THE POETICAL WORKS OF CHARLES CHURCHILL.

With Memoir, Critical Dissertation, and Explanatory Notes,

By The REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN.

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CHURCHILL—HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS.

In Churchill we find a signal specimen of a considerable class of writers, concerning whom Goldsmith's words are true—

"Who, born for the universe, narrow'd their mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind."

Possessed of powers and natural endowments which might have made him, under favourable circumstances, a poet, a hero, a man, and a saint, he became, partly through his own fault, and partly through the force of destiny, a satirist, an unfortunate politician, a profligate, died early; and we must approach his corpse, as men do those of Burns and Byron, with sorrow, wonder, admiration, and blame, blended into one strange, complex, and yet not unnatural emotion. Like them, his life was short and unhappy—his career triumphant, yet checquered—his powers uncultivated—his passions unchecked—his poetry only a partial discovery of his genius—his end sudden and melancholy—and his reputation, and future place in the history of letters, hitherto somewhat uncertain. And yet, like them, his very faults and errors, both as a man and a poet, have acted, with many, as nails, fastening to a "sure place" his reputation and the effect of his genius.

Charles Churchill was born in Vine Street, Westminster, in February 1731. He was the eldest son of the Rev. Charles Churchill, a rector in Essex, as well as a curate, and lecturer of St John the Evangelist, Westminster. As to the attainments of the poet's father, we know only that he was qualified to superintend the studies of the son, during the intervals of public tuition. At eight years of age, he was sent to Westminster School, and placed under the care of Dr Nichols and Dr Pierson Lloyd, where his proficiency in classical lore was by no means remarkable; nor did he give any promise of the brilliance which afterwards distinguished his genius. At fifteen, he stood as candidate for admission to the foundation at Westminster, and carried it triumphantly. Shortly after, having by some misdemeanour displeased the masters, he was compelled to compose, and recite in the school-room, a poetical declamation in Latin, by way of penance. This he accomplished in a masterly manner—to the astonishment of his masters, and the delight of his school-fellows—some of whom

became afterwards distinguished men. We can fancy the scene at the day of the recitation—the grave and big-wigged schoolmasters looking grimly on—their aspect, however, becoming softer and brighter, as one large hexameter rolls out after another—the strong, awkward, ugly boy, unblushingly pouring forth his energetic lines—cheered by the sight of the relaxing gravity of his teachers' looks—while around, you see the bashful tremulous figure of poor Cowper, the small thin shape and bright eye of Warren Hastings, and the waggish countenance of Colman—all eagerly watching the reciter—and all, at last, distended and brightened with joy at his signal triumph.

At the age of eighteen, he stood for a fellowship in Merton College, but without success—being defeated by older candidates. Shortly after, he applied for matriculation at the University of Oxford, but is SAID to have been rejected at his examination, in which, instead of answering the questions proposed, he broke out into satirical reflections on the abilities of his judges. From Oxford he repaired to Cambridge, where he was admitted into Trinity College. Here, however, his stay was very short,—he was probably repelled by the chevaux-de-frise of the mathematics;—and in a few weeks he returned to London, disgusted at both universities, shaking their dust off his feet, and, perhaps, vowing vengeance against them—a vow which he has kept in his poetry. In his "Ghost," for instance, he thus ridiculed those forms of admission—

"Which Balaam's ass As well as Balaam's self might pass, And with his master take degrees, Could he contrive to pay the fees."

Penniless, and soured by disappointment, Churchill returned to his father's house; and, being idle, soon obtained work from the proverbial "taskmaster" of all idle people. Having become acquainted with a young lady, named Scott, whose father lived in the vicinity of Westminster School, he, with true poetic imprudence, married her privately in the Fleet, to the great annoyance of both their parents. His father, however, was much attached to and proud of his son, and at last was reconciled to the match, and took the young couple home. Churchill passed one quiet domestic year under the paternal roof. At its termination—for reasons which are not known—he retired to Sunderland, in the north of England, and seems there to have applied himself enthusiastically to the study of poetry—commencing, at the same time, a course of theological reading, with a view to the Church. He remained in Sunderland till the year 1753, when he came back to London to take possession of a small fortune which accrued to him through his wife. He had now reached the age of

twenty-two, and had been three years married.

