Essays

Title: Essays

Author: Winthrop Mackworth Praed

Author of introduction, etc.: Henry Morley

Editor: Sir George Young

Release date: October 9, 2023 [eBook #71838]

Language: English

Original publication: London: George Routledge and Sons, 1887

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/71838

Credits: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images available at The Internet Archive)

CONTENTS MORLEY’S UNIVERSAL LIBRARY. INTRODUCTION. PREFACE. RHYME AND REASON. ON THE PRACTICAL BATHOS. NICKNAMES. YES AND NO. THOUGHTS ON THE WORDS “TURN OUT.” SOLITUDE IN A CROWD. POLITENESS AND POLITESSE. A WINDSOR BALL. LOVERS’ VOWS. ON THE PRACTICAL ASYNDETON. ON HAIR-DRESSING. ON A CERTAIN AGE. NOT AT HOME. MUSÆ O’CONNORIANÆ. THE KNIGHT AND THE KNAVE. MAD—QUITE MAD! THE BOGLE OF ANNESLIE; OR, THE THREE-CORNERED HAT. ON THE PROPOSED ESTABLISHMENT OF A PUBLIC LIBRARY AT ETON. THE MISTAKE; OR, SIXES AND SEVENS. SENSE AND SENSIBILITY. MR. LOZELL’S ESSAY ON WEATHERCOCKS. GOLIGHTLY’S ESSAY ON BLUES. OLD BOOTS. ON THE DIVINITIES OF THE ANCIENTS. REMINISCENCES OF MY YOUTH. ON TRUE FRIENDSHIP. THE COUNTRY CURATE. THE WEDDING: PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE OF PEREGRINE COURTENAY. ABDICATION OF THE KING OF CLUBS. THE UNION CLUB. MY FIRST FOLLY. POINTS. LEONORA. DAMASIPPUS. MY FIRST FLAME. THE INCONVENIENCE OF HAVING AN ELDER BROTHER. TOUJOURS PERDRIX. THE BEST ΒΑΤ IN THE SCHOOL.

Ballantyne Press BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. EDINBURGH AND LONDON

ESSAYS

BY WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY SIR GEORGE YOUNG, Bart., Μ.A. WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HENRY MORLEY LL.D., PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE AT UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL GLASGOW AND NEW YORK 1887

MORLEY’S UNIVERSAL LIBRARY.

INTRODUCTION.

The readers of our Library are greatly indebted to Sir George Young for his kindness in presenting them with this first collected edition of the prose writings of his uncle, Winthrop Mackworth Praed. He little knows the charm of the bright regions of Literature who cannot yield himself to full enjoyment of their infinite variety. As we pass from book to book, it is a long leap from Euripides to the brilliant young Etonian who brought all the grace of happy youth into such work as we have here. Happy the old who can grow young again with this book in their hands. If we all came into the world mature, and there were no childhood and youth about us, what a dull world it would be! Any book is a prize that brings the fresh and cheerful voice of youth into the region of true Literature. Of Praed’s work in this way none can speak better than Sir George Young in his Preface.

Of his life, these are a few dry facts. He was born in 1802, lost his mother early, and went to Eton at the age of[Pg 6] twelve. He was still at Eton when, at the age of eighteen, in 1820, he and his friend Walter Blount edited the Etonian, which began its course in October 1820 and ended in July 1821. In the following October Praed went to Trinity College, Cambridge, where he obtained a Fellowship. He obtained medals for Greek odes and epigrams, a medal for English verse, and he was still full of the old grace of playfulness. He was called to the Bar in 1829. An elder sister died in 1830, and his love for her is shown in tender touches of his later verse. The vers de société which he wrote, and which no man wrote better than Praed, retain their charm because their playfulness is on the surface of a manly earnest nature, from the depth of which a tone now and then rises that comes straight into our hearts. Praed was in Parliament from November 1830 until after the passing of the Reform Bill, and again in 1834, when he was Secretary to the Board

of Control under Sir Robert Peel. His father died in 1835; in the same year Praed married; and in July 1839 he died, aged thirty-seven.

Η. Μ.

October 1887.[Pg 7]

PREFACE.

The prose pieces of Winthrop Mackworth Praed have never before been presented in a collected form. They are worthy of preservation, in a degree hardly less than his verse; though by the latter he has hitherto been best known, and will probably be longest remembered. At the time when the high quality of his literary work obtained for the Etonian the honour, unprecedented in the case of a school magazine, of a complimentary notice in the Quarterly Review, it was to the merit of his prose, as much as to that of his poetry, that attention was called by the reviewer. It is not, however, as the phenomenally precocious work of a schoolboy that these papers have been thought worthy of reproduction in the Universal Library. The circumstance that they were, most of them, written at Eton, is only to be accounted of as adding to their interest, by giving the reader a point of view from which to sympathize with the writer’s humour. It would, however, be a mistake to consider the senior Etonian of 1820 as corresponding to any reasonable

description of what is generally denoted by the word “schoolboy.” At[Pg 8] the age of eighteen or nineteen, when his grandfathers had already taken their first degrees, subjected to a discipline as light as that of a modern University, more free to study in the way the spirit moved him, or not to study at all, than the undergraduate of a “good” college now, the pupil of Goodall, Keate, or Plumptre was of a maturer sort than is now to be found among the denizens of Sixth Forms. He came between two ages in the history of our Public Schools, in neither of which could such literary work as here follows have been produced by a “schoolboy.” There preceded him the age in which a youth went early to the University, and early into life. There has followed the day in which “boys” at school, when no longer boys, but men in years, are held fast by discipline to boyish studies, or at any rate to boyish amusements. The circumstance that a few individuals, of great and early matured literary gifts, were assembled together under these conditions at a

single school, on two several occasions, in two successive generations, at an interval of about thirty years, operated to enrich English Literature with two graceful and unique volumes. Of the Microcosm, the best pieces are due to Canning and Frere; in the Etonian, the share of Praed surpasses and eclipses that of his contemporaries. From his University friends, indeed, he derived powerful help; there are a few lines of poetry, by William Sidney Walker, better than any of his own; and there are a few pages of prose, by Henry Nelson Coleridge, which are also better; but for sustained excellence, and for an energy and variety in production, truly extraordinary under the circumstances, Praed, and Praed only, is the hero of the Etonian; the over-[Pg 9]praised and ambitiously constructed efforts of his friend Moultrie not excepted.

After Praed left Eton, his bent led him to verse, rather than to prose, as his appropriate vehicle of expression; and it was only occasionally that he sent a prose contribution, either to Knight’s Quarterly Magazine, or to the London Magazine, or to the ephemeral pages of the Brazen Head. Two speeches of his in Parliament were “reprinted by request;” but they seem to have owed this distinction rather to the special interest, at the time, of their subject-matter, than to any exceptional finish in their literary form. They were speeches in Committee on the Reform Bills of 1831 and 1832, the one on moving as an amendment what was afterwards known as the “three-cornered constituency” arrangement; the other on moving, similarly, that freeholds within the limits of boroughs should confer votes for the borough and not for the county. His partly versified squib, “The Union Club,” in which he parodied the style and matter of the principal speakers among Cambridge undergraduates in 1822, has been included in this collection, for the

sake especially of the comical imitations of Lord Macaulay and Lord Lytton. It was written, as Macaulay himself informed me, “for Cookesley to recite at supper-parties.” The late Rev. William Gifford Cookesley, long an assistant master at Eton, who acted as Lord Beaconsfield’s cicerone when he came down to the spot to make studies for “Coningsby,” is gratefully remembered by many of his scholars for his genuine, if somewhat irregular, love of literature, and for his hearty sympathy with boyish good-fellowship. He was a contemporary of Praed’s both at[Pg 10] Eton and Cambridge, and long preserved, in maturer years, his admirable faculty of mimicry.

Among the characteristics of these pieces will be found an almost unfailing good taste; a polished style, exhibiting a sparkle, as of finely constructed verse; a strong love of sheer fun, not ungracefully indulged; a dash of affectation, inoffensive, and such as is natural in a new-comer, upon whom the eyes of his circle have, by no fault of his, been drawn; a healthy, breezy spirit, redolent of the playing-fields; and a hearty appreciation of the pleasures arising from a first fresh plunge into the waters of literature. Powers of observation are shown of no mean order, and powers, also, of putting in a strong light, whether attractive or ridiculous, the more obvious features of everyday characters. These powers afterwards ripened into a truly admirable skill of political and social verse-writing; and they showed signs of deepening into a more forcible satiric power, tempered with humour, as his too short career drew towards its end.

Praed is moreover especially to be commended in that he is never dull. Although free from “sensationalism,” he is not forgetful that the first business of a writer is—to be read. There are gentle lessons of good manners, of unselfishness, and of chivalry, to be read in his pages; they are not loudly trumpeted, but there they are; there is also a sincere respect for great minds and for good work in literature, enlivened, not neutralized, by unfailing high spirits. One could dispense, certainly, with some of his antithesis; perhaps with all his punning; but life is not so short, or so lively in itself, as to leave us no time to be[Pg 11] amused, and no ground for gratitude to the writers who amuse us.

The only omissions from this collection are, besides the speeches above mentioned, the prefaces contributed, in the taste of the day, to the several numbers of the Etonian, under the title “The King of Clubs,” and to Knight’s Quarterly Magazine, under the title “Castle Vernon.” These are lively in their way, but unequal, and full of allusions which would require notes to make them intelligible. Occasionally, too, they are padded out with contributory matter by other hands. One rather ambitious failure, to be found in the Etonian, “On Silent Sorrow,” has also been omitted, and will not be missed.

It should be added, that the leading articles of the Morning Post newspaper, from August 1832 to some time in the autumn of 1834, were for the most part of Praed’s writing. Many of them are exceedingly well written; but their contents are, of necessity, too ephemeral for reproduction in these pages.

GEORGE YOUNG.

October 1887.[Pg 13][Pg 12]

RHYME AND REASON.

He whose life has not been one continued monotony; he who has been susceptible of different passions, opposite in their origins and effects, needs not to be told that the same objects, the same scenes, the same incidents, strike us in a variety of lights, according to the temper and inclination with which we survey them. To borrow an illustration from external scenes,—if we are situated in the centre of a shady valley, our view is confined and our prospect bounded; but if we ascend the topmost heights of the mountain by which that valley is overshadowed, the eye wanders luxuriantly over a perpetual succession of beautiful objects, until the mental faculties appear to catch new freedom from the extension of the sight; we breathe a purer air, and are inspired with purer emotions.

Thus it is with men who differ from each other in their tastes, their studies, or their professions. They look on the same external objects with a different internal perception, and the view which they take of surrounding scenes is beautified or distorted, according to their predominant pursuit or their prevailing inclination.

We were led into this train of ideas by a visit which we lately paid to an old friend, who, from a strong taste for[Pg 14] agricultural pursuits, has abandoned the splendour and absurdity of a town life, and devoted to the cultivation of a large farming establishment, in a picturesque part of England, all the advantages of a strong judgment and a good education. His brother, on the contrary, who was a resident at the farm during our visit, has less of sound understanding than of ardent genius, and is more remarkable for the warmth of his heart than the soundness of his head. In short, to describe them in a word, Jonathan sees with the eye of a merchant, and Charles with that of an enthusiast; Jonathan is a man of business, and Charles is a poet. The contrast between their tempers is frequently the theme of conversation at the social meetings of the neighbourhood; and it is always found that the old and the grave shake their heads at the almost boyish enthusiasm of Charles, while the young and the imprudent indulge in severe sarcasms at the mercenary and

uninspired moderation of his brother. All parties, however, concur in admiring the uninterrupted cordiality which subsists between them, and in laughing good-humouredly at the various whims and foibles of these opposite characters, who are known throughout the country by the titles of Rhyme and Reason.

We arrived at the farm as Jonathan was sitting down to his substantial breakfast. We were delighted to see our old friend, now in the decline of life, answering so exactly the description of Cowper—

We felt an inward satisfaction in contemplating his frieze coat, whose début we remember to have witnessed five years ago, and in speculating upon the snows which five additional winters had left upon his head since our last interview. It was some time before we recovered sufficiently from our reverie to inquire after the well-being of our younger companion, who had not yet made his appearance at the board. “Oh!” said Jonathan, “Charles is in his heyday years; we must indulge him for the present; we can’t expect such regularity from five-and-twenty as from six-and-fifty.” He had hardly done speaking when a loud[Pg 15] halloo sounded as an avant-courier of Charles’s approach, and in less than a minute he presented himself before us. “Ten thousand pardons!” he cried. “One’s enough,” said his brother. “I’ve seen the finest sunrise,” said Charles. “You’re wet through,” said Jonathan. “I’m all over rapture,” said Rhyme. “You’re all over dirt,” said Reason.

With some difficulty Charles was persuaded to retire for the re-adjustment of his dress, while the old man continued his meal with a composure which proved he was not unused to the morning excursions of his volatile yoke-fellow. By the time he had got through his beefsteak, and three columns of the Courier, Charles re-entered, and despatched the business of eating with a rapidity in which many a modern half-starved rhymer would be glad to emulate him. A walk was immediately proposed; but the one had scarcely reached an umbrella, and the other prepared his manuscript book, when a slight shower of rain prevented our design. “Provoking,” said Rhyme. “Good for the crop,” said Reason.

The shower, however, soon ceased, and a fine clear sun encouraged us to resume our intentions, without fear of a second disappointment. As we walked over the estate, we were struck with the improvements made by our friend, both as regarded the comfort and the value of the property; while now and then we could not suppress a smile on observing the rustic arbour which Charles had designed, or the verses which he had inscribed on our favourite old oak.

It was determined that we should ascend a neighbouring hill, which was dear to us from its having been the principal scene of our boyhood’s amusements. “We must make haste,” said Charles, “or we shall miss the view.” “We must make haste,” said Jonathan, “or we shall catch cold on our return.” Their actions seemed always to amalgamate, though their motives were always different. We observed a tenant of our friend ploughing a small field, and stopped a short time to regard the contented appearance of the man, and the cheerful whistle with which he called to his cattle. “Beatus ille qui procul negotiis,” said the poet. “A poor team, though,” said his brother.

[Pg 16]

Our attention was next excited by a level meadow, whose green hue, set off by the mixture of the white fleeces of a beautiful flock of sheep, was, to the observer of Nature, a more enviable sight than the most studied landscape of Gainsborough’s pencil. “Lovely colours!” ejaculated Charles. “Fine mutton,” observed Jonathan. “Delightful scene for a rustic hop!” cried the enthusiast. “I am thinking of planting hops,” said the farmer.

We reached the summit of the hill, and remained for some moments in silent admiration of one of the most variegated prospects that ever the country presented to the contemplation of its most ardent admirer. The mellow verdure of the meadows, intermingled here and there with the sombre appearance of ploughed land, the cattle reclining in the shade, the cottage of the rustic peeping from behind the screen of a luxuriant hedge, formed a tout-ensemble which every eye must admire, but which few pens can describe. “A delightful landscape!” said Charles. “A rich soil,” said Jonathan. “What scope for description!” cried the first. “What scope for improvement!” returned the second.

As we returned we passed the cottage of the peasant whom we had seen at his plough in the morning. The family were busily engaged in their several domestic occupations. One little chubby-faced rogue was conducting Dobbin to his stable, another was helping his sister to coop up the poultry, and a third was incarcerating the swine, who made a vigorous resistance against their youthful antagonist. “Tender!” cried Rhyme—he was listening to the nightingale. “Very tender!” replied Reason—he was looking at the pigs.

As we drew near home, we met an old gentleman walking with his daughter, between whom and Charles a reciprocal attachment was said to exist. The lateness of the evening prevented much conversation, but the few words which were spoken again brought into contrast the opposite tempers of my friends. “A fine evening, Madam,” said the man of sense, and bowed. “I shall see you to-morrow, Mary!” said the lover, and pressed her hand. We looked back upon her as she left us. After a pause: “She is an angel!” sighed Charles. “She is an heiress,” observed Jonathan. “She has ten thousand perfections,[Pg 17]” cried Rhyme. “She has ten thousand pounds,” said Reason.

We left them the next morning, and spent some days in speculations on the causes which enabled such union of affections to exist with such diversities of taste. For ourselves, we must confess that, while Reason has secured our esteem, Rhyme has run away with our hearts; we have sometimes thought with Jonathan, but we have always felt with Charles.

ON THE PRACTICAL BATHOS.