(^/^//l^'/^l^r^M^/lM^^ •^4^ ^ //^//^>^^j ^^%y^/J^/.^,,J^- MEMOIR OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE GEORGE CANNING, LATE PREMIER OP ENGLAND ; WITH HIS PARLIAMENTARY ORATIONS, ALL HIS POEMS, ESSAYS, &c. By LEMAN THOMAS REDE, Esq. PROFESSOR OF ELOCUTION. Hear him debate of commonwealih affairs. You would say, U hath beco all-iii-aU his study : List his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful ha,ttle render'd you in music: Turn him to any cause of policy. The Gordian knot of it he will unloose. Familiar as his parter ; — that, when he speaks, The air, a chartered libertine, is still. And the mute wonder Iwrketh in men''s ears. To s(eal bis sweet and honied seotenres. SsAKl-SPEAkK. Primed hy C. Bayne.%, Duke Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields ; FOR G. VIRTUE, IVY LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW ; liATH STREET, BRISTOL; AND ST. VINCENT STREET, LIVERPOOL. 1827. . aAJ^^-i^ BAJRBABA PREFACE. Biography is the tribute gratitude pays to merit ; but the biography of Canning, produced at such a moment as this, sounds like a lament. It is to speak of the sunshine 'that shall never warm us more; of the guiding light that, sud- denly extinguished, has left us in darkness and in sorrow. Political animosities, personal enmi- ties, the galling sense of hopeless inferiority, all sink and have sunk under the stunning effect the announcement of Canning's death has produced. Such a sensation has only once before been created in this country, — the death of the Princess Charlotte equally affected all classes. In her case, the deep sympathy, the love of the people, was bestowed upon the young and beauteous mo- ther, laid in an untimely grave ; she was mourned as the blighted promise of a brilliant day — the nation had lost her it had been proud to cherish ; but now, the nation has lost hhn who was to cherish it. It is with the very selfishness of grief that all hearts are wrung — the hand that was to iv PREFACE. guide us to safety, to lionour, has grown cold, and the master spirit that was to direct a country has passed away for ever. There may be fewer tears for our recent loss, but there will be a deeper, a more lasting regret. She, for whom all England wept, had only gained on the affections of her people ; she was the infant of our love, and her memory is indeed a sweet regret. But the death of Canning is a bereavement that time can only aggravate, as it will tend to show *' how in- capable" all else is "to supply his loss." Eng- land has been deprived of her friend, her adviser; the national bark is bereft of her pilot, at the very hour when he was steering her through a stormy ocean, to the harbour of prosperity and glory. Hope, that like the rainbow rises ever amid tears, finds a consolation in the belief that the brilliant career of Canning will awaken the ener- gies of others. His example will stimulate many to emulate what none can equal. His spirit shall generate other spirits, as the dying flower sheds its seed in its decay, and reproduces itself. It is this hope that sustains the nation; it is this hope that bids the biographer give his feeble aid to perpetuate the memory of one whose genius has made him immortal. Canning was the archi- tect of his own fame, — he attained the end, it is PREFACE. '^'* V for hiogTaphy to display tlie means; and, by trac- ing his footsteps, point the path to others — a path that, tliough strewed with thorns, and beset with dangers, leads to the bowers of Fame, where Can- ning's wreath of laurel will bloom freshly for ever. Canning is one of the many instances that this country (above all others) can adduce of the mastery genius may acquire over birth, wealth, and power ; a mastery unaided by petty intrigue, or the sacrifice of any manly feeling ; not bought by the sale of his conscience, or the compromise of his honour. Without a name, without a pa- tron — destitute of money and of friends — he found his way by the light of his own mind through the dark path of politics. Without title, he over- came the possessors of it. Birth, power, and rank, were arrayed in numbers against him, yet he singly conquered all, and was at once the pro- tector of his friends and the terror of his foes. He offended his King rather than compromise his feelings, and gave up place rather than sacri- fice his honour. His monarch might not love, but he must admire him. He ended his days as the chosen adviser of him whom he had the cou- rage to oppose. His advancement to his high office was alike honourable to his Majesty and his VI PREFACE. Minister; it proved the greatness of tlie mind of the one, it rewarded tlie integrity of the other. There is no apology necessary for offering a Memoir of such a man to the public — it is called for by the universal voice ; but it is indeed ne- cessary to apologise for the inaptitude of him upon whom the task devolves. The author, how- ever, finds consolation in the assurance that there is scarcely any man now living, who is really competent to the task he has undertaken. Amid the many who will attempt it, he is content to take his place ; all that unwearied industry, careful investigation, and strict impartiality, can achieve, he pledges himself to perform. He has also secured the aid of one whose powers are better fitted for the task. Under these circum- stances, he feels some confidence in offering this volume to the public, not as a tribute worthy of the memory of him to whom its pages are dedi- cated, but as a faithful chronicle of the events of the life of one whose days were too few for his country ; who yet lived long enough to be esteemed, even by his enemies, as a wit, a scholar, a poet, an orator, a minister, and a man ; who had living no rival, and who dead has left us no hope of beholding his like again. MEMOIR OF THE Rt. Hon. GEORGE CANNING. If the historian wished for a subject to employ the ut- most powers of his mind, he would assuredly find it in the history of Europe for the last forty years. During that period, a mere moment in the world's existence, event has succeeded event with such rapidity, that things, that at other eras would have been recorded as wonders, have passed almost unheeded. The Continent, till within the last few years, has been in a state of con- vuHon perfectly unparalleled; and England, though happily for her not absolutely the scene of contention, has Ijorne so great a part in the general warfare — a war- fare of mind, of religion, of liberty, as well as arms — that the life of any public roan during such a period must be one of interest : — what, then, must the life of that being be, who passed thirtij -three years of his existence in the public service, — who knew every movement on which the fate of nations depended, and who was ac- tively employed in the formation and development of schemes to save and aggrandise his own, and to check the power of other nations — whose life was past in wielding a magic wand, by which he ruled the destiny of thousands — who was one of the powers by which that huge machine called government performs its func- 8 MEMOIR OF OECllGC CANNING. tions— and who rose, by the irresistible impetus of his own genius, to the most important station a subject can hold in this kingdom ? The county which is endeared to literature as that which gave birth to Shakespeare, Warwickshire, was the original residence of the Cannings, the family from whom the late Premier is descended. Foxcote, in War- wickshire, is said still to contain relatives of the family. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and shortly after the religious warfare in Ireland under Fitzmorris, in 1580, one "George Cannynge, of Foxcote," received a grant of the manor of Garvagh, in the county of London- derry. This grant, however, in fact, was little more than a gift of a considerable extent of waste ground, and residence in Ireland was then and long subsequently extremely dangerous. There, however, this branch of the Cannings settled ; for there Stratford Canning, Esq. was known and respected, and looked on as a gentleman of substance, in 1750. Stratford Canning was the father of two sons, one named Paul, who possessed considera- ble talents, but was a man of steady habits, and who, being bred to trade, ultimately settled as a merchant in London ; the other, George Canning, (the father of our hero,) was bred for the law, admitted of the Middle Tem- ple, and called to the bar.* • It fortunately happens that the author of the present memoir hfw in his possession many letters, &c, relative to the father of the great Statesman; his (the author's) father having been a student, at the time Mr. Canning was at the bar. Mr. L. T. Rede was gene- rally admitted of the Honourable Society of the Inner Temple, and was in the habits of daily intercourse with Mr. Canning, for some years previous to his death, which happened in 1771. From a jour- nal kept by Mr. Rede, it would appear that Mr. Canning was a lover of literature and pleasure, and excessively averse to the dull study of the profebsion to which his life was doomed to be devoted. MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. 9 He had left Ireland, when about seventeen, to study the law, and was for some time with a Serjeant Walker, who then resided in Stone Buildings, Lincoln's Inn. In the public discussions of that day, then more numerous and more respectable than now, Mr. Canning bore a part, though not a very prominent one ; he was however recog- nised as a political writer, and many pamphlets, rendered by their subjects ephemeral, were attributed to his pen. Lothbury, Coachmakers' Hail, and its vicinity, were the places where Mr. Canning, and many of the orators of that day, held private discussions ; and, at this period, it is im- possible to ascertain whether the father possessed any of that splendid oratorical power that so peculiarly belonged to the son. Amongst many poetical pieces, Mr. Canning wrote some verses illustrative of the supposed feelings of Lord Russell, who was executed for treason in the reign of Charles the Second. These consist of a letter, sup- posed, by poetical licence, to be addressed by Lord Wil- liam Russell to Lord William Cavendish, on the 20th of July, 1683, the night previous to his execution.* It commences as follows : "Lost to the world, to-morrow doora'd to die, Still for my country's weal my heart beats high. Though rattling chains ring peals of horror round, While night's black shades augment the savage sound, 'Midst bolts and bars the active soul is free. And flies unfetter' d. Cavendish, to thee! " Thou dear companion of my better days. When hand in hand we trod the paths of praise ; When leagued with patriots we maintaiu'd the cause Of true religion, liberty, and laws, — Disdaining down the golden stream to glide. But bravely stemm'd corruption's rapid tide ; ♦ Lord Russell was beheaded in Lincoln's Inn Fields, on Satur- day, July 31, 1683. 1. C ]0 Mr.Moin or otorge canning. Think not I coine to bid thy tears to tlow, Or melt thy geu'rous soul with tales of woe. No J view me firm, unshaken, undismay'd. As when the welcome mandate I obey'd. Heavens! with what pride that moment I recal.' Who would not wish, so honour'd, thus to fall ? When England's genius hov'ring o'er inspired Her chosen sons, with love of freedom fired, Spite of an abject, servile, pension'd train, Minions of power, and worsliippers of gain. To save from bigotry its destined prey. And shield three nations from tyrannic sway." Lord Russell's love for Lady Rachel has ofttimes been the subject of eulogy ; when he parted from her, he said, "Now the bitterness of death is past!" this was thus versified by Mr. Canning. "Oh! my loved Rachael ! all-accomplish'd fair! Source of my joy, and sootiier of my care ! Whose heavenly virtues and unfading charms. Have blees'd, through happy years, my peaceful arms! Parting with thee into my cup was thrown. Its harshest dregs else had not forced a groan ! But all is o'er — these eyes have gazed their last — And now the bitterness of death is past!" Mr. Canning's devotion to the Muses did not meet with paternal approbation ; and he was doomed still farther to offend ; for he fell in love with a very accom- plished and beautiful woman, but who had neither family nor fortune to recommend her. Mr. Canning was a man of too warm a temperament, to listen to the dictates of prudence— it was enough that he loved — that she for whom he owned that passion, was lovely and amiable — he set his life upon a cast, and was married in the year 1769. The consequence of this marriage was, that his father settled £150 per annum upon him, with an intima- tion, that that was all he would receive during his life : and that his death might lessen, but certainly would not MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANM>G. 11 augment, his income. Mr.Canning was, however, heedless of the frowns of relatives, or the rubs of fortune — he went on, and became entangled in some embarrassments. At a time when Mr. Canning, in all the restlessness of a man of genius who knows not how to "farm out" his ta- lent to advantage, was attempting to enter trade, of which he knew nothing, our hero was born. George Canning entered this world on the 11th of April, 1770, just as his father had resolved to leave the bar and become a wine- merchant, a scheme that proved wholly unsuccessful. Mr. Canning's life now became a series of struggles, whilst, at every attempt to extricate himself, he became more in- volved; each new scheme only served to leave him poorer than it found him. "He who struggles unsuccessfully," says Cotton, "tightens the cords he cannot succeed in breaking." Mr. Canning found it so. Beneath the pres- sure of these annoyances his health declined, and he closed a short life on the 11th April, 1771. He lies in the new burying ground of Mary-le-bone. A tombstone, erected to his memory by his young widow, bears the following lines, said to have been written by herself. " Thy virtue and thy ivoe no words can tell, • Therefore, a little while, my George, farewell ; For faith and love like ours, Heaven has in store Its last, best gift — to meet and part no more." Mrs. Canning has already survived her husband fifty- six years. She loved him, it is said, with an affection almost amounting to idolatry ; and her affection met as warm a return. Mr. Canning was a remarkably hand- some man, and the beauty of Mrs. Canning has been frequently the subject of eulogy. Mrs. Canning was left, with her infant, almost penny- less; and the prospects of the widowed mother and her offspring were indeed gloomy. At this juncture, Mr. Paul Canning stepped forward, and offered to rear and. 12- BIEMOIII OF GEORGE CANNlNCr. educate his brother's orphan son. The offer was accept- ed ; but Mrs. Canning, though she had thus quieted her anxieties as a mother, was herself without the means of support. Her beauty, and the peculiar sweetness of her voice, urged her to attempt the stage ; and she made an essay at some provincial theatre accordingly. Whatever the result of these performances might be, it is evident they procured her friends ; for, abodt 1773, she was in- troduced to Mr. Garrick. At this period Drury-lane theatre was in great want of a heroine; since the time of Mrs. Pritchard's farewell, (1768), various efforts had been made to supply her loss ; and, with this view, Mrs. Canning was brought forward. Such was the interest excited by her appearance, that Garrick, though nearly sixty, consented to perform Hastings, a part he had long resigned, to her Jane Shore. She appeared, accordingly, on the 5th of November, 1773, but was not particularly successful. This, however, is scarcely to be considered as a proof of want of dramatic power in Mrs. Canning; for our British Melpomene, who appeared very soon afterwards as Portia, was considered a failure by the critics of the time. Mrs. Canning was, some years after- wards, united to a provincial actor of the name of Hunn. The boyhood of George Canning passed without any material occurrence. He was sent at an early age to Eton, where he almost immediately distinguished him- self. A clever boy soon attracts notice in a public school ; but it requires something besides talent; it requires that decision of character, that consciousness, that will pro- voke and instigate display. A genius, like that of Kirke White or Keate, would wither and pine— it would be- come the mockery of the ignorant, and be neglected even by the learned — but the genius of Canning, sparkling, animated, and animating, roused all around him — his wit, his humour, attracted notice — his courage, respect. MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. 13 Many tales are told of his boyish pugnacity ; and it is to be expected, at the present moment, that the fancy of many persons will become excursive, especially in the present rage for reminiscences ; but it is most assuredly the fact, that Canning was, in his boyhood, as much in- debted to his spirit as to his talent, for the notoriety he had attained. In 1786, we find him " The Captain" at Eton, equally ready to lead on his followers to the field of mischief or of literature — ready either in the frolic abroad, or the closet at home — and recognised as a leader in whatever he attempted. At the Windsor theatre he was then a constant visitor; and, till the fatal hour of eight struck, he might be seen, wrapt in deep attention, and catching inspiration from Shakespeare, Congreve, and Otway. The trammels of a public school were not adapted to his spirit ; but, for- tunately, a spirit of rivalry, that then existed between Eton and Harrow, occupied his mind. Canning had already become celebrated as a Latinist. His acquisi- tions were so numerous, that the labour of his school- days was at an end ; and, to employ the leisure that he found, he, in conjunction with John Smith, Esq., who was afterwards of King's College, Cambridge, and Messrs. Robert Smith and John Frere, instituted a perio- dical work, called The Microcosm ; the first number of which appeared on the 6th November, 1786. This work was published weekly, and Canning contributed to it largely, marking his articles with the initial B. Mr. Joseph Mellish, Capel LofFt (the sonnetteer and patron of Bloomfield), Mr, Way, Lord H.Spencer, and Mr.Littlehales, were also contributors to this periodical, that existed until the 30th of July, 1787. This work was inscribed to the Rev. Dr. Davies, then head master of Eton, of whom Canning spoke with the most grateful 14 MPMriTn OF GEORGE CANNING. affection, and who entertained the highest opinion of the talents of his pupil. Though not then sixteen, all that Canning produced bore striking proofs of talent ; and the style that was then forming, may be traced in his subsequent efforts. In the same spirit as that in which Erasmus composed his mock Eulogy on Folly, our young essayist penned the follow- ing Essay on the Noble Art of Swearing. " SWEARING. " It has often occurred as a matter of surprise to me and a few friends, who, like myself, can find pleasure in such speculations as arise more immediately from com- mon occurrences, that among the crowd of pretenders who profess to teach every accomplishment, necessary or unnecessary, to form the character of a complete gentle- man, no one has as yet attempted to give instructions in a science, the use of which is more generally adopted by all ranks of people, than perhaps any other under the sun. The reader will probably guess that I allude to the noble art of Swearing. " So universally, indeed, does this practice prevail, that it pervades all stations and degrees of men, from the peer to the porter, from the minister to the mechanic. It is the bond of faith, the seal of protestations, (the oaths of lovers, indeed, are a theme too trite to need discussion here,) and the universal succedaneum for logical, or even rational demonstration. And here I cannot forbear re- flecting on the infinite improvements made by the moderns in the methods of elucidating and confirming all matters of opinion. A man, now-a-days, has need but to acquire one quix\ity—i7upudence, and to get rid of a troublesome companion— conscience, to establish whatever maxims he may take in his head. Let him but confirm with an oath MEMOIR OF CEOHGE CANNING. 15 the most improbable conjectures, and if any one calls his honour in question, the manner of settling all such dis- putes is too obvious to need explanation. And by these means how much unnecessary trouble does he save the rational talents of his auditors ! what a world of useless investigation ! Who can help lamenting- that this method of arguing was not long ago adopted? We should then probably have escaped being pestered by the eternal dis- putations of that useless set of creatures called philoso- phers; as any tolerable sAvordsman might have settled the universal system according to his own plan, and made the planets move by what regulations he pleased, pro- vided he was ready, in the Newgate phrase, ' to swear through thick and thin.' " But this is a small part only of the advantages atten- dant on the extensive practice of this art. In the coun- cils of the cabinet, and the wranglings of the bar, it adds weight to the most striking arguments, and by its autho- rity enforces conviction. " It is an old proverbial expression, that ' there go two words to a bargain ;' now I should not a little admire the ingenuity of that calculator, who could define, to any to- lerable degree of exactness, how many oaths go to one in these days; for I am confident that there is no business carried on, from the wealthiest bargains of the Exchange, to the sixpenny chafferings of a St. Giles's huckster, in which swearing has not a considerable share. And al- most every tradesman 'meek and much a liar,' will, if his veracity be called in question, coolly consign to Satan some portion of himself, payable on demand, in case his goods be not found answerable to his description of their quality. I remember to have heard of a person of great talents for inquiry, who, to inform himself whether the land or the water bore the greater proportion on the 16 • MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. globe, contrived to cut out, with extreme nicety from the map, the different portions of each, and weighinf^ them together, decided it, in favour of which it is not now ma- terial. Could this experiment be made with regard to the proportion which oaths bear to the rest of our mo- dern conversation, I own I am not without my suspi- cions, that the former scale would, in some cases, preponderate; nay, certain I am, that these harmless expletives constitute considerably the weightiest part in the discourse of those who, either by their own ignorant vanity, or the contemptuous mock admiration of others, have been dignified with the title of Bucks. And this, indeed, as well in that smaller circle which falls more immediately under my observation, as in the more en- larged society of men ; among whom, to a Buck w ho has the honour to serve his Majesty, a habit of swearing is an appendage as absolutely necessary as a cockade or a com- mission. And many a one there is among this order, who will sit down with equal ardour and self-complacency, to devise the cut of a coat, or the form of an execration. Nay, even the female sex have, to their no small credit, caught the happy contagion ; and there is scarce a mer- cer's wife in the kingdom but has her innocent, unmean- ing imprecations, her little oaths, 'softened into non- sense,' and, with squeaking treble, mincing blasphemy into odsbodikins, sliterkins, and such like, will swear you 'like a suckingdove, ay, an it were any nightingale.' That it is one of the accomplishments of boys — is more than sufHciently obvious, when there is scarce one, though he be but five years old, that does not lisp out the oaths he has heard drop from the mouths of his elders; while the happy parent congratulates himself on the early improvement of his offspring, and smiles to dis- cover the promising seeds of manly wit in the sprightly MEMOIR OF GEOUGE canntng. 17 sallies of puerile execration. On which topic I remem- ber to have heard an honest Hibernian divine, whose zeal for morality would sometimes hurry him a little beyond the limits of good grammar or good sense, in the height of declamation, declare that ' the little children, that could neither speak, nor walk, ran about the streets blaspheming.' Thus, then, through all ranks and stages of life, is swearing the very hinge of conversation. It is the conclusive supplement to argument, the apology for wit, the universal medium through which every thought is conveyed; and as to the violent passions, it is (to use the words of the poet) ' the very midwife of the mind,' and is equally serviceable in bringing forth the sensations of anger or kindness, hope or fear; the ecstacies of ex- travagant delight, or the agonies of comfortless despair. What mortal amongst us is there, that, when any misfor- tune comes on him unexpectedly, does not find himself wonderfully lightened of the load of his sorrow, by pour- ing out the abundance of his vexation in showers of curses on the author of his calamity ? What gamester, who has reduced himself from opulence to beggary, by the intemperate indulgence of 'a mad infatuation, does not, after sitting down and venting his execrations for half an hoar against his ill fortune and his folly, get up again greatly relieved by so happy an expedient? Since, then, the advantages arising from an early initiation into the practice of. swearing must so evidently appear to every person, unprejudiced against it by notions (now, indeed, almost out of date) of religion and morality, I cannot but be surprised that no one has as yet attempted to reduce the system, and teach the theory of an art, the practical part of which is so universally known and adopted. An undertaking of this kind could not surely fail of success, especially in an age like this, when at- 1. D 18 MEMOIR Ol CEORfiE TANNING. tempts of a uiuuli luuiu aiUiioiis nature are every day presented to our notice; when pigs are brought up to exercise all the functions of rationality, and Hibernians profess to teach the true pronunciation of the English tongue. " It is not so far removed, but that some of my readers must recollect the time when the noble art of boxing was, by the ever- memorable Figg and Broughton, re- duced to a complete and perfect system ; and the nobility and gentry w^ere taught theoretically, as well as practi- cally, to bruise the bodies, and (to use a technical term) darken the dnj/ligfits of each other, with the figure of an Hercules tempered with the face of an Apollo. And it is but a little time since a celebrated foreigner actually instructed some persons of no inconsiderable rank of both sexes in the art of eating soup with ease and dexte- rity, though, to my humble opinion, few people could need a preceptor to show them the way to their mouths. Of much more utility, and surely not less successful, would be the plan I recommend. Many there were who, from tenderness of age, or delicacy of constitution, were precluded from the diversion of boxing — to many, the science of soup-eating was useless and impracticable, merely from having none to eat; — but all have their oaths in their own power, and of them neither emptiness of pocket, nor corporeal or mental imbecility, prevent the free and uncontrolled use ; and almost every body, how- ever niggardly he may be in parting with any other of his possessions, scatters them with a most liberal profusion. Thus, then, if fostered by the hand of a skilful linguist, this science might, perhaps, in time, come nearer than any other to realise the extravagant idea of the ingenious but romantic Bishop Wilkins, of a universal language. At present, indeed, there are some slight inconveniences MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. 