Life of Edmond Malone/Chapter 14
CHAPTER XIV.
1810–1812.
About two years after the death of Mason the poet, one of his executors (Rev. John Dixon of Boughton) applied to Malone on the propriety of republishing the translation of Du Fresnoy’s Art of Painting, which with the notes of Reynolds, had been previously published by the former in his works. This led to further correspondence. Hearing that he knew Lord Orford’s executors, the same gentleman requested him to urge on them the return of Mason’s letters to his lordship, which the will of that nobleman directed, but which they had applied for in vain. Malone complied, but also failed in his application—from what cause does not appear.
This eventually led (1811) to the project of a Life of Mason. But who was to write it? Few were deemed sufficiently disposed, or in other respects qualified for the office. At length Gifford, the sharp editor of the Quarterly Review, was proposed, apparently by Malone; but he declined. Could a fiery Tory do otherwise to a Whig no less fierce? But he had ample excuse. The Review was of recent date. All his energies were required to secure contributions from the best writers; or to put in what is technically called the plumbs—that is, point, satire, or virulence—into such as required it, so as to aim at destroying that monopoly in the martyrdom of books hitherto enjoyed by the literary butchers of Edinburgh. The refusal however was couched in terms satisfactory to the reverend friend of the poet:
Though not successful in your application to Mr. Gifford, I think myself indebted for the trouble you have taken to make it so. I should have been well satisfied if so able a man had undertaken to write Mr. Mason’s life; he is so competent, from genius, knowledge, and taste, to execute it well . . . I will thank you to mention, when you see him, that I am obliged by his answer to your application; and gratified by the sentiments of a man of genius and taste, relative to Mr. Mason.
Hitherto we have seen Gifford only in his blander moods—bent on being amiable in return for the assistance cordially rendered to his studies by a stranger. But these were weaker moments—the tiger assuming the bleat of the lamb. The gall in his system lay too near the surface not to ooze through the thin layer of suavity upon the smallest provocation.
Malone, it will be remembered, had confessed to Mr. Whalley twenty years before, that he had no taste for the productions of Ben Jonson; that he had doubts whether his professions of friendship for Shakspeare were sincere. In this he was not singular, as several of the biographers and writers of the time had arrived at a similar conclusion. But when Gifford became the editor of Jonson, all these, as well as more modern men, were to be overthrown—Headley, A. Chalmers, Davies, Capell, Hurd, and others. While, as one of the late and principal offenders, Malone, then in his grave, became the primary object of abuse. The late eulogist of the living man became his reviler when dead. The terms “false, mean, base, malicious,” were liberally applied; and simple difference of opinion upon the literary merits of a writer who had lived two hundred years before, was thought sufficient to warrant language applicable only to the perpetrator of a serious moral offence. Such are some of the men who claim to be critics by profession. Habits of irresponsible abuse in anonymous criticism increase by indulgence. Native acerbity or vulgarity, thrust by accident or impudence into the chair of mere opinion, form examples not to imitate but to shun.
In reference to this gratuitous asperity, the younger Boswell justly writes:
Mr. Gifford knows not Mr. Malone’s notions of friendship. I regret that he did not know him better; for he was truly a man to be loved. I regret still more deeply that the grave has closed over a long catalogue of illustrious men, whose esteem and regard accompanied him through life, and that my feeble voice must offer that testimony to his notions of friendship which would have been borne with affectionate warmth by a Reynolds, a Burke, and a Wyndham. He was indeed a cordial and a steady friend, combining the utmost mildness with the simplest sincerity and the most manly independence. Tenacious, perhaps, of his own opinions, which he had seldom hastily formed, he was always ready to lighten with candour and good-humour to those of others. That suppleness of character which would yield without conviction, and that roughness of temper which cannot rate dissent, were equally foreign from his nature.
An amusement of his more lonely hours largely exercised about this time, was the annotation of books under perusal—general remarks, anecdotes, or details gleaned from sources not generally familiar. These, after the discontinuance of his regular memoranda, diversified the labours on Shakspeare. Spence’s Anecdotes were thus taken in hand, and such notes added as came within range of his reading or conversational sources, and were published by an anonymous editor in 1820. Another was Mrs. Piozzi’s Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson. His leanings here, as already noticed, are all against the lady whose accuracy, though there seems little to find fault with, has been on many occasions impeached. Mr. Caldwell, writing to Bishop Percy (Sept. 1806), says, on Langbaine’s catalogue of old plays—“Malone told me he had copied all the notes from the original, and has besides added thrice as many as all his predecessors.”
From statements of the junior Boswell, it appears that in conversation on the versification of Shakspeare, so many freedoms had been taken with it by the caprice of editors, that Malone was induced to undertake an express essay on his metre and phraseology. Some progress was made when death arrested this among other critical contributions. There is, however, a paper on the subject in the last edition of which we may deem Boswell to be the writer.
Another and more favourite occupation was in revising and noting reprints of Boswell’s Johnson. In this work he was more at home than with Spence. He had aided in its arrangement; added much of his own matter; revised large portions of the volumes as we have seen ere they issued from the press; and friendship for the author, added to unbounded admiration of the great man whom it commemorates, rendered success as dear to him as a production of his own. It became further dear by the request of the dying author that he would give such advice for the disposal of any of his works as his judgment should decide. This charge he faithfully fulfilled. Successive editions passed under his eye, particularly the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth, in 1799, 1804, 1807, and 1811.
His notes in a small recent edition which trench not on Mr. Croker’s labours, amount to no less than two hundred and twenty-six, exhibiting his customary research and accuracy. The younger Boswell felt grateful for the labour; and by a species of poetical justice, repaid the debt of his father by editing, according to the wish of Malone, his great work, the second edition of Shakspeare in twenty-one volumes.
Early in their acquaintance, he carried through the press the second edition of Boswell’s Tour to the Hebrides, when the author was absent in Scotland. To this likewise he gave a few notes. One is on the wit of Burke, written as if by Boswell, who, however, insisted that the credit should be surrendered to the actual writer.
In the early part of 1812 his health, which had been gradually declining, seriously gave way. Without being wholly confined, he could take little exercise; his appetite failed; the stomach imperfectly fulfilled its functions otherwise; and wasting of the frame, without material pain, ensued. Still his studies were but slightly intermitted. What he had once done he aimed to improve, when and wherever the opportunity offered. The following note, written in the spring of the year respecting some letters of Dryden kindly procured for him by a member of the Royal family, displays the pains he took in not merely accomplishing an object, but in doing it so completely that there should be as little room as possible for future improvement.
“Mr. Malone presents his compliments to Lady Ailesbury, and requests that her ladyship will accept his sincere thanks for the copies of Dryden’s letters and Lord Chesterfield’s answers, which she has had the goodness to transmit to him, and which he should have acknowledged some days, but that he has been since Friday last much out of order. He is extremely concerned to find that Lady Ailesbury has had so much trouble in obtaining these papers. Indeed, had he conceived that this could possibly have been the case, he hardly would have ventured to solicit her ladyship to undertake so difficult a negