By a miraculous cliance I slept from home 
 
 on Monday night, and did not get your letter till the night 
 
 following ; so that you must consider this as an answer by 
 
 return of post. I shall come with the greatest pleasure to-
 
 238 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 morrow at three and pay my respects to you all, and to my 
 old friend Bacchus senior. Is there any Septuor? However, 
 that is not necessary. There will at all events be a Quatuor 
 (you and Vincent, Charles Clarke and Victorinella), and any 
 two of you would make a good duct, to say nothing oia.soitl-o. 
 I am glad you like my versLS so well. Marianne begs her 
 love and hopes to see you soon. It is lucky that I had not 
 time to be tempted into the Requiem, for besides what you 
 say, there are too many thoughts on certain subjects pass 
 thi'o' my mind on these occasions, and put me into a state 
 unsuitable both to the dignity of my philosophy and the 
 cheerfulness of my hopes ; so there is a pretty sound period 
 for you. I shall compliment myself by saying that I should 
 have felt the Requiem too much as Mozart did himself ; and 
 greatly for the same reason ; to wit, that my liver is not in 
 good condition. If it be thought too vain to have even a liver 
 in common with Mozart, tell Vincent it is owing to his flattery 
 of me in the postscript. To be serious I never see his hand 
 but it seems to come with a blessing upon me, like that of 
 one of your Catholic priests, — only sincere :^ — a Thais, only 
 not vicious. You remember, I suppose, whose pleasant 
 passage this last sentence alludes to. 
 
 Dear Wilful (for I cannot part with any of my old ways) I 
 am heartily thine. 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 To M. S. N. 
 
 Cromwell Lane, Feb. 18. 
 Dear Mary, — You have seen by the Taiie>- how accept- 
 able your critical epistle was; but how you must have won- 
 dered, with all your breakfast-table, at the signature ''Man- 
 thele" ! I ha^'e fancied you have been saying fifty times in 
 your heart, '' What the devil does he mean by 'Manthcle"'.-^ — 
 for ladies, you know, do say " what the devil '' in their 
 hearts, though it may not be quite bad enough for their 
 tongues. (There ; that is a dramatic surprise for you, very 
 ingenious ; for you thought I was going to say " not quite 
 good enough," which I own would have been less proper.) 
 Well, Manthele should have been Melanthe (dark flower) : I
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 239 
 
 thought "an amateur "not so well, because it is pretty to 
 see ladies' letters distinguished by ladies' names, and so I 
 thought I would give you a nice horticultural one, such as 
 you would like ; and I wrote or rather printed it in capitals, 
 that there might be no mistake; and Mr. Reynolds tells me 
 that he saw it right in the proof. He says the letters must 
 have subsequently fallen out, when going to press, and been 
 huddled back loosely. Never apologize, dear Mary, about 
 books : for then what am / to do .? Keep them, an you love 
 me, and I shall think I am obliging somebody. Do you know 
 there is somebody in the world, who owes me tenpence? It 
 is a woman at Finchley. I bought two-pennyworth of milk 
 of her one day, to give a draught to Marianne; and she 
 hadn't change ; so I left a shilling with her, and cunningly 
 said I should call. Now I never shall call, improvident as 
 you may think it : so that upon the principle of compound 
 interest, her great-great- grandchildren or //^<?/r great-great, or 
 whichever great it is, will owe my posterity several millions 
 of money. This, I hope, will give you a lively sense of the 
 shrewdness which experience has taught me. Love, love, 
 and ten times love, to dear Vincent. 
 
 Ever sincerely yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 To Mary Cowden Clarke 
 
 Thursday night, Cromwell Lane. 
 Dear Victoria, — (For 1 have been used to call you so, 
 Mary being your name in heaven, but \' ictoria that upon 
 earth — 
 
 In heaven yclept " my own Mar\'," 
 But on earth heart-easing Vic.) 
 I conclude from Charles' letter and your own searching eyes, 
 that you saw the announcement of the verses in the Tatler. 
 Be good enough therefore to inspire your husband, if you 
 please, with some of his best rhymes on the spot, for a 
 reason which he will tell you ; and believe me. 
 
 For your kind words and attentions, 
 
 Your truly obliged friend, 
 Leigh Hunt.
 
 240 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 The two next short notes are given as specimens of 
 Leigh Hunt's affectionate, bright, off-hand style of writing 
 a mere few lines to his friendo : — 
 
 To M. S. N. 
 
 Wednesday, July ii. 
 
 Dear Novella, — Many thanks for your lemons, and 
 many more for your inquiries and kind attentions. We have 
 had some heart-tugging work since I saw Novello in the 
 streets. Both Mary and baby have been in danger, the 
 former for a short time, the latter moaning for two nights and 
 a day with the anguish of acute inflammatory fever : — but 
 you know all this sort of trouble, and more : nor would I say 
 anything to bring any more tears into your eyes, but that I 
 owe you a true account how we go on ; and even tears are 
 good things jn this wDrld, after a time : — they help to melt us 
 all into one heart. God bless you and all our friends. I 
 hope to enjoy them again shortly, and still reckon myself 
 getting better. 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 P.S. — The danger is now over. 
 
 "o"- 
 
 To Charles Cowden Clarke. 
 
 Saturday, Dec. 29, 66, Great Queen Street. 
 Thou Cowden, — Will you vouchsafe to step down here, 
 and confer with me half an hour or so respecting a certain 
 unborn acquaintance of yours yclept the Companion.'' — and 
 if you cannot come directly, will you say at what hour before 
 8 o'clock you can come ; or whether you can or cannot come 
 at all this afternoon ? — for time presses upon a project I 
 have in my head, because of the New Year. 
 
 Truly yours, 
 L. H. 
 
 The next is a notelet that drolly mimics the flourishing 
 and superlative style used in Italian letter-writing, and 
 gives a whimsically literal translation of "Cowden" into 
 *■'■ Spelonca delle Vacche :" —
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 241 
 
 To. C. C. C. 
 
 [No date.] 
 (Address :) All 'ornatissimo Signore il Signor 
 Carlo Speloiica dclle Vacche. 
 Signor Carlo, 
 
 Amico mio osservantissimo, 
 Have you heard anything of this confounded quarterly 
 payment ? (Don't you like this plunge out of the Italian 
 amenity into Damme-by-G-d English ?) 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 L. H. 
 
 The following is an exquisite example of a poet-friend's 
 candour in criticism and even objection, combined with 
 the most refined and affectionate praise, when sent a 
 MS. copy of some of the verses that subsequently 
 were printed in a small volume entitled " Carmina 
 minima :" — 
 
 To C. C. C. 
 
 5, York Buildings, New Road, Dec. 13th. 
 My dear Clarke, — I beg your acceptance of a copy of my 
 book. I do not send one to Vincent, because tho' he is one 
 of the few friends to whom one of my few copies, sent in this 
 manner, would otherwise have gone, he is among its patrons 
 and purchasers, and therefore, I must, even out of my sense of 
 his kindness, omit him. But tho' it is not altogether out of 
 his power to stretch a point for me in this way with his purse, 
 I dare to tell you that I know it to be yours and that your 
 generosity, equally real with his but unequal to show itself in 
 the same manner, will give me credit for understanding you 
 thoroughly and believing that you understand me. I appeal 
 to it also, with hand on heart, for giving me entire credit 
 when I say, that the sonnet in which you were mentioned, 
 and the one mentioning himself, were omitted solely in con- 
 seciuence of the severe law 1 had laid down for m) self in 
 selecting my verses (as you will see in the Preface), and 
 which, much against my will, forced me to throw out others 
 
 R
 
 242 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS, 
 
 relating to a variety of my friends. I am still, however, to be 
 inspired with better ones, if they insist upon overwhelming me 
 with aminbleness and being illustrious. Pray tell him all this. 
 Now let me tell you that there is real poetry in some of the 
 verses you have sent me, and that I have read them over and 
 over again. There are one or two points which might be 
 amended perhaps, in point of construction, and it is a pity, I 
 think, that you have made the Fairy so entirely serious at the 
 close of his song,' as to say " Oh, misery ! " He should have 
 
 » We append the following copy of this " Song, 
 
 THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 
 
 Gone are all the merry band ! Gone 
 
 Is my Lord — my Oberon ! 
 
 Gone is Titania ! Moonlight song 
 
 And roundel now no more 
 
 Shall patter on the grassy floor. 
 
 And Robin too ! the wild bee of our throng, 
 
 Has wound his last recheat — 
 
 Oh fate unmeet ! 
 The roosted cock, with answering crow. 
 No longer starts to his " Ho ! ho ! ho ! ** 
 For low 1 e lies in death, 
 With violet, and muskrose breath 
 Woven into his winding-sheet. 
 And now I wander through the night, 
 An old and solitary sprite ! 
 No laughing sister meets me ; 
 No friendly chirping greets me ; 
 But the glow-worm shuns me, 
 And the mouse outruns me. 
 
 And every hare-bell 
 
 Rings my knell ; 
 
 For I am old, 
 
 And my heart is cold. 
 
 Oh misery ! 
 
 Alone to die !
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 243 
 
 died like Suet, between sorrow, astonishment, and jest, and he 
 might have perished of frost, because there was no longer 
 any fireside for him. But the idea of a " Last of the fairies," 
 is excellent, and the treatment of it too, especially down to 
 the words I have quoted, from the line beginning "the roosted 
 cock." 
 
 '•' Robin Goodfellow's winding-sheet " is worthy of Keats. 
 I admire also the first eight lines of the sonnet beginning " I 
 feel my spirit humbled," only you should not have said 
 "i-wm/Zas is the love I bear you :" you want to say such as is 
 the value of it ; and this is not what the other words can be 
 made to imply. At least I think so. The allusion to the 
 "room" is good. How good is truth, and how sure it is to 
 tell ! I have always admired, my dear Clarke, the way in 
 which you took your fortunes, and the wiseheartedness with 
 which you found out the jewel of good at the core of them, 
 and known how to cherish it. It has made you superior to 
 them, and gives you an advantage which many richer persons 
 might envy. God bless you both, and all of you, and believe 
 me. 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 Next come two delightful Chaucerian discussions; 
 together with a kindly criticism of an early-written story, 
 by M. C. C. called "First Love;" and an amusing 
 imitation of Johnsonian talk : — 
 
 To C. C. C. & Vincent Novello, Frith Street. 
 
 Chelsea, Feb. nth. 
 Ever dear Clarke and Vincent, — I have been going 
 to write to Frith St. not only for the last ten days, but for the 
 last ten weeks ; but my health is so unceasingly tried by my 
 pen, that when necessity allows me to lay it down, it costs 
 me such efforts to resume it, as must throw themselves on the 
 indulgence of kind friends. I rejoiced to hear of the inten- 
 tion about Chaucer, but so far from wondering at your leav' 
 ing out the passages you speak of, I may perhaps bespeak, 
 
 R 2
 
 244 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 your astonishment in return when I tell you, that I am not sure 
 I have ever entirely read even the stories in question ; I 
 mean those in which Sxvifi is horribly mixed up with La 
 Fontaine ; so much do I revolt from those kind of degrading 
 impertinences, in proportion to the voluptuousness I am pre- 
 pared to license. And yet I ought to beg pardon of divine 
 Chaucer for using such words ; for his sociality condescended 
 to the grossness of the time, and was doubtless superior to it, 
 in a certain sense, at the moment it included it in his good- 
 natured universality. They may even have been salutary,, 
 for what I know, by reason of certain subtle meetings of 
 extremes between grossness and refinement, which I cannot 
 now speak of. 
 
 What good things they were, Clarke, in some of those 
 verses you sent me ; and yet what a strange fellow you are, 
 who with such a feeling of the poetical, and a nice sense of 
 music, can never write a dozen lines together without com- 
 mitting a false quantity — leaving out Fome crotchets of 
 your bar. You almost make me begin to think that Chaucer 
 wrote in the same manner, and not, as I have fondly 
 imagined, with syllabical perfection. I am glad you did not 
 dislike my criticism ; and you too, dear Vincent. I send 
 Clarke one or two more, which I have cut out of periodicals. 
 Item^ another True Sun, merely because it contains a mention 
 of him, and may am.use him in the rest. He will see by it 
 that Christianity is getting on, and that Blackwood and I, 
 poetically, are becoming the best friends in the world. The 
 other day, there was an Ode in Blackwood in honour of the 
 ineviory of SJielley j and I look for one to Keats. I hope 
 this will give you faith in glimpses of the golden age. 
 
 You may have seen a popular edition of the '' Indicator " 
 advertised ; I mean with omissions. It is not mine, but 
 Colburn's, or I should have had copies to load my friends 
 with, whereas I have been obliged to be silent about it to 
 some of my oldest and nearest. What am I then to do in 
 your house .'' I must, for the present (for I still hope to do 
 better), cut the gentlemen, and confine myself, with a pleasing 
 narrowness, to the lady — I beg pardon, to Mary, to whom 
 I beg kindest remembrances, and her acceptance of the book
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 245 
 
 she christened. Dear Vin, I think of you all, be assured, 
 quite as often as you think of me. What have I to do, 
 sitting, as I do, evening after evening by myself in my study, 
 but to think of old times and friends, and attempt the con- 
 solation of a verse? May you all be very happy is the 
 constant wish of 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 To C. C. C. 
 
 4, Upper Cheyne Row, July i8th. 
 
 I was much obliged to you for your letter, and rejoice to 
 see that you continue to like the journal ; but as to prejudice, 
 thou Cowden, against " the Siddons," I disclaim it, and do 
 accuse thee (proof not being brought) of prejudice thyself in 
 the accusation. The prejudice is nature's ; — what think you 
 of that ? — for I have no pique against the Kembles, excepting 
 that they were an artificial generation, and their sister, with 
 all her superiority, a sort of "mankind woman" as the old 
 writers phrase it. 
 
 But now to better things, — Chaucer and first love ; and first 
 of the first ; for love forbid that love should not go before 
 Chaucer, seeing that love made Chaucer himself, or ought to 
 have done so, and certainly made him a poet. I have read 
 it twice, and both times with emotion. The only fault I find 
 is that the uncle, under the circumstances, would not have 
 stuck to his vow. He would at the utmost have gone to his 
 rector or bishop with a case of conscience, and the bishop 
 would have told him it was a wicked thing to stick to such a 
 vow. As to the rest, all I say is, that the writer deserves to 
 be a man's first love and his last. 
 
 What you say about Lyon net makes me "pause and 
 wonder ;" yet I cannot help thinking that it was unworthy 
 of "his greatness" to put himself into such a state of fume 
 and energy for such an object. What need had he to prove 
 his energy, and by rope -dancing? Conceive the time it must 
 have taken, and the grave daily joltering practice, an immortal 
 soul (as an old divine or Johnson might have phrased it) 
 bobbing up and down every day, with a grave face, and with
 
 246 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 nothing better before it to warrant its saliences than the hope 
 of beatin;:^ a fellow at a fair ! Sir, he had much better have 
 taken Mrs. Lyonnet by the hand, and danced 2l pas-de-deux 
 with her. 
 
 Boswell. There is a grace in that dance, sir. 
 
 Johnson. Yes, sir, and it promotes benevolence. 
 
 Boswell. And yet you would not have it danced every day, 
 sir, — not with so formal a recurrence, — not as a matter of 
 course. 
 
 Johnson. Why, no, sir; not ex-officioj not professionally; 
 not like the clock, sir. Sir, I would not have a man horo- 
 logically saltatory. An impulse should be an impulse, and 
 circumstances should be considered besides. 
 
 Boswell. You have danced yourself, sir .-* 
 
 Johnson {with complacency). Yes, sir; {then with a shrewd 
 look) though people would not easily suppose it. ( Ihen rising 
 with a noble indignation.) But, sir, I did not dance on the 
 rope, like this Lyonnet, I left that to the paltry egotism of 
 Frenchmen, fellows that think nothing too small to be made 
 mighty by their patronage, that go and write the lives of 
 caterpillars. . . . 
 
 I will come on Sunday week, if you will be good enough to 
 let me know the hour. 
 
 Can you lend me for a day or two your copy of " Adam 
 the Gardener".? I want to extract the description of the 
 rainstorm for next Wednesday week. 
 
 Ever truly yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 P.S. — I have omitted to speak of the Chaucer MS. after 
 all. But you will sec I had not forgotten him, either in MS. 
 or letter. I need not repeat how I like your project, and as 
 little, I am sure, need I apologize for the littJe corrections 
 suggested in the preface. 
 
 The following is one of his courageous struggles 
 against ill-health and its consequent feeling of dejection ; 
 determining to take comfort from friendship and his own 
 power of cheerful rallying :— -
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 247 
 
 To M. S. N. 
 
 4, Upper Cheyne Row, Chelsea, April I5tli. 
 What shall I say to dear Mary for being so long before I 
 reply to her kind letter ? What but that I have a bruised 
 head, and am always full of work and trouble, and always 
 desiring to write such very long answers to kind letters, that 
 I seem as if I should never write any. I once heard Hob- 
 house say a good thing — much better than any he ever said in 
 Parliament— to wit, that the only real thing in life was to be 
 always doing wrong, and always be forgiven for it. Is not 
 that pretty and Christian ? For my part I cannot always be 
 doing wrong ; I have no such luck ; on the contrary, I am 
 obliged to waste a great deal of time in doing much which 
 is absolutely right, — nay, I am generally occupied with it all 
 day, so strange and unpardonable is my existence. And yet 
 this putting off of letters is a very bad thing ; I grant my 
 friends have much to forgive in it, so I hope they will forgive 
 me accordingly, and think I am not so very bad and virtuous 
 after all. As to being " venerable,'' however, I defy anybody 
 to accuse rne of that, and they will find some difficulty in 
 persuading me that you are so. Venerable ! why it's an 
 Archdeacon that's venerable, or Bcde, the oldest historian — 
 " Venerable Bede " — or the oldest Duke or Viscount living, 
 whoever he is, the " venerable Duke " of the newspapers. 
 What time may do with me I cannot say, but it shall at any 
 rate be with no consent of mine that I become even aged, 
 much less venerable, and therefore I have resolved not to 
 fear being so, lest fear make me what I fear. Alas ! I fear I 
 am not wholly without misgivings while I say it, for white 
 hairs are fast and fearfully mingling with my black, and I 
 fear that my juvenility is all brag. I have told Clarke that I 
 have none remaining, and I fear that is more like the truth 
 than these ostentations, that is to say, in point of matter of 
 fact, for as to matter of fancy I love and desire just the 
 same things as I did of old, read the same books, long for 
 the same fields, love the same friends (whatever some of these 
 may think), and will come and hear dear little Clara sing 
 (great Clara now) whenever you give me notice that you 
 have an evening for me ; for here I sit, work, work, work,
 
 243 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 and headache, hcadarhe, headache, at tl^e mercy of "Copy" 
 and Printer's Devils, and am not blissful enough to be able 
 to risk the loss of an evening by finding you from home. 
 With love to dear Vincent, 
 
 Ever your affectionate, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 The allusion in the postscript of the next letter refers 
 to an Italian gentleman's having told M. C. C. that he 
 rather liked a London fog than not, inasmuch as it 
 allowed of two dawns a day, — one at sunrise, the other 
 when the fog lifted off and cleared away from the 
 sky : — 
 
 To M. C. C. 
 
 Chelsea, December 15th, 
 My dear Victoria, — Though my head is so beaten 
 with work just at this instant as to be no better than a 
 mashed turnip, and though I am not aware that I have any 
 thorough right to make you pay threepence because I am 
 grateful, yet being apt to obey impulses to that effect, I am 
 unable to forbear thanking you for your very nice and kind 
 letter, so well written because you have a brain, and so 
 warmly felt because you have a heart. I love your love of 
 your mother, and of your husband, and of all other loveable 
 things, and as a lover of them all myself shall think it no 
 impertinence, especially as they give me leave, to beg you to 
 continue to keep a little corner in your heart for the love of 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 P.S. — I enjoy heartily your Italian's " perfection of playful 
 sophistry." Happily do you describe it ; and yet see what 
 a really different thing he makes a fog from those who do 
 nothing but grumble at it, for everything is nothing but a 
 result of our sensations, and the more pleasant we can make 
 this, how lucky we ! There is a poor hand-pianoforte 
 playing at my window this moment the song of " Jenny 
 Jones," and uuia " The Light of Other Days," I believe it is
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 249 
 
 called. But I have srot such a delicious abstract idea of a 
 "Jenny Jones" of my own (which I intend to embody in 
 words), and there is something which falls so sweetly on some 
 part of my feelings from the other air too, that tears between 
 sadness and pleasure come into my eyes. God bless you 
 nice hearty people, you Clarkes ; and so no more at present 
 from yours till death. 
 
 The next two refer to the " Legend of Florence :" the 
 interesting evening of its "second reading" having been 
 described at page 86. The sentence respecting the 
 " MS." refers to the fifth Act of the " Legend of Flo- 
 rence " as originally written by its author, which gave 
 a different close to the play from the one given in the 
 acted and printed versions. The copy of this original 
 fifth Act, which Leigh Hunt permitted M. C. C. to 
 make from his own manuscript, is still in our possession, 
 appended to 11 is presentation copy of the first printed 
 edition of the play. 
 
 To C. C. C. and M. C. C, Dean Street. 
 
 Thursday. 
 My dear Clarke, — I want you both particularly to- 
 night to stand by me in my readings to some nero friends 
 (very cordial people nevertheless). This is my secondxQ?i^\n'g 
 of my play, and I am to have a third, and I mix up new and 
 old friends together when I read, though indeed of dear old 
 friends I retain very few out of the claws of Death or distance, 
 and those in Dean Street, despite of the perplexities of this 
 beautiful world (which keep apart sometimes those who 
 sympathize most), have ever been among the dearest to your 
 affectionate friend, 
 
 Dear Charles and " Molly," 
 
 L. H. 
 
 To M. C. C, Dean Street. 
 
 Chelsea, Feb. 20th, 1840. 
 My dear Victoria — Do not think me ungrateful for
 
 250 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 either of your kind and most welcome notes in having thus 
 hitherto delayed to answer them. The conclusion of the 
 first brought the tears into my eyes, which, I assure you, the 
 exclamations it speaks of, delightful as they were, did notj 
 such a difference is there between a public idea and the 
 distinct and ascertained affection of a private one. But I 
 have not even yet recovered from the hurry and perplexity of 
 an exquisitely overwhelming correspondence, and I delayed 
 copies of the play to your father and you two (for I am not 
 yet rich enough to offer it the only desirable divorce between 
 you, that of giving you a book apiece) till I could send the 
 second edition, which contains the proper acknowledgment 
 of the music he was so kind as to send me, and which I 
 expect to be out every day, and the MS. of the act you so 
 naturally prefer shall come at the same time. Meanwhile 
 (with Charles' leave) pray let me give you in imagination the 
 half dozen kisses which you would certainly have had to 
 undergo, as others did, had you been near me on that 
 occasion. I suppose your mother does not care for them, or 
 for me, as she does not send me a word. Well, never mind, 
 I'll sulk and try to do without her. And yet, somehow, give 
 her my love to vex her ; and to everybody else that is loving, 
 and grasp Charles' hand for me till he cries out. 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 L. H. 
 
 The following seven afford samples of Leigh Hunt's 
 fascinating mode of implying complimentary things in 
 what he saii to those honoured by his regard. He had 
 a perfectly charming mode of paying a compliment; a 
 mode that inspired the ambition to he all he imputed, 
 and that tended to exalt and improve the object of his 
 praise. A remark that I (M. C. C. ) once overheard him 
 make at a dance of young people upon my dancing was 
 such as to call forth a proud feeling quite other than that 
 of mere gratified vanity : it caused me to dance with 
 better grace and spirit ever after. On another occasion,
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 251 
 
 he said:— "I always know how to call the light into 
 Victorinella's face, — by speaking of her husband." I may 
 here cite a specimen of the playful kind of direction to 
 which I have previously alluded, as one that he sometimes 
 put outside a letter. This I now speak of contained a 
 press-order for the theatre ; and the direction ran thus : — 
 "To Mrs. Clarke, Mr. Novello's, Frith Street, Soho." 
 (Then, written in minute characters) : — " Private, espe- 
 cially the outside. Written suddenly out of a loving 
 and not a petulant impulse. Why don't female friends, 
 and other friends, take walks to see their sick friends, — 
 especially when they live near the Hampstead fields 
 again ? I hope this question won't be considered base 
 from one who sends orders for theatres, which, it seems, 
 are considered favours out in the world. I know nothing 
 of what is out in the world, but it is not my fault if I wish 
 to see the pleasant people in it. Hallo, though ! I forgot 
 I have not been lately to Frith Street. The above there- 
 fore, has not been written. ' There's no such thing !'" 
 
 » 
 
 To M. C. C. 
 
 Kensington, April 27th. 
 COWDENIA MIA, — I am afraid you must have thought it 
 very strange, my not sooner answering your kind and most 
 welcome letter with its good news about the Concordance ; 
 but we have all been in such a state here with influenza and 
 measles, etc., that a sort of cordon sanitairc was drawn round 
 us, and even the people in Church St. (naturally enough, 
 Heaven knows, considering how they have suffered) were 
 afraid of having anything to do with us, or receiving even a 
 book from us at their doors ; so it made us take ourselves for a 
 set oi \h&Ta.o?>X. plaguey invalids possible, people wholly to be 
 eschewed and eschewing. The girls, however, being at length 
 about and Vincent himself, who has been longest in bed of any, 
 1 think we may venture to think of a remote knock at some 
 person's door ; and the coni equence is, that here comes to you
 
 -.2 RECOLLLCTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 ■ J 
 
 and Carlo mio a little book, which has been waiting for you 
 these three weeks. It does not contain quite all that even / 
 would have had inserted ; and most unluckily the Nile, and 
 the song which your father set, have got out of it purely by 
 an accident of delay arising out of my wish to improve them. 
 An rcste, I have always regretted that I could not retain that 
 Sonnet to Keats in which Charles was mentioned, because it 
 really was unworthy of both of them ; so I have taken an 
 opportunity of mentioning en passant your dear good husband 
 in the Preface. Toll him, if he never saw my Sonnet on the 
 Fish and Man before, I bespeak his regard for it. How 
 rejoiced I was to see the specimen of the Concordance ! Item, 
 to hear of the admirable mipulse felt by the lady when she 
 heard the Sonnet about the lock of hair. Vide the Rondeau 
 at page 155, for the impulse turned into fact, — a very pretty 
 example, let me tell you, for all honest female friends, espe- 
 cially Cowdenians. I say no more. Veybuvi sat.j which means 
 a word to the womanly. 
 
 Ever dear Charles and Victoria's 
 
 Affectionate friend, Leigh. 
 
 To M. C. C. 
 
 Kensington, February 17th. 
 VlTTORIA MIA, — (For you know I always claim a little bit 
 of right in you, Caroli gratia) I think I have repeated the 
 remark you speak of more than once, and yet I cannot 
 remember anything more like it at present than in some pas- 
 sages in the accompanying " Recollections of a dead body " 
 in the Monthly Repository, pages 218,219; which book I 
 accordingly send you. I still think, however, there must be 
 a passage somewhere else, and I will look for it, and if I find 
 it, send it off directly. With love to dear Clarke, 
 Believe me, ever affectionately yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 To M. C. C. 
 
 Kensington, February 1 8th. 
 
 My dear Victoria, — I send you overleaf the manifest 
 passage. Your clue (" the end of a paragraph ") enabled me
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 253 
 
 to find it almost instantly at p. 20 of the Londofi yoiirnal. 
 Sempre Clarke-issimo, 
 
 L. H. 
 
 " We see in the news from Scotland, that at the interment of 
 the venerable widow of Burns (Bonnie Jeannie Armour, who 
 we believe made him a very kind and considerate wife) the 
 poet's body was for a short time exposed to view, and his 
 aspect found in singular preservation. An awful and affect- 
 ing sight ! We should have felt, if we had been among the 
 bye-standers, as if we had found him in some bed, in the 
 night of Time and space, and as if he might have said some- 
 thing ! grave but kind words of course, befitting his spirit and 
 that of the wise placidity of Death, for so the aspect of death 
 looks. A corpse seems as if it suddenly knew everyUiing, and 
 loas profoundly at peace in consequence" 
 
 To M. C. C. {with vignette of Bterns's House"). 
 
 ViCTORlANINA D I AVOLINA, — Friday by all means. I will 
 be with you all on ditto at 2 o'clock. Greatly pleased am I 
 at hearing that Charles is to be at home, for I began to think 
 I should never see him till this time next century. Here- 
 with come the woodcuts I spoke of. We will talk farther of 
 the subject when we meet, and then I will put down, on the 
 spot, any memorandums you like. I shall quite look forward 
 to Friday. 
 
 Ever, you devilish good people, 
 
 Most truly yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 To M. C. C. 
 
 Kensington, September 27th. 
 Cara Vittoria MIA, — I address this to you, because I 
 conclude it is more likely to find you at home, and because 
 being so much of a f ;/6'-ness with your husband I suppose 
 you could act for him as well as if he were on the spot, and 
 send me the little book I ask for in case he happens to possess 
 a copy. It is the Literary Pocket-book (if you remember 
 such a thing) containing the collection of the sayings of
 
 254 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 poor Beau Brummel, under the title of " Brummelliana." A 
 szentleman who is writin;? a life of him has sent to me to 
 borrow it, and my own copy has disappeared. I need not 
 say, that I should stipulate with the gentleman to take every 
 care of it, and that at all events I would become personally 
 responsible for its return. And so with best blessings to both 
 o€ you (for tho' not a Papist I am Catholic in all benedictory 
 articles) I am ever, dear Victoria, 
 
 Your and his faithful friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 To M. C. C. 
 
 Kensington, October 21st. 
 
 ViCTORIANELLTNA CARINA, BUONINA,— You must have 
 thought me a strange dilatory monster all tliis while ; but in 
 the first place, my Keatses (as usual) were all borrowed, so 
 that I had to wait till I could get one of them back. In the 
 second place, I did so, the full :st (Galignani's) ; when lo ! and 
 behold, there was no Nile Sonnet ! ergo, in the third place we 
 commenced a search amongst boxes and papers, Mrs. Hunt 
 being pretty sure that she had got it " somewhere ;" but un- 
 fortunately, after long and repeated ransacking, the somewhere 
 has proved a nowhere. Now what is to be done? I have an 
 impression on my memory that all the three Sonnets were 
 published in the Examiner, and as your father has got an 
 Examiner (which I have not) perhaps you will find it there. 
 I regret extremely that 1 cannot meet with it, particularly as 
 I was to be so much honoured. Shelley's comes on the next 
 page. Oh, what memories they recall ! I am obliged to shut 
 them up with a great sigh, and turn my thoughts elsewhere. 
 The Brummelliana came back with many thanks. There is 
 to be a book respecting the poor Beau, which doubtless we 
 shall all see. Tell Charles I have been getting up a volume 
 called " True Poetry," with a prefatory essay on the nature of 
 ditto, and extracts, with comments, from Spenser, Marlow, 
 Shakespeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, Milton, Coleridge, 
 Shelley, and Keats. I know he will be glad to hear this. It 
 is a book of veritable pickles and preserves; rather say, 
 nectar and ambrosia ; and there is not a man in England
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 255 
 
 who will relish or understand the Divine bill of fare better 
 than he. With kindest love ever his and yours, 
 
 Madamina, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 To M. C. C. Kensington, November 12th. 
 
 ViCTORiANELLINUCCiA, — You would hava heard from me 
 earlier in the week than this, had I not been suffering under 
 a cold and cough of such severity, that it affected the very 
 muscles of my neck to a degree which rendered it painful for 
 me to do anything with my head but to let it lie back on the 
 top of an armchair, and so direct its eyes on a book and read. 
 Of all kinds of approbations of my scribblements — nay, I will 
 call them writings in consideration of their sincerity and their 
 approvers — there is none that ever pleases me so much as those 
 like Mr. Peacock's; and I beg you to make him my grateful 
 acknowledgments, as well as to accept them yourself for 
 sending them to me in a letter so delightful. As to any 
 violation of modesty in your showing me what he says of you, 
 in the first place there is no such violation ; and secondly, if 
 there could be, it is the privilege of women so really modest 
 (and the wicked exquisites know it) to be able to set this 
 modesty aside on occasions gloriously appropriate, and so 
 make us love it the more on all others. With coi-dial remem- 
 brances to your traveller, 
 
 Your ever affectionate 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 The next two are charmingly characteristic of the 
 
 writer. 
 
 To V. N. 
 
 Kensington, 25th February, 1843. 
 
 My dear Vincent,— Lemures sometimes called Lemurs 
 (as in Milton, Ode to Nativity, — 
 
 "The Lars and Lemurs moan with midnight plaint") is 
 accented on the first syllable The Lemurs were the departed 
 souls of the wicked, as the Lars or Lares were those of the 
 good ; so the former came and bothered people, while the 
 latter befriended them. A fellow who leaves us his male- 
 diction, and does not leave us his money, is a Lemur. An
 
 2^.5 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 old lady, who was tiresome in her life, and who says that her 
 spirit will watch over the premises to see we behave properly 
 is a sort of fair Lemur ; for she candidly gives us notice to 
 quit 
 
 I have been going to write to you every day to thank you 
 for your kind present of the music, before hearing it, and in 
 despair, just now, of hearing it properly. You recollect you 
 asked me to give you my opinion ^/jr hearing it. How can [ 
 doubt, however, that it will be very delightful, considering who 
 selected and harmonized it ? The next time I see you I 
 hope to be able to speak from the particular experience. 
 Ever, my dear Vincent, 
 
 Your affectionate old friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 To V. N. 
 
 32, Edwardes Square, 2nd July. 
 
 My dear Vincent, — I am so hard driven just at this 
 moment, that I can but afford a hasty word of thanks even for 
 such presents as yours and dear Mary's (to whom pray give an 
 einbracmgword for me) ; but I need not entreat you to believe, 
 that that word contains a thousand kind thoughts. As to 
 coming to see you, it is what I long for ; but with the excep- 
 tion of one unavoidable engagement for next Saturday week, 
 I have been obliged to " cni" all my friends, as far as visiting 
 ihcm goes, till my new play is finished (don't you feel a par- 
 ticularly great gash } for the " cutting " is of necessity pro- 
 portioned to the love). On the other hand, I take it particu- 
 larly kind of them, if they in the meantime come to see me^ 
 while resting of an evening after my work (for the going out 
 to visit after dinner knocks me up for the next day). Im- 
 pudently, nay lovingly then, let me request you to do so, 
 and Clarke also, and dear Vic, if they, or she, or all of you, 
 or each, or either, will come (I have two loves of the name of 
 " Vic " now, Clarke and Prince Albert permitting !) Tea will 
 be always ready for you any time between six and eight, and 
 hearty thanks, From your affectionate friend, 
 
 L. H. 
 
 P.S. The moment my play is finished, I will come, and
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 257 
 
 come again, as fist as possible. Tell Clarke my new study is 
 very snug and nice, and that I have a bit of vine over my 
 window. Bid him make haste and see it. 
 
 The following breathes all his old affectionate spirit of 
 friendship and hope for the best : — 
 
 To M. S. N. 
 
 Phillimore Terrace, Kensington, 
 
 August 4th (probably 185 1 ). 
 
 My dear Mary,— Your letter, full of warm and most 
 welcome old friendship, to say nothing (which means much) 
 of the box of my favourite sweetmeats, came like a beam of 
 sunshine upon a house full of trouble ; for your husband's 
 
 namesake had been taken suddenly ill But we have all 
 
 experienced these sorrows in the course of our hves, so I will 
 say no more of them. 
 
 Truly, in spite of anxiety, did I rejoice to think of your 
 southern rest, and our patient's condition has made us doubly 
 desirous to hear more of a place, where you so naturally wish 
 to have more old friends near you, and where we should be 
 so willing to find ourselves. . . . We might pass some months 
 perhaps at Nice, or some longer time, as cheaply as we live in 
 tliis neighbourhood (where, by the way, I have not yet seen 
 
 the exhibition, so anxious have I been !) A thousand 
 
 recollections of past times often spring up in my mind, con- 
 nected with yoMrselves and other friends, all loving, and 
 wishing I could have made them all haipy for ever. But 
 some day I believe we shall be so, in some Heavenly and 
 kindly place. Meantime, just now, I shall dry my eyes, and 
 fancy myself with you at Nice, imitating some happy old 
 evening in Percy Street. We would have a little supper, pre- 
 cisely of the old sort, and fancy ourselves not a 1 it older in 
 years ; and " Victoria " if she were there, should put on a pina- 
 fore to help the illusion ; and we would repeat the old jokes, 
 and at all events love one another and so deserve to have all 
 the happiness we could. Now is not this a thing to look 
 forward to, in case I can take the journey ? Maiianne, who 
 sends cordialest greetings, looks up with a bright eye at what 
 
 S
 
 25S RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 you say about rheumatism, and asks "me if it is possible we 
 could go ? " Possible." I do not know whether it is, till I 
 hear and see further ; but 1 will seriously hope it not other- 
 wise ; and at all events it is a thought with too many good 
 things in it to give up before we must. Kindest remembrances 
 to all around you, and a happy meeting somewhere still on 
 earth, should Nice not allow it. What charming things are in 
 your daughter's Shakespearian books. 
 
 Your ever affectionate friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 The two next felicitously hit off a combination of 
 business seriousness with old-acquaintance kindliness : — 
 
 To J. Alfred Novello. 
 
 Hammersmith, May 8th, 
 
 Monday morning, 10 o'clock. 
 
 Dear Alfred, — Your letter has only this moment reached 
 
 me. You will find the parody on the next leaf ; at least it is 
 
 all which I recollect, and to the best of my recollection there 
 
 was really nothing more. It is not masterly, tho' not un= 
 
 I don't know the author. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 L. H. 
 
 GENTLY STIR AND BLOW THE FIRE. 
 
 Gently stir and blow the fire, 
 
 Lay the mutton down to roast ; 
 Dress it quickly, I desire ; 
 In the dripping put a toast ; 
 Hunger that I may remove ; 
 Mutton is the meat I love. 
 
 On the dresser see it He ; 
 
 Oh, the charming white and red 1 
 Finer meat ne'er met my eye ; 
 On the sweetest grass it fed. 
 Lee the jack go swiftly round ; 
 Let me have it nicely brown' J«
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 259 
 
 To J. A. N. 
 
 7, Cornwall Road, Hammersmith, 
 Deer. 13th, 
 
 My dear Alfred — (For, notwithstanding your jovial 
 proportions and fine bass voice, I have danced you on my 
 knee when a child, and Christmas topics and dear old 
 memories will not allow me, out of very regard, to call you 
 "sir") I enjoyed exceedingly your kind recollection of me 
 and the place which you gave that Christmas effusion of 
 mine in the midst of all those harmonious advertisements. 
 I seemed to be made the centre of some groat musical party. 
 I see also my dear old friend " C. C. C." as touching and 
 cordial as ever. 
 
 I need not say how heartily I return your Christmas 
 wishes. I have had a great sorrow to endure of late years — 
 one that often seemed all but unbearable — but it is softening, 
 and I never, thank God, wished any other person's happiness 
 to be less during it, but greater. How desirable then to me 
 must be the happiness of my friends. 
 
 I take this opportunity of asking a question which I have 
 often been going to put to some one acquainted with musico- 
 commercial aftairs, of which I am totally ignorant ; will you 
 tell me at one of your leisure moments (if such things there 
 be) whether a man of letters like myself could purchase a 
 musical instrument with his pen, instead of his purse ; that 
 is to say, for such and such an amount of literary matter, 
 verse or prose, or both, as might be agreed upon ? and if so, 
 what sort of matter would be likeliest to be required of him ? 
 
 Should you be ever wandering this way, and would give 
 me a look in (I have tea and bread and cheese ready for 
 anybody from 6 o'clock onwards), I have long had a musico- 
 literary project or two in my head which possibly you might 
 not be unwilling to hear of. 
 
 Ever sincerely yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 In the following two there are traces of the cordia 
 sincerity with which Leigh Hunt praised and encouraged 
 
 s 2
 
 26o RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 the attempts of other writers. The MS. " Lecture " 
 was lent to him for perusal, and he returned it scored 
 with approval marks and valuable marginal remarks. 
 Tiiis was a delightful mode he had of manifesting his in- 
 terest in and careful reading through of such works as his 
 friends had written; and so precious were his pencilled 
 notes of this kind to the writer of " Kit Bam's Adventures," 
 and " The Iron Cousin," that she asked him to follow the 
 plan suggested by the crafty magician in " Aladdin," and to 
 *' exchange old lamps for new ones," sending her back 
 his well-worn presentation copies of the two books in 
 question, for which she sent liim fresh copies. In conse- 
 quence of his kind compliance with her wish, we now 
 possess the first-sent copy of " Kit Bam," inscribed "to 
 the grown-up boy, Leigh Hunt,'' which contains nu- 
 merous marginal pencilled comments; one of which 
 (playfully Vv^ritten on the page where is described a 
 vision of the dead Felix Morton with his wife and child 
 wafted to the sky), runs thus:— "A mistake. The 
 ' father ' of the winged child is still alive ; and for that 
 matter, the rogue of a charming writer who brought him 
 forth ; I shall not say wlio, as we happen not to be 
 married. F. M. sen." This was Leigh Hunt's plea- 
 sant mode of referring to a confession I (M. C. C.) had 
 made him when I sent him the book, that I once upon 
 a time had heard him say a pretty idea for a story would 
 be that of a child born with wings, owing to the strong 
 yearning of his mother to reach a distant place constantly 
 within her view but beyond her attainment, and that I 
 had adopted the idea and had ventured to work it out 
 in this story. We also possess the copy of " The Iron 
 Cousin " scored repeatedly by Leigh Hunt, and on the 
 blank pages at the end of which he has written in pencil :
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 261 
 
 — " There is no story (so to speak) in this book ; the 
 explanation to which the lovers come, they might liave 
 come to much sooner (the fault most common perhaps 
 to novels in general), and the illiterate persons in it. not 
 excepting the Squire, often make use of language too 
 literate. Nevertheless, to a reader like myself, who 
 prefers character and passion out and out to plot or to a 
 thorough consistency on those minor points, the book is 
 very interesting. Its descriptive power is of a kind the 
 liveliest and most comprehensive \ its powers of expression 
 are still rarer, — very rare indeed either with man or 
 woman, the latter particularly ; so well has the authoress 
 profited by her long and loving abode in the house (for 
 ' School ' does not express the thing) of Shakespeare ; 
 and what is rarest of all, there is some of the daintiest 
 and noblest love-making (and \owt-taking) in it, which I 
 can recollect in any book." The reader will, we trust, 
 forgive the seeming egoism of giving this tran3crii)tion, 
 for the sake of the genuine thought of Leigh Hunt him- 
 self and his generous commendation which filled our 
 heart as we copied out the faint pencilled traces, so 
 precious to us that when we first received them we passed 
 them through milk to prevent their being rubbed out by 
 time ; — 
 
 To C. C. C. 
 
 Hammersmith, Novr. 19th, 1854. 
 My dear Clarke, — I have been thinking of the Hamlet 
 and Midsummer Night's Dream, hopuig the lecture is going 
 to be delivered at some reachable place, fearing I might not 
 be able (owing to a cough and catarrh) and wondering 
 whether it would be possible to hear it here some evening, in 
 this my hut, between tea and supper, I being the sole poor, 
 but grateful audience. Such things you must know have 
 been, though I don't at all assume that they can be in this
 
 262 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 instance, however great the good will. But if not, might I 
 read it ? I need not tell you that it would be perused in 
 strictest confidence, except as far as you might allow me to 
 speak of it. 
 
 Nothing is more just, though I say it who should (one 
 likes to give impudent baulks sometim.es to prudish old 
 sayings), than what you think in regard to my ciitical 
 sincerity. I love too much to praise where I can, not to 
 preserve the acceptability of the praise by qualifying when I 
 must. 
 
 Besides, half my life has been, and is, a martyrdom to 
 truth, and I should be absurd indeed to stultify it with the 
 other half. My faults have enough to answer for without 
 being under the necessity of owning to any responsibility in 
 the lying and cheating direction ; but where am I running 
 to ? I always, as far as I had the means of judging, took 
 your wife to be a thoroughly loving woman (if I may so 
 speak) in every particle of her nature ; and I hold it for an 
 axiom, though exclusives in either the material or spiritual 
 would count it a paradox, that it is only such persons who 
 can have thoioughly fine perceptions into any nature what- 
 soever. In other words, incompleteness cannot possibly 
 judge completeness. So with this fine peremptory sentence 
 I complete this very complete letter of four sides down to 
 the cover, and with all loving respect, 
 
 My dear Clarke, 
 
 Am hers and yours, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 To M. C. C. 
 
 Hammersmith, January 8th, 1S55. 
 ViCTORIANELLlNA AMABILE E CARINA, — Very pleasant to 
 me was the sight of your handwriting, yet so much the more 
 unpleasant it is to be forced to write to you briefly. The 
 address of the London Library is 12, St. James' Square. 
 Circumstances have conspired to hamper me with three 
 books at once, the " Kensington " aforesaid, a collection of 
 my "Stories in verse" with revisals, new Preface and a 
 continuation of my autobiography. The consec^uence is that
 
 LEIGH HUN J AND HIS LETTERS. 263 
 
 I have been overworked in the midst of severe cold and 
 cough (the latte'- the longer and rather severest I have yet 
 had, for cough I always have) and thus I am able only to 
 continue the reading of Charles' lecture, attractive as it is, 
 by' driblets (availing myself of the additional time he gave 
 me, though not all of it), and am forced still to postpone 
 writing to Alfred. Give, pray, my kindest remembrancej to 
 him. Tell him I tried 1 ard to write an article for the 
 Alttsical Times by the 20th of December, but could not do 
 it ; that I wished very much to begin the New Year with 
 him ; that I still purpose to go on (having more tliin one 
 special object in so doing) ; that I will recommence the very 
 first moment I can ; and that meantime 1 rejoice to see the 
 honour done to my Christmas verses by Mr. Macfarren's 
 music. I have not heard it, for I have heard nothing but 
 the voice of booksellers and the sound of my pen and my 
 lungs ; but I shall make the first acquaintance with it feasil^le, 
 and look to it as a greeting at the close of some toilsome 
 vista. 
 
 Dear Victoria, Mary, or whatsoever title best please thine 
 ear, I am ever the sincere old liiend of you and yours, 
 
 LEiGti Hunt. 
 
 I need not say how heartily I reciprocate your Christmas 
 wishes. 
 
 In the Autumn of 1856, when we were going abroad, to 
 live in the milder climate of Nice, we went to take leave of 
 dear Leigh Hunt at his pretty little cottage in Cornwall 
 ^oad. Hammersmith, We found him, as of old, with 
 simple but tasteful environments, his books and papers 
 about him, engravings and plaster-casts around his room; 
 while he himself was Tall of his wonted cordiality and 
 cheerful warmth of reception for old friends. The 
 silvered hair, the thin pale cheek, the wondrous eyes, 
 were no less beautiful in their aged aspect than in their 
 youthful one ; while his charm of manner was, if anything 
 enhanced by the tender softening of years. We, — who
 
 264 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 could well remember the brilliancy and fascination of his 
 bearing in youthful manhood, the effect of bright expec- 
 tant pleasure attending his entrance into a company, the 
 influence of his general handsomeness with refined bearing 
 and beauty of countenance, especially the vivacity and 
 sparkling expression of his eyes, still so dark and fine, 
 though with a melancholy depth in them now,— felt as 
 though he were even more than ever beautiful to look upon. 
 It was perhaps an unconscious consciousness (if the ex- 
 pression may be allowed) of this personal attractiveness 
 on his own part, which lent that ease and grace and self- 
 possession to his demeanour which was always so inex- 
 pressibly winning : it arose not from self-complacency so 
 much as from imagination and instinctive feeling of its 
 giving him a pleasant ascendancy over those whom he 
 addressed. This ascendancy it was that inspired the 
 childish impulse (previously recorded) to creep round the 
 back of the sofa and lay a loving cheek on his resting 
 hand, — that hand so slender, so white, so true a poet's 
 hand. It was this ascendancy that often thrilled the 
 little girl's heart with a fancy for wishing to nurse his foot, 
 as she watched its shapely look, and lithe tossing to and 
 fro in the earnestness of his talk. It was this innate 
 personal ascendancy peculiar to Leigh Hunt that exer- 
 cised its amplest sway when we went to bid him good-bye 
 in 1856. The ring of his hair was worn on this occasion, 
 and shown to him between two hoops of pearl as the 
 "black diamond" treasured in our family; he, taking the 
 incident in his own tenderly gracious way and with his 
 own gift of tenderly recognizant words. 
 