10 attending- the project : among which no small one is, that, according to their present general usage, oaths, like Yorick's French friseur, by expressing too much, gene- rally mean nothing; insomuch, that I now make it a rule to lessen my belief to any assertion, in proportion to the number of needless corroborative oaths by which it is supported. Nor am I, indeed, unreasonable in this ; — and in most cases how can I do otherwise? Is it in human nature to suppose, that when one of my friends declares his joy at seeing me, and his kind concern for my health, by intimating a hearty wish of his eternal perdition, that he really means what he says ? It has been observed by some ancient philosopher, or poet, or moralist (no matter which,) that nothing can be more pernicious to mankind, than the fulfilling of their own wishes. And, in truth, I am inclined to be of his opinion, for many a friend of mine — many a fellow-citizen of this lesser world, would, had his own heedless imprecations on himself taken effect, long ere this have groaned under the complication of al- most every calamity capable of entering the human ima- gination. And, with regard to the world at large, were this to be the case, I doubt whether there would be at this present time a leg or a limb of any kind whole in his Majesty's service. So habitual, indeed, was this custom become to an officer of my acquaintance, that though he had lost one of his eyes in defence of his country, he could not forego his favourite execration, but still used to vent his curses on them both, with the same ease and indiffer- ence as when they were both in his possession ; so blind was he rendered to his own defects, by the continued practice of this amusement ; for in no other light than as an amusement, or polite accomplishment, can it be consi- dered by those who practise it. Did they consider it as a vice, they could not, I am sure, persevere in the in- dulgence of one which has not even the common excuse of having for its aim the pursuit of pleasure, or the gratification of a daily appetite. I cannot believe they would so disinterestedly d — n themselves, and vent, in public company, such imprecations as in darkness and solitude they would tremble to conceive. " As an accomplishment, therefore, and as an agree- able indication of youthful gaiety, it must, no doubt, be considered ; and, should any one take the hint here offered him, and commence instructor in this noble science, I need not, I believe, caution him against being an Englishman; or (should he have the misfortune to be born in this country) remind him of the easy transforma- tion of our commonest home-spun names into the more fashionable French, or more musical Italian ; as, for in- stance, that of Peter into Pedro ; Nicholls into Nico- lini ; or Gerrard into Girardot, and so on. Having thus un-Englished himself, let him get his advertisement drawn up in the Grahamic* style, if not by the Doctor himself, professing, that — ' Having added to the early advantages of a Billingsgate education, the deepest re- searches, and the most indefatigable industry, &c. &c., he now stands forth as an apt and accomplished teacher of the n g battle's loud career, j MEMOIR OF GEOIIGE CA.NMNG. 23 " Nor War's vast art alone adorn'd thy fame, ' But mild Philosophy eiulear'd thy name." AVho knows not, sees not with admiring eye, How Plato thought, how Socrates could die? " To bend the arch, to bid the column rise. And the tall pile aspiring pierce the skies, The awful fane magnificently great. With pictured pomp to grace, and sculptured state. This science taught; on Greece each science shone. Here the bold statue started from the stone j Here warm with life the swelling canvass glow'dj Here big Avith thought the poet's raptures flow'd: Here Homer's lip was touch'd with sacred fire. And wanton Sappho tuned her amorous lyre; Here bold Tyrtaeus roused the enervate throng. Awaked to glory by th' aspiring song ; Here, Pindar soar'd a nobler, loftier way. And brave Alcoeus scorn'd a tyrant's sway; Here gorgeous Tragedy with great control Touch'd every feeling of th' impassion'd soul; While in soft measure, tripping to the song. Her comic sister lightly danced along. — " This was thy state! but oh! how changed thy fame. And all thy glories fading into shame. What? that thy bold, thy freedom-breathing land. Should crouch beneath a tyrant's stern command! That servitude should bind in galling chain. Whom Asia's millions once opposed in vain; Who could have thought? who sees without a groan. Thy cities mouldering, and thy walls o'erthrown. That where once tower'd the stately solemn fane. Now moss-grown ruins strew the ravaged plain, And, unobserved but by the traveller's eye. Proud vaulted domes in fretted fragments lie ; And the fall'n column on the dusty ground. Pale ivy throws its sluggish arms around. *' Thy sons (sad change!) in abject bondage sigh; Unpitied toil, and unlamented die. Groan at the labours of the galling oar. Or the dark caverns of the mine explore. 24 MEMOIR OF GEOItGE CANNliNG. The glitt'ring tyranny of Othman's sons, The pomp of horror which surrounds their thrones, Has awed their servile spirits into fear, Spurn'd by the foot they tremble and revere. " The day of labour, night's sad sleeple&s hour^ ^ Th' inflictive scourge of arbitrary power, ' ' The bloody terror of the pointed steel, ^ The murd'rous stake, the agonising wheel, And (dreadful choice) the bowstring or the bowl. Damps their faint vigour, and unmans the soul. " Disastrous fate! still tears will fill the eye, Still recollection prompt the mournful sigh; When to the mind recurs thy former fame. And all the horrors of thy present shame. " So some tall rock, whose bare, broad bosom high Tow'rs from the earth, and braves th' inclement sky; On whose vast top the black'ning deluge pours. At whose wide base the thund'ring ocean roars ; In conscious pride its huge gigantic form Surveys imperious and defies the storm. Till worn by age, and mould'ring to decay, Th' insidious waters wash its base away, — It falls, and frilling cleaves the trembling ground. And spreads a tempest of destruction round." These extracts are not merely given because thej- are the productions of Mr. Canning, for their merits entitle them to preservation. It was about this time that the rumour of a connexion formed by our hero occasioned some uneasiness to his friends and pastor. The tale is one of the many told of young men, and, indeed, is founded on one of those oc- currences common to every man's existence. Affairs of the heart, as they are facetiously called, but more pro- perly affairs of the fancy, are generally wrapped in mys- tery ; — young hearts are prone to keep iJiese secrets, at least, inviolate. The companions of our hero were not MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. 25 likely to hriow any thing which he was anxious to con- ceal; and, at best, the tales are founded on fact, but supplied by surmise. These sort of things get a currency in society, from our proneness to remember tales, rather than their authors, and receive all relations as facts, with- out inquiring for authorities. The story, which has been bandiedp^bout society of our hero, is, that when sixteen he saw a lady at Eton, or in its vicinity, who was under the protection of a nobleman; that our hero divulged his passion, and was graciously received, but that the suspicious care of the lady's guardian rendered approach hazardous and difficult. The excitement of passion was sufficient to make young Canning brave all difficulties; and, if the tales of his scaling walls, ascending windows, &c. are to be believed, he rivalled the most chivalrous amongst Spanish or Italian lovers. Some of his earliest poetry was, it is said, inspired by this lady. The sequel of the tale is at hand. After the fondest and warmest professions, and adducing proofs of affection that ap- peared unequivocal, the lady was discovered, by our hero, under circumstances humiliating to both, — for his rival was of no higher station than a menial ; this was followed by an exposure, on the lady's part, of some verses addressed to her by her Etonian lover. On this, Canning is said to have sworn never more to prostitute the muses to the service of ungrateful woman, and to have destroyed all his amatory effusions. This story has been mentioned here as table-talk of the day ; it would be difficult to prove its authen- ticity, and quite or more difficult to effect its refutation. It numbers with the follies of boyhood, if it be true, and it is very immaterial, if false. Nor would it have been alluded to here, but that any suppression involves a sus- 2. E 26 , EO R G E C A N N 1 N G . picion ol undue partiality, and Canning's character uants no adventitious aid. This affair, if it existed, had evidently very little effect upon tht spirits of our hero, for we find him giving vent to his raillery and humour in the following effusion, at this period. Of the following paper there have been many imitations, but as a lively satire upon reviews in general, this is as excellent as it is original. CRITIQUE AND REVIEW ON " THE REFORMATION OF THE KNAVE OF HEARTS." " It has hitherto been customary for all periodical writers to take some opportunity, in the course of their labours, to display their critical abilities, either by mak- ing observations on some popular author, and work of known character, or by bringing forth the performances of hidden merit, and throwing light on genius in obscu- rity. To the critiques of the " Spectator," Shakspeare and more particularly Milton are indebted for no in- considerable share of the reputation which they now so universally enjoy; and by his means were the ruder graces and more simple beauties of "Chevy Chace" held up to the public view, and recommended to general ad- miration, " I should probably be accused of swerving from the imitation of so great an example, were not I to take oc- casion to show that I too am not entirely destitute of abilities of this kind; but that by possessing a decent share of critical discernment, and critical jargon, I am capable of becoming a very tolerable commentator. For the proof of which, I shall rather prefer calling the at- tention of my readers to an object, as yet untreated of by any of my immediate predecessors, than venture tc« MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. 27 throw in my observations on any work which has before _ passed the ordeal of frequent examination. And this I shall do for two reasons; partly, because were I to choose a field, how fertile soever, of which many others had before me been reaping- the fruits, mine would be at best but the gleanings of criticism; and partly from a more interested view, from a selfish desire of accumulated praise; since, by making a work, as yet almost wholly unknown, the subject of my consideration, I shall acquire the reputation of taste, as well as judgment; of judi- ciousness in selection, as well as justness in observation; — of propriety in choosing the object, as well as skill in using the language, of commentary. " The epic poem on which I shall ground my present critique has, for its chief characteristics, brevity and sim- plicity. The author, whose name I lament that I am, in some degree, prevented from consecrating to immortal fame, by not knowing what it is — the author, I say, has not branched his poem into excrescences of episode, or prolixities of digression ; it is neither variegated with diversity of unmeaning similitudes, nor glared with the varnish of unnatural metaphor. The A\hole is plain and uniform; so much so, indeed, that I should hardly be surprised if some morose readers were to conjecture, that the poet had been thus simple rather from necessity than choice: that he had been restrained not so much by chastity of judgment, as sterility of imagination. " Nay, some there may be, perhaps, who will dispute his claim to the title of an epic poet, and will endeavour to degrade him even to the rank of a ballad-monger. But I, as his commentator, will contend for the dignity of my author; and will plainly demonstrate his poem to be an epic poem, agreeable to the example of all poets, and the consent of all critics heretofore. 28 MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. "First, it is universally agreed, that an epic poem should have three component parts ; a beginning, a mid- dle, and an end; secondly, it is allowed, that it should have one grand action, or main design, to the forwarding of which all the parts of it should directly or indirectly tend ; and that this design should be in some measure consonant with, and conducive to, the purposes of mora- lity; — and thirdly, it is indisputably settled, that it should have a hero. I trust that in none of these points the poem before us will be found deficient. There are other inferior properties, which I shall consider in due order. " Not to keep my readers longer in suspense, the sub- ject of the poem is, 'The Reformation of the Knave of Hearts.' It is not improbable that some may object to me, that a knave is an unworthy hero for an epic poem ; that a hero ought to be all that is great and good. The objection is frivolous. The greatest work of this kind that the world ever produced, has ' the devil' for its hero; and, supported as my author is by so great a pre- cedent, I contend, that his hero is a very decent hero; and especially as he has the advantage of Milton's, by reforming at the end, is evidently entitled to a competent share of celebrity. "I shall now proceed to the more immediate exami- nation of the poem in its different parts. The begin- ning, say the critics, ought to be plain and simple ; neither embellished with the flowers of poetry, nor turgid with pom])osity of diction. In this how exactly does our author conform to the established opinion ! He begins thus — ' The queen of Iicarts Siie made some tarts. C';«n any thing be more clear ! more natural ! njore agree- MEMOIR OF GEOllGE CANNING. 29 ahle to the true spirit of simplicity ! Here are no tropes, no figurative expressions, not even so much as an invo- cation to the muse. He does not detain his readers by any needless circumlocution; by unnecessarily informing them what he is going to sing, or still more unnecessarily enumerating what he is not going to sing: but, accord- ing to the precepts of Horace — » ' In medias res, Non secus ac iiotas, auditorem rapit ' That is, he at once introduces us, and sets us on the most easy and familiar footing imaginable, with her majesty of hearts, and interests us deeply in her domestic con- cerns. But to proceed, ' The queen of hearts She made some tarts, All on a summer's day.' '•Here, indeed, the prospect brightens, and we are led to expect some liveliness of imagery, some warmth of poetical colouring; but here is no such thing. There is no task more difficult to a poet than rejection. Ovid among the ancients, and Dryden among the moderns, were perhaps the most remarkable for the want of it. The latter, from the haste in which he generally pro- duced his compositions, seldom paid much attention to the "limaB labor," the labour of correction, and seldom therefore rejected the assistance of any idea that pre- sented itself. Ovid, not content with catching the lead- ing features of any scene or character, indulged himself in a thousand minutiae of description, a thousand puerile prettinesses, which were in themselves uninteresting, and took off greatly from the effect of the whole ; as the num- berless suckers, and straggling branches of a fruit-tree, if permitted to shoot out unrestrained, while they are themselves barren and useless, diminish considerably the 30 MFArnm oi- GEORGE CANNING. vigour of the parent stock. Ovid had more genius but Jess judo;uient than Virgil: Dryden more imagination, but leSs correctness than Pope; had they not been defi- cient in these points, the former would certainly have equalled, the latter infinitely outshone the merits of his countryman. Our author was undoubtedly possessed of that power which they wanted; and was cautious not to indulge too far the sallies of a lively imagination. — Omitting therefore any mention of sultry Syrius — sylvan shade — sequestered glade — verdant hills — purling rills — mossy mountains — gurgling fountains, &c. &c. he sim- ply tells us that it was 'AH on a summer's day.' For my own part, I confess that I find myself rather flattered than disappointed; and consider the poet as rather pay- ing a compliment to the abilities of his readers, than baulking their expectations. It is certainly a great pleasure to see a picture well painted; but it is a much greater to paint it well one's-self. This, therefore, I look upon as a stroke of excellent management in the poet. — Here every reader is at liberty to gratify his own taste; to design for himself just what sort of ' summer's day' he likes best; to choose his own scenery; dispose his lights and shades as he pleases; to solace himself with a rivulet or horse-pond, a shower or a sun-beam, a grove or a kitchen-garden, according to his fancy. How much more considerate this, than if the poet had, from an affected accuracy of description, thrown us into an unmannerly perspiration by the heat of the atmosphere; forced us into a landscape of his own planning, with per- haps a paltry, good-for-nothing zephyr or two, and a limited quantity of wood and water. All this, Ovid would undoubtedly have done. Nay, to use the expres- sion of a learned brother commentator, 'quovis pignore dicertem,' 'I would lay any wager' that he would have MEMOIR OF GEOUGE CANNING. 31 gone SO far as to tell us what the tarts were made of; and perhaps wandered into an episode on the art of pre- serving cherries. But our poet, above such considera- tions, leaves every reader to choose his own ingredients, and sweeten them to his own liking; wisely foreseeing, no doubt, that the more palatable each had rendered them to his own taste, the more he would be affected at \ their approaching loss. ^ ' All on a summer's day,' " I cannot leave this line without remarking, that one of the Scribleri, a descendant of the famous Martinus, has expressed his suspicions of the text being corrupted here, and proposes, instead of 'AH on,' reading 'Alone,' alleging, in favour of this alteration, the effect of solitude in raising the passions. But Hiccius Doctius, a high Dutch commentator, one nevertheless well versed in British literature, in a note of his usual length and learn- ing, has confuted the arguments of Scriblerus. In sup- port of the present reading, he quotes a passage from a poem written about the same period with our author's, by the celebrated Johannes Pastor,* entitled, ' An Ele- giac Epistle to the Turnkey of Newgate,' wherein the gentleman declares, that, rather indeed in compliance with an old custom, than to gratify any particular wish of his own, he is going * All hanged for to be, Upon tliat fatal Tyburn tree.' othing throws greater lig] than the concurrence of a cotemporary writer, I am in- " Now, as nothing throws greater light on an author " ♦ More commonly known, I believe, by the name of Jack Shep- herd. 32 lEMOIll OF C EORGE (.ANMNG. clined to be of Hiccliis's opinion, and to consider the "AH" as an elegant expletive, or, as he more aptly phrases it, "elegans expletivum." The passage, there- fore, must stand thus : — ' The queon of hearte She made some tarts, All on a summer's day.' a And thus ends the first part, or beginning, which is simple and unembellished; opens the subject in a natural and easy manner; excites, but does not too far gratify our curiosity : for a reader of accurate observation, may easily discover, that the hero of the poem has not yet made his appearance. " I could not continue my examination at present through the whole of this poem, without far exceeding the limits of a single paper. I have therefore divided it into two. *^ sli ^ ^ ilC SiL TF * ~ ~ ~ rf- " The second part, or middle, is the proper place for bustle and business, for incident and adventure. * The knave of hearts He stole those tarts.' " Here attention is awakened ; and our whole souls are intent upon the first appearance of the hero. Some readers may perhaps be offended at his making his entre in so disadvantageous a character as that of a thief. To this I plead precedent. "The hero of the Iliad, as I observed in a former paper, is made to lament very pathetically, that 'life is not like all other possessions, to be acquired by theft.' A reflection, in my opinion, evidently showing, that if he did refrain from the practice of this ingenious art, it was MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. 33 not for want of an inclination that way. We may re- member, too, that in Virgil's poem, almost the first light in which the pious ^Eneas appears to us, is a deer-stealer; nor is it much excuse for him, that the deer were wan- dering without keepers ; for however he might, from this circumstance, have been unable to ascertain whose pro- perty they were, he might, I think, have been pretty well assured that they were not his. " Having thus acquitted our hero of misconduct, by the example of his betters, I proceed to what I think the master-stroke of the poet. ' The knave of hearts He stole those tarts. And — took them — quite away — !!' " Here, whoever has an ear for harmony, and a heart for feeling, must be touched ! There is a desponding me- lancholy in the run of the last line ! an air of tender regret in the addition of * quite away!' a something so expressive of irrevocable loss! so forcibly intimating the ^ Ah, niinquam reditura !'' 'They never can return !' — in short, such a union of sound and sense, as we rarely, if ever, meet with in any author, ancient or modern. Our feelings are all alive; but the poet, wisely dreading that our sympathy with the injured queen might alienate our affections from his hero, contrives immediately to awaken our fears for him, by telling us that ' The king of liearts Call'd for those tarts.' " We are all conscious of the fault of our hero, and all tremble with him, for the punishment which the en- raged monarch may inflict. * And beat the knave full sore!' " The fatnl blow is struck ! we cannot but rejoice that 2. F 34 rORGE CANNING. guiii lb jusiLiy pumisiifii, uiuugh we sympathise with the guilty object of punishment. Here Scriblerus, who, by the bye, is very fond of making unnecessary altera- tions, proposes redding 'score' instead of 'sore,' meaning thereby to particularise, that the beating bestowed by this monarch consisted of twenty stripes. But this pro- ceeds from his ignorance of the genius of our language, which does not admit of such an expression as * full score,' but would require the insertion of the particle ' a,' which cannot be, on account of the metre. And this is another great artifice of the poet : by leaving the quantity of beating indeterminate, he gives every reader the liberty to administer it, in exact proportion to the sum of indignation which he may have conceived against his hero ; that, by thus amply satisfying their resentment, they may be the more easily reconciled to him aftervvard. ' The king of hearts Call'd for those tarts, And beat the knave full sore !' " Here ends the second part, or middle of the poem ; in which we see the character and exploits of the hero portrayed with the hand of a master. " Nothing now remains to be examined, but the third part, or end. In the end, it is a rule pretty well estab- lished, that the work should draw towards a conclusion, which our author manages thus : ' The knave of hearts Brought back those tarts.' " Here every thing is at length settled ; the theft is compensated; the tarts restored to their right owner; and poetical justice, in every respect, strictly and im- partially administered. " We may observe, that there is nothing in which our MEMOIR OF G EORGE CANNING. J:) poet has better succeeded, than in keeping- up an unre- mitted attention in his readers to the main instruments, the machinery of his poem, viz. the tarts ; insomuch, that the aforementioned Scriblerus has sagely observed, that * he can't tell, but he doesn't know, but the tarts may be reckoned the heroes of the poem.' Scriblerus, though a man of learning, and frequently right in his opinion, has here certainly hazarded a rash conjecture. His argu- ments are overthrown entirely by his great opponent, Hiccius, who concludes, by triumphantly asking, 'had the tarts been eaten, how could the poet have compen- sated for the loss of his heroes ?' "We are now come to the denouement^ the setting all to rights : and our poet, in the management of his moral, is certainly superior to his great ancient predecessors. The moral of their fables, if any they have, is so inter- woven with the main body of their work, that, in en- deavouring to unravel it, we should tear the whole. Our author has very properly preserved his, whole and entire, for the end of his poem, where he completes his main design, the reformation of his hero, thus, — * And vow'd he'd steal no more.' " Having, in the course of his work, shown the bad effects arising from theft, he evidently means this last moral reflection to operate with his readers as a gentle and polite dissuasive from stealing. ' The knave of hearts Brought back those tarts, And vow'd he'd steal no more!' " Thus have I industriously gone through the several parts of this wonderful work; and clearly proved it, in every one of these parts, and in all of them together, to be a due and proper epic poem ; and to have as good a 36 MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. right to that title, from its adherence to prescribed rules, as any of the celebrated masterpieces of antiquity. And here I cannot help again lamenting, that, by not know- ing the name of the author, 1 am unable to twine our laurels together, and to transmit to posterity the mingled praises of genius and judgment; of the poet, and bis commentator. B»" How the days of George Canning were spent, may be ascertained by his after-life. All knowledge is matter of tedious acquisition. It has been truly and laconically said, " there is no royal road to Greek." _The young student was not content with the Classics, in the^ordinary acceptation of that term, but amused his leisure hours with the more recondite Greek and Latin authors. Study was his amusement — composition, his recreation. It was a favourite maxim of our hero's, in after-life, that variety was rest to the mind. When wearied by classical re- search, he wrote, or turned to lighter reading; but he never sank into lassitude. In fact, he could not be idle — his mind was the very essence of perpetual motion, and knew no rest. It has usually occurred with those scholars that excelled in poetic fancy, that they have be- come studious only with regard to those authors and subjects that suited the peculiar bent of their genius ; but our hero was a profound classic, and did not suffer his love of the muses to draw him from severer study. Unlike those who boast a genius like his for poetry, he could analyse minutiaj as easily as he could grasp gene- ralities — he saw all things with the telescope of truth — it was in vain that distance obscured them — he brought them to his eye, and saw all their lineaments with the glance of power. With one more of his lighter produc- tions, we shall close our extracts from his juvenile efforts. MEMOIR OF GEORGE BANNING. 