During the residence in the metropolis which succeeded, he frequented the theatres, and came thus in contact with a field where he was to gather his earliest and most untarnished laurels. In "The Rosciad," we find the results of several years' keen and close observation of the actors of the period, collected into one focus, and pointed and irradiated by the power of genius. As Scott, while carelessly galloping in his youth through Liddesdale, and listening to ballads and old-world stories, was "making himself" into the mighty minstrel of the border—so this big, clumsy, overgrown student, seated in the pit of Drury Lane, or exalted to the one-shilling gallery of Covent Garden, was silently growing into the greatest poet of the stage that, perhaps, ever lived.

Soon after, he was ordained deacon by the Bishop of Bath and Wells, on the curacy of Cadbury, in Somersetshire, where he immediately removed, and entered on a career of active ministerial work. Such were the golden opinions he gained in Cadbury, that, in 1756, although he had taken no degree, nor could be said to have studied at either of the universities, he was ordained priest by Dr Sherlock, the Bishop of London (celebrated for his Sermons and his "Trial of the Witnesses"), on his father's curacy of Rainham, Essex. Here he continued diligent in his pastoral duties—blameless in his conduct, and attentive to his theological studies. He seemed to have entirely escaped from the suction of the stage—to have forsworn the Muses, and to have turned the eye of his ambition away from the peaks of Parnassus to the summit of the Bishops' Bench.

But for Churchill's poor circumstances, it is likely that he would have reached this elevation, as surely as did his great contemporary, and the object of his implacable hatred and abuse, William Warburton. But his early marriage, and his increasing responsibilities, produced pecuniary embarrassments, and these must have tended gradually to sour him against his profession, and to prepare his mind for that rupture with it which ultimately ensued. To support himself and his family, he opened a school, and met with considerable encouragement—although we suspect that his scholars felt something of the spirit of the future satirist stirring in the motions of his rod, and that he who afterwards lashed his century did not spare his school. In the year 1758, his amiable and excellent father died, and (a striking testimony both to his own and his son's early worth) Charles was unanimously chosen to be his father's successor in the curacy and lectureship of St John's. There he laboured for a time, according to some statements, with much punctuality, energy, and

acceptance. After "The Rosciad" had established his name, he sold ten of the sermons he had preached in St John's to a bookseller for £250. We have not read them; but Dr Kippis has pronounced them utterly unworthy of their author's fame—without a single gleam of his poetic fire—so poor, indeed, that he supposes that they were borrowed from some dull elderly divine, if not from Churchill's own father. This reminds us of a story which was lately communicated to us about the famous William Godwin. He, too, succeeded his father in his pastoral charge. Tinged, however, already with heterodox views, he was by no means so popular as his father had been. His own sermons were exceedingly cold and dry, but he possessed a chestful of his father's, and used to read them frequently, by way of grateful change to his hearers. The sermons of the elder Godwin were recognised by the orthodoxy of their sentiment, and the dinginess of their colour, and were much relished; and so long as the stock lasted, the future author of "Caleb Williams" commanded a tolerable audience; but

so soon as he had read them all, and resumed his own lucubrations, his hearers melted away, and he moved off to become a literateur in London. Perhaps Churchill, in like manner, may have found that general audiences like plain sense better than poetry. That he had ever much real piety or zeal has been gravely doubted, and we share in the doubts. But although he himself speaks slightingly, in one of his latter poems, of his ministerial labours, he at least played his part with outward decorum. His great objection to the office was still his small salary, which amounted to scarcely £100 per annum. This compelled him to resume the occupation of a tutor, first to the young ladies attending a boarding-school in Queen Square, Bloomsbury, and then to several young gentlemen who were prosecuting the study of the classics.