 After we left England we received several letters from 
 him, among which were the two following : —
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 265 
 
 To C. C. C. 
 
 7, Cornwall Road, Hammersmith, 
 July 7tb, 1857. 
 
 My dear Friends — Dear Ciarke and dear Mary 
 Victoria, — (for you know I don't like to part with the old 
 word) the first letter from Nice came duly to hand ; but for 
 the reason kindly contemplated by itself, I could not answer 
 it at the moment, and the same reason made me delay the 
 answer, and now still makes me say almost equally little on 
 that particular point, except that I sigh as I am wont to do 
 from the bottom of my heart, and thank you with tears for 
 the privilege of silence accorded me. 
 
 Were it not for dear friends and connexions still living, I 
 should now feel as if I belonged wholly to the next world ; 
 but while they remain to me, or I to them, I must still do iny 
 best to make the most of the world I am in, in order to de- 
 serve their comfort of me during the remainder of my pro- 
 gress to that other ; where I do believe that all the wants 
 which hearts and natures yearn to be lovingly made up, will 
 be made up, as surely as in this world fruits are sounded and 
 perfected (final short-comings of any kind being not to be 
 thought possible in God's works) and where " all tears will 
 be wiped from all faces." Why was any text inconsistent 
 with that, ever suffered to remain in the book that contains 
 it ? But I am talking when I thought to become mute. 
 Be you mute for me. I shall take your silence for dumb and 
 loving squeezes of the hand. Winter here has been as severe 
 with us, after its severer kind, as it has been with you in the 
 midst of its lemon-blossoms and green peas. I hope your 
 summer has turned out as proportionately excellent, and 
 then you wiil have had a summer indeed ; for we have been 
 astonished ai our June without fires, and our continuously 
 blue weather. Your walks are noble truly, and would be 
 wonderful if you had not a companion ; a thing which always 
 makes me feel as if I could walk anywhere and for ever ; 
 that is to say, if anything like such a companion as yours, 
 but doubtless stoppings would occasionally be found de- 
 sirable, especially at inns, or where "j/ vende birraP 
 " Strada SinolLtl " is delightful. By-and-by there will be
 
 2 66 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 such streets all over the worlu. People will know, not only 
 the name of a street, but the reason for it, "and by the 
 visions splendid," be •' on their way attended." Let who 
 else will Hve in "Smollett Street," Matthew Brambles, and 
 Randoms, and Bowlings will be met there by passengers, as 
 long as the name endures. I see the last, turning a corner 
 with little Roderick in his hand, hitching up his respectable, 
 bad-fitting trousers, and jerking the tobacco out of his mouth 
 at the thought of unfeeling old hunkses of grandfathers. 
 Your finale respecting Burns was to good final purpose ; and 
 I do not wonder at its exciting the applause of the genial 
 portion of his countrymen ; for such only would be the por- 
 tion to come to your lectures. They must have felt it like 
 an utterance of their own hearts, let free for the first time ; 
 at least, thus publicly. To find fault with Burns is to find 
 fault with the excess of geniality of Nature herself ; which, 
 tho' like the sun it may do harm here and there, or seem to 
 do it in its hottest places, is a universal beneficence, and 
 could not be perhaps what it is without them. Nor a^e 
 those irremediable to such as are in Nature's secrets, or "to 
 the matter born." The life of Burns by Robert Chambers, a 
 serene and sweet-minded philosophic kind of man, is un- 
 doubtedly, as you say, the best of all the lives of him 
 
 I long to see the fifteen famous women,' and am truly obliged 
 by the desire expressed to the publisher to send it me. It is 
 impossible they should be in better hands than in those of 
 the bringer-up of the women of Shakespeare ; people, that 
 make a Mormon of me ; and, with your leave, a Molly— ^^ 
 well as a /"c/ygamist. Indeed with the help of another /, the 
 latter word might express both. You see you have made me 
 a Httle wild, with the compliment paid to my portrait. But 
 I am no less respectful at heart ; as in truth you know ; 
 otherwise I should not be where you have put me. So I feel 
 new times and old mingled beautifully together, with the 
 champagne once more over my hair, and all kindly nights and 
 mornings, and outpourings of heart as well as wine, and 
 
 » In allusion to "World-noied Women," written by M. C. C. 
 for Messrs. Appleton, of New York, in 1857.
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 267 
 
 laughters and tears too, that make such extremes meet as 
 veritably seem to join heaven and earth and render the 
 most transient joys foretastes of those that are to last for 
 ever. 
 
 Ah me ! Thus preach I my first sermon to loving eyes 
 from my wall in Mais on Quaglia, at Nice. 
 
 The other day I got news at last of the safe arrival of my 
 box of books and manuscripts (for the American press) at 
 Washington, Pennsylvania, which it had reached by a cir- 
 cuitous progress thro' other Washingtons, caused by my 
 ignorance of there being any other Washington than one, 
 and so having omitted the Pennsylvania. One London, I 
 thought, one Washington ; forgetting that London is a word 
 of unknown meaning, therefore who cares to repeat it ? 
 Whereas Washington was a man, of whom men are proud ; 
 and hence it seems, there are 70 Washingtons ! All goes 
 well with my "works" (grand sound !) and they are to come 
 out, both in verse and prose, the former forthwith ; and 
 special direction shall be sent to Boston for all being for- 
 w^arded duty free to Maison Ouaglia, in return for my " fifteen 
 women " (strange, impossible sound of payment !) so I do 
 not send you the list you speak of, meantime ; only I should 
 be glad to know what prose works of mine you may happen 
 to possess at present, in case, if the publication of them in 
 America be comparatively delayed, I may be able to send you 
 some of them, such as I think you would best like ; for there 
 is a talk of republishing those in England. Besides, I need 
 room for an extract which I had got to make for Victoria 
 from my friend Craik's " English of Shakespeare." I must 
 not even stop to enjoy with you some quotations from Dray- 
 ton and Jonson, but I must not omit to congratulate you both, 
 and everybody else, on the new edition of Shakespeare, 
 especially as I reckon upon her turning her unique knowledge 
 of him to dainty account in her Preface, and would suggest 
 to that end (if it be not already in her head) that she would 
 let us know what particular flowers, feelings, pursuits, read- 
 ings, and other things great and small he appears to have 
 liked best. Other people might gather this from her Con- 
 cordance, but who so well as she that made it ? Therefore
 
 268 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 pray let her forestall those who might tal<e it ii\to their heada 
 to avail themselves of the information afforded them by that 
 marvellous piece of love and industry. But to the extract : 
 .... Shall I send my copy of it to Nice .'' It would interest 
 editorship and occasion would be found to say a grateful and 
 deserved word for it in the introduction to Julius Caesar. I 
 lend the " Iron Cousin " to all understanding persons, and 
 they are unanimous in their praises. Itein. — 1 trust to read 
 and mark it again, myself, shortly. Loving friends, both, I 
 am your ever loving friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 To " Mr. and Mrs Cowden Clarke " as men call them. 
 To Charles and Mary-Victoria among the Gods. 
 
 Feb. 4th, 1858, Hammersmith. 
 
 My DEAR Friends,— Tho' it was a very delightful moment 
 to me when I was again received by the house in that man- 
 ner — far more delightful, for reasons which you may guess, 
 than when I was first received, (with such strange memories 
 sometimes will the brain of a poor humanist be haunted) yet 
 the crown of the crown of congratulation is, after all that 
 which one receives from families and old friends ; terrible 
 nevertheless, as the absence is oi that which one misses. Bitter 
 was the moment, after that other moment, when on returning 
 home, I could not go first of all, and swiftly, into one particular 
 room. But I ought to give you none but glad thoughts, in 
 return for the gladness which you have added to mine. I 
 had several times reproached myself for not writing to thank 
 certain most kind remembrances of me in Mtisiuil Times^ 
 and then (as always seems to be the retributive case) comes 
 this loving congratulation, before I have spoken. But work 
 is mine, you must know, still and ever, and must be so till 
 my dying day, only leaving me too happy at last, if I do but 
 render it as impossible for any one individual in private to 
 mistake me, as it seems to be with the blessed public, for 
 whom, as I sometimes feared, might be the case, I have not 
 gone through my martyrdoms (such as they are) in vain. 
 Great, great indeed was my joy when they seemed as it 
 were, at that moment, to take me again, and in a speciaJ
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 269 
 
 manner, into their arms, the warm arms of my fellow-crea- 
 tures. And now come yours, my deai friends, about me as 
 warmly. Imagine me returning them with an ardour of 
 heart, which no snows on my head can extinguish. 
 
 A few weeks ago there came to me from a certain pleasant- 
 named house in New York a most magnificent book, full of 
 handsome ladies, and better comments upon them, which 
 till this moment I have thanked neither publishers nor 
 authoress for, having wished to read it thro' first in order 
 to thank properly. My acknowledgments for it go accord- 
 ingly to Nice and New York at the same time. The ladies 
 are somewhat too much of a family, and of a drawing-room 
 family, especially in the instances of the divine peasant, 
 Joan of Arc, of lovely-hearted Pocahontas, who must still 
 have been a Cherokee or Chickasaw beauty, and of what 
 ought to have been the "beautiful plain" face of your 
 Sappho. What a pity the artist had not genius enough in 
 him to anticipate the happy audacity of that praise ! The 
 finery of her company 1 think, (for she seems to have guessed 
 what sort of a book the publishers would make of it) has 
 seduced our dear Mary-Victoria into a style florider and 
 more elaborate than when she poured her undressed heart 
 out in the charming " Iron Cousin " (my copy of which by 
 the v/ay, has just come home to me again in beautiful re- 
 laxed and dignified condition from its many perusals) ; but 
 still the heart as well as head is there, and I have read every 
 bit of the book with interest ; unbribed, I cannot add, see- 
 ing what abundant waim-hearted reminiscences of me it 
 contains ; too many for it, I should have feared a little 
 while ago ; but not just now, for the promised edition of my 
 *' poetical works " has come out at Boston, and being wel- 
 comed with as universal cordiality in America, as my play 
 has been by the press in London (for such you must know 
 in addition to my reception on the stage, is the fact : at least 
 so I am told, and have reason to believe ; for I possess up- 
 wards of twenty eulogies from daily and weekly newspapers 
 and reviews, and I hear there are half as many more, which 
 I am yet to see). What think you of this unexpected (for 
 indeed I never looked for it) winter-flowering, and in the two
 
 2 70 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 hemispheres at once ? An American friend of mine, who is 
 one of the Secretaries of legation here, tells me, that there is 
 but one exception to the applause in his country, and this in 
 a penny paper ; so at all events that amount of drawback is 
 not worth twopence. No : it is not he who tells me,— first 
 tho' he was to give me the good news. I learn it from my 
 other American friend, the editor of the " Works" who is 
 going to feast the transatlantic half of my vanity with a col- 
 lection of the praises ; some of which, he adds, will make 
 my "very heart leap within me." Heaven be thanked for it. 
 
 And now you have seen a certain " Tapiser's Tale," 
 which accompanies this letter — oh, but my vanity must not 
 forget to add,— nay, my hope of solid good must not for- 
 get to add,— and unspeakable joys hanging thereon, that 
 the manager anticipates a " long run " for the play, and says 
 also, that he will, " carry it in triumph thro' all the pro- 
 vinces." Item, I have reason to hope, that he will bring out 
 one, perhaps more, of certain MS. plays which I have by me, 
 and for which I never expected any such chance; and 
 furthermore I think there is playable stuff in them— and so 
 —and then— why, it is not impossible, verily, that I may 
 have a whole golden year of it ; alas ! that any sighs should 
 mix with that thought, but it is wholesome that they should 
 do so, to prepare me for disappointment. There would even 
 be a certain sweet in them then. There are faces that in 
 that case would not be so much missed. 
 
 But to return to the Tapiser. Here is a bold venture ; 
 bold to send to anybody and anywhere, but boldest of all to 
 such Chaucerophilists as live at Nice. Luckily their love is 
 equal to their knowledge ; so extremes will meet in this as 
 in other cases ; and positively I trust to fare best where 
 under less loving circumstances 1 might have had least 
 reason to expect it. Besides, the suljject is so beautiful in 
 itself that a devout Chaucer student could not v\ell take all 
 interest out of it with the sympathetic. 
 
 So I shan't fear that you will make any very heavy retalia- 
 tions for what I have ventured to object up above ; especially 
 as in reference to the great poet, I am prepared to bow to 
 anv speeches of shortcoming that may be objected, saving
 
 LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. 271 
 
 something in behalf of the wet eyes with which the tale was 
 written .... It has appeared in Eraser's Magazine, an^ 
 prospered. 
 
 Dear friends, imagine me blessing you both from the 
 place which I occupy in your house, viy house, you know, as 
 well as your own. What if I should be able to see it some 
 day, with eyes not of spirit only ? 
 
 Your ever loving friend, 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 Little more than a twelvemonth elapsed after the 
 above words had been written ere we heard of Leigh 
 Hunt's death. We felt that one of the most salutary and 
 pleasurable sources of influence upon our life was with- 
 drawn, and a sense of darkness seemed to fall around us. 
 Our regret at his loss inspired us with the following verse 
 tribute to his memory : — 
 
 Two Sonnets 
 
 On hearing of Leigh Himfs Death. 
 
 I. 
 
 The world grows empty : fadingly and fast 
 The dear ones and the great ones of my life 
 Melt forth, and leave me but the shadows rife 
 Of those who blissful made my peopled past; 
 Shadows that in their numerousness cast 
 A sense of desolation sharp as knife 
 Upon the soul, perplexing it with strife 
 Against the vacancy, the void, the vast 
 Unfruitful desert which the earth becomes 
 To one who loses thus the cherished friends 
 Of youth. The loss of each beloved sends 
 An aching consciousness of want that dumbs 
 The voice to silence,— akin to the dead blank 
 All things became, when down the sad heart sank.
 
 272 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS, 
 
 II. 
 
 And yet not so would thou thyself liave view'd 
 Affliction : thy true poet soul knew how 
 The sorest thwartings patiently to bow 
 
 To wisest teacliings ; that they still renew'd 
 
 In thee strong hope, firm trust, or faith imbued 
 With cheerful spirit,— constant to avow 
 The "good of e'en things evil," and allow 
 
 All things to pass with courage unsubdued. 
 
 Philosophy like thine turns to .pure gold 
 
 Earth's dross ; imprisonment assumed a grac^ 
 
 A dignity, as borne by thee, in bold 
 Defence of liberty and right ; thy face 
 
 Reflected thy heart's sun 'mid sickness, pain. 
 
 And grief; nay, loss itself thou mad'st a gain.
 
 a<i 
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD AND HIS LETTERS. 
 
 The leading characteristic of Douglas Jerrold's nature 
 was earnestness. He was earnest in his abhorrence of 
 all things mean and interested ; earnest in his noble 
 indignation at wrong and oppression; earnest in tlie 
 very wit with which he vented his sense of detestation for 
 evil-doing. He was deeply earnest in all serious things ; 
 and very much in earnest when dealing with less 
 apparently important matters, which he thought needed 
 the scourge of a sarcasm. Any one who could doubt the 
 earnestness of Jerrold should have seen him when a 
 child was the topic ; the fire of his eye, the quiver of 
 his lip, bore witness to the truth of the phrase he him- 
 self uses in his charming drama of " The Schoolfellows," 
 showing that to him indeed "children are sacred things." 
 We once received a letter from him expressing in 
 pungent terms his bitter disgust at an existing evil, and 
 concluding with a light turn serving to throw off the 
 load that oppresses him : — 
 
 Putney, Oct. 21st, 1849. 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — The wisdom of the law is 
 about to preach from the scaffold on the sacredness of life ; 
 and, to illustrate its sanctity, will straightway strangle a 
 woman as soon as she have strength renewed from child- 
 birth. I would fain believe, despite the threat 01 Sir G 
 
 G to hang this wretched creature as soon as restorations 
 
 shall have had their benign effect, that the Government only 
 need pressure irom without to commute the sentence. A 
 
 T
 
 '274 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 petition — a woman's petition — is in course of signature. You 
 are, I believe, not a reader of that mixture of good and evil, 
 a newspaper ; hence, may be unaware of the fact. I need 
 not ask you, Will you sign it.? The document lies at 
 Gilpin's— a noble fellow— the bookseller, Bishopsgate. 
 Should her Majesty run down the list of names, I think her 
 bettered taste in Shakespeare would dwell complacently on 
 the name of Mary Covvden Clarke. 
 
 I don't know when they pay dividends at the Bank, but if 
 this be the time, you can in the same journey fill your pocket, 
 and lighten your conscience. Regards to Clarke. 
 
 Yours ever tiaily, 
 
 D. Jerrold. 
 
 Jerrold took a hearty interest in an attempted reform, 
 m a matter which afifected him as a literary man, a 
 reform since accompUshed— the Repeal of all Taxes on 
 Knowledge. He had been invited to take the chair at a 
 meeting for the consideration of the subject; and he sent 
 the following witty letter to be read instead of a speech 
 from him, being unable to attend : — 
 
 West Lodge Putney, Lower Common, 
 Feb. 25th, 1852. 
 
 Dear Sir, — Disabled by an accident from personal at- 
 tendance at your meeting, I trust I may herein be permitted 
 to express my heartiest sympathy with its great social 
 purpose. That the fabric, paper, newspapers, and advertise- 
 ments should be taxed by any Government possessing 
 paternal yearnings for the education of a people, defies the 
 argument of reason. Why not, to help the lame and to aid 
 the short-sighted, lay a tax upon crutches, and enforce a duty 
 upon spectacles.? 
 
 I am not aware of the number of professional writers— of 
 men who live from pen to mouth — flourishing this day in 
 merry England ; but it appears to me, and the notion, to a 
 new Chancellor of the Exchecpier (I am happy to say one of 
 my order — of the oosequill, not of the heron's plume) may
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD AJSD HIS LETTERS. 275 
 
 have some significance ; why not enforce a duty upon the 
 very source and origin of letters ? Why not have a hterary 
 poll-tax, a duty upon books and " articles " in their rawest 
 materials ? Let every author pay for his licence, poetic or 
 otherwise. This would give a wholeness of contradiction to 
 a professed desire for knowledge, when existing with taxation 
 of its material elements. Thus, the exciseman, beginning 
 with authors' brains, would descend through rags, and duly 
 end with paper. This tax upon news is captious and arbi- 
 trary ; arbitrary, I say, for what is not news ? A noble lord 
 makes a speech : his rays of intelligence compressed like 
 Milton's fallen angels, are in a few black rows of this type ; 
 and this is news. And is not a new book " news " 1 Let 
 Ovid first tell us how Midas first laid himself down, and — 
 private and confidential — whispered to the reeds, " I have 
 ears ;" and is not that news ? Do many noble lords, even in 
 Parliament, tell us anything newer? 
 
 The tax on advertisements is- it is patent — a tax even 
 upon the industry of the very hardest workers. Why should 
 the Exchequer waylay the errand boy and oppress the maid- 
 of-all-work ? Wherefore should Mary Ann be made to 
 disburse her eighteenpence at the Stamp Office ere she 
 can show her face in print, wanting a place, although to 
 the discomfiture ot those first-created Chancellors of the 
 Exchequer — the spiders ? 
 
 In conclusion, I must congratulate the meeting on the 
 advent of the new Chancellor of the Exchequer. The Right 
 Honourable Benjamin D'lsraeli is the successful man ot 
 letters. He has ink in his veins. The goosequill — let gold 
 and silver-sticks twinkle as they may— leads the House ot 
 Commons. Thus, I feel confident that the literary instincts 
 of the right honourable gentleman will give new animation 
 to the coldness of statesmanship, apt to be numbed by tight- 
 ness of red-tape. We are, I know, early taught to despair of 
 the right honourable gentleman, because he is allowed to Ije 
 that smallest of things, "a wit." Is arithmetic for ever to 
 be the monopoly of substantial respectable dulness? Must 
 it be that a Chancellor ot the Exchequer, like Portids por- 
 trait, is only to be found in lead ? 
 
 T 2
 
 2 75 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 No, sir, I have a cheerful feith that our new fiscal minister 
 will, to the confusion of obese dulncss, show his potency over 
 pounds, shillings, and pence. The Exchequer L.S.D. that 
 have hitherto been as the three Wtches — the weird sisters — 
 stopping us, A'herever we turned, the right honourable gentle- 
 man will at the least transform into the three Graces, making 
 them in all their salutations, at home and abroad, welcome 
 and agreeable. But with respect to the L.S.D. upon know- 
 ledge, he will, I feel confident, cause at once the weird sister- 
 hood to melt into thin air; and thus— let the meeting take 
 heart with the assurance — thus will fade and be dissolved 
 the Penny News'-tax— the en-and-bcy and maid-of-all-work's 
 tax — and the tax on that innocent white thing, the tax on 
 paper. With this hope I remain, yours faithfully, 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 J. Alfred Novello, Esq., 
 Sub-Treasurer ot the Association for the Repeal 
 of all Taxes upon Knowledge. 
 
 Another letter, excusing his attendance at a meeting, 
 serves to show his lively interest in the Whittington 
 Club, of which he was the Founder and President ; and 
 also demonstrates his sincere desire for the establishment 
 of recognized social equality for women with men. This 
 is the letter : — 
 
 To the Secretary of the Whittington Club. 
 
 West Lodge, Putney Lower Common, June i8th. 
 Dear Sir, — It is. to me a very great disappointment that 
 I am denied the pleasure of being with you on the interest- 
 ing occasion of to-day ; when the club starts into vigorous 
 existence, entering upon — I hope and believe— a long life of 
 usefulness to present and succeeding generations. I have 
 for some days been labouring with a violent cold, which, at 
 the last hour, leases me no hope of being with you. This to 
 me is especially discomfiting upon the high occasion the 
 council meet to celebrate ; for we should have but very little 
 to boast ol by the establishment of the club, had we only
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD AND HIS LETTERS. 277 
 
 founded a sort of monster chop-house ; no great addition 
 this to London, where chop-houses are certainly not among 
 the rarer monuments ot British civihzation. 
 
 We therefore recognize a higher purpose in the Whit- 
 tington Club ; namely, a triumphant refutation of a very old, 
 respectable, but no less foolish fallacy— for folly and respect- 
 ability are somehow sometimes found together — that female 
 society in such an institution is incompatible with female 
 domestic dignity. Hitherto, Englishmen have made their 
 club-houses as Mahomet made his Paradise — a place where 
 women are not admitted on any pretext whatever. Thus 
 considered, the Englishman may be a very good Christian 
 sort of a person at home, and at the same time little better 
 than a Turk at his club. 
 
 It is for us, however, to change this. And as we are the 
 first to assert what may be considered a great social principle, 
 so it is most onerous upon us that it should be watched with 
 the most jealous suspicion of whatever might in the most 
 remote degree tend to retard its very fullest success. Again 
 lamenting the cause that denies me the gratification of being 
 with you on so auspicious a day, 
 
 Believe me, yours faithfully, 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 That Jerrold felt the misinterpretation with which his 
 satirical hits at women's foibles had been sometimes 
 received is evident in the following letter, which he wrote 
 to thank our sister, Sabilla Novello, who liad knitted him 
 a purse : — 
 
 Putney Green, June 9th. 
 Dear Miss Novello,— I thank you very sincerely for 
 your present, though I cannot but fear its fatal effect upon 
 my limited fortunes, for it is so very handsome that whenevet 
 I produce it I feel that 1 have thousands a year, and, as in 
 duty bound, am inclined to pay accordingly. I shall go 
 about, to the astonishment ol all oviinxbii men, insisting upon 
 paying sovereigns for sixpences. Happily, however, this
 
 2 78 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 amiable insanity will cure itself (or I may always bear my 
 wife with me as a keeper). 
 
 About this comedy. I am writing it under the most sig- 
 nificant warnings. As the Eastern kinfy^name unknown, 
 to me at least — kept a crier to warn him that he was but 
 mortal and must die, and so to behave himself as decently 
 as it is possible for any poor king to do, so do I keep a flork 
 of eloquent geese that continually, within ear-shot, cackle of 
 the British public. Hence, I trust to defeat the birds of the 
 Haymarket by the birds of Putney. 
 