37 This essay, which, for lively wit and imaginative tact, is almost unequalled, is from the twenty-second number of The Microcosm. " POETRY AND WEAVING — THE ANALOGY BETWEEN THEM. " There are in Turkey a body of men, against whom universal contempt is indiscriminately, as well as unde- servedly, directed, and these a.e the worshipful company of grocers. Insomuch, that should any member of a noble family have disgraced himself and his connexions by living a life of tranquillity, or, what is worse, dying in his bed— that is, a natural death — his name is never pronounced by his relations, but with disapprobation and disgust ; and his memory is consigned to infamy, for having, as they say, lived and died like a raccal^ or grocer. " The person who has now the honour to address you is a member of a community, who, by the courtesy of England, are, like the raccals of Turkey, collectively involved in the most comprehensive contempt, — I say col- lectively, sir, because, individually, we are allowed to have no existence ; the wicked waggery of the world judging nine weavers and nine tailors requisite to the formation of a man. Yes, sir, to so high a pitch have they carried the disrepect in which these professions are held, that, in the eyes of 'the many,' (as the poet calls them,) to address a man by the appellation either of a weaver or tailor, implies not only, as formerly, a re- flection on his horsemanship, but on his personal courage, and even his personal existence. " I, sir, am a weaver ; I feel for the injured dignity of my profession : and since (thanks to my own genius, and two years and a half of education on Tower-hill) I have a very decent acquaintance with the classics — that is, I 38 MFMOin OF GEORGE CANNING. know them all by name, and can tell Greek, when 1 see it, any day in the week; and since, as far as Shakes- peare and the monthly Magazines go, I have a very pretty share of English book-learning : — from these con- siderations, Mr. Griffin, I think myself qualified to con- tend, not for the utility and respectability only, but for the honour of the art of weaving. Tailoring, as it is secondary to weaving, will, of course, partake of the fruits of my labours ; as, in asserting the dignity of the one, I maintain the credit of the other. " To this end, Mr. Griffin, I shall not appeal to the candour of my readers; but shall provoke their judg- ment. I shall not solicit their indulgence; but, by the force of demonstration, will claim their assent to my opinion. " Poetry, sir, is universally allowed to be the first and noblest of the arts and sciences; insomuch, that it is the opinion of critics, that an epic poem is the greatest work the human mind is capable of bringing to perfec- tion. If, then, I can prove that the art of weaving is, in any degree, analogous to the art of poetry ; if this ana- logy has been allowed by the whole tribe of critics, so far, that in speaking of the latter they have used the terms of the former, and passed judgment on the works of the poet in the language of the manufacturer; nay, if Poetry herself has condescended to imitate the expres- sions, and to adopt the technical terms into her own vo- cabulary; then may I surely hope, that the sanction of criticism may challenge the respect, and the flattery of poetry (for imitation is the highest degree of flattery) may claim the admiration, of mankind. " First, then, with regard to criticism ; to select a few examples from a multitude of others, are we not enter- tained, in the works of Longinus and the Gentleman s MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. 39 3Iagazine, with delectable dissertations on the weaving of plots and the interweaving of episodes ? Are we not continually informed, that the author unravels the web of his intrigue, or breaks the thread of his narration? Besides these, a friend of mine, a great etymologist, has assured me, that bombast and bombasin originally sprung from the same root ; and fustian, every body knows, is a term applied indifferently to passages in poe- try, or materials for a pair of ?jreeches. So similar is considered the skill employed in the texture of the epic poem and a piece of broad cloth ; so parallel the qualifi- cations requisite to throw the shuttle and guide the pen. "I was not a little pleased the other day to find, in the critique of one of the most eminent writers of the pre- sent day, the works of a favourite poet styled ' a tissuej* An idea then occurred to me, suggested perhaps by my partiality for my profession, which I am not without some faint hope of one day seeing accomplished. " By a little labour and ingenuity, it might surely be discovered, that the works of different authors bear a considerable affinity (like this of the tissue) to the dif- ferent productions of the loom. Thus, to enumerate a few instances, without any regard to chronological order, — might not the flowery smoothness of Pope be aptly enough compared to flowered satin? — Might not the compositions of all the poets laureate, ancient and modern, very properly be termed princes- stuff ? And who would dispute the title of Homer, to everlasting! For Shakespeare, indeed, I am at a loss for a comparison, unless I should liken him to those shot silks which vary the brightness of their hues into a multitude of different lights and shades. And, would orthography allow of the pun, I might say, that there are ^e\v poets but would be proud to be thought worthy of the green bai/s. 40 MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. " For proof of the use which poetry makes of the weaver's dictionary, vide ten thousand Odes on Spring; where you may catch the fragrance of the damask rose; listen to the rustling of the silken foliage; or lie ex- tended with a listless languor, pillowing your head upon the velvet mead; to say nothing of Nature's loom, which is set to work regularly on the first of May, to weave variegated carpets for the lawns and landscapes. Now, Mr. Griffin, those similitudes, though very pretty and very a propos, I own I am not perfectly satisfied with. The Genoese certainly excel us in the articles of velvets, and the French silks are by many persons far preferred for elegance to any of the English manufac- ture. I appeal then to you, Mr. Griffin, if these allu- sions would not be much more delightful to British ears, if they tended to promote such manufactures as are more peculiarly our own. The Georgics of Virgil, let me tell you, sir, have been suspected by some people to have been written with a political, as well as poetical view; for the purpose of converting the victorious spirits of the Roman soldiery, from the love of war and the severity of military hardships, to the milder occupations of peace, and the more profitable employments of agriculture. Surely, equally successful would be the endeavours of our poets, if they would boldly extirpate from their writ- ings every species of foreign manufacture, and adopt, in their stead, materials from the prolific looms of their countrymen. Surely, we have a variety which would suit all subjects and all descriptions :— nor do I despair, if this letter has the desired eff'ect, but I shall presently see landscapes beautifully diversified with (all due defer- ence being paid to alteration) plains of plush, pastures of poplin, downs of dimity, valleys of velveret, and mea- dows of Manchester. How gloriously novel would this MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. 41 be! how patriotically poetical an innovation! which no- thing but bigoted prejudice could object to — nothing but disatFection to the interests of the country could dis- approve. B." At the age of eighteen, our hero left Eton, and went to Christ Church, Oxford; there he became acquainted with the honourable Mr. Jenkinson, (the present earl of Liverpool) ; from their intiinacy they were nicknamed "the inseparables." With Mr. Jenkinson and others, Mr. Canning pursued his studies, enlivening the scene by the enjoyment of "Attic Evenings," in which, as, indeed, throughout his life, he was remarkable for teaching him- self, and othets — " That honourable stop Not to outsport discretion. — " At Oxford, Mr. Canning soon outstripped his compe- titors ; he gained several prizes, and delivered several orations that extracted warm eulogies from those who were most " Tardy in praising, anxious to condemn." Jeremy Bentham, the celebrated political writer, has afforded us an undeniable illustration of the high expec- tations formed of the young orator at this period. Can- ning was introduced to that singular man about 1790, at College, by the first marquis of Lansdowne, (the father of the present marquis.) " Whoever may live to see it," said that nobleman, " that young man will one day be prime minister." Thirty-six years afterwards, Bentham found the prediction verified. What the talents must have been that should create such an impression on a po- litician's mind, at such an age, it is easier to conceive than describe. 2. G 42 MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. * Young Canning bad opportunities of mixing with the literati of the day, for his college vacations were passed under the roof of no less a personage than Richard Brins- ley Sheridan, to whose family, Mrs. Canning, our hero's mother, was related. Sheridan was then the idol of the town — the companion of his prince — and in the zenith of his political and dramatic career. Many persons, speaking of Sheridan and Canning, have assumed that the former exerted a parental influence over the latter. Such was by no means the case in 1792, when they were daily to- gether; they were more like brothers than aught else. Though Canning was then but just of age, he was ma- tured in intellect, — always of a steady and thoughtful i^ature; whilst Sheridan, at the age of forty, (which he then was,) had all the volatility of a boy of sixteen. Sheridan had no pretence for assuming a dictatorship over Canning, nor did he ever attempt it ; they were on an equality of talent, though not of years. It has been suffjrested, that our hero was indebted to the dramatist for his introduction to the marquis of Lansdowne ; but the fact is, that at Sheridan's house he met with all the celebrated men of that period ; and w hoever met Can- ningonce, was ever after anxious for a renewal of the ac- quaintance. With the whigs of the day, Mr. Canning w as particularly intimate ; as it was generally understood, or at least expected, that his talents would be given to that party. Mr. Canning left College about 1792, and entered him- self as a student of Lincoln's Inn : and many who have grown grey in the wearisome pursuit of equity research, well remember our hero taking his morning walks (for he was an early riser) in the gardens of that Inn ; but, though studying for the bar, he had no serious inten- tions of passing his life in the dull routine of a law court, MEMOIR OF GEOllGE CANNING. 4.3 or deadening the finer faculties of his mind over musty records. At this period he was introduced by Sheridan to Fox and Burke ; of the latter he was always a niost enthu- siastic admirer. The conversation of three such men as those with whom he now came in collision, might have inspired a less fervid nature ; and the young- student saw that his course was tracked through the path of politics, and that the bar was too narrow a field for his exertions. It was then, even more than at present, a fashion to take the sanction of an admission at Lincoln's Inn, or the Temple; and to be called to the bar, merely for form's sake, by those who had no intention of following the pro- fession of the law. The present licenser of plays, George Colman, esq. and the celebrated poet, Thomas Moore, were both members of the Middle Temple. Mr. Canning's change of politics has been spoken of by Moore, in his " Life of Sheridan." It is only necessary here to remark, that the word change is inapplicable to one who had then avowed no politics at all ; — that his senti- ments were inferred and surmised — not acknowledged ; that he was judged by those he associated with,— by the acts of others, — by no speech of his own. Those who de- light in recording or imagining the backslidings of politi- cians, anxiously pervert the slightest facts into grounds for the charge of political apostacy ; — but from such a suspi- cion our hero was free. Thought is cradled by liberty, and it is rather too much to expect that any man should adopt another's opinions, because he exists beneath his roof— or square his opinions by his friendships and ajiimosities. It was the accident of connexion that made Canning inti mate with the celebrated oppositionists, but he never was politically intimate with them ; in fact, he knew Fox, Burke, and Sheridan, as orators and wits, rather than as 44 "itEMom or gcorgb canning. politicians, iliet closest intimacy m early life was with the honourable Mr. Jenkinson, whose connexions were all tories ; but Mr. Canritng has been known to aver, that this did not influence him ; for his intercourse with that gentleman was that of two young and ardent spirits — of friends who had other subjects of discussion than the af- fairs of the country. Mr. Jenkinson, it is generally un- derstood, introduced our hero to Pitt; but that he, in no other way, influenced his opinions or course, Mr. Can- ning has himself avowed. " From the political faith," says Mr. Moore " in which /^he had been educated, under the very eyes of ]Mr. Sheri- dan, who had long been the friend of his family, and at whose house he generally passed his college vacations, the line that he was to take in the House of Commons seemed already, according to the usual course of events, marked out for him. Mr. Sheridan had, indeed, with an eagerness which, however premature, showed the value which he and others set upon the alliance, taken occasion, in the course of a laudatory tribute to Mr. Jenkinson (now the earl of Liverpool,) on the success of his first effort in the House, to announce the accession which hia own party was to receive in the talents of another gentle- man — the companion and friend of the young orator who had now distinguished himself. Whether this and other friendships, formed by Mr. Canning at the University, had any share in alienating him from a political creed which he had hitherto perhaps adopted rather from habit and authority than choice ; — or whether he was startled at the idea of appearing for the first time in the world as the announced pupil and friend of a person who, both by the vehemence of his politics and the irregularities of his life, had put himself, in some degree, under the ban of public opinion ; — or whether, lastly, he saw the difficulties / MEMOIR OF GEORGE CANNING. 45 ^ which even genius like his would experience in rising to the full growth of its ambition, under the shadowy branches of the Whig Aristocracy, and that superseding influence of birth and connexions which had contributed to keep even such men as Burke and Sheridan out of the Cabinet; — which of these motives it was that now decided the choice of the young political Hercules between the two paths that equally wooe^I his footsteps, none, per- haps, but himself can fully determine. His decision, we know, was in favour of the minister and toryism ; and, after a friendly and candid explanation to Mr. Sheridan, of the reasons and feelings that urged him to this step, he entered into terms with Mr. Pitt, and was by him imme- diately brought into Parliament. However dangerous it might be to exalt such an example into a precedent, it is questionable whether, in thus resolving to join the ascendant side, Mr. Canning has not conferred a greater benef t on the country, than he ever would have been able to effect in the ranks of his original friends. That party, which has now so long been the sole depositary of the power of the State, had, in addition to the original narrowness of its principles, contracted all that proud obstinacy in antiquated error, which is the invariable characteristic of such monopolies ; and which, however consonant with its vocation, as the chosen instrument of the Crown, should have long since invalided it in the ser- vice of a free and enlightened people. Some infusion of the spirit of the times into this body had become neces- sary even for its preservation, in the same manner as the inhalement of youthful breath has been recommended by some physicians to the infirm and superannuated. This renovating inspiration the genius of Mr. Canning has supplied. His first political lessons were derived from sources too sacred to his young admiration to be for- 4C > or GEORGF fANMNG. gotten, lie ha.-, carried. the ;