Books and Authors.
by Anonymous.
NOTE.
This collection of anecdotes, ill.u.s.trative sketches, and _memorabilia_ generally, relating to the ever fresh and interesting subject of BOOKS AND AUTHORS, is not presented as complete, nor even as containing all the choice material of its kind. The field from which one may gather is so wide and fertile, that any collection warranting such a claim would far exceed the compa.s.s of many volumes, much less of this little book.
It has been sought to offer, in an acceptable and convenient form, some of the more remarkable or interesting literary facts or incidents with which one individual, in a somewhat extended reading, has been struck; some of the pa.s.sages which he has admired; some of the anecdotes and jests that have amused him and may amuse others; some of the reminiscences that it has most pleased him to dwell upon. For no very great portion of the contents of this volume, is the claim to originality of subject-matter advanced. The collection, however, is submitted with some confidence that it may be found as interesting, as accurate, and as much guided by good taste, as it has been endeavoured to make it.
BOOKS AND AUTHORS.
_CURIOUS FACTS AND CHARACTERISTIC SKETCHES._
THE FINDING OF JOHN EVELYN"S MS. DIARY AT WOTTON.[1]
The MS. Diary, or "Kalendarium," of the celebrated John Evelyn lay among the family papers at Wotton, in Surrey, from the period of his death, in 1706, until their rare interest and value were discovered in the following singular manner.
The library at Wotton is rich in curious books, with notes in John Evelyn"s handwriting, as well as papers on various subjects, and transcripts of letters by the philosopher, who appears never to have employed an amanuensis. The arrangement of these treasures was, many years since, entrusted to the late Mr. Upcott, of the London Inst.i.tution, who made a complete catalogue of the collection.
One afternoon, as Lady Evelyn and a female companion were seated in one of the fine old apartments of Wotton, making feather tippets, her ladyship pleasantly observed to Mr. Upcott, "You may think this feather-work a strange way of pa.s.sing time: it is, however, my hobby; and I dare say you, too, Mr. Upcott, have _your hobby_." The librarian replied that his favourite pursuit was the collection of the autographs of eminent persons. Lady Evelyn remarked, that in all probability the MSS. of "_Sylva_" Evelyn would afford Mr. Upcott some amus.e.m.e.nt. His reply may be well imagined. The bell was rung, and a servant desired to bring the papers from a lumber-room of the old mansion; and from one of the baskets so produced was brought to light the ma.n.u.script Diary of John Evelyn--one of the most finished specimens of autobiography in the whole compa.s.s of English literature.
The publication of the Diary, with a selection of familiar letters, and private correspondence, was entrusted to Mr. William Bray, F.S.A.; and the last sheets of the MS., with a dedication to Lady Evelyn, were actually in the hands of the printer at the hour of her death. The work appeared in 1818; and a volume of Miscellaneous Papers, by Evelyn, was subsequently published, under Mr. Upcott"s editorial superintendence.
Wotton House, though situate in the angle of two valleys, is actually on part of Leith Hill, the rise from thence being very gradual. Evelyn"s "Diary" contains a pen-and-ink sketch of the mansion as it appeared in 1653.
[1] See the Frontispiece.
FAMILIES OF LITERARY MEN.
A _Quarterly_ Reviewer, in discussing an objection to the Copyright Bill of Mr. Sergeant Talfourd, which was taken by Sir Edward Sugden, gives some curious particulars of the progeny of literary men. "We are not,"
says the writer, "going to speculate about the causes of the fact; but a fact it is, that men distinguished for extraordinary intellectual power of any sort rarely leave more than a very brief line of progeny behind them. Men of genius have scarcely ever done so; men of imaginative genius, we might say, almost never. With the one exception of the n.o.ble Surrey, we cannot, at this moment, point out a representative in the male line, even so far down as the third generation, of any English poet; and we believe the case is the same in France. The blood of beings of that order can seldom be traced far down, even in the female line.
With the exception of Surrey and Spenser, we are not aware of any great English author of at all remote date, from whose body any living person claims to be descended. There is no real English poet prior to the middle of the eighteenth century; and we believe no great author of any sort, except Clarendon and Shaftesbury, of whose blood we have any inheritance amongst us. Chaucer"s only son died childless; Shakspeare"s line expired in his daughter"s only daughter. None of the other dramatists of that age left any progeny; nor Raleigh, nor Bacon, nor Cowley, nor Butler.
The grand-daughter of Milton was the last of his blood. Newton, Locke, Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot, Hume, Gibbon, Cowper, Gray, Walpole, Cavendish (and we might greatly extend the list), never married. Neither Bolingbroke, nor Addison, nor Warburton, nor Johnson, nor Burke, transmitted their blood. One of the arguments against a _perpetuity_ in literary property is, that it would be founding another _n.o.blesse_.
Neither jealous aristocracy nor envious Jacobinism need be under such alarm. When a human race has produced its "bright, consummate flower"
in this kind, it seems commonly to be near its end."
THE BLUE-STOCKING CLUB.
