The Sexagenarian; or, the recollections of a literary life, in two volumes. Vol. II.

THE SEXAGENARIAN; OR, THE RECOLLECTIONS OF A LITERARY LIFE.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

London: PRINTED FOR F. C. AND J. RIVINGTON, NO. 62, ST. PAUL’S CHURCH-YARD; By R. and R. Gilbert, St. John’s Square, Clerkenwell

1817.

[1]

CHAPTER I.

The next personage of whom some detached and mutilated memorandums present themselves, must be an object of conjecture, but the peculiarities concerning him are very striking, and the changes of his character and conduct so very considerable, that it may not be unamusing to some readers, to look back on the last twenty-five years, and endeavour to discover to whom they will apply.

The individual alluded to in our Manuscript, is mentioned as having been educated in the principles of the Dissenters, and to have officiated in earlier life as a clerk in some manufactory, or with some merchant, at Liverpool. It may be questioned, whether he ever entirely got rid of his former prejudices, but on some occasion or other, he chose to offer himself to the Bishop of Landaff[2] as a candidate for orders. By him he was ordained, and he rendered himself so acceptable to the Bishop, that he made him his Chaplain. Preferment he had none to give him, at least no opportunity of making provision for his Chaplain presented itself, and the subject of this article was for a long series of years confined to a scanty income, obtained from laborious curacies, and from the not much more tolerable labour of pen-drudgery for booksellers.

With his entrance into holy orders, the spirit of orthodoxy and loyalty did not immediately accompany him. His more intimate associates were still those, who, on all occasions, avowed and practised hostility to the Established Church, and friendship for French principles; and he so far forgot himself, that for a time, at least, he was an active member of the famous, or rather infamous, Corresponding Society. His very particular friends were Mr. Stone, Helen Maria Williams, Mr. Holcroft, Mrs. Wolstoncroft, Dr. Priestley, Dr. Kippis—et id genus omne.

In this interval he published sermons, which were well received, some essays, rather heavy, but which indicated powers of thinking. He translated a very popular theological work, and this with so much success, that it introduced him to the notice of an excellent and venerable prelate, who has before been named, and who always eagerly sought[3] opportunities of distinguishing and rewarding literary exertions, particularly such as promised to be useful to the Church.

Our gentleman had then the discretion to withdraw his name from the above-mentioned society, and demonstrated a little more circumspection, with respect to those with whom he associated. He however married a rigid Dissenter, to whom he eventually owed the prosperity, which attended his close of life.

By a concurrent series of fortunate circumstances, he was finally introduced to the Premier, and employed by him in some confidential services. The consequence of this was preferment so considerable as to secure a perfect independence.

His publications were very numerous, and he had obtained a sort of name among publishers, which occasioned many manuscripts of authors to be confided to him for revision and correction. Among others, he superintended the very popular work by Colonel Drinkwater, on the siege of Gibraltar. It is, however, to be apprehended, that he sometimes allowed his name to be prefixed, when he had not a great deal to do with the substance and body of the work.

And so much for Dr. ⸺.

[4]

CHAPTER II.

The vicissitudes of fortune, of principles, and of conduct, which characterised the individual above introduced, not improbably brought to the recollection of the Sexagenarian, another personage of still more eccentric and contradictory qualities. For immediately succeeding the above sketch, after the erasure of some lines, in which occur the words inconsistency, unprincipled, uncommonly good luck, we find the following observations:—

I have often regretted that on leaving his society, I did not constantly write down the good things[5] said by John Wilkes. I transcribe from memory these few particulars concerning him, and I may perhaps hereafter increase the catalogue.

He was really a sad dog, but most delightfully amusing, facetious, witty, well-informed, and with much various, though not profound learning.

He was sometimes so intolerably sarcastic, and more particularly at the expence of his friends in the city, that the wonder is, how he could so long continue in their good graces. He never put any restraint upon himself, when in company, on the other side of Temple-bar, but indulged in all the satire of his wit, at the citizen’s expence. A few examples, among a hundred that could easily be given, may suffice.

When confined in the King’s Bench, he was waited upon by a deputation from some ward in the city, when the office of alderman was vacant. As there had already been great fermentation on his account, and much more apprehended, they who were deputed, undertook to remonstrate with Wilkes on the danger to the public peace, which would result from his offering himself as a candidate on the present occasion, and expressed the hope that he would at least wait till some more suitable opportunity presented itself. But they mistook their man; this was with him an additional motive for persevering in his first intentions. After[6] much useless conversation, one of the deputies at length exclaimed, “Well, Mr. Wilkes, if you are thus determined, we must take the sense of the ward.” “With all my heart,” replied Wilkes, “I will take the non-sense, and beat you ten to one.”

Upon another occasion, Wilkes attended a city dinner, not long after his promotion to city-honours. Among the guests was a noisy vulgar deputy, a great glutton, who, on his entering the dinner room, always with great deliberation took off his wig, suspended it on a pin, and with due solemnity put on a white cotton night-cap. Wilkes, who certainly was a high-bred man, and never accustomed to similar exhibitions, could not take his eyes from so strange and novel a picture. At length, the deputy, with unblushing familiarity, walked up to Wilkes, and asked him whether he did not think that his night-cap became him? “Oh! Yes, Sir,” replied Wilkes, “but it would look much better if it was pulled quite over your face.”

Wilkes’s dislike of the Scotch was sufficiently notorious, yet he was very partial to Boswell, and often sought his society. I dined with him once, (loquitur Sexagenarius noster) when, among some enlightened people, was present a heavy, stupid, consequential fellow, who held some city office, and who often, in the course of the conversation, treated Wilkes with much rudeness. It seemed that Wilkes[7] and Boswell had met in Italy, and had ascended to the top of Vesuvius together. They recapitulated various circumstances of their expedition with much pleasantness and good-humour: and among other things, Boswell reminded Wilkes, with no ordinary satisfaction, of the exquisite Lacryma Christi, which they had found at a hermitage for the accommodation of travellers, half-way up the mountain: “Pray brother Wilkes,” said the citizen, “what is Lacryma Christi?” The answer which is here omitted, joined the most perfect wit, to the grossest blasphemy.

But neither would Wilkes spare Boswell, or conceal before him his prejudices against the Scotch nation. He seemed to seize, with particular avidity, every opportunity to play upon Boswell, when any thing relating to Scotland was introduced. “You must acknowledge, my friend Wilkes,” observed Boswell one day, “that the approach to Edinburgh from the London road, presents a very picturesque and interesting picture.” “Why so it perhaps may,” returned Wilkes, “but when I was there, the wind was in my face, and it brought with it such a confounded stink, that I was obliged to keep my handkerchief to my nose, the whole of the way, and could see nothing of the prospect.”

Not long afterwards, Boswell was speaking of some Scotch nobleman, who was very fond of planting, and had ornamented his domain with some very[8] fine and beautiful forest-trees. “Where could this possibly be,” said Wilkes; “I travelled through the country with an American servant, and after we had visited various places in different parts of Scotland, I enquired of him what his general opinion was of the country?” “Oh, Sir!” replied the American, “it is finely cleared.”

There was a heavy Lord Mayor in Wilkes’s time, who, by persevering steadily in the pursuit of one object, accumulated an immense fortune, and rose progressively from the dignity of Common-councilman to the State-coach, and the Mansion-house. His first entrance into life was as a common bricklayer. At one of the Old Bailey dinners, his lordship, after a sumptuous repast on turbot and venison, was eating an immense quantity of butter with his cheese—“Why brother,” said Wilkes, “you lay it on with a trowel.”

There is a singular anecdote of this same Lord Mayor, demonstrative of the parsimonious principles, by the exercise of which he doubtless rose to opulence. His only son was brought up in the same mean profession, and one day fell from a scaffold, and was killed by the fall. The father, who was present, on seeing the accident, only exclaimed, “Take care of his watch.”

In the riots of the year 1780, which at the same time endangered and disgraced the metropolis,[9] Wilkes was lamenting the ungovernable violence of a London mob;—upon this, some brother citizen took him up shortly, and reminded him of the disturbances of which he had formerly been the occasion. “Sir,” returned Wilkes, “I never was a Wilkite.”

He was not apt to express outwardly any thing like chagrin or mortification, but he certainly took his disappointment at Brentford, the last time that he offered himself as candidate for Middlesex, very heavily to heart. “I should much have liked,” he would say, “to have died in my geers.” Upon a similar occasion he exclaimed, “I can only compare myself to an exhausted volcano.”

Among other peculiarities and contradictions which marked Wilkes’s character, was a passion he had for collecting bibles, of which he had certainly obtained a great number of curious editions. But he was nevertheless consistent in his profligacy, and whenever the subject of religion or scripture was introduced, treated both with the keenest ridicule.

He called one morning upon a friend who resided in a very close and retired situation in the city, but who had a small opening before his house, of a few yards square, and two plants, which once looked like lilacs, in large tubs, adorned his windows. Men were employed in painting the outside of the[10] house. “Brother,” said Wilkes to his friend, “suffer me to plead in behalf of these two poor lilacs in the tubs; pray let them be painted too.”

Wilkes was particularly fond of the society of learned men, though not by any means profoundly erudite himself. On some distinguished Greek scholar being named to him, he expressed a great desire to have his acquaintance. “Pray make me know him,” says Wilkes, “and tell him I should very much like pergræcari[1] with him.” To which the person alluded to would have made no kind of objection.

There were other broken and unfinished scraps in the Manuscript about Wilkes, which in appearance were intended to revive the recollection of circumstances to be detailed at some hour of leisure. There is, however, this remark at the end.

Wilkes was of that distinguished eminence for facetiousness and humour, it may indeed be said for wit, that it was the fashion of the day to ascribe any very striking and popular bon mot to him, and about the time of his disappearing from the stage, to him or Jekyll. They have both, in all probability, had the reputation of saying what neither of them ever uttered; though both were eminently[11] distinguished for saying naturally and unaffectedly innumerable good things.

A few of these children of questionable parentage are preserved. No matter to which of the above, or to whom, they belong.

Querist.—Where, observed a Roman Catholic, in warm dispute with a Protestant, where was your religion before Luther?

Q. Did you wash your face this morning?

A. Yes.

Q. Where was your face before it was washed?

I wish you at the devil, said somebody to Wilkes.

I don’t wish you there.

Why.

Because I never wish to meet you again.

Where the devil do you come from? said Wilkes, to a beggar in the Isle of Wight.

From the devil.

What is there going on there?

Much the same as here.

What’s that?

The rich taken in, and the poor kept out.

The following may with greater probability be assigned to Jekyll than to Wilkes.

[12]

Your friend N. is married.

To whom?

The tall Miss G.

What to that thin lankey piece of furniture: it could not be from the lust of the flesh, for she has not an ounce upon her.

At a dinner where great satisfaction was expressed, it was facetiously proposed that the president should proceed to the kitchen, and kiss the cook.

That, observed ⸺, would be a salute at Spithead.

When a certain popular nobleman was appointed to the green ribband, he met his facetious friend, who warmly congratulated him on his new dignity, and green ribband. Yes, said the nobleman, but you will find me the same man still. Why, then returned the wit, you shall be the Green Man and Still.

A pert young lady was walking one morning on the Steyne, at Brighton, when she encountered our facetious friend. You see, Mr. ⸺, I am come out for a little sun and air.

You had better, Madam, get a little husband first.

[13]

The above are a few of the facetious apopthegms, which seemed, in the opinion of the Sexagenarian to merit preservation. There are others in the Manuscript, but they are either more familiar, or less interesting. Contrasted to the above, are two extraordinary instances of ignorance, which appear to have been written down as marvellous examples of a total want of comprehension and intelligence.

A woman of decent appearance came into a stationer’s shop, where the Sexagenarian was present, and desired to purchase a pen, for which she paid a penny. On receiving it, she returned it with the observation, that it was good for nothing. Another was given her, but she gave this also back again, with the same remark. On being asked what fault she had to find with them—“Why how,” she returned, “could they possibly be good for any thing, when both had a slit at the end.”