 But in this comedy I do contemplate such a heroine, as a 
 set-off to the many sins imputed to me as committed against 
 woman, whom I have always considered to be an admirable 
 idea imperfectly worked out. Poor soul ! she can't help 
 that. Well, this heroine shall be woven of moon-beams — a 
 perfect angel, with one wing cut to keep her among us. She 
 shall be all devotion. She shall hand over her lover (never 
 mind his heart, poor wretch !) to her grandmother, who she 
 suspects is very fond of him, and then, disguising herself as 
 a youth, she shall enter the British navy, and return in six 
 years, say, with epaulets on her shoulders, and her name in 
 the Navy List, rated Post- Captain. You will perceive that 
 I have Madame Celeste in my eye — am measuring her for 
 the uniform. And young ladies will sit in the boxes, and 
 with tearful eyes, and noses like rose-buds, say, " What mag- 
 nanimity !" And when this great work is done — this monu- 
 ment of the very best gilt gingerbread to woman set up on 
 the Haymarket stage — jou shall, if you will, go and see it, 
 and make one to cry for the " Author," rewarding him with 
 a crown of tin-foil, and a shower of sugar-plums. 
 
 In lively hope of that ecstatic moment, I remain, yours truly, 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 The following is one of his playful notes, also 
 addressed to Sabilla Novello : — 
 
 Putney Common, June i8th. 
 My dear Mis.s Novello, — I ought ere this to have 
 thanked you for the prospectus. I shall certainly avail my-
 
 DOUGLAS lERROLD AND HIS LETTERS. 279 
 
 self of its proffered advantages, and, on the close of the 
 vacation, send my girl. 
 
 I presume, ere that time, you will have returned to the 
 purer shades of Baysvvater from all the pleasant iniquities of 
 Paris. I am unexpectedly deprived of every chance of 
 leaving home, at least for some time, if at all this season, by 
 a literary projection that I thought would have been deferred 
 until late in the autumn ; otherwise, how willingly would I 
 black the seams and elbows of my coat with my ink, and 
 elevating my quill into a cure-dent, hie me to the " Trois- 
 Freres" ! But this must not be for God knows when — or the 
 Devil (my devil, mind) better. I am indeed " nailed to the 
 dead wood," as Lamb says ; or rather, in this glorious 
 weather, I feel as somehow a butterfly, or, since I am getting 
 fat, a June fly, impaled on iron pin, or pen, must feel fixed to 
 one place, with every virtuous wish to go anywhere and 
 everywhere, wiih anybody and almost every body. I am 
 not an independent spinster, but — " I won't weep." Not one 
 unmanly tear shall stain this sheet. 
 
 With desperate calmness I subscribe myself, yours faith- 
 fully, 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 The next enclosed tickets of admission to the perform- 
 ance of Ben Jonson's comedy of ** Every Man in his 
 Humour," at Miss Kelly's little theatre in Dean Street, 
 Soho, when Jerrold played Master Stephen ; Charles 
 Dickens, Bobadil ; Mark Lemon, Brainworm ; John 
 Forster, Kitely; and John Leech, Master Mathew. It was 
 the first attempt of that subsequently famous amateur com- 
 pany, and a glorious beginning it was. Douglas Jerrold's 
 Master Stephen, — that strong mongrel likeness of Abra- 
 ham Slender and Andrew Aguecheek, — was excellently 
 facetious in the conceited coxcombry of the part, and in its 
 occasional smart retoits was only too good — that is to say, 
 he showed just too keen a consciousness of the aptness 
 and point in reply for the blunt perceptions of such an
 
 28o RECOLLECTJOi^S OF WRITERS. 
 
 oaf as Master Stephen. For instance, when Bobadil, 
 disarmed and beaten by Downvvright, exclaims, " Sure I 
 was struck with a planet thence," and Stephen rejoins 
 " No, you were struck with a stick','' the words were 
 uttered with that peculiar Jerroidian twinkle of the eye 
 and humorously dry inflection of the voice that accom- 
 panied the speaker's own repartees, and made one behold 
 Douglas Jerrold himself beneath the garb of Master 
 Stephen. 
 
 Thursday, Sept., 1845. 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — In haste I send you accom- 
 panying. '' Call no man happy till he is dead," says the 
 sage. Never give thanks for tickets for an amateur play till 
 the show is over. You don't know what may be in store for 
 you — and for its! 
 
 Alas, regardless of their doom. 
 
 The little victims play — (or try to play). 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 D. Jerrold. 
 
 Jerrold would perceive the germ of a retort before you 
 had well begun to form your sentence, and would bring 
 it forth in full blossom the instant you had done speaking. 
 He had a way of looking straight in the face of one to 
 whom he dealt a repartee, and with an expression of eye 
 that seemed to ask appreciation of the point of the thing 
 he was going to say, thus depriving it of personality or 
 ill-nature. It was as if he called upon its object to enjoy 
 it with him, rather than to resent its sharpness. There 
 was a peculiar compression with a sudden curve or lift 
 up of the lip that showed his own sense of the fun of 
 the thing he was uttering, while his glance met his 
 interlocutor's with a firm, unflinching roguery and an
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD AND HIS LETTERS. 281 
 
 unfaltering drollery of tone that had none of the sidelong, 
 furtive look and irritating tone of usual utterers of mere 
 rough retorts. When an acquaintance came up to him 
 and said, " Why, Jerrold, I hear you said my nose was 
 like the ace of clubs ! " Jerrold returned, " No, I didn't ; 
 but now I look at it, I see it is very like." The question 
 of the actual resemblance was for less present to his 
 mind than the neatness of his own turn upon the com- 
 plainant. So with a repartee, which he repeated to us 
 himself as having made on a particular occasion, 
 evidently relishing the comic audacity, and without 
 intending a spark of insolence. When the publisher of 
 Bentley's Miscellaiiy said to Jerrold, " I had some doubts 
 about the name I should give the magazine ; 1 ttiought 
 at one time of calling it ''J'he Wits' Miscellany;'" 
 " Well," was the rejoinder, " but you needn't have gone 
 to the other extremity." Knowing Jerrold, we feel that 
 had the speaker been the most brilliant genius that ever 
 lived the retort would have been the same, the patness 
 having once entered his brain. He would drop his 
 witticisms like strewed flowers, as he went on talking, 
 lavishly, as one who possessed countless store ; yet 
 always with that glance of enjoyment in them himself, 
 and of challenging your sympathetic relish for them in 
 return which acknowledges the truth of the Shakespearian 
 axiom, " A jest's prosperity lies in the ear of him that 
 hears it." He illustrated his conversation, as it were, by 
 these wit-blossoms cast in by the way. Speaking of a 
 savage biting critic, Jerrold said, " Oh yes, he'll review 
 the book, as an east wind reviews an apple-tree." Of an 
 actress who thought inordinately well of herself, he said, 
 "She's a perfect whitlow of vanity." And of a young 
 writer who brought out his first raw specimen of author-
 
 282 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 ship, Jerrold said, " He is like a man taking down his 
 shop-shutters before he has any goods to sell." 
 
 One of the pleasant occasions on which we met 
 Douglas Jerrold was at a house where a donee was going 
 on as we entered the room ; and in a corner, near to 
 the dancers, we saw him sitting, and made our way to his 
 side. With her back towards where he and we sat was 
 a pretty Httle shapely figure in pink silk, standing ready 
 to begin the next portion of the quadrille; and he 
 pointed towards it, saying, — 
 
 " Mrs. Jerrold is here to-night ; there she is, 
 
 " Not like the figure of a grandmamma,'^ was the 
 laughing reply, for we had heard that a grandchild had 
 just been born to them, and we thought of what we had 
 once heard recounted ol the first time he had seen her, — 
 he, an impetuous lad of eighteen, just returned from 
 sea, — and she, a girl with so neat and graceful a figure 
 that as he beheld it he exclaimed, " That girl shall be my 
 wife ! " So mere a stripling was he when he married 
 that he told us the clergyman who joined their hands, 
 seeing the almost boyishly youthful look of the bride- 
 groom, addressed a few kind and fatherly words to him 
 after the ceremony, bidding him remember the serious 
 duty he had undertaken of providing for a young girl's 
 welfare, and that he must remember her future happiness 
 in life depended henceforth mainly upon him as her 
 husband. 
 
 It was on that same evening that we are speaking of 
 that Jerrold said, " I want to introduce you to a young 
 poetess only nineteen years of age ;" and took us into 
 the next room, where was a young lady robed in simple 
 white muslin, with light brown hair smoothly coiled 
 round a well-formed head, and an air of grave and
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD AND HIS LETTERS. 283 
 
 queenly quiet dignity. She sat down to the piano at re- 
 quest, and accompanied herself in Tennyson's song of 
 "Mariana in the Aloated Grange," singing with much 
 expression and with a deep contralto voice. It Avas before 
 she was known to the world as a prose writer, before she 
 had put forth to the world her first novel of "The 
 Ogilvies." 
 
 Another introduction to a distinguished A\Titer we owe 
 to Douglas Jerrold. We had been to call upon him at 
 his pretty residence, West Lodge, Putney Common, when 
 we found him just going to drive himself into town in a 
 little pony carriage he at that time kept. He made us 
 accompany him ; and as we passed through a turnpike on 
 the road back to London we saw a gentleman approach- 
 ing on horseback. Jerrold and he saluted each other, 
 and then we were presented to him, and heard his name, 
 — William Makepeace Thackeray. ]\Iany years after that 
 his daughter, paying her first visit to Italy, was brought 
 by a friend to see us in Genoa, and charmed us by the 
 sweetness and unaffected simplicity of her manners. 
 
 That cottage at Putney — its garden, its mulberry- tree, 
 its grass-plot, its cheery library, with Douglas Jerrold as the 
 chief figure in the scene — remains as a bright and most 
 pleasant picture in our memory. He had an almost 
 reverential fondness for books — books themselves — and 
 said he could not bear to treat them, or to see them 
 treated, with disrespect. He told us it gave him pain to 
 see them turned on their faces, stretched open, or dog's- 
 eared, or carelessly flung down, or in any way misused. 
 He told us this holding a volume in his hand with a 
 caressing gesture, as though he tendered it affectionately 
 and gratefully for the pleasure it had given him. He 
 spoke like one who had known what it was in former
 
 284 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 years to buy a book when its purchase involved a 
 sacrif-ce of some other object, from a not over-stored 
 purse. We have often noticed this in book-lovers who, 
 like ourselves, have had volimies come into cherished 
 possession at times when their glad owners were not rich 
 enough to easily afford book-purchases. Charles Lamb 
 had this tenderness for books ; caring nothing for their 
 gaudy clothing, but hugging a rare folio all the nearer to 
 his heart for its worn edges and shabby binding. 
 Another peculiarity with regard to his books Jerrold had, 
 which was, that he liked to have them thoroughly within 
 reach ; so that, as he pointed out to us, he had the book- 
 shelves which ran round his library walls at Putney 
 carried no higher than would permit of easy access to the 
 top shelf. Above this there was sufficient space for pic- 
 tures, engravings, &c., and we had the pleasure of con- 
 tributing two ornaments to this space, in the form of a 
 bust of Shakespeare and one of Milton, on brackets after 
 a design by Michael Angelo, which brought from dear 
 Douglas Jerrold the following pleasant letter : — 
 
 Putney, August oth. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — I know not how best to thank 
 you for the surprise you and Clarke put upon me this morn- 
 in-j. These casts, while demanding reverence for what they 
 represent and typify, will always associate with the feeling 
 that of sincerest regard and friendship for the donors. These 
 things will be very precious to me, and, I hope, for many 
 a long winter's night awaken frequent recollections of the 
 thoughtful kindness that has made them my household gods. 
 I well remembered the brackets, but had forgotten the 
 master. But this is the gratitude of the world. 
 
 I hope that my girl will be able to be got ready for this 
 quarter ; but in a matter that involves the making, trimming, 
 and fitting of gowns or frocks, it is not for one of my be-
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD AND HIS LETTERS. 285 
 
 nighted sex to offer a decided opinion. I can only timidly 
 venture to believe that the > oung lady's trunk will be ready 
 in a few days. 
 
 Pandora's box was only a box of woman's clothes — wdth a 
 Sunday gown at the bottom. — Yours truly, 
 
 Douglas Jerrold, 
 
 It was while Jerrold was living at West Lodge that he 
 not only founded the Whittington Club, but also the 
 Museum Club, which, when he asked us to belong to it, 
 he said he wanted to make a mart where literary men 
 could congregate, become acquainted, form friendships, 
 discuss their rights and privileges, be known to assemble, 
 and therefore could be readily found when required. 
 " I want to make it," he said, " a house of call for writers." 
 It was at Putney that Jerrold told us the amusing (and 
 very characteristic) story of himself when he was at sea as 
 a youngster. He and some officers on board had sent 
 ashore a few men to fetch a supply of fresh fruit and 
 vegetables, at some port into which the ship had put 
 when she was on one of her voyages, and, on the boat's 
 return alongside, it was found that one of the men had 
 decamped. The ship sailed without the runaw^ay, and 
 on her return to England Jerrold quitted the service. 
 Some years after he was walking in the Strand, and saw 
 a man with a baker's basket on his shoulder staring in at 
 a shop window, whom Jerrold immediately recognized as 
 the deserter from the ship. He went up to the man, 
 slapped him on the shoulder, and exclaimed, " I say ! 
 what a long time you've been gone for those cherries !" 
 The dramatic surprise of the exclamation was quite in 
 Jerrold's way. 
 
 There was a delightful irony— an implied compliment 
 beneath his sharp things — that made them exquisitely
 
 286 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS, 
 
 agreeable. They were said with a spice of slyness, yet 
 with a fully evident confidence that they would not be 
 misunderstood by the person who was their object. 
 When we went over to West Lodge after the opening of 
 the Whittington Club, to take him a cushion for his 
 library arm-chair, with the head of a cat that might 
 have been Dick Whittington's own embroidered upon it, 
 Jerrold turned to his wife, saying, " My dear, they have 
 brought me your portrait." And the smile that met his 
 showed how well the woman who had been his devoted 
 partner from youth comprehended the delicate force of 
 the ironical jest whicli he could afford to address to her. 
 In a similar spirit of pleasantry he wrote in the presenta- 
 tion copy of" Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lectures" which he 
 gave to M. C. C. : " Presented with great timidity, but 
 equal regard, to Mrs. Cowden Clarke." 
 
 Ill 1848 was brought out a small pocket volume 
 entitled "Shakespeare Proverbs; or. The Wise Saws of 
 our Wisest Poet collected into a Modern Instance ;" and 
 its dedication ran thus : " To Douglas Jerrold, the first 
 wit of the present age, these Proverbs of Shakespeare, 
 the first wit of any age, are inscribed by Mary Cowden 
 Clarke, of a certain age, and no wit at all." This brought 
 the following playful letter of acknowledgment : — 
 
 West Lodge, Putney, December 31st. 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — You must imagine that all this 
 time I have been endeavouring to regain my breath, taken 
 away by your too partial dedication. To find my name on 
 such a page, and in such company, I feel like a sacrilegious 
 knave who has broken into a church and is making off Avith 
 the Communion plate. One thing is plain, Shakespeare had 
 great obhgations to you^ but this last inconsiderate act has 
 certainly cancelled them all. I feel that I ought never to 
 speak or write again, but go down to the grave with my
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD AND HIS LETTERS. 287 
 
 thumb in my mouth. It is the only chance I have of not 
 betraying my pauper-hke unworthiness to the association 
 with which you have— to the utter wreck of your discretion- 
 astounded mc. 
 
 The old year is dying with the dying fire whereat this is 
 penned. That, however, you may have many, many happy 
 years (though they can only add to the remorse for what you 
 have done) is the sincere wish of yours truly (if you will not 
 show the word to Clarke, I will say affectionately), 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 When the " Concordance to Shakespeare" made its 
 complete appearance, it was thus greeted : — 
 
 December 5th, West Lodge, Putney Common. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — I congratulate you and the 
 world on the completion ot your monumental work. May it 
 make for you a huge bed of mixed laurels and bank-notes. 
 
 On your first arrival in Paradise you must expect a kiss 
 from Shakespeare, — even though your husband should 
 happen to be there. 
 
 That you and he. however, may long make for yourselves 
 a Paradise here, is the sincere wish of — Yours truly, 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 P.S. I will certainly Jiitch in a notice of the work in 
 Punch, making it a special case, as we eschew Reviews. 
 
 The kind promise contained in the postscript to the 
 above letter was fulfilled in the most graceful and in- 
 genious manner by its writer, in a brilliant article 
 he wrote some time after on " The Shakespeare Night " 
 at Covent Garden Theatre, that took place the 7th 
 December, 1847. After describing in glowing terms the 
 festive look of the overflowing house, Jerrold proceeded : 
 — " At a few minutes to seven, and quite unexpectedly, 
 William Shakespeare, with his wife, the late Anne 
 Hathaway, drove up to the private box door, drawn by
 
 2S8 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Pegasus, for that night only appearing in harness. . . . 
 Shakespeare was received — and afterwards hghted to his 
 box — by his editors, Charles Knight and Payne Collier, 
 upon both of whom the poet smiled benignly ; and say- 
 ing some pleasant, commendable words to each, received 
 from their hands their two editions of his immortality. 
 And then from a corner Mrs. Cowden Clarke, timidly, 
 and all one big blush, presented a play-bill, with some 
 Hesperian fruit (of her own gathering). Shakespeare 
 knew the lady at once ; and, taking her two hands, and 
 looking a Shakespearian look in her now pale fi.ice, said, 
 in tones of unimaginable depth and sweetness, ' But 
 where is your book, Mistress Mary Clarke? Where is 
 your Concordance V And, again, pressing her hands, 
 with a smile of sun-lighted Apollo, said, ' I pray you let 
 me take it home with me.' And Mrs. Clarke, having no 
 words, dropped the profoundest ' Yes,' with knocking 
 knees. 'A very fair and cordial gentlewoman, Anne,' 
 said Shakespeare, aside to his wife ; but Anne merely 
 observed that ' It was just like him ; he was always seeing 
 something fair where nobody else saw anything. The 
 woman -odds her life ! —was well enough.' And Shake- 
 speare smiled again !" 
 
 That sentence, of Shakespeare's " always seeing some- 
 thing fair where nobody else saw anything," is a profound 
 piece of truth as well as wit ; while the smile with which 
 the poet is made to listen to his wife's intolerance of 
 hearing her husband praise another woman is perfectly 
 Jerroldian in its sly hit at a supposed prevalent feminine 
 foible. 
 
 Jerrold had a keen sense of personal beauty in women. 
 In the very article above quoted he uses expressions in 
 speaking of Shakespeare's admiration for Mrs. Nesbitt's
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD AND HIS LETTERS. 2S9 
 
 charms that strikingly evidence this point : — " Then 
 taking a deep look — a very draught of a look — at Mrs. 
 Nesbitt as Katherine, the poet turned to his wife and 
 said, drawing his breath, ' What a peach of a woman / ' 
 Anne said nothing." Here, too, again, he concludes 
 with the Jerroldian sarcastic touch. In confirmation of 
 the powerful impression that loveliness in women had 
 upon his imagination, we remember his telling us with 
 enthusiasm of the merits in the Hon. Mrs. Norton's poem 
 " The Child of the Islands," dilating on some of its best 
 passages, and, adding that he had lately met her and 
 spoken to her face to face ; he concluded with the words 
 " She herself is beautiful — even dangerously beautiful ! " 
 
 Four letters we received from him were in consequence 
 of an application that is stated in the first of them. The 
 second mentions the wish of " the correspondent ; " and 
 this was that the letter in which the desired " two lines " 
 were written should be sent without envelope, and on a 
 sheet of paper that would bear the post-fnark, as an 
 evidence of genuineness. The third accepts the offer to 
 share the promised "two ounces of Californian gold." 
 And the fourth was written with one of the two gold pens, 
 which were the shape in which the promised " two 
 ounces" were sent to England by the " Enthusiast :"— 
 
 West Lodge, Putney, October loth, 1849. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — I know a man who knows a 
 man (in America) who says, " I would give two ounces of 
 Californian gold for two lines written by Mrs. Cowden 
 Clarke !" Will you write me two lines for the wise enthu- 
 siast.^ and, IF I get the gold, that will doubtless be paid with 
 the Pennsylvanian Bonds, I will struggle with the angel 
 Conscience that you may have it — that is, if the angel get the 
 best of it. But against angels there are heavy odds. 
 
 I hope you left father and mother well, happy, and com- 
 
 U
 
 290 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 placent, in the hope of a century at least. I am glad you 
 stopped at Nice, and did not snuff the shambles of Rome. 
 Mazzini, I hear, will be with us in a fortnight. European 
 liberty is, I fear, manacled and gagged for many years. 
 Nevertheless, in England, let us rejoice that beef is under a 
 shilling a pound, and that next Christmas ginger will be hot 
 i' the mouth. 
 
 Remember me to Clarke. I intend to go one of these 
 nights and sit beneath him. — Yours faithfully, 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 October 19th, 1849, Putney. 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — Will you comply with the wish 
 of my correspondent ? The Yankees, it appears, are sus- 
 picious folks. I thought them Arcadians. — Truly yours, 
 
 D. Jerrold. 
 
 West Lodge, Putney Common, February 22nd, 1850. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — I will share anything with you, 
 and can only wish — at least for myself — that the matter to 
 be shared came not in so pleasant a shape as that dirt in 
 yellow gold. I have heard naught of the American, and 
 would rather that his gift came brightened through you than 
 from his own hand. The savage, with glimpses of civiliza- 
 tion, is male. 
 
 Do you read the Morning Chronicle? Do you devour 
 those marvellous revelations of the inferno of misery, ot 
 wretchedness that is smouldering under our feet.'' We live 
 in a mockery of Christianity that, with the thought of its 
 hypocrisy, makes m.e sick. We know nothing of this terrible 
 life that is about us — us, in our smug respectability. To 
 read of the sufferings of one class, and of the avarice, the 
 tyranny, the pocket cannibalism of the other, makes one 
 almost wonder that the world should go on, that the miser)' 
 and wretchedness of the earth are not, by an Almighty fiat, 
 ended. And when we see the spires of pleasant churches 
 pointing to Heaven, and are told — paying thousands to 
 bishops for the glad intelligence — that we are Christians ! 
 the cant of this country is enough to poison the atmosphere.
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD AND HIS LETTERS. 291 
 
 I send you the Clu-ojiiclc of yesterday. You will therein read 
 
 what I think you will agree to be one of the most beautiful 
 
 records of the nobility of the poor : of those of whom our 
 
 jaunty legislators know nothing ; of the things made in the 
 
 statesman's mind, to be taxed— not venerated. I am very 
 
 proud to say that these papers of " Labour and the Poor '' 
 
 were projected by Henry Mayhew, who married my girl. 
 
 For comprehensiveness of purpose and minuteness of detail 
 
 they have never been approached. He will cut his name 
 
 deep. From these things I have still great hopes. A revival 
 
 movement is at hand, and — you will see what you'll see. 
 
 Remember me with best thoughts to Clarke, and believe me 
 
 yours sincerely, 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 Putney, February 25th, 1850. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — Herewith I send you my " first 
 copy," done in, I presume, American gold. Considering 
 what American booksellers extract from English brains, even 
 the smallest piece of the precious metal is, to literary eyes, 
 refreshing. I doubt, however, whether these gold pens really 
 work ; they are pretty holiday things, but to earn daily bread 
 with, I have already my misgivings that I must go back to 
 iron. To be sure, I once had a gold pen that seemed to 
 write of itself, but this was stolen by a Cinderella who, of 
 course, could not write even with that gold pen. Perhaps, 
 however, the Policeman could. 
 
 That the Chronicle did not come was my blunder. I hope 
 'twill reach you with this, and with it my best wishes and 
 affectionate regards to you and flesh and bone of you. 
 
 Truly ever, 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 The next note evinces how acutely Jerrold felt the 
 death of excellent Lord George Nugent : the wording is 
 solemn and earnest as a low-toned passing-bell : — 
 
 Putney, December 2nd, 1850. 
 My dear Clarke, — I have received book, for which 
 
 u 2
 
 292 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 thanks, and best wishes for that and all followers. Over a 
 sea-coal fire, this week — all dark and quiet outside — I shall 
 enjoy its flavour. Best regards, I mean love, to the au- 
 thoress. Poor dear Nugent ! He and I became great 
 friends : I've had many happy days with him at Lilies. A 
 noble, cordial man ; and — the worst of it — his foolish care- 
 lessness of health has flung away some ten or fifteen years of 
 genial winter — frosty, but kindly. God be with him, and aJl 
 yours. Truly yours, 
 
 D. JERROLD. 
 
 There was a talk at one time of bis going into Parlia- 
 ment; and at a dinner-table where he was the subject 
 was discussed, there chancing to be present several mem- 
 bers of the house, some of them spoke of the very 
 different thing it ws>6 to address a company under usual 
 circumstances and to *' address the House," observing 
 what a peculiarly nervous thing it was to face tliat assembly, 
 and that few men could picture to themselves the diffi- 
 culty till they had actually encountered it. Jerrold 
 averred that he did not think he should feel this par- 
 ticular terror : then turning to the Parliamentary men pre- 
 sent round the dinner-table, he counted them all, and said, 
 "There are ten of you members of Parliament before 
 me ; I suppose j-ou don't consider yourselves the greatest 
 fools in the house, and yet I can't say that I feel par- 
 ticularly afraid of addressing you." 
 
 We have a portrait of Douglas Jerrold, which he him- 
 self sent to us ; and which we told him we knew must be 
 an excellent likeness, for we always found ourselves smiling 
 whenever we looked at it. A really good likeness of a 
 friend we think invariably produces this effect. The 
 smile may be glad, fond, tender — nay, even mournful : 
 but a smile always comes to the lip in looking upon a 
 truly close resemblance of a beloved ^ace.
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD AND HIS LETTERS. 293 
 
 Jerrold was occasionally a great sufferer from rheumatic 
 pains, which attacked him at intervals under various 
 forms. The following letter adverts to one of these 
 severe inflictions ; at the same time that it is written in 
 his best vein of animation and vigour of feeling : — 
 
 Friday, Putney. 
 
 My dear Clarke, — I have but a blind excuse to offer for 
 my long silence to your last : but the miserable truth is, I 
 have been in darkness with acute inflammation of the eye ; 
 something like toothache in the eye— and very fit to test a 
 man's philosophy ; when he can neither read nor write, and 
 has no other consolation save first to discover his own 
 virtues, and when caught to contemplate them. I assure 
 you it's devilish difficult to put one's hand upon one's virtue 
 in a dark room. As well try to catch fleas in " the blanket 
 o' the dark." By this, however, you will perceive that I have 
 returned to paper and ink. The doctor tells me that the in- 
 flammation fell upon me from an atmospheric blight, rife in 
 these parts three weeks ago. / think I caught it at Hyde 
 Park Corner, where for three minutes I paused to see the 
 Queen pass after being fired at. She looked very well, and — 
 as is not always the case with women— none the worse for 
 powder. To be sure, considering they give princesses a salvo 
 of artillery with their first pap— they ought to stand saltpetre 
 better than folks who come into the world v 'thout any charge 
 to tlie State— without even blank charge. 
 
 Your friend of the beard is, I think, quite right. When 
 God made Adam he did 7iot present him with a razor, but a 
 wife. 'Tis the d-d old clothesmen who have brought dis- 
 credit upon a noble appendage of man. Thank God we've 
 revenge for this. They'll make some of 'em members of 
 Parliament. 
 
 I purpose to break in upon you some early Sunday, to kiss 
 the hands of your wife, and to tell you delightful stories of 
 the deaths of kings. How nobly Mazzini is behaving ! And 
 what a cold, calico cur is John Bull, as — I fear — too truly 
 rendered by the Ti/nes. The French are in a nice mess. 
 Heaven in its infmite mercy confound them ! — Truly yours, 
 
 Douglas Jerrold.
 
 294 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 And now we give the last letter, alas ! that we ever 
 received from him. It is comforting in its hearty valedic- 
 tory words : yet how often did we — how often do we 
 still — regret that his own yearning to visit the south could 
 never be fulfilled ! He is among those whom we most 
 fiequently find ourselves wishing could behold this 
 Italian matchless view that lies now daily before our 
 eyes. That his do behold it with some higher and 
 diviner power of sight than belongs to earthly eyes is our 
 constant, confident hope : — 
 
 26, Circus Road, St. John's Wood, 
 
 October 20th, 1856. 
 My dear Friends,— I have delayed an answer to your 
 kind letter (for I cannot but see in it the hands and hearts 
 oiboth) in the hope of being able to make my way to Bays- 
 water. Yesterday I had determined, and was barred, and 
 barred, and barred, by droppers-in, the Sabbath-breakers I 
 Lo, I delay no longer. But I only shake hands with you for 
 a time, as it is my resolute determination to spend nine 
 weeks at Nice next autumn with my wife and daughter. I 
 shall give you due notice of the descent, that we may avail 
 ourselves of your experience as to "■ location," a.s those savages 
 the Americans yell in their native war-whoop tongue. 
 
 Therefore, God speed ye safely to your abiding-place, 
 where I hope long days of serenest peace may attend ye. 
 
 Believe me ever truly yours, 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 Charles Cowden 
 Mary Victoria 
 
 I Clarke.
 
 395 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 
 
 It chanced, at one time of our lives, that we had frequently 
 to pass along the New Road ; and as we drove by one 
 particular house — a tall house, the upper windows of 
 which were visible above the high wall that enclosed its 
 fro'nt garden — we always looked at it with affectionate 
 interest as long as it remained in sight._ For in that 
 house. No. I, Devonshire Terrace, we knew lived the 
 j^oung author who had " witched the world with noble 
 penmanship" in those finely original serials that put 
 forth their " two green leaves " month by month. We 
 then knew no more of his personal identity than what we 
 had gathered from the vigorous youthful portrait of him 
 by Samuel Lawrence as " Boz," and from having seen 
 him and heard him speak at the " Farewell dinner " given 
 to Macready in 1839. We little thought, as we gazed at 
 the house where he dwelt, that we should ever come to 
 sit within its walls, palm to palm in greeting, face to face 
 in talk, side by side at table, with its fascinating master, 
 who shone with especial charm of brilliancy and cordiality 
 as host entertaining his guests. We knew him by his 
 portrait to be superlatively handsome, with his rich, wavy 
 locks of hair" and his magnificent eyes ; and we knew 
 him by what we saw of him at the Macready dinner to be 
 possessed of remarkably observant faculty, with perpetually 
 discursive glances at those around him, taking note as it
 
 296 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 were of every slightest peculiarity in look, or manner, or 
 speech, or tone that characterized each individual. No 
 spoonful of soup seemed to reach his lips unaccompanied 
 by a gathered oddity or whimsicality, no morsel to be 
 raised on his fork unseasoned by a droll gesture or trick 
 he had remarked in some one near. And when it came 
 to his turn to speak, his after-dinner speech was one of 
 the best in matter and style of delivery then given, 
 — though there were present on that occasion some 
 practised speakers. His speech was like himself, — 
 genial, full of good spirit and good spirits, of kindly 
 feeling and cheery vivacity. 
 
 At length came that never-to-be-forgotten day — or 
 rather, evening — when we met him at a party, and were 
 introduced to him by Leigh Hunt, who, after a cordial 
 word or two, left us to make acquaintance together. At 
 once, with his own inexpressible charm of graceful ease 
 and animation, Charles Dickens fell into delightful chat 
 and riveted for ever the chain of fascination that his mere 
 distant image and enchanting writings had cast about 
 M. C. C, drawing her towards him with a perfect spell 
 of prepossession. The prepossession was confirmed into 
 affectionate admiration and attachment that lasted faith- 
 fully strong throughout the happy friendship that ensued, 
 and was not even destroyed by death ; for she cherishes 
 his memory still with as fond an idolatry as she felt during 
 that joyous period of her life when in privileged holiday 
 companionship with him. 
 
 Charles Dickens — beaming in look, alert in manner, 
 radiant with good humour, genial-voiced, gay, the very 
 soul of enjoyment, fun, good taste and good spirits, 
 admirable in organizing details and suggesting novelty of 
 entertainment, — was of all beings the very man for a
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 297 
 
 holiday season ; and in singularly exceptional holiday 
 fashion was it my ^ fortunate hap to pass every hour that 
 I spent in his society. First, at an evening party ; 
 secondly, during one of the most unusually festive series 
 of theatrical performances ever given ; thirdly, in delight- 
 ful journeys to various places where we were to act ; 
 fourthly, in hilarious suppers after acting (notedly among 
 the most jubilant of all meal-meetings!); fifthly, in one 
 or two choice little dinner-parties at his own house ; sixthly, 
 in a few brilliant assemblages there, when artistic, musical, 
 and literary talent were represented by some of the most 
 eminent among artists, musicians, and people of letters of 
 the day; seventhly, in a dress rehearsal at Devonshire 
 House of Lytton Bulwer's drama of " Not. so bad as we 
 seem," played by Charles Dickens and some of his friends ; 
 and, eighthly, in a performance at Tavistock House (where 
 he then lived) of a piece called " The Lighthouse," ex- 
 pressly written for the due display of Charles Dickens' and 
 his friend Mark Lemon's supremely good powers of acting. 
 It has been before mentioned that when I first offered 
 Charles Dickens to join his Amateur Company in 1848 
 and enact Dame Quickly in the performance of Shake- 
 speare's " Merry Wives,", which he was then proposing, 
 he did not at first comprehend that my offer was made 
 in earnest ; but on my writing to tell him so, he sent 
 me the following letter, —which, when I received it, 
 threw me into such rapture as rarely falls to the lot of 
 woman possessing a strong taste for acting, yet who 
 could hardly have expected to find it thus suddenly 
 gratified in a manner beyond her most sanguine hopes. 
 I ran with it to my beloved mother (my husband was 
 
 * ]\Iary Cowden Clarke.
 
 298 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 in the North of England, on a Lecture tour), knowing her 
 unfailing sympathy with my wildest flights of gladness, 
 and re-read it with her : — 
 
 Devonshire Terrace, 14th April, 1848. 
 
 Dear Mrs. Cowden Clarke, — I did not understand, 
 when I had the pleasure of conversing with you the other 
 evening, that you had really considered the subject, and 
 desired to play. But I am very glad to understand it now ; 
 and I am sure there will be a universal sense among us of 
 the grace and appropriateness of such a proceeding. Falstaff 
 (who depends very much on Mrs. Quickly) may have, in his 
 modesty, some timidity about acting with an amateur 
 actress. But I have no question, as you have studied the 
 part, and long wished to play it, that you will put him com- 
 pletely at his ease on the first night of your rehearsal. Will 
 you, towards that end, receive this as a solemn " call " 
 to rehearsal of " The Merry Wives " at Miss Kelly's 
 theatre, to-morrow, Saturday week at seven in the 
 evening ? 
 
 And will you let me suggest another point for your con- 
 sideration ? On the night when " The Merry Wives" will not 
 be played, and when "Every man in his Humour" %vill be, 
 Kenny's farce of " Love, Law, and Physic " will be acted. 
 In that farce, there is a very good character (one Mrs. 
 Hilary, which I have seen Mrs. Orger, I think, act to 
 admiration) that would have been "played by Mrs. C. Jones, 
 if she had acted Dame Quickly, as we at first intended. If 
 you find yourself quite comfortable and at ease among us, in 
 Mrs, Quickly, would you like to take this other part too ? It 
 is an excellent farce, and is safe, I hope, to be very well done. 
 
 We do not play to purchase the house ^ (which may be 
 positively considered as paid for), but towards endowing a 
 perpetual curatorship of it, for some eminent literary veteran. 
 And I think you will recognize in this, even a higher and 
 
 * The house in which Shakespeare was born at Stratford- 
 on-Avon.— M. C. C.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 299 
 
 more gracious object than the securing, even, of the debt 
 incurred for the house itself. 
 
 Believe me, veiy faithfully yours, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 Amid my transport and excitement there mingled 
 some natural trepidation when the evening of " the first 
 rehearsal " arrived, and I repaired with my sister Emma — 
 who accompanied me throughout my " Splendid Stroll- 
 ing •' — to the appointed spot, and found myself among the 
 brilliant group assembled on the stage of the miniature 
 theatre in Dean Street, Soho, men whom I had long 
 known by reputation as distinguished artists and journal- 
 ists. John Forster, Editor of the Examiner ; two of the 
 main-stays of Punch, Mark Lemon, its Editor, and 
 John Leech, its inimitable illustrator ; Augustus Egg 
 and Frank Stone, whose charming pictures floated before 
 my vision while I looked at themselves for the first time: 
 all turned their eyes upon the " amateur actress " as she 
 entered the foot-lighted circle and joined their company. 
 But the friendliness of their reception — as Charles 
 Dickens, with his own ready grace and alacrity, suc- 
 cessively presented her to them — soon relieved timidity 
 on her part. Forster's gracious and somewhat stately bow 
 was accompanied by an affable smile and a marked 
 courtesy that were very winning ; while Mark Lemon's 
 fine open countenance, sweet-tempered look, and 
 frank shake of the hand, at once placed Falstaff" and 
 Mistress Quickly " at ease " with each other. There 
 was one thing that helped me well through that 
 evening. I had previously resolved that I would 
 '■'•speak otif," and not rehearse in half-voice, as many 
 amateur performers invariably do who are suffering from 
 shyness ; but I, who, though I did not feel shy in acting,
 
 300 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 felt a good deal of awe at my brother actors' presence, 
 took refuge in maintaining as steady and duly raised a 
 tone of voice as I could possibly muster. This stood 
 me in doubly good stead ; it proved to them that I was 
 not liable to stage fright — for, the amateur-performer 
 who can face the small, select audience of a few whom 
 he knows (which is so infinitely more really trying to 
 courage than the assembled sea of unknown faces in a 
 theatre) runs little risk of failure in performance after 
 success in rehearsal, — and it tested to myself my own 
 powers of self-possession and capability of making my- 
 self heard in a public and larger assemblage. 
 
 I was rewarded by being told that in next Monday 
 morning's Times, which gave an amiable paragraph 
 about the rehearsal at Miss Kelly's, there were a few 
 words to the effect that Dame Quickly, who was the 
 only lady amateur among the troop, promised to be an 
 acquisition to the company. 
 
 Then followed other rehearsals, delightful in the ex- 
 treme; Charles Dickens ever present, superintending, 
 directing, suggesting, with sleepless activity and vigi- 
 lance : the essence of punctuality and methodical 
 precision himself, he kept incessant watch that others 
 should be unfailingly attentive and careful throughout. 
 Unlike most professional rehearsals, where waiting about, 
 dawdling, and losing time, seem to be the order of the day, 
 the rehearsals under Charles Dickens' stage-manager- 
 ship were strictly devoted to work — serious, earnest, 
 work; the consequence was, that when the evening of 
 performance came, the pieces went off with a smoothness 
 and polish that belong only to finished stage-business 
 and practised performers. He was always there among 
 the first arrivers at rehearsals, and remained in a con-
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 301 
 
 spicuous position during their progress till the very last 
 moment of conclusion. He had a small table placed 
 rather to one side of the stage, at which he generally sat, 
 as the scenes went on in which he himself took no part. 
 On this table rested a moderate-sized box ; its interior 
 divided into convenient compartments for holding papers, 
 letters, etc., and this interior was always the very pink of 
 neatness and orderly arrangement. Occasionally he 
 would leave his seat at the managerial table, and stand 
 with his back to the foot-lights, in the very centre of the 
 front of the stage, and view the whole effect of the re- 
 hearsed performance as it proceeded, observing the 
 attitudes and positions of those engaged in the dialogue, 
 their mode of entrance, exit, etc., etc. He never seemed 
 to overlook anything ; but to note the very slightest 
 point that conduced to the " going well " of the whole 
 performance. With all this supervision, however, it 
 was pleasant to remark the utter absence of dictatorial- 
 ness or arrogation of superiority that distinguished his 
 mode of ruling his troop : he exerted his authority firmly 
 and perpetually ; but in such a manner as to make it 
 universally felt to be for no purpose of self-assertion or 
 self-importance ; on the contrary, to be for the sole pur- 
 pose of ensuring general success to their united efforts. 
 
 Some of these rehearsals were productive of incidents ' 
 that gave additional zest to their intrinsic interest. I 
 remember one evening. Miss Kelly — Charles Lamb's 
 admired Fanny Kelly— standing at "the wing" while I 
 went through my first scene with Falstaff, watching it 
 keenly ; and afterwards, coming up to me, uttering many 
 kind words of encouragement, approval, and lastly sug- 
 gestion, ending with, " Mind you stand well forward 
 on the stage while you speak to Sir John, and don't let
 
 302 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 that great big burly man hide you from the audience ; 
 you generally place yourself too near him, and rather in 
 the rear of his elbow." I explained that my motive had 
 been to denote the deference paid by the messenger of 
 the " Merry Wives " to the fat Knight, and that it might 
 be I unconsciously had the habit of usually standing 
 anything but in advance of those with whom I talked ; 
 for it had often been observed by m.y friends that I did 
 this, and also generally allowed others to pass before me 
 in or out of a room. She laughed and said she too had 
 observed these peculiarities in me ; and then she gave 
 me another good stage hint, saying, " Always keep 
 your eyes looking well tip, and try to fix them on the 
 higher range of boxes, otherwise they are lost to the 
 audience ; and much depends on the audience getting a 
 good sight of the eyes and their expression." I told her 
 that I dreaded the glare of the chandelier and lights, as 
 my eyes were not strong. She replied, " Look well up, 
 and you'll find that the under eyelids will quite protect 
 you from the glare of the foot-lights, the dazzle of which 
 is the chief thing that perplexes the sight." On the 
 night of the dress rehearsal at Miss Kelly's thentre of 
 the " Merry Wives," William Macready came to see us 
 play ; and during one of the intervals between the acts, 
 Charles Dickens brought him on to the stage and in- 
 troduced him to me. The reader may imagine what a 
 flutter of pleasure stirred my heart, as I stood with ap- 
 parent calm talking to the great tragedian ; at length 
 plucking up sufficient bravery of ease to tell him how 
 much I admired his late enacting of Benedick, and the 
 artistic mode in which he held up the muscles of his 
 face so as to give a light-comedy look to the visage ac- 
 customed to wear a stern aspect in Coriolanus, a sad one
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 303 
 
 in Hamlet, a serious one in Macbeth, a worn one in 
 Lear, etc. As I spoke, the " muscles of his face " visibly 
 relaxed into the pleasant smile so exquisite on a coun- 
 tenance of such rugged strength and firmness as his ; and 
 he looked thoroughly amused and not ungratified by niy 
 boldness. I was amused, and moreover amazed, at it my- 
 self, as we remained conversing on ; until the time for 
 resuming the rehearsal came, and I had the honour of 
 hearing the technical cry of " Clear the stage ! " addressed 
 to Macready and myself {^) and having to hurry off" the 
 boards together (!) Then there were rehearsals on the 
 Haymarket stage itself, that we might become acquainted 
 with the exact locality on which we were to give the two 
 nights of London public performance. The time fixed 
 for one of these rehearsals was early in the afternoon of 
 a day when there had been a morning rehearsal of the 
 Haymarket company themselves ; and I was diverted to 
 notice that several of its members remained lingering 
 about the side scenes — the professionals interested to see 
 how the amateurs would act. Among them was William 
 Farren, who, when a young man of little more than twenty, 
 was so excellent an impersonator of old men, and whose 
 Lord Ogleby, Sir Peter Teazle, and other old-gentlemanly 
 characters, will not readily be forgotten by those who 
 saw him play them. There too, that afternoon, with the 
 daylight streaming through an upper window upon her 
 surpassingly beautiful face, was Mrs. Nesbitt ; and, to the 
 dismay of one who knew herself to be well-nigh as plain 
 and quiet-looking as Mrs. Nesbitt was handsome and bril- 
 liant, they both chanced to wear on that occasion precisely 
 the same kind- of grey chip bonnet, Avith pale pink tulle 
 veil and trimmings, which was at that time ^^ the fashion." 
 This was a bit of secret feminine consciousness which it
 
 304 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 seems strange to be now revealing; but it occurred in 
 that bright, keenly-felt time, when everything seemed 
 especially vivid to its enjoyer, and is therefore worth 
 while recording as lending vividness and reality to the 
 impressions sought to be conveyed by the present 
 writer in her fast advancing old age. 
 
 Besides a list of rehearsals and a copy of the " Rules 
 for Rehearsals " (extracts from which are given in a 
 Note at page 363-4, vol. ii., of Forster's " Life of 
 Charles Dickens ") signed by his own hand, I had re- 
 ceived the following notelet in reply to my inquiry of 
 what edition of Shakespeare's "Merry Wives" would be 
 used ; all giving token of his promptitude and business- 
 like attention to the enterprise in hand. The *' family 
 usage " alluded to was that of always calling him at home 
 by the familiar loving appellation of " Dear Dickens " or 
 " Darling Dickens." So scrupulously has been treasured 
 every scrap of his writing addressed to me or penned for 
 me, that the very brown paper cover in which the copy 
 of " Love, Law, and Physic " was sent is still in existence ; 
 as is the card, bearing the words " Pass to the stage : 
 Charles Dickens," with the emphatic scribble beneath 
 his name, which formed the magic order for entrance 
 through the stage-door of the Haymarket Theatre : — 
 
 Devonshire Terrace, Sunday morning, 
 1 6th April, 1848. 
 Dear Mrs. Cowden Clarke,— As I am the Stage 
 manager, you could not have addressed your inquiry to a 
 more fit and proper person. The mode of address would be 
 unobjectionable, but for the knowledge you give me of that 
 family usage, — which I think preferable, and indeed quite 
 perfect. 
 
 Enclosed is Knight's cabinet edition of the " Merry Wives;"
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 305 
 
 from which the company study. I also send you a copy of 
 *' Love, Law, and Physic." BeHeve me ahvays veiy faith- 
 fully yours, Charles Dickens. 
 
 As the period for performance approached, I more and 
 more regretted that my husband was still away lecturing ; 
 but, as whenever he was absent from home we invariably 
 wrote to each other once (sometimes twice) a day, he 
 and I were able thoroughly to follow in spirit all that we 
 were respectively engaged with and interested in.- 
 
 The date of our first night at the Haymarket Theatre 
 was the 15th of May,^ 1848 ; when the entertainment 
 consisted of " The Merry Wives of Windsor " and 
 "Animal Magnetism." The "make up" of Charles 
 Dickens as Justice Shallow was so complete, that his 
 own identity Avas almost unrecognizable, when he came on 
 to the stage, as the curtain rose, in company wdth Sir 
 Hugh and Master Slender ; but after a moment's breath- 
 less pause, the whole house burst forth into a roar of 
 applausive reception, which testified to the boundless de- 
 light of the assembled audience on beholding the literary 
 idol of the day, actually before them. His impersonation 
 was perfect : the old, stiff limbs, the senile stoop of the 
 shoulders, the head bent with age, the feeble step, wdth 
 a certain attempted smartness of carriage characteristic 
 of the conceited Justice of the Peace,— were all assumed 
 and maintained with wonderful accuracy ; while the 
 articulation,— part lisp, part thickness of utterance, part a 
 kind of impeded sibillation, like that of a voice that 
 " pipes and whistles in the sound" through loss of teeth — 
 
 * In Forster's "Life of Charles Dickens" the month is 
 • erroneously stated to be April ; but I have the Haymarket 
 Play-bill, beautifully printed in delicate colours, now before 
 me.— M. C. C. 
 
 X
 
 3o6 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 gave consummate effect to his mode of speech. The 
 one in which Shallow says, " 'Tis the heart, Mastei 
 Page ; 'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the time with my 
 long sword I would have made you four tall fellows skip 
 like rats," was delivered with a humour of expression in 
 effete energy of action and would-be fire of spirit that 
 marvellously imaged fourscore years in its attempt to 
 denote vigour long since extinct. 
 
 Mark Lemon's Sir John Falstaff was a fine embodiment 
 of rich, unctuous, enjoying raciness ; no caricatured, 
 rolling greasiness and grossness, no exaggerated vul- 
 garization of Shakespeare's immortal "fat knight;" but a 
 florid, rotund, self-contented, self-indulgent voluptuary — 
 thoroughly at his ease, thoroughly prepared to take 
 advantage of all gratification that might come in his way; 
 and throughout preserving the manners of a gentleman, 
 accustomed to the companionship of a prince, " the best 
 king of good fellows." John Forster's Master Ford wag 
 a carefully finished performance. John Leech's Mastei 
 Slender was picturesquely true to the gawky, flabby, 
 booby squire : hanging about in various attitudes of limp 
 ecstasy, limp embarrassment, limp disconsolateness. His 
 mode of sitting on the stile, with his long, ungainly legs 
 dangling down, during the duel scene between Sir Hugh 
 and Dr. Caius, looking vacantly out across " the fields," 
 as if in vapid expectation of seeing " Mistress Anne Page 
 at a farm-house a-feasting," — as promised him by that 
 roguish wag mine Host of the Garter, ever and anon 
 ejaculating his maudlin, cuckoo-cry of " Oh sweet Anne 
 Page," — was a delectable treat. Mr. G. H. Lewes's 
 acting, and especially his dancing, as Sir Hugh Evans, 
 were very dainty, with a peculiar drollery and (juaintness, 
 singularly befitting the peppery but kindly-natured Welsh
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 307 
 
 parson. .1 once heard Mr. Lewes wittily declare that his 
 were not so much " animal spirits," as " vegetable spirits;" 
 and these kfnd of ultra light good-humours shone to 
 great advantage in his conception and impersonation of 
 Sir Hugh. George Cruikshanks as mine Ancient Pistol, 
 was supremely artistic in " get up," costume, and attitude ; 
 fantastic, spasmodic, ranting, bullying. Though taking 
 the small part of Slender's servant. Simple, Augustus Egg 
 was conspicuous for good judgment and good taste in his 
 presentment of the character. Over his well-chosen 
 suit of sober-coloured doublet and hose he wore a leather 
 thong round his neck that hung loosely over his chest ; 
 and he told me he had added this to his dress, because 
 inasmuch as Master Slender was addicted to sport, 
 iiiterested in coursing, and in Page's "fallow greyhound," 
 it was likely that his retainer would carry a dog-leash 
 about him. Egg was a careful observer of costume ; and 
 expressed his admiration of mine for Dame Quickly, 
 remarking (like a true artist) that it looked " more toned 
 down" than the rest of the company's, and seemed as if 
 it might have been worn in Windsor streets, during the 
 daily trottings to and fro of the match-making busy-body. 
 It may well have looked thus ; for while the other mem- 
 bers of the company had their dresses made expressly for 
 the occasion by a stage costume-maker, I had fabricated 
 Dame Quickly's from materials of my own, previously 
 used, in order that they might not look " too new" and 
 that they might be in strict consonance with my ideas of 
 correct dressing for the part. To this end, I had written 
 to ask the aid of Colonel Hamilton Smith, an authority 
 in costumes of all ages and countries. To my inquiry 
 respecting Dame Quickly's costume, he replied by sending 
 me two coloured sketches accompanied by a kind letter 
 
 X 2
 
 3o8 RECOLLECTIONS OE WRITERS. 
 
 from which I transcribe this extract, evincing his extreme 
 care to ensure accuracy : — 
 
 " I find only one difficulty in producing a drawing for 
 Mistress Quickly, and that is whether on the stage it is now 
 a clear case as to the date to be assigned, not the writing of 
 the play, but the period when Falstaff and the Merry Wive? 
 are to be supposed living. If you take the date of Henry IV. 
 or Henry v., that is between 1400 and 1425, or the beginning 
 of the se\-enteenth century, between 1600 and 1620. Shake- 
 speare, I beheve, had no image in his view but that of his 
 own times, and I believe also the figures artists have given 
 relating to the play are all, with some licence, of the times 
 of Elizabeth and James I. My own opinion is hkewise 
 inclining to that period, because the humorous character of 
 the play becomes more obvious when represented in dresses 
 and scenery which we can better appreciate for that purpose 
 than when we take the more recondite manners of the age 
 when the red rose was in the ascendant. The special 
 character oi Mistress Quickly, with manners somewhat 
 dashed with Puritanism, dresses admirably in the later period, 
 and is not to be found in the early period of the Lollards. 
 No dress of the time would tell the audience that it is the 
 costume of a Mistress Quickly. It would only show a 
 gentlewoman, a young lady, or a countrywoman. 
 
 This question being settled, I have now only to offer a 
 dress, and I recommend that of a Dame Bonifant figured on 
 a Devon brass of the year 1614. I think you will find it 
 sufficiently -biquant ; demure though it be. I think it just 
 the thing, and you may select the colours that will suit you 
 best. The other is Champernoun Lady Slanning, from her 
 monument dating 1583 If this period will not answer, pray 
 let me know, and I will endeavour to select others ot the 
 times of Henry IV. and V." 
 
 In making my dress for Dame Quickly, I availed my- 
 self ot Colonel Hamilton Smith's suggestions and sketches 
 for some particulars ; but also copied trom the effective 
 costume given by Kenny Meadows to her at p. 91, vol i.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LEI2ERS. 309 
 
 of his " Illustrated Shakespeare," published by Tyas in 
 1843. To the very characteristic coit there depicted 
 (which I made in black velvet lined with scarlet silk) I 
 added a pinner and lappet of old point-lace, the latter of 
 which floated from the outside together with long ribbon 
 streamers of scarlet, so as to give an idea of " the ship- 
 tire" mentioned by Falstaff, as one of the fashionable 
 head-gears of the period. William Havell, the artist, a 
 short time afterwards made for my husband a water- 
 coloured sketch of me in my Quickly costume ; which 
 now hangs in the picture-gallery of our Italian home ; and 
 it gave me a strange feeling of suddenly-recalled past 
 times amid the present, when the other day I saw the 
 delicate point lappet and pinner, — worn by Dame 
 Quickly in 1848, 'and which had been given to my niece 
 Valeria, — figuring round the young throat as a modern 
 lace cravat in 1876. 
 
 As I stood at the side scene of the Haymarket Theatre 
 that memorable May night with Augustus Egg, waiting to 
 make our first entrance together upon the stage, and face 
 that sea of faces, he asked me whether I felt nervous. 
 
 " Not in the least," I replied ; " my heart beats fast ; 
 but it is with joyful excitement, not with alarm." And, 
 from first to last, "joyful excitement" was what I felt 
 during that enchanting episode in my life. 
 
 In Mrs. Inchbald's amusing farce of " Animal Mag- 
 netism," the two characters of the Doctor and La Fleur, 
 as played by Charles Dickens and Mark Lemon, formed 
 the chief points of drollery : but in the course of the 
 piece, an exquisitely ludicrous bit of what is technically 
 called " Gag " was introduced into the scene where George 
 Lewes, as the Marquis, pretends to fall into a fit of 
 rapturous delirium, exclainiing, —
 
 3IO RECOLLECTIONS OF WELTERS. 
 
 " WTiat thrilling transport rushes to my heart ; Nature 
 appears to my ravished eyes more beautiful than poets 
 ever formed ! Aurora dawns — the feathered songsters 
 chant their most melodious strains— the gentle zephyrs 
 breathe," etc. 
 
 At the words, " Aurora dawns," Dickens interrupted 
 with " Who dawns ? " And being answered with " Aurora," 
 exclaimed " La ! !" in such a tone of absurd wonderment, 
 as if he thought anybody rather than Aurora might have 
 been expected to dawn. 
 
 The first night's Haymarket performance was followed 
 by my dining next evening at Charles Dickens' house in 
 Devonshire Terrace, when Mrs. Dickens, having a box 
 at the opera to see Jenny Lind in " La Sonnambula," in- 
 vited me to go with her there ; and immediately upon 
 this ensued the second night's performance at the Hay- 
 market Theatre, when the play-bill announced Ben 
 Jonson's " Every Man in his Humour," and Kenny's farce 
 of "Love, Law, and Physic." 
 
 The way in which Charles Dickens impersonated that 
 arch braggart, Captain Bobadil, was a veritable piece of 
 genius : from the moment when he is discovered lolling 
 at full length on a bench in his lodging, calling for a " cup 
 o' small beer" to cool down the remnants of excitement 
 from last night's carouse with a set of roaring gallants, till 
 his final boast of having " not so much as once offered to 
 resist" the " coarse fellow" who set upon him in the open 
 streets, he was capital. The mode in which he went to 
 the back of the stage before he made his exit from the 
 first scene ot Act ii., uttering the last word of the taunt 
 he flings at Downright with a bawl of stentorian loudness 
 — " Scavenger !" and then darted off the stage at full 
 speed ; the insolent scorn of his exclamation, " This
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 3 1 1 
 
 a Toledo? pish!" bending the sword into a curve as he 
 spoke ; the swaggering assumption of ease with which he 
 leaned on the shoulder of his interlocutor, pulhng away 
 his tobacco smoke and puffing it oft" as " your right 
 Trinidado ;" the grand impudence of his lying when 
 explaining how he would despatch scores of the enemy, — 
 " challenge twenty more, kill them ; twenty more, kill 
 them ; twenty more, kill them too ;" ending by " twenty 
 score, that's two hundred ; two hundred a day, five days 
 a thousand ; forty thousand ; forty times five, five times 
 forty, two hundred days kills them all up by computation," 
 rattling the words off while making an invisible sum of 
 addition in the air, and scoring it conclusively with an 
 invisible line underneath, — were all the very height 
 of fun. 
 
 It was noteworthy, as an instance of the forethought as 
 to eifect given to even the slightest points, that he and 
 Leech (who played Master Mathew) had their stage-wigs 
 made, for the parts they played in Ben Jonson's comedy, 
 of precisely opposite cut : Bobadil's being fuzzed out at 
 the sides and extremely bushy, while Master Mathew's 
 was flat at the ears and very highly peaked above his 
 forehead. In the green-room, between the acts, after 
 Bobadil has received his drubbing and been well cudgelled 
 in the fourth act, and has to reappear in the first scene of 
 the fifth act, I saw Charles Dickens wetting the plume of 
 vari-coloured feathers in his hat, and taking some of 
 them out, so as to give an utterly crest-fallen look to his 
 general air and figure. " Don't take out the white 
 feather ! " I said ; it was pleasant to see the quick glance 
 up with which he recognized the point of my meaning. 
 He had this delightful, bright, rapid glance of intelligence 
 in his eye whenever anything was said to please him ; and
 
 312 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 it was my good hap many times to see this sudden light 
 flash forth. 
 
 The farce of " Love, Law, and Physic" was a large field, 
 for the very hey-day of frolic and mirth. The opening 
 scene, with its noisy bustle of arrival of the fellow- 
 travellers in the stage coach at the Inn ; the dash and 
 audacity of Lawyer Flexible (Dickens) ; the loutish con- 
 ceit and nose-led dupedom of Lubin Log (Lemon) ; the 
 crowning absurdity of the scene where they pay court to 
 the supposed Spanish heiress ; which last — by the time 
 we had played it four times, reached a perfect climax of 
 uproarious " gag " and merriment on the fifth representa- 
 tion — always kindled the house into sympathetic uproar. 
 Mark Lemon's lumpish approaches, stealthily kissing his 
 hand to the stage diamonds worn profusely in my hair to 
 fasten the Spanish veil, turning to Charles Dickens with 
 a loud aside : " Eh ? All real, I suppose, eh ? " and be- 
 tween every speech looking to him for support or prompted 
 inspiration of love-making ; extra ridiculous scraps in- 
 troduced into the dialogue where the Spanish lady men- 
 tions her accomplishments, " Prosody, painting, poetry, 
 music and phlebotomy" — at the word " music," Lemon 
 used to turn to Dickens and say, *' What ? — so ? " 
 {making signs of playing on the violoncello ;) when the 
 reply was, "No, no; — so," {making signs 0/ playing on 
 the piaiioforte •) and on my adding, " poonah-painting — " 
 Lemon used to turn to his friend ajid abettor with, 
 " What ? Poney-painting ? Does she draw horses ? " till 
 laughter among the audience was infectiously and irre- 
 pressibly met by laughter on the stage, in the side scenes, 
 where the rest of the company used to cluster like bees 
 (against all rule !) to see that portion of the farce. 
 
 In token of Charles Dickens's appropriateness of
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LE TTERS 3 1 3 
 
 gesture, and dramatic discrimination, I may instance his 
 different mode of entrance on the stage with me as Dame 
 Quickly and as Mrs. Hilary. Where Justice Shallow 
 comes hurriedly in with the former, Act iii. Scene 4, 
 saying to her, "Break their talk, Mistress Quickly;" 
 he used to have hold of my arm, partly leaning on it, 
 partly leading me on by it, — ^just like an old man with an 
 inferior : but - as the curtain rose to the ringing of bells, 
 the clattering of horses, the blowing of mail-coach horn, 
 the voices of passengers calling to waiter and chamber- 
 maid, etc., at the opening of" Love, Law, and Physic," — 
 Charles Dickens used to tuck me under his arm with the 
 free-and-easy familiarity of a lawyer patronizing an actress 
 whom he chances to find his fellow-traveller in a stage 
 coach, and step smartly on the stage, with — "Come, bustle, 
 bustle ; tea and coffee for the ladies." — It is something 
 to remember, having been tucked under the arm by 
 Charles Dickens, and had one's hand hugged against 
 his side ! One thinks better of one's hand ever after. He 
 used to be in such a state of high spirits when he played 
 Flexible, and so worked himself into hilarity and glee for 
 the part, that he more than once said in those days, 
 "Somehow, I never see Mrs. Cowden Clarke, but I feel 
 impelled to address her with ' Exactly ; and thus have 
 I .learned from his own obliging communication, that he 
 is the rival of my friend. Captain Danvers ; who, fortu- 
 nately for the safety of Mr. Log's nose, happened to be 
 taking the air on the box.'" And he actually did, more 
 than once, utter these words (one of Flexible's first 
 speeches to Mrs. Hilary) when we met. He was very 
 fond of this kind of reiterated joke. 
 
 Next came our first set of provincial performances, — 
 Manchester, 3rd June; Liverpool, 5th June; and Bir-
 
 314 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 mingham, 6th June, 1848. What times those were! 
 What rapturous audiences a-tiptoe with expectation to 
 see, hear, and welcome those whom they had known and 
 loved through their written or delineated productions. 
 What a heap of flowers — exquisitely choice orchids and 
 rare blossoms — packed carefully in a box by a friend's 
 hand, awaited our arrival at the Manchester Hotel, and 
 furnished me with a special rose-bud for Charles Dickens' 
 acceptance, and button-hole nosegays for the other gen- 
 tlemen of the company ; besides a profusion for Mrs. 
 Charles Dickens, her sister, and the professional ladies 
 who travelled with us. What crowds assembled on the 
 landing-place of the stairs, and in the passages of the 
 Liverpool hotel, to see the troupe pass down to dinner ! 
 What enthusiastic hurrahs at the rise of the curtain, and 
 as each character in succession made his appearance On 
 the stage. Of course, in general, the storm of plaudits 
 was loudest when Charles Dickens was recognized ; but 
 at Birmingham such a rave of delight was heard at an 
 unaccustomed point of the play, tliat we in the Green- 
 room (who watched with interested ears the various 
 "receptions" given) exclaimed, " Why, who's that gone 
 on to the stage ? " It proved to be George Cruikshanks, 
 whose series of admirably impressive pictures called 
 " The Bottle " and " The Drunkard's Children " had 
 lately appeared in Birmingham, and had been known to 
 have wrought some wonderful effects in the way of re- 
 straining men from immoderate use of drink. 
 
 Moreover, what enchanting journeys those were ! The 
 coming on to the platform at the station, where Charles 
 Dickens' alert form and beaming look met one with 
 pleasurable greeting ; the interest and polite attention of 
 the officials ; the being always seated with my sister
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 315 
 
 Emma in the same railway carriage occupied by Mr. and 
 Mrs. Charles Dickens and Mark Lemon ; the delightful 
 gaiety and sprightliness of our manager's talk ; the end- 
 less stories he told us ; the games he mentioned and ex- 
 plained how they were played ; the bright amenity of his 
 manner at various stations, where he showed to persons 
 in authority the free-pass ticket which had been pre- 
 viously given in homage to " Charles Dickens and his 
 party ;" the courteous alacrity with which he jumped out 
 at one refreshment-room to procure food for somebody 
 who had complained of hunger towards the end of the 
 journey, and reappeared bearing a plate of buns which 
 no one seemed inclined to eat, but which he held out, 
 saying, " For Heaven's sake, somebody eat some of 
 these buns ; I was in hopes I saw Miss Novello eye them 
 with a greedy joy :" his indefatigable vivacity, cheeriness, 
 and good humour from morning till night,— all were 
 delightful. One of the stories he recounted to us, while 
 travelling, was that of a man who had been told that slips 
 of paper pasted across the chest formed an infallible cure 
 for sea-sickness ; and that upon going down into the 
 cabin of the steamer, this man was to be seen busily em- 
 ployed cutting up paper into long narrow strips with the 
 gravest of facts, and accompanying the slicing of the 
 scissors by a sympathetic movement of the jaw, which 
 Dickens mimicked as he described the process. 
 
 Before the month of June concluded, a second per- 
 formance was arranged for Birmingham ; and as, in addi- 
 tion to " Merry Wives," and " Love, Law, and Physic," 
 it was proposed to give the screaming afterpiece of " Two 
 o'clock in the morning " (or " A good night's rest," as 
 it was sometimes called), Charles Dickens asked me to 
 dine at his house, that we might cut the farce to proper
 
 3i6 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 dimensions. A charming little dinner of four it was, — • 
 Mr. and Mrs. Dickens, Mark Lemon, and myself; fol- 
 lowed by adjournment to the library to go through our 
 scenes in the farce together. Charles Dickens showed 
 to particular advantage in his own quiet home life ; and 
 infinitely more I enjoyed this simple little meeting than 
 a brilliant dinner-party to which I was invited at his house, 
 a day or two afterwards, when a large company were 
 assembled, and all was in superb style, with a bouquet of 
 flowers beside the plate of each lady present. On one of 
 these more quiet occasions, when Mr. and Mrs. Dickens, 
 their children, and their few guests were sitting out of 
 doors in the small garden in front of their Devonshire 
 Terrace house, enjoying the fine warm evening, I recollect 
 seeing one of his little sons draw Charles Dickens apart, 
 and stand in eager talk with him, the setting sun full upon 
 the child's upturned face and lighting up the father's, 
 which looked smilingly down into it ; and when the im- 
 portant conference was over, the father returned to us, 
 saying, " The little fellow gave me so many excellent 
 reasons why he should not go to bed so soon, that 
 I yielded the point, and let him sit up half an hour 
 later." 
 
 On our journey down to Birmingham I enjoyed a very 
 special treat. Charles Dickens— in his usual way of 
 sparing no pains that could ensure success— asked me to 
 hear him repeat his part in " Two o'clock in the morn- 
 ing," which, he and Mark Lemon being the only two 
 persons acting therein, was a long one. He repeated 
 throughout with such wonderful verbal accuracy that I 
 could scarcely believe what I saw and heard as I listened 
 to him, and kept my eyes fixed upon the page. Not only 
 every word of the incessant speaking part, but the stage
 
 CHARLES DICKEiV^ AND HIS LEI TERS. 3 1 7 
 
 directions — which in that piece are very numerous and 
 elaborate — he repeated verbatim. He evidently com- 
 mitted to memory all he had to do as well as all he 
 had to say in this extremely comic trifle of one act 
 an one scene. Who that beheld the comoilsive 
 writhes and spasmodic draw-up of his feet on the rung of 
 the chair and the tightly-held coverlet round his shiver- 
 ing body just out of bed, as he watched in ecstasy of 
 impatience the invasion of his peaceful chamber by that 
 horribly intrusive Stranger, can ever forget Charles 
 Dickens' playing Mr. Snobbington ? or who that heard 
 Mark Lemon's thundered syllable, " Pours !" in reply to 
 Snobbington's inquiry whether it rains, can lose remem- 
 brance of that unparalleled piece of acting ? 
 
 July brought plans for performances in Scotland, which 
 was to include, besides our previous pieces, the come- 
 dietta named in the first of the two following notelets : — 
 
 Devonshire Terrace, ist July, 1848. 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke,— I enclose the part I spoke of 
 in " Used Up." Will you meet the rest of the Dramatis 
 Persona; here, to read the play and compare the parts on 
 Monday evening at 7. 
 
 Faithfully yours always, 
 
 The Implacable Manager. 
 
 [The next (undated) was in very large handwriting.] 
 
 The Implacable's reply. 
 
 At Miss Kelly's Temple of Mirth, 73, Dean Street, Soho — 
 at 7 o'clock, on Friday evening, July the seventh, eighteen 
 hundred and forty-eight. 
 
 On the 15th July we travelled to Edinburgh; and, 
 on our post-midnight arrival there, found a brilliant 
 supper-party awaiting us of several distinguished gentle-
 
 31 8 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 men, among whom was the Sheriff of Midlothian, bright 
 super-genial John T. Gordon, and a gentleman who 
 sang Burns' " Mary Morrison " with such exquisite 
 tenderness of expression that Charles Dickens (who had 
 often laughingly observed to me that I did not seem 
 much to admire this kind of pastime) at its conclusion 
 turned to me with eyes that swam as brimmingly as my 
 own, and said, "Why, I thought you didn't care for 
 after-supper singing, Mrs. Cowden Clarke." All I could 
 find words for in reply was, " Ay ; but such suiging as 
 this — ." To which expressive break he nodded an 
 emphatic rejoinder of assent. 
 
 The day that followed was spent by some of the 
 Amateur Company in visiting Holyrood, etc. ; while 
 Charles Dickens invited me to go with Mrs. Dickens, 
 himself, and one or two others, to see esteemed John 
 Hunter (" friend of Leigh Hunt's verse ") at Craigcrook. 
 To my infinite regret I was compelled by one of my 
 cruellest habitual head-aches to relinquish this surpass- 
 ing pleasure, and remain at the hotel, trying to nurse my- 
 self into fit condition for acting on the morrow. By 
 that same evening, however, 1 was well enough to join 
 the merry after-dinner party engaged with Charles Dickens 
 in playing a game of " How, when, and where ;" which 
 he conducted with the greatest spirit and gaiety. I re- 
 member one of the words chosen for guessing was 
 " Lemon ;" and of course, many were the allusions to 
 punch and Punch made by the several players. But 
 when one of them ventured in answer to the question, 
 " How do you like it ? " so near as to say, " I like it 
 with a white choker on," Dickens ejaculated, "Madness!" 
 and Mark Lemon, who chanced to be the only gentle- 
 man present wearing a white cravat, put his spread
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 319 
 
 hand stealthily up under his chin, and made an irre- 
 sistibly droll grimace of dismay. On the 17th July we 
 gave in Edinburgh " Merry Wives," " Love, Law, and 
 Physic," and " Two o'clock in the morning ; " and on 
 the 1 8th, in Glasgow, "Merry Wives," and "Animal 
 Magnetism." As there was to be a second performance 
 given in Glasgow on the 20th, Charles Dickens organ- 
 ized a charming excursion to Ben Lomond on the 
 intervening day, the 19th. No man more embodied the 
 expression "genial" than himself; no man could better 
 make " a party of pleasure " truly pleasant and worthy 
 of its name than he. There was a positive sparkle 
 and atmosphere of holiday sunshine about him : he 
 seemed to radiate brightness and enjoyment from his 
 own centre that cast lustre upon all around him. When 
 the carriages-and-four that he had ordered for the expe- 
 dition were drawn up in front of the Glasgow hotel, 
 ready for us to take our places in and on them (for 
 some of the gentlemen occupied the box-seats, as there 
 were postillions), we saw from the windows that a large 
 crowd had assembled in the streets and was every moment 
 increasing in numbers. Charles Dickens said hastily, 
 " I don't think I can face this ;" and bidding us go on 
 without them and take them up a little distance, he took 
 Charles Knight's arm, that he might walk out unobserved 
 and pass through the crowd on foot. Charles Knight 
 had joined our party for a few days ; and he afterwards 
 told us that on emerging from the house a lady had 
 come up to him and said, " Could you tell me, sir, 
 which is Charles Dickens?" Upon which Charles Knight 
 • — faithful to Dickens' wish to pass on unnoticed — re- 
 plied, "No, ma'am; unfortunately I couldn't." Though 
 Charles Dickens gave him an expressive pinch of the
 
 320 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 arm, as he uttered the ~eply, in token that he recognized 
 his loyalty to friendsh-.p, yet, when Charles Knight told 
 us the incident, Charles Dickens laughingly said, " I 
 don't know how you could have the heart to answer her 
 so, Knight, I don't think / could have done it ! " 
 
 The day, that had promised fair, turned out drizzly and 
 misty; so that as we passed the picturesque neighbourhood 
 of Dumbarton, its castle, and banks of the Clyde, they 
 were but hazily seen ; and even when we approached the 
 grander scenery of Lake Lomond and the mighty "Ben" 
 of that ilk, it was but greyly and s'rroudedly visible. I 
 recollect Augustus Egg, who was in our carriage, as he 
 looked towards the hill-sides covered with July fir-trees 
 dripping wet, saying with a true Londoner's travestie of 
 the often-seen placard in a Regent Street furrier's shop- 
 window. Firs at this season, half price." We put 
 up at a small inn at mid-day, where we had a lunch- 
 dinner ; after which some of the company went down to 
 the shores of the lake (the rain having somewhat ceased) 
 to try and get a glimpse of the magnificent vicinity. Mr. 
 and Mrs. Charles Dickens and I preferred remaining 
 where we were ; and, as he owned to being a little tired, 
 we persuaded him to lie down for a short time. In that 
 small inn-room there was of course no sofa ; so we put 
 together four or five chairs, on which he stretched him- 
 self at full length, resting his head on his wife's knee as a 
 pillow, and was soon in quiet sleep, Mrs. Dickens and I 
 keeping on our talk in a low tone that served rather to 
 lull than disturb him. That modest inn-room among 
 the Scottish mountains, the casement blurred by recent 
 rains, the grand landscape beyond shrouded in mist, the 
 soft breathing of the sleeper, the glorious eyes closed, 
 the active spirit in perfect repose, the murmured voices of
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 321 
 
 the two watching women, — often rise with strangely- 
 present effect upon my musing memory. 
 
 When the time came for returning to Glasgow, Charles 
 Dickens talked of occupying one of the box-seats ; but I 
 ventured to remind him he might take cold. " Oh, I'm 
 well wrapped up," he replied. I said it was not so much 
 a question of warm clothing, as that he could not help 
 inhaling the damp air, and might lose his voice for the 
 morrow's acting. He was not the man to imperil suc- 
 cess by any want of precaution, so he laughingly gave 
 way and came inside the carriage again. 
 
 That same night, at supper, occurred an instance of 
 one of those humorous exaggerations of speech in which 
 Charles Dickens delighted and often indulged. There 
 was before him a cold sirloin, and he offered me a slice. 
 I accepted, and he exclaimed, " Well, I think I was 
 never more astonished in my life than at your saying you 
 would have some of this cold roast beef ! " 
 
 During our tours he always sat at the head of the 
 table and carved, I having ihe enviable privilege of be- 
 ing seated next to him ; and he observing [as what was 
 there that ever escaped his notice ?] that I ate little — 
 owing to the perpetual state of glad excitement in which 
 I lived — used to cater for me kindly and persuasively, 
 tempting my appetite by selecting morsels he thought I 
 should like. On one occasion I recollect he helped me 
 to a piece of chicken, which 1 took, hailing it in Captain 
 Cuttle's words : " Liver wing it is !" and he instantly 
 looked at me with that bright glance of his. He had a 
 peculiar grace in taking any sudden allusion of this kind 
 to his writings ', and I remember Leigh Hunt telling me 
 that once when he and Dickens were coming away from 
 a party on a very rainy night, a cab not being readily
 
 322 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 procurable to convey Leigh Hunt home, Charles Dickens 
 had made him get inside the fly he had in waiting for him- 
 self and the ladies who were with him, taking his own 
 seat outside ; upon which Leigh Hunt put his head out 
 to protest, saying, " If you don't mind, Dickens, you'll 
 '■become a denid, damp, moist, tmpleasa7it body/'" which 
 was responded to by a blithe, clear laugh that rang out 
 right pleasantly in the dark wet night. 
 
 In the course of the following morning at Glasgow 
 requests were made that the Amateur Company would 
 sign their names collectively on some large sheets of paper 
 produced for this purpose, as interesting memorials of the 
 occasion; and the persons then chancing to be present 
 complied. One of these sheets, filled for my sister Emma, 
 she subsequently gave to me, and it is still in my 
 possession, 
 
 The performance of " Used up " — thanks to diligent 
 rehearsals steadily enforced by our " Implacable manager," 
 — went with such extraordinary smoothness as to call 
 forth an expression of astonishment from the professional 
 manager of the Glasgow Theatre, who said that unless he 
 had been positively assured the Amateur Company had 
 never before played the piece, he could not have believed 
 it to have been a first night's acting. Charles Dickens's Sir 
 Charles Coldstream was excellent; but a pre-eminent hit 
 was made by Mark Lemon, who, as one of his fop-friends, 
 invented a certain little ridiculous laugh — so original, so 
 exquisitely inane, so ludicrously disproportioned in its 
 high falsetto pipe, to the immensely broad chest from 
 which it issued — that it became t/ie thing of all the scenes 
 where he appeared. A kind of squeaking hysterical giggle 
 closing in a suddenly checked gasp, — a high-pitched 
 chuckle, terminating in an abrupt swallowing of the tone
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 323 
 
 —first startled our ears and our risibility when Lemon 
 was rehearsing this small part, which he made an impor- 
 tant one by this invention; and a dozen times a day, 
 until the night of performance, would Charles Dickens 
 make Mark Lemon repeat this incomparably droll new 
 laugh. I have said how fond Charles Dickens was of a 
 repeated jest: and at this time not only would he never 
 tire of hearing " Lemon's fopling-laugh," but he had a 
 way of suddenly calling out to Augustus Egg during 
 dinner or supper, " Augustus ! " and wh'en he looked up 
 would exclaim with a half-serious, half-playful affection- 
 ateness, " God bless you, Augustus I " He was very 
 fond of both those friends: and they loved to humour 
 his whimsical fancies and frolics. I recollect on one 
 occasion after dinner at one of the hotels during our 
 tour— on a non-acting night— finding that the evening 
 seemed threatening to become less lively than he liked it 
 to be, and hearing that Mark Lemon had retired early, 
 Charles Dickens went up to Lemon's room, made him 
 promise to get up and come downstairs again; and I 
 shall not readily forget his look of triumphant joy when 
 soon after, the drawing door opened and Mark Lemon 
 made his appearance, walking forward in his flannel 
 dressing-gown, holding a candle in each hand on either 
 side of his grotesquely drawn-down visage, as if to show 
 that he had come down stairs in spite ol illness to please 
 his *' Implacable manager." Well might a grave Scotch 
 gentleman — who called upon us during our stay in 
 Edinburgh, and saw something of the high spirits and good 
 humour in which Charles Dickens and his company were 
 — say, as he did, "I never saw anything like those 
 clever men; they're just for all the world like a parcel of 
 school-boys ' 
 
 Y
 
 324 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 On our last night at Glasgow, after a climax of success- 
 ful performance at the theatre, — the pieces being " Used 
 up," " Love, Law, and Physic," and " Two o'clock in 
 the morning," — we had a champagne supper in honour of 
 its being the Amateur Company's last assemblage together. 
 Charles Dickens, observing that I took no wine, said, 
 " Do as I do : have a little champagne put into your glass 
 and fill it up with water ; you'll find it a refreshing 
 draught. I tell you this as a useful secret for keeping 
 cool on such festive occasions, and speak to you as man to 
 many He was in wildest spirits at the brilliant reception 
 and uproarious enthusiasm of the audience that evening, 
 and said in his mad-cap mood, "Blow Domestic 
 Hearth ! I should like to be going on all over the king- 
 dom, with INIark Lemon, Mrs. Cowden Clarke, and John 
 [his manservant], and acting everywhere. There's nothing 
 in the world equal to seeing the house rise at you, one 
 sea of delighted faces, one hurrah of applause ! " 
 
 We travelled up to town next day: he showing us how 
 to play the game of " Twenty Questions," and interesting 
 me much by the extreme ingenuity of those he put to us 
 with a view of eliciting the object of our thought. He 
 was very expert at these pastimes, and liked to set them 
 going. I remember one evening at bis own house, his 
 playing several games of apparently magical divination, — 
 of course, by means of accomplices and preconcerted 
 signals. Once, while he was explaining to Augustus Egg 
 and myself the mode of procedure in a certain game of 
 guessing, he said, " Well, 1 begin by thinking of a man, 
 a woman, or an inanimate object; and we'll suppose that 
 I think of Egg." "Ay, an inanimate object," I replied. 
 He gave his usual quick glance up at me, and looked at 
 Augustus Egg, and then we all three laughed, though I pro- 
 tested — w h trij'ji — my innocence of any intended quip.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 3 2 5 
 
 During our journey homeward from Glasgow, Charles 
 Dickens exerted himself to make us all as cheery as might 
 Ije, insensibly communicating the effect of his own anima- 
 tion to those around him. My sister Emma having 
 produced from her pocket a needle and thread, scissors, 
 and thimble, when somebody's glove needed a few stitches, 
 and subsequently a pen-knife, when somebody else's 
 pencil wanted fresh pointing, — Mark Lemon laughingly 
 said, " It's my opinion that if either of us chanced to 
 require a pair of Wellington boots, Miss Novello would 
 be able to bring them out from among those wonderful 
 flounces of hers." 
 
 We were very merry together ; but beneath all I could 
 not help feeling saddened by the sorrowful consciousness 
 that this most unique and delightful comradeship — which 
 I had enjoyed with the keenest sense of its completeness 
 and singularly exceptional combination of happy circum- 
 stances — was drawing to a close. 
 
 However, I soon had the comfort to receive the follow- 
 ing sportively-expressed but truly sympathetic letter, 
 which at least showed me my regret was feelingly 
 shared : — 
 
 Devonshire Terrace, Monday Evening, 
 22nd July, 1848. 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — I have no energy whatever, I 
 am very miserable. I loathe domestic hearths. I yearn to 
 be a vagabond. Why can't I marry ' Mary .'' Why have I 
 seven children — not engaged at sixpence a-night a-piece, and 
 dismissible for ever, if they tumble down, not taken on 
 for an indefinite time at a vast expense, and never, — no 
 never, never, — wearing lighted candles round their hcids ' 
 I am deeply miserable, A real house like this is insupport- 
 
 • A character in " Used Up." 
 
 • As fairies in " Merry Wives."
 
 326 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 able, after that canvas farm wherein I was so happy. What 
 is a humdrum dinner at half-past five, with nobody (but 
 John) to see me eat it, compared with that soup, and the 
 hundreds of pairs of eyes that watched its disappearance ? 
 Forgive this tear.^ It is weak and foolish, I know. 
 
 Pray let me divide the little excursional excesses of the 
 journey among the gentlemen, as I have always done before, 
 and pray believe that I have had the sincerest pleasure and 
 gratihcation in your co-operation and society, valuable and 
 interesting on all public accounts, and personally of no mean 
 worth nor held in slight regard. 
 
 You had a sister once, when we were young and happy — 
 I think they called her Emma. If she remember a bright 
 being who once flitted like a vision before her, entreat her to 
 bestow a thought upon the " Gas" of departed joys. I can 
 write no more. 
 
 Y. G." the (darkened) G. L. R.* 
 
 The same kindly sympathy of regret for past dramatic 
 joys is still betokened in the following close to a letter 
 (quoting Sir Charles Coldstream's words) which I received 
 from my dear " Implacable manager," dated " Broad- 
 stairs, Kent, 5th Aug., 1848 :" — 
 
 " I am completely ^/rt:j-e— literally used up. I am dying for 
 excitement. Is it possible that nobody can suggest anything to 
 make my heart beat violently, my hair stand on end— but no!" 
 
 "Where did I hear those words (so truly applicable to my 
 forlorn condition) pronounced by some delightful creature t 
 In a previous state of existence, I believe. 
 
 Oh, Memory, Memory 1 
 
 Ever yours faithfully, 
 
 Y— no C. G — no D. C. D. I think it is- but I don't know 
 — there's nothing in it. 
 
 ^ A huge blot of smeared ink 
 * " Young Gas." •) Name; 
 « " Gas-Light Boy." j self. 
 
 * " Young Gas." ") Names he had playfully given him-
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS, 327 
 
 My sister Emma having helped me with the designs for 
 a blotting-case I embroidered for Charles Dickens, he sent 
 us the accompanying sprightly letter of acknowledgment, 
 signing it with the various names of parts he had played, 
 written in the most respectively characteristic hand- 
 writings. These names in gold letters upon green 
 morocco leather, formed the corners to the green watered 
 silk covering in which I had had the blotting-book bound ; 
 the centres having on one side a wreath of heartsease and 
 forget-me-nots surrounding the initials " Y. G. ;" on the 
 other, a group of roses and rose-buds, worked in floss 
 silks of natural colours. 
 
 During the next year my husband and I received the 
 two ensuing playful notes : — 
 
 Devonshire Terrace, 
 
 13th Jan. 1849. 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — I am afraid that Young Gas 
 is for ever dimmed, and that the breath of calumny will blow 
 henceforth on his stage-management, by reason of his 
 enormous delay in returning you the two pounds non-for- 
 warded by Mrs. G. The proposed deduction on account of 
 which you sent it, was never made. 
 
 But had you seen him in " Used up," 
 His eye so beaming and so clear, 
 When on his stool he sat to sup 
 The oxtail— little Romer near, 
 etc. etc. 
 You would have forgotten and forgiven all. 
 Ever yours, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 To C. C. C. 
 
 Devonshire Terrace, 
 
 5th May, 1849. 
 My dear Sir, — I am very sorry to say that my Orphan 
 Working-school vote is promised in behalf of an unfortunate
 
 328 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 young orphan who after being canvassed for, polled for, 
 written for, quarreled for, fought for, called for, and done all 
 kind of things'for, by ladies who wouldn't go away and 
 wouldn't be satisfied with anything anybody said or did for 
 them, was floored at the last election and comes up to the 
 scratch next morning, for the next election, fresher than ever. 
 I devoutly hope he may get in, and be lost sight of for 
 evermore. 
 
 Pray give my kindest regards to my quondam Quickly, and 
 believe me 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 Another year came round, and still brought me 
 delightfully sympathetic reminiscences of our happy 
 bygone comradeship in acting, as testified by the follow- 
 ing letter. The " new comedy " it alluded to was Bulwer 
 Lytton's " Not so bad as we seem;" and the " book" was 
 the story called " Meg and Alice, the Merry Maids of 
 Windsor " (one of the series in " The Girlhood of Shake- 
 speare's Heroines";, which I dedicated to Charles 
 Dickens. 
 
 Great Malvern, 29th March, 185 1. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Cowden Clarke, — Ah, those were days 
 indeed, when we were so fatigued at dinner that we couldn't 
 speak, and so revived at supper that we couldn't go to bed : 
 when wild in inns the noble savage ran, — and all the world 
 was a stage gas-lighted in a double sense, — by the Young 
 Gas and the old one ! When Emmeline Montague (now 
 Compton, and the mother of two children) came to rehearse 
 in our new comedy the other night, I nearly fainted. The 
 gush of recollection was so overpowering that I couldn't 
 bear it. 
 
 I use the portfolio* for managerial papers still. That's 
 something. 
 
 • The Blotting-book previously mentioned.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 329 
 
 But all this does not thank you for your book. I have not 
 got it yet (being here with Mrs. Dickens, who has been very 
 unwell) but I shall be in town early in the week, and shall 
 bring it down to read quietly on these hills, where the wind 
 blows as freshly as if there were no Popes and no Cardinals 
 whatsoever — nothing the matter anywhere. I thank you a 
 thousand times, beforehand, for the pleasure you are going 
 to give me. I am full of faith. Your sister Emma, — she is 
 doing work of some sort on the P.S. side of the boxes, in 
 some dark theatre, / k/iow, — but where I wonder ? W.? has 
 not proposed to her yet, has he .? I understood he was 
 going to offer his hand and heart, and lay his leg ^ at her 
 feet. Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 The following note was the invitation I received to the 
 dress rehearsal of " Not so bad as we seem :" — 
 
 Devonshire House, 7th May, 185 1. 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — Will you come and look at 
 your old friends next Monday ? I do not know how far we 
 shall be advanced towards completion, but I do know that 
 we shall all be truly pleased to see you. 
 
 Faithfully yours always, 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 Some account of the rehearsals and performances on 
 this occasion was given by i»Ir. R. H. Home in the 
 "Gentleman's Magazine " for February, 187 1, therefore 
 I forbear from giving particulars farther than to record 
 my own confirmation of the description there given of 
 the Duke of Devonshire's exquisite courtesy, with as 
 exquisite a simplicity in demeanour towards those who 
 were then assembled beneath his princely roof. He was 
 
 1 Wilmot, the clever veteran prompter, who had been 
 engaged to accompany us on all our acting-tours. 
 * A wooden one.
 
 330 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 truly worthy of his title, " Your Grace.'''' Nothing more 
 graceful and gracious could be imagined than his mode 
 of standing by Leigh Hunt (who sat beside me), making 
 him keep his seat while he stayed for a few moments in 
 easy talk with him before the curtain drew up ; or his 
 behaviour afterwards in the supper-room, where long 
 tables of refreshments were ranged near to the walls, with 
 the Duke's livery servants in attendance at the back, to 
 dispense what the guests needed. The Duke, perceiving 
 that two ladies were standing a little apart with no 
 gentleman in their company, made a courteous motion 
 of his hand towards Emma and myself, that we should 
 advance towards the table, while he waved his nieces a 
 little aside to make room for us at the board, where tea, 
 coffee, and a thousand delicacies were spread. 
 
 The following charming note came to me in recognition 
 of a large basket of choice flowers — sent to me by the 
 same friendly hand that had provided those that greeted 
 our arrival in Manchester — which I had taken to Charles 
 Dickens's house on the morning of the day when the first 
 number of his " Bleak House " was published : — 
 
 Tavistock House. 3rd March, 1852. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — It is ahnost an impertinence 
 to tell you how delightful your flowers were to nie ; for you 
 who thought of that beautiful and delicately-timed token of 
 sympathy and remembrance, must know it very well 
 already. 
 
 I do assure you that I have hardly ever received anything 
 with so much pleasure in all my life. They are not faded 
 yet — are on my table here — but never can fade ojt of my 
 remembrance. 
 
 I should be less than a Young Gas, and more than an old 
 Manager — that commemorative portfolio is here too — if I 
 could relieve my heart of half that it could say to you. All
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 33 1 
 
 my house are my witnesses that you have quite filled it, and 
 this note is my witness that I can not empty it ! 
 
 Ever faithfully and gratefully your friend, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 I had written to inquire who was the author of the 
 beautiful poem-story that appeared in the Christmas 
 number of "Household Words " for 1852, and he sent 
 me this note in reply. "The two green leaves " was the 
 name he had given to the green paper covers in which 
 the monthly parts of his own serial works appeared ; and 
 " the turning-point " he here alludes to was the one in 
 " Bleak House," where Esther takes the fever from 
 Charley and loses her former beauty. 
 
 Tavistock House, Tuesday Evening-, 
 28th Dec, 1852. 
 My dear Mrs. Clarke, — This comes from your ancient 
 (and venerable) manager, in solemn state, to decide the 
 wager. 
 
 The Host's story is by Edmund Oilier — an excellent and 
 true young poet, as I think. 
 
 You will see a turning-point in the two green leaves this 
 next month, which I hope will not cause you to think less 
 pleasantly and kindly of them. 
 
 And so no more at present from yours 
 
 Always very faithfully, 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 The next note accompanied a presentation copy of 
 " Bleak House," on the title-page of which he wrote, 
 " Mary Cowden Clarke, with the regard of Charles 
 Dickens, December, 1853." The book is still treasured 
 in both places where he wished it might be kept. 
 
 Tavistock House, 14th Nov. 1853. 
 My dear Mrs. Cowden Clarke, — ^You remember the 
 flowers you sent me on the day of the publication of the first 
 of these pages ? / shall never forget them.
 
 332 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 Pray give the book a place on your shelves, and (if you can) 
 in your heart. Where you may always believe me 
 
 Very faithfully yours, 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 In the summer of 1855 my husband and I received an 
 invitation to witness the performance of Mr. Wilkie 
 CoUins's piece called " The Lighthouse," and of Charles 
 Dickens's and Mark Lemon's force entitled " Mr. 
 Nightingale's Diary." The play. bill — which, as I write, 
 lies before me — is headed, "The smallest Theatre in the 
 World 1 Tavistock House" (where Dickens then resided); 
 and is dated "Tuesday Evening, June 19th, 1855.'' 
 The chief characters were enacted by himself, some 
 members of his own family, and his friends, Mark Lemon, 
 Augustus Egg, Frank Stone, and Wilkie Collins ; while 
 the scenery was painted by another of his friends, the 
 eminent Clarkson Stanfield. Choicely picturesque and 
 full of artistic taste was the effect of the lighthouse interior, 
 where Mark Lemon's handsomely chiselled features, sur- 
 rounded by a head of grizzled hair that looked as though it 
 had been blown into careless dishevelment by many a 
 tempestuous gale, his weather-beaten general appearance, 
 and his rugged mariner garments, formed the fine central 
 figure as the curtain drew up and discovered him seated 
 at a rough table, with his younger lighthouse mate, 
 Wilkie Collins, stretched on the floor as if just awakened 
 from sleep, in talk together Later on in the scene a low 
 planked recess in the wall is opened, where Charles 
 Dickens— as the first lighthouse keeper, an old man with 
 half-dazed wits and a bewildered sense of some wrono: 
 committed in bygone yea"s— is discovered asleep in his 
 berth. A wonderful impersonation was this ; very 
 imaginative, very original, very wild, very striking ; his
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 333 
 
 grandly intelligent eyes were made to assume a wander- 
 ing look, — a sad, scared, lost gaze, as of one whose 
 spirit was away from present objects, and wholly occupied 
 with absent and long-past images. 
 
 Among the audience that evening was Douglas Jerrold, 
 beside whom we sat. 
 
 Towards the end of this same year it was announced 
 that another new serial story — " Little Dorrit" — would 
 make its appearance on the ist December : and in anti- 
 cipation of the event, I designed a white porcelain paper- 
 weight, with " two green leaves" enamelled in their natural 
 colours upon it, between which were placed, in gold 
 letters, the initials " C. D." The fabrication of this 
 paper-weight I entrusted to the clever house of Osier at 
 Birmingham, famous for their beautiful glass and china 
 manufactory, and known to ourselves for much kindness 
 and courtesy in old lecturing days. This trille they 
 executed with great taste and skill, carrying out my idea 
 to perfection. It was sent to Charles Dickens on the 
 day of publication, and brought us the following kind 
 letter. 
 
 Tavistock House, 19th Dec. 1855. 
 My dear Mr. and Mrs. Clarke.— I cannot tell you 
 how much I am gratified by the receipt of your kind letters, 
 and the pleasantest memorial that has ever been given me to 
 stand upon my writing-desk. Running over from Paris on 
 Saturday night, I found your genial remembrance awaiting 
 me, like a couple of kind homely faces (homely please to 
 observe, in the sense of being associated with Home) ; and I 
 think you would ha\e been satisfied if you cculd have seen 
 how you brightened my face. 
 
 Always faithfully your friend, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 Among the many regrets for what we left behind us in
 
 334 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 our beloved old England, on going to settle at Nice in the 
 Autumn of 1856, was that we just missed being present 
 at the next Tavistock House performance, which con- 
 sisted of Mr. Wilkie Collins's drama, '' The Frozen Deep " 
 and the farce of " Animal Magnetism." 
 
 The best consolation we could have had for our disap- 
 pointment was the receipt of the following letter, giving 
 evidence that we had friendliest sympathy in our keen 
 sense of lost pleasure. 
 
 Tavistock House, loth Oct 1856. 
 
 My dear Mr. and Mrs. Clarke,— An hour before I 
 received your letter, I had been writing your names. We 
 were beginning a list of friends to be asked here on Twelfth 
 Night to see a new play by the Author of "The Lighthouse," 
 and a better play than that. I honestly assure you that 
 your letter dashed my spirits and made a blank in the 
 prospect. 
 
 May you be very happy at Nice, and find in the climate 
 and the beautiful country near it, more than compensation 
 for what you leave here. Don't forget among the leaves of 
 the vine and olive, that your two green leaves are always on 
 my table here, and that no weather will shake them off. 
 
 I should have brought this myself, on the chance of seeing 
 you, if I were not such a coward in the matter of good-bye, that 
 I never say it, and would resort to almost any subterfuge to 
 avoid it. 
 
 Mrs. Dickens and Georgina send their kindest regards. 
 Your hearty sympathy will not be lost to me, I hope, at 
 Nice ; and I shall never hear of you or think of you without 
 true interest and pleasure. Always faithfully your friend, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 " The Story" alluded to in the next letter was " A Tale 
 of Two Cities ;" and the promised copy, when it could 
 ** be read all at once," faithfully came to us. " The by- 
 gone Day" 1,0 which he refers, was not at "Glasgow,"
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 335 
 
 but at Birmingham ; where — during the performance of 
 " Every Man in his Humour" — I (as Tib) was perched up 
 at an aperture in the flat scene at the back of the stage, 
 out of reach of prompter's voice, and Ben Jonson's some- 
 what disjointed and irrelevant words slipped entirely out 
 of my memory for some moments. The actor on the 
 stage at whom I was stated to have "stared," was Mr. 
 Dudley Costello, who played Kno'well. Forster, as Kitely, 
 came on later in the same scene, dragging Tib forth from 
 the house ; and I recollect his doing this with such force 
 of dramatic vehemence, — swinging me round with a 
 strong rapid fling— that had it not been for my old (or 
 rather, young) skill in dancing, which rendered me both 
 nimble and sure-footed, I should have been down upon 
 the stage. The reader will readily understand how 
 pleasantly these reminders of our acting-days came to me 
 abroad, — after a decade had elapsed, — from my " Im- 
 placable manager." 
 
 Gad's Hill Place, Higham by Rochester, Kent, 
 2 1 St Aug. 1859. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Cowden Clarke, — I cannot tell you how 
 much pleasure I have derived from the receipt of your 
 earnest letter. Do not suppose it possible that such praise 
 can be " less than nothing " to your old Manager. It is more 
 than all else. 
 
 Here in my little country house on the summit of the hill 
 where Falstaff did the robbery, your words have come to me 
 in the most appropriate and delightful manner. When the 
 story can be read all at once, and my meaning can be better 
 seen, I will send it to you (sending it to Dean Street, if you 
 tell me of no better way) and it will be a hearty gratification 
 to think that you and your good husband are reading it to- 
 gether, For you must both take notice, please, that I have 
 a reminder of you always before me. On my desk here 
 stand two green leaves, which I every morning station in
 
 336 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 their ever-green place at my elbow. The leaves on the oak- 
 trees outside the window are less constant than these, for 
 they are with me through the four seasons. 
 
 Lord ! to think of the bygone day when you were 
 stricken mute (was it not at Glasgow T) and, being mounted 
 on a tall ladder at a practicable window, stared at Forster, 
 and with a noble constancy refused to utter word ! Like the 
 Monk among the pictures with Wilkie, I begin to think 
 that the real world, and this the sham that goes out with the 
 lights. God bless you both. 
 
 Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 The " Sonnets" mentioned in the following letter were 
 the six sonnets on " Godsends ;" and, at my request, 
 they were published all six at once (instead of by " two " 
 at a time) in No. 74 of " All the Year round " for the 
 22nd September, i860 : — 
 
 London, 23rd April, i860. 
 
 My DEAR Mrs. Cowden Clarke, — I lose no time in 
 acknowledging the receipt of your very welcome letter. I do 
 so briefly — not from choice but necessity. If I promised 
 myself the pleasure of writing you a long letter, it is highly 
 probable that I should postpone it until heaven knows what 
 remote time of my life. 
 
 I hope to get two of the sonnets in shortly ; say within a 
 month or so. 
 
 The Ghost in the Picture-room, Miss Procter — The Ghost 
 in the Clock-room, a New Lady, who had \&xy rarely (if 
 ever) tried her hand before — The Ghost in the Garden- 
 room, Mrs Gaskell. 
 
 Observe, my dear Concordance- because it makes the 
 name of my Gad's Hill house all tne better — the name is 
 none of my giving ; the house has borne that name these 
 eighty years — ever since it was a house. 
 
 With kind regards to Cowden Clarke, 
 
 Ever your faithful friend, 
 
 Charles Dickens.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 337 
 
 A letter to me, dated "Friday 25th Januar)^ 1861," 
 has the following playful and friendly conclusion ; the 
 *' Property house-broom " refers to the one with which I 
 used busily to sweep, as Dame Quickly, when her master, 
 Dr. Caius, unexpectedly returns home : — 
 
 I am glad to find you so faithfully following '* Great Expec- 
 tations," which story is an immense success. As I was at 
 work upon it the other day, a letter from ynur sister Emma 
 
 appeared upon my table Instantly, 1 seemed to see 
 
 her at needlework in the dark stage-box of the Haymarket 
 in the morning, and you swept yourself into my full view 
 with a ' Property ' house-broom. With the kindest regards 
 to Cowden Clarke, whom I have always quoted since " The 
 Lighthouse *' as the best " audience '' known to mortality, 
 Believe me ever affectionately yours, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 In the summer of 1862 my husband and I went with 
 my brother Alfired and sister Sabilla for an enchanting 
 visit to England, to hear the Handel Festival and to see 
 the International Exhibition. Many other delights of 
 ear and eye then fell to our share : such as our dear old 
 Philharmonic and other concerts, as well as Exhibition 
 of Old Masters at the British Institution, Royal Academy 
 Exhibition, National Gallery, Kensington Museum, John 
 Leech's collected oil sketches, Rosa Bonheur's pictures, 
 Burford's Panorama ot Naples, Messina, and top of the 
 Righi, a very feast of sounds and sights after our long 
 fast from such dainties. For though abroad we had 
 occasionally heard music and seen paintings, it had been 
 at sparse intervals ; not a daily recurring artistic banquet 
 such as we enjoyed that never-to-be-forgotten season. 
 Among the delights we came in for, were two readings by 
 Charles Dickens at St. James's Hall : one on the 19th 
 June, "The Christmas Carol" and "Trial from Pick- 
 
 z
 
 338 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 wick;" the other on the 27th June, from "Nicholas 
 Nickleby," " Boots at the Holly-Tree Inn," and " Mrs. 
 Gamp," In reply to our letter telling him what a sur- 
 passing treat we had enjoyed on both evenings, he sent us 
 the following note of affectionate reproach : — 
 
 Gad's Hill Place, Higham by Rochester, Kent, 
 
 7th July, 1862. 
 My dear Mrs. Cowden Clarke,— I am very angry with 
 you and your other half for having the audacity to go to my 
 readings without first writing to me ! And if I had not been 
 in France since I read last, and were not going back there im- 
 mediately, I would summon you both to come to this Falstafif- 
 Ground and receive the reward of your misdeeds. 
 
 Here are the two green leaves on my table here, as green 
 as ever. They have not blushed at your conduct at St. 
 James's Hall, but they would have done it if they could. 
 With indignant regard, believe me ever faithfully yours, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 On our first coming to reside in Genoa, my husband 
 and I made a point of going over to Albaro at the earliest 
 opportunity, to find out the Villa Bagnerello (the " Pink 
 Jail," as he calls it in his " Pictures from Italy") where 
 Charles Dickens once lived. We took with us some of 
 the simple bread-cake, called pan dolce di Geneva, for 
 which the place is famous, and ate it together as a kind 
 of picnic lunch, under some trees by the road-side in the 
 lane where the " Pink Jail " stands, that as festive an air as 
 possible might be given to our expedition in honour of one 
 who was so peculiarly endowed with the power of making a 
 party of pleasure go pleasantly and who was so intimately 
 associated with the most holiday episode of my life. We 
 subsequently went also to see the Palazzo Peschiere and 
 gardens [see the charming description of them at pages 
 72 — 75 of " Pictures from Italy "], where Charles Dickens
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LE TTERS. 339 
 
 lived after he left the " Pink Jail :" and of these two 
 loving pilgrimages we told him in a letter to which the 
 following is a reply. The " plan " to which it refers was 
 one of Genoa, which formed the printed heading of the 
 paper npon which we wrote to him ; and " Minnie's 
 Musings," is the name of a little verse-story which he 
 published in " All the Year round " for 29th December, 
 x866 :— 
 
 Office of "All the Year round," London, 
 3rd Nov. 1866. 
 My dear Mrs. Cowden Clarke,— I am happy to accept 
 " Minnie's Musings" for insertion here. When it appears 
 (unless I hear from you to the contrary) Mr. Wills's business 
 cheque shall be enclosed to Mr. Littleton in Dean Street. 
 
 This is written in great haste and distraction, by reason of 
 my being in the height of the business of the Xmas No. 
 And as I have this year written half of it myself, the always 
 difficult work of selecting from an immense heap of con- 
 tributions is rendered twice as difficult as usual, by the con- 
 tracted space available. 
 
 Ah ! your plan brings before me my beloved Genoa, and 
 it would gladden my heart indeed to look down upon its bay 
 once again from the high hills. 
 
 No green leaves in present prospect. 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 The next notelet serves to show the grace and cordi- 
 ality with which he wrote even when most briefly : — 
 
 Office of "All the Year round," 
 17th June, 1867. 
 My dear Mrs. Cowden Clarke, — I have great pleasure 
 in retaining "The Yule Log " for the regular No. to be pub- 
 lished at Xmas time ; not for the Xmas No. so called 
 because that will be on a new plan this year, which will not 
 embrace such a contribution. 
 
 Z 2
 
 340 RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS. 
 
 With kind regard and remembrance to your husband, 
 Believe me always 
 
 Your faithful old Manager, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 Your two green leaves are always verdant on my table at 
 Gad's Hill. 
 
 And the next — the last, alas, we ever received from 
 him! — was in answer to a "Godspeed" letter we had 
 written to him upon learning that he was going for a 
 second visit to America : — 
 
 Gad's Hill, Higham by Rochester, 
 2nd Nov. 1867. 
 Heartfelt thanks, my dear Quickly and Cowden Clarke, for 
 your joint good wishes. They are more than welcome to me, 
 and so God bless you. 
 
 Faithfully yours always, 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 The hearty kindness, the warmth of farewell blessing, 
 formed a fitting close to a friendship that had brought 
 nothing but kindly feeling and blessed happiness to those 
 who had enjoyed its privilege. In June, 1870, I read 
 four words on the page of an Italian morning newspaper, 
 which were the past night's telegram from England, — 
 *' Carlo Dickens e morto" — and the sun seemed suddenly 
 blotted out, as I looked upon the fatal line. Often, since, 
 this sudden blur of the sunshine comes over the fair face 
 of Genoese sea, sky, harbour, fortressed hills, which he 
 described as " one of the most fascinating and delightful 
 prospects in the world," — when I look upon it and think 
 that his living eyes can never again behold a scene he 
 loved so well : but then returns the broad clear light that 
 illumined his own nature, making him so full of faith in 
 loveliness and goodness, as to shed a perpetually beaming
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS LETTERS. 341 
 
 genial effect upon those who knew him, — and one's spirit 
 revives in another and a better hope. 
 
 Three of his portraits— the one by Samuel Lawrence, 
 the one by Maclise, and the one published by the 
 "Graphic" in 1870- together with those of others whom 
 we cherished in lifetime and cherish still in memory — 
 are placed where we see them the last thing before we 
 close our eyes at night and the first thing on awaking in 
 the morning : and in that Eternal Morning, which we all 
 trust will dawn for us hereafter, the "■ Author Cow^Xq" 
 hope to behold the dear originals again, and rejoin them 
 for evermore iu immortal Friendship and Love.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Adams, Thomstv', 67. 
 Adams, Sarah I-'.ower, 76. 
 Adamson, John, icx). 
 Albert, Mdme , 75. 
 Allibone, Austin, III. 
 Alsager, Thomas, 128, 129. 
 "American Enthusiast," 110, 289. 
 Attwood, Thomas, 67. 
 
 B. 
 
 Balmanno, Mrs. Mary, III. 
 
 Bannister, John, 19. 
 
 Barnes, Thomas, 17. 
 
 Bassano, Signor, 20, 21, 
 
 Bell, John, 1 15. 
 
 Blanc, Louis, 92. 
 
 Blessington, Countess of, 42. 
 
 Bonomi, Joseph, 92. 
 
 Booth, 15. 
 
 Bowie, Henry, 99. 
 
 Bovvring, John, 87. 
 
 Bright, John, 87. 
 
 Brown, Charles Armitage, 146. 
 
 Byron, Lord, 147. 
 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 85, 86. 
 
 Cartigny, 75. 
 
 Cartwright, Major and Mrs., 8, 9. 
 
 Chambers, Robert, 95, 96, 266. 
 
 Chorley, Henry, 103. 
 
 Christie, Alexander, 98. 
 
 Clark, Mr. and Mrs. Francis, 99. 
 
 Clarke, John, I, 18, 27, 29, 120, 
 
 191. 
 Cobden, Richaid, 87, 88. 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 30, 3 1, 
 
 32, 33' 34. 35. 63, 64. 
 Collier, J. Payne, 95, 96, 288. 
 Collins, Wilkie, 332, 
 Costello, Dudley, 335. 
 Coulson, 26. 
 Cowper, Edward, 10. 
 Cox, Robert, 99. 
 Craik, Professor, 267. 
 Cramer, John, 65, 66. 
 Critics, 108. 
 
 Crosland, Mrs. Newton, 103. 
 Crowe, Mrs. Catherine, 98. 
 Craikshanks, George, 95, 307, 
 
 314- 
 
 Dalby, John Watson, 112. 
 Davenport, Mrs. 72. 
 Dawson, George, 99. 
 Devonshire, Duke of, 320. 
 Devrient, Mdme. Schrceder, 69.
 
 44 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 De Wilde, George James, io8. 
 Dickens, Charles, 93, 94, 95, 295 
 
 to 341. 
 Dickens, Mrs. Charles, 320, 334, 
 D'Israeli, Benjamin, 275. 
 Dobell, Sidney, 103. 
 Donzelli, 75- 
 Dowton, 19, 65, 73. 74. 
 Dyer, George, 2, li, 12, 13. 
 
 E. 
 
 Egg, Augustus, 95, 299, 307, 309, 
 
 320, 323, 324, 332. 
 EUesmere, Lord and Lady, 96. 
 Elliston, 19. 
 
 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 92. 
 Enfield, 2, 51, 120. 
 Elty, William, 105, 106, 162. 
 
 Farrar, Mrs. John, 113. 
 Farren, William, 303. 
 Fawcett, 199. 
 Ferguson. Robert, 102. 
 Field?, James T., 117, 150. 
 Flower Adams, Sarah, 76. 
 Flower, Eliza, 76. 
 Forster, John, 95, 299, 306, 335. 
 Fox, W. J., 87, 88. 
 Fryer, the Rev. Wm. Victor, :b. 
 Furness, Mr. and Mrs. Horace 
 Howard, ill. 
 
 G. 
 
 Garrick, David, 183, 184. 
 Gaskell, Mrs., 92, 93, 336. 
 
 Gattie, the l.rothers, 17. 
 
 Geddes, Dr. Alex., 5- 
 
 Genoa, 119,338. 
 
 Gibbon, the historian, 183. 
 
 Gibson, Mr. and Mrs. Milner, 92. 
 
 Gilpin, " the bookseller," 274. 
 
 Gliddon family, 22, 206, 218. 
 
 Godwin, William, 15, 36, 37, 58. ' 
 
 Good, Mason, 5. 
 
 Gordon, the Rev. John, 1 16. 
 
 Gordon, the Rev. Alex., 1 16. 
 
 Gordon, Sheriff, 95, 96, 318. 
 
 Grey, Mrs. William, 115. 
 
 Grimstone, Mrs. Leman, 76, 77, 
 
 78. 
 GuschI, Barbara, 116. 
 
 H. 
 
 Haitzinger, 69. 
 
 Hampstead, 49, 202. 
 
 Havell, William, 105, 195, 309. 
 
 Hazlitt, William, 26, 59, 60, 61, 
 62, 63, 147, 160. 
 
 Hill, the Rev. Rowland, 3. 
 
 Hill, Sir Rowland, lOO. 
 
 Hill, Malhevv Davenport, lOO. 
 
 Hodgson, Dr. and Mrs., 99. 
 
 Hoqg, Jefferson, 36. 
 
 Holmes, Edward, 9, lO, 39, 40, 142, 
 161, 168, 01. 
 
 Hone, William, 47. 
 
 Hood, Thomas, 55, 89, 90. 
 
 Horne, R. H., 332. 
 
 Hummel, 65, 67. 
 
 Humphreys, Noel, 92. 
 
 Hunt, Leigh, 16, 17, 18, 28, 43, 
 45. 46. 48, 49> 5°. 62, 65, 75, 77, 
 78, 86, 87, 91, 93, 127, 132, 133, 
 134, 160, 190 to 272, 321, 322. 
 
 Hunt, Leigh, his portrait, 19.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 345 
 
 Hunt, Leigh, his reading, 22, 23. 
 Hunt, Vincent, 51. 
 Hunter, John, 98, 318. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Indicator," 244. 
 Ingleby, Dr. C. M., 112. 
 Ireland, Alexander, no, 1 16. 
 Isola, Emma, 181. 
 
 Keats, John, his sister, I2T. 
 
 , his portrait, 154. 
 
 Kelly, Fanny, 19, 175, 181, 301 
 
 302. 
 Kemble, John, 14, 73. 
 , Stephen, 73. 
 
 , Charles, 71, 73» 
 
 , Mrs. Charles, 71. 
 
 , Fanny, 65, 71, 72. 
 
 , Adelaide, 73. 
 
 Kent, Miss ("Bessie"), 207, 
 
 225. 
 Knight, Charles, 95, 288, 319. 
 
 211, 
 
 Jennings (John Keats's matenial 
 
 giandtather), 121. 
 Ijerdan, William, 92. 
 Ijerrold, Douglas, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 
 273 to 294, 333. 
 
 Jerrold, Mrs., 282, 286. 
 
 Jerrold and the runaway sailor, 285. 
 
 Jerrold's acting, 80, 279, 2S0. 
 
 Jerrold's affection for booivs, 283. 
 
 Jerrold's repartees, 280, 281. 
 
 Jerrold's sense oi beauty in women, 
 2S8, 
 
 Jones. Owen, 92. 
 
 Jordan, Mrs., 62. 
 
 "Junius Redivivus," 76. 
 
 K. 
 
 Kavanagh, Julia, 90. 
 
 Kean, Edmund, 14, 18, 123. 
 
 Keats, John, 4, 9, 19, 28, 29, 51, 
 
 52, 120 to 157, 194, 19s. 199. 
 
 201. 
 Keats, John, his father and mother, 
 
 120. 
 ■ . his brothers I2I. 
 
 Lablache, 75. 
 
 Lamb, Charles, 28, 53, 54, 55. 5^, 
 
 57, 82, 83, 147, 158 to 175, 284. 
 Lamb, Maiy, 41, 52, 53, 176 to 
 
 189. 
 Laml)s, the, 19, 27, 40, 52, 53, 54, 
 
 234- 
 Lamb, James, 108. 
 Landseers, the, 91. 
 Laporte, 75. 
 Latimer, Thomas, 109, 
 Latimer, Isaac, 109. 
 Leech, John, 95, 299, 306, 31 1, 
 
 337- 
 Lemaitre, Frederic, 76. 
 Lemon, Mark, 95, 297, 299. 306, 
 
 309, 312, 316, 317, 318, 322, 323, 
 
 332. 
 Leslie, Robert Charles, 103, 106. 
 Lewes, George H., 95, 306, 309. 
 Lind, Jenny, 310. 
 List on, John, 19. 
 Liszt, 67, 68. 
 Loudon, Mrs., 91. 
 Lytton, Richard Warburton, 5, 6. 
 
 A a
 
 346 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 M. 
 
 Macirone, Clara Angela, 115. 
 
 Macready, William, 65, 74, 85, 295, 
 302. 
 
 Main, Alexander, 112. 
 
 Mars, Mdlle., 75. 
 
 Maish, His Excellency George Per- 
 kins, 112. 
 
 Marston, Westland, 103. 
 
 Martin, Mr., 91. 
 
 Martin, Miss, 91, 
 
 Massey, Gerald, 112. 
 
 Mathews, the elder, 81. 
 
 Mayer, Mr. and Mrs. Townshend, 
 III. 
 
 Mazzini, Giuseppe, 290, 293. 
 
 Meadows, Kenny, 308. 
 
 Mellon, Miss, 48. 
 
 Mendelssohn, Felix, 68, 69. 
 
 Moore, Thomas, 17. 
 
 Moritz, Mdme. Henrietta, 115. 
 
 Mulock, Miss, 103. 
 
 Munden, Joseph, 19, 185. 
 
 Murray, Lord, 98. 
 
 N. 
 
 Nesbitt, Mrs., 62, 28S, 2S9, 303. 
 Mew, Herbert, 115. 
 Norton, the Hon. Mrs., 42, 2S9. 
 Novello,Vincent, 1,18,19,29,68 201. 
 
 , Mrs., 21, 23, 24, 25, 205, 
 
 220. 
 
 , Francis, 38, 39. 
 
 , Alfred, 70, 337, 
 
 , Cecilia, 79. 
 
 , Emma, 299, 325, 329, 337. 
 
 , Sabilla, 277, 278, 337. 
 
 Novellos, the, 37. 
 
 Nuj^ent, Lord George, 91, 292. 
 
 O. 
 
 Oilier, Charles, 17, 137, 192. 
 Oilier, Edmund, iii, 334. 
 O'Neil, Miss, 14. 
 
 Osier, Mr. and Mr?. FoUet, 99, 333. 
 Oxenford, John, 84. 
 
 P. 
 
 Paganini, 75. 
 
 Paton, Miss, 65. 
 
 Payne, Howard, 1S3. 
 
 Payne, Mrs., 222. 
 
 Peacock, Dr. Beddoes, loo, loi,. 
 
 102. 
 Peacock, Henry Barry, 100, 255. 
 Peake, Richard, 81, 82. 
 Perlet, 75, 76. 
 Phillips, Colonel, 183. 
 Pickering. Thomas, loS, 109. 
 Pillans, Professor, 98. 
 Plessy, Mdlle., 75. 
 Potier, 64, 65, 75. 
 Power, 201, 202, 205. 
 Priestly, Dr., 5. 
 Pritchard, Mrs., 8. 
 Procter, Bryan Waller, 28, 36, 1 16, 
 
 201. 
 Procter, Miss, 339. 
 Publishers, 107. 
 Pulszky, Mr. and Mrs., 1 14. 
 
 R. 
 
 Rachel, Mdlle., 76. 
 Reade, Edmund, 63. 
 Richards, Tom, 17, 201. 
 Robertson, Henry, 17, 39, i.j2, 
 
 195, 231. 
 Robinson, Henry Crabbe, 36. 
 Rolt, John, 103, 104. 
 Rosbini, 66.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 347 
 
 Rule, Frederick, 112, 
 Rushton, William Lowes, 112. 
 Ryland, Arthur, 99. 
 Ryland, the Rev. John, 2, 3. 
 
 S. 
 
 Scadding, the Rev. Dr., iii. 
 Schroeder-Devrient, Mdme, 69. 
 Serle, Thomas James, 79, 84. 
 Severn, Joseph, 141, 155. 
 Severn's portraits of Keats, 154- 
 Shacklewell, 232. 
 "Shakespeare Night" at Covent 
 
 Garden Theatre, 287. 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 19, 25, 26, 
 
 28, 151, 152, 153, 195, 196. 
 Shelley, Mrs., 37, z%, 39, 41, 42, 
 
 218, 219. 
 Shirreff, Miss, 1 14. 
 Siddons, Mrs., 14, 73. 
 Smith, Horace, 59, 132. 
 Smith, William, 99. 
 Smith, Robert Mackay, 99. 
 Smith, Colonel Hamilton, 307, 
 
 308. 
 Somerville, Mrs. Mary, 114. 
 Stael, Mdme. de, 183. 
 Stanfield, Clarkson, 103, 106, 332. 
 Stearns, Dr. Charles, iii. 
 Stirling, Mrs., 98, 116. 
 Stokes, Charles, 67. 
 Stone, 95, 299, 332. 
 Stothard, 205. 
 
 Tagart, the Rev. Edward, 91, 92. 
 
 Tagart, Mrs., 92. 
 
 Talfourd, 82. 
 
 Thackeray, William Makepeace, 283. 
 
 Thackeray. Miss, 115. 
 
 Thalberg, 66. 
 
 Thaxter, Celia, 1 17. 
 
 Thompson, Colonel; 87. 89. 
 
 Timmins, Samuel, 99, IIO. 
 
 Topham, F. W., 95. 
 
 Towers, Isabella Jane, 61, 78. 
 
 Tree, Miss M. A., 62. 
 
 Tvviss, Frank, II. 
 
 Twiss, Horace, 25. 
 
 Twiss, Richard, II. 
 
 V. 
 
 Varlcy, John, 104. 
 
 Vert pre, Mile. Jenny, 75. 
 
 Villicrs, Charles Pelham, 87. 
 
 W. 
 
 Wngeman, 19, 20. 
 Wakefield, Gilbert, 5- 
 Webbe, Egerton, 82, 84. 
 West Lodge, Putney, 283, 285. 
 White, Gilbert, 7. 
 White, Holt, 7, 8, 9. 
 Whittington Club, 285. 
 Williams, Mrs., 37, 40, 216, 
 Wilson, George, 87. 
 Wordsworth, William, 149, 150. 
 
 Y. 
 
 Yates, Mr. and Mrs. Richard, 95
 
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