Towards the close of the last century, there met at Mrs. Montague"s a literary a.s.sembly, called "The Blue-Stocking Club," in consequence of one of the most admired of the members, Mr. Benjamin Stillingfleet, always wearing _blue stockings_. The appellation soon became general as a name for pedantic or ridiculous literary ladies. Hannah More wrote a volume in verse, ent.i.tled _The Bas Bleu: or Conversation_. It proceeds on the mistake of a foreigner, who, hearing of the Blue-Stocking Club, translated it literally _Bas Bleu_. Johnson styled this poem "a great performance." The following couplets have been quoted, and remembered, as terse and pointed:--
"In men this blunder still you find, All think their little set mankind."
"Small habits well pursued betimes, May reach the dignity of crimes."
DR. JOHNSON AND HANNAH MORE
When Hannah More came to London in 1773, or 1774, she was domesticated with Garrick, and was received with favour by Johnson, Reynolds, and Burke. Her sister has thus described her first interview with Johnson:--
"We have paid another visit to Miss Reynolds; she had sent to engage Dr.
Percy, ("Percy"s Collection," now you know him), quite a sprightly modern, instead of a rusty antique, as I expected: he was no sooner gone than the most amiable and obliging of women, Miss Reynolds, ordered the coach to take us to Dr. Johnson"s very own house: yes, Abyssinian Johnson!
Dictionary Johnson! Ramblers, Idlers, and Irene Johnson! Can you picture to yourselves the palpitation of our hearts as we approached his mansion?
The conversation turned upon a new work of his just going to the press (the "Tour to the Hebrides"), and his old friend Richardson. Mrs.
Williams, the blind poet, who lives with him, was introduced to us. She is engaging in her manners, her conversation lively and entertaining.
Miss Reynolds told the Doctor of all our rapturous exclamations on the road. He shook his scientific head at Hannah, and said she was "a silly thing." When our visit was ended, he called for his hat, as it rained, to attend us down a very long entry to our coach, and not Ra.s.selas could have acquitted himself more _en cavalier_. I forgot to mention, that not finding Johnson in his little parlour when we came in, Hannah seated herself in his great chair hoping to catch a little ray of his genius: when he heard it, he laughed heartily, and told her it was a chair on which he never sat. He said it reminded him of Boswell and himself when they stopped a night, as they imagined, where the weird sisters appeared to Macbeth. The idea so worked on their enthusiasm, that it quite deprived them of rest. However, they learned the next morning, to their mortification, that they had been deceived, and were quite in another part of the country."
MISS MITFORD"S FAREWELL TO THREE MILE CROSS.
When Miss Mitford left her rustic cottage at Three Mile Cross, and removed to Reading, (the Belford Regis of her novel), she penned the following beautiful picture of its homely joys--
"Farewell, then, my beloved village! the long, straggling street, gay and bright on this sunny, windy April morning, full of all implements of dirt and mire, men, women, children, cows, horses, wagons, carts, pigs, dogs, geese, and chickens--busy, merry, stirring little world, farewell!
Farewell to the winding, up-hill road, with its clouds of dust, as hors.e.m.e.n and carriages ascend the gentle eminence, its borders of turf, and its primrosy hedges! Farewell to the breezy common, with its islands of cottages and cottage-gardens; its oaken avenues, populous with rooks; its clear waters fringed with gorse, where lambs are straying; its cricket-ground where children already linger, antic.i.p.ating their summer revelry; its pretty boundary of field and woodland, and distant farms; and latest and best of its ornaments, the dear and pleasant mansion where dwelt the neighbours, the friends of friends; farewell to ye all!
Ye will easily dispense with me, but what I shall do without you, I cannot imagine. Mine own dear village, farewell!"
SMOLLETT"S "HUGH STRAP."
In the year 1809 was interred, in the churchyard of St. Martin"s in the Fields, the body of one Hew Hewson, who died at the age of 85. He was the original of Hugh Strap, in Smollett"s _Roderick Random_. Upwards of forty years he kept a hair-dresser"s shop in St. Martin"s parish; the walls were hung round with Latin quotations, and he would frequently point out to his customers and acquaintances the several scenes in _Roderick Random_ pertaining to himself, which had their origin, not in Smollett"s inventive fancy, but in truth and reality. The meeting in a barber"s shop at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, the subsequent mistake at the inn, their arrival together in London, and the a.s.sistance they experienced from Strap"s friend, are all facts. The barber left behind an annotated copy of _Roderick Random_, showing how far we are indebted to the genius of the author, and to what extent the incidents are founded in reality.
COLLINS"S POEMS.
Mr. John Ragsdale, of Richmond, in Surrey, who was the intimate friend of Collins, states that some of his Odes were written while on a visit at his, Mr. Ragsdale"s house. The poet, however, had such a poor opinion of his own productions, that after showing them to Mr. Ragsdale, he would s.n.a.t.c.h them from him, and throw them into the fire; and in this way, it is believed, many of Collins"s finest pieces were destroyed.
Such of his Odes as were published, on his own account in 1746, were not popular; and, disappointed at the slowness of the sale, the poet burnt the remaining copies with his own hands.