When about twenty-seven years of age, he renewed his acquaintance with Robert Lloyd, the son of Dr Lloyd, one of the masters of Westminster School, and who had been an early chum of Churchill's. This young man had discovered very promising abilities, alike at Westminster and at Cambridge, and had been appointed usher in his father's seminary; but, sick of the drudgery, and infected with a fierce thirst both for fame and pleasure, had flung himself upon the literary arena. Although far inferior to Churchill in genius, and indeed little better than a clever copyist of his manner, he exerted a very pernicious influence on his friend's conduct. He borrowed inspiration from Churchill, and gave him infamy in exchange. The poet could do nothing by halves. Along with Lloyd, he rushed into a wild career of dissipation. He became a nightly frequenter of the theatres, taverns, and worse haunts. His wife, with whom, after the first year, he never seems to have been happy, instead of checking, outran her husband in extravagance and imprudence. He got

deeply involved in debt, and was repeatedly in danger of imprisonment, till Dr Lloyd, his friend's father, nobly stept forward to his relief, persuaded his creditors to accept five shillings in the pound, and himself lent what was required to complete the sum. It is said that, when afterwards Churchill had made money by the sale of his poems, he voluntarily paid the whole of the original debt.

Along with the new love of indulgence, there had arisen in his bosom the old love of verse. Stimulated by intercourse with Lloyd, Colman, B. Thornton, and other wits of the period, he had written a poem, in Hudibrastic rhyme, entitled "The Bard." This he offered to one Waller, a bookseller in Fleet Street, who rejected it with scorn. In this feeling Churchill seems afterwards to have shared, as he never would consent to its publication. Not at all discouraged, he sat down and wrote a satire entitled "The Conclave," directed against the Dean and Chapter of Westminster,—Dr Zachary Pearce, a favourite of Churchill's ire, being then Dean. This would have been published but for the fear of legal proceedings. It was extremely personal and severe. His third effort was destined to be more successful. This was "The Rosciad," written, it is said, after two months' close attendance on the theatres. This excessively clever satire he offered to various booksellers, some say for twenty pounds, others for five guineas. It was refused, and he had to

print it at his own expense. It appeared, without his name, in March 1761. Churchill now, like Byron, "awoke one morning and found himself famous." A few days convinced him and all men that a decided hit had been made, and that a strong new satirist had burst, like a comet, into the sky—

"With fear of change perplexing" players.

The effect was prodigious. The critics admired—the victims of his satire writhed and raved—the public greedily bought, and all cried out, "Who can this be?" The Critical Review, then conducted by Smollett, alone opposed the general opinion. It accused Colman and Lloyd of having concocted "The Rosciad," for the purpose of puffing themselves. This compelled Churchill to quit his mask. He announced his name as the author of the poem, and as preparing another—his "Apology"—addressed to the Critical Reviewers, which accordingly appeared ere the close of April. It proved a second bombshell, cast into the astonished town. Smollett was keenly assailed in it, and had to write to Churchill, through Garrick, that he was not the writer of the obnoxious critique. Garrick, himself the hero of "The Rosciad," was here rather broadly reminded that heroes are mortal, and that kings may be dethroned, and had to make humiliating concessions to the fearless satirist. Fearless, indeed, and strong he required to be, for many of his victims had vowed loud and deep to avenge

their quarrel by inflicting corporal chastisement on their foe. He armed himself with a huge bludgeon, however, and stalked abroad and returned home unharmed and unattempted. None cared to meddle with such a brawny Hercules.

In another way his enemies soon had their revenge. He had gained one thousand pounds by his two poems, and this supplied him with the materials of unlimited indulgence, which he did not fail to use. He threw off every restraint. He donned, instead of his clerical costume, a blue coat and gold-laced waistcoat. He separated from his wife, giving her, indeed, a handsome allowance. His midnight potations became deeper and more habitual. Dean Zachary Pearce, afterwards Bishop of Rochester, in vain remonstrated. At last, on his parishioners taking the matter up, and raising an outcry as to his neglect of duty, and the unbecoming character of his dress, he resigned his curacy and lectureship, and became for the rest of his life a literary and dissipated "man about town."

In October 1761 he published a poem entitled "Night," addressed to Lloyd, in which, while seeking to vindicate himself from the charges against his morale, he in reality glories in his shame. His sudden celebrity had perhaps acted as a glare of light, revealing faults that might have been overlooked in an obscure person. With his dissipation, too, there mingled some elements of generosity and compassion, as in the story told of him by Charles Johnson in his "Chrysal" of the poet succouring a poor starving girl of the town, whom he met in the midnight streets,—an incident reminding one of the similar stories told of Dr Johnson, and Burke, and realising the parable of the good Samaritan. Yet his conduct on the whole could not be defended.

His next poem was "The Ghost," which he published in parts, and continued at intervals. It was a kind of rhymed diary or waste-book, in which he deposited his every-day thoughts and feelings, without any order or plan,—reminding us of "Tristram Shandy" or of "Don Juan," although not so whimsically delightful as the former, nor so brilliant and poignant as the latter.

But now, in 1762, the Poet was to degrade or to sublimate into the Politician, at the bidding of that gay magician, Jack Wilkes. That this man was much better than a clever and pre-eminently lucky scoundrel, is now denied by few. He had, indeed, immense pluck and convivial pleasantry, with considerable learning and talent. But he had no principle, no character, little power of writing, and did not even possess a particle of that mob eloquence which seduces multitudes. His depravities and vices were far too gross even for that gross age. In the very height of his reputation for patriotism, he was intriguing with the ministry for a place for himself. And he became in his latter days, as Burke had predicted (for we strongly suspect that Burke wrote the words in "Junius"), "a silent senator," sate down "infamous and contented,"—proving that it had only been "the tempest which had lifted him from his place."

Wilkes introduced himself to Churchill, and they became speedily intimate. Soon after, indignant at the supremacy of Lord Bute, who, as a royal favourite, had obtained a power in the country which had not been equalled since Buckingham fell before the assassin Felton's knife, and was employing all his influence to patronise the Scotch, Wilkes commenced the North Briton. In this, from the first, he was assisted by Churchill, who, however, did not write prose so vigorously as verse. He had sent to the North Briton a biting paper against the Scotch. On reflection, he recalled and recast it in rhyme. It was "The Prophecy of Famine;" and became so popular as to make a whole nation his enemies, and all their enemies his friends. This completely filled up the measure of Churchill's triumph. He actually dressed his youngest son in the Highland garb, took him everywhere along with him, and instructed him to say, when asked why he was thus dressed, "Sir, my father hates the Scotch; and does it to plague them."

Lord Bute resigned early in 1763, and was succeeded by a ministry comprising such men as Sir Francis Dashwood, and Lord Sandwich, who had been intimates of Wilkes, and had shared with him in certain disgusting orgies at Medmenham Abbey. They now, however, changed their tactics, and became vehement upholders of morality and religion; and began to watch their opportunity for pouncing on their quondam associate. This he himself furnished by the famous North Briton, No. 45. That paper may now seem, to those who read it, a not very powerful, and not very daring diatribe. But the times were inflammable—the nation was frantic with rage at the peace—the ministry were young, and willing to flesh their new-got power in some victim or other; and Wilkes, in this paper, had now exposed himself to their fury. Warrants were instantly issued to arrest him and Churchill, as well as the publishers and printers. Wilkes was newly arrested when Churchill walked into his room. Knowing that his friend's name was also in the warrant, he adroitly said to Churchill,

"Good morrow, Mr Thomson; how is Mrs Thomson to-day; does she dine in the country?" The poet took the hint—said that she was waiting on him—took his leave, and retired to the country accordingly.

Immediately after occurred the controversy between Hogarth and our poet. While Wilkes's case was being tried, and Chief-Justice Pratt, afterwards Lord Camden, was about to give the memorable decision in favour of the accused, and in condemnation of general warrants, Hogarth was sitting in the court, and immortalising Wilkes's villanous squint upon the canvas. In July 1763, Churchill avenged his friend's quarrel by the savage personalities of his "Epistle to William Hogarth." Here, while lauding highly the painter's genius, he denounces his vanity, his envy, and makes an unmanly and brutal attack on his supposed dotage. Hogarth, within a month, replied by caricaturing Churchill as a bear with torn clerical bands, paws in ruffles, a pot of porter in his right hand, and a knot of LIES and North Britons in his left. Churchill threatened him with a renewed and severer assault in the shape of an elegy, but was dissuaded from it by his mistress.