The other instance is no less curious, and also happened in the presence of our friend.

A female came into a bookseller’s shop with a slip of paper in her hand, upon which was written a verse from Scripture, with the proper reference to the place from whence it was taken.

“I want,” said she, “the sermon on that text, and two of my neighbours will each be glad of one also.” The bookseller surprised, enquired whose sermon it was. “Our curate’s,” she replied,[14] “and he preached it last Sunday.” On being asked whether she knew if it had been printed, she was a little displeased, and pettishly observed, “how could it be preached if it had not been printed.” No explanation or remonstrance availed to satisfy, and she left the shop, convinced that the bookseller could, if he had thought proper, have accommodated her with what she wanted.

[15]

Temeritas est videlicet florentis ætatis, prudentia senescentis.

Adolescentia sola est invalida viribus, infirma consiliis, vitio calens, fastidiosa monitoribus, illecebrosa deliciis.

CHAPTER III.

A literary life, like adversity, introduces a man to strange and opposite acquaintance. Genius, talent, and learning, are not limited to rank or station, and the ingenuous desire of receiving, as well as of communicating information, induces an individual of such propensities to put aside those prejudices, which marked differences of opinion in creeds and in politics, have an inavoidable tendency to excite. That such were the feelings, and such the circumstances of our venerable friend, at a certain period of his life, appear from the following loose memoranda, which he evidently intended, at some period or other, to arrange and methodize.

What shall that individual alledge, to ward off and repel the charge of inconsistency, who began[16] his career in life under the auspices of James Townsend, of Bruce Castle, of the patriotic Aldermen Sawbridge and Oliver; who confesses that he spent agreeable hours with Price and Priestley, and Horne Tooke, and Major Cartwright; and Kippis; and afterwards with a well known popular Baronet, and Dr. Disney, and Walker of Liverpool, and very many others of this description. The same person in the decline of life, had no friends, associates, or indeed acquaintance, but with individuals whose principles, sentiments, and conduct, were as diametrically opposite, to those of the characters above named, as light to darkness.

The fact is to be thus explained:—The first entrance into life must be incidental altogether; our first connexions are unavoidably those of our relatives, and their friends and associates; principles are unfolded only by time and experience, and then it is, that intimacies and attachments are formed and confirmed by similarity of taste, sentiments, and pursuits. Our Sexagenarian, as appears from his notes, first lived, where almost the whole of what might properly be denominated taste and learning, was confined to the Dissenters. Mark, reader, not Methodists; never was much taste or learning visible among these sectaries, but among the old Presbyterians, who constituted, in the place alluded to, both a numerous and respectable class.[17] Neither did the word Presbyterian by any means imply “an immoral man, a pestilent citizen, or a disloyal subject.” He was therefore and of necessity compelled, though firm and immoveable in his own religious tenets, to associate much and familiarly with them in order to participate in common in the literary barter, which was carried on

with much fairness and liberality on all sides.

Afterwards having formed a tender domestic connection, the ramification from which, drew him not unwilling to the metropolis; his family engagements threw him abruptly, and in the heat of the American war, amidst “a croud of patriots,” many of whose names have before been mentioned. Young and inexperienced, dazzled with the name of liberty, confounded by subtleties of argument, which, if he could not accurately analyze, he was still unable to confute; and lastly, with the prospect placed before him of ease and independence, can it excite surprise, that he should get entangled in a net, of which the meshes were at the same time so fine, as to elude detection, and too strong to allow of escape?

Politics, however, was not the subject for which he was best qualified, nor did they ever interest his affections, or exercise the better powers of his mind. He was rather the instrument than the operator, and he confesses that he has often looked back with[18] a sort of shame and compunction, at having been, sometimes, the means of circulating ingredients, of the full tendency of which he was then unconscious, but which he has since ascertained to have developed some of those poisonous seeds, the pernicious effects of which, Europe, nay the whole world, has for the last five and twenty years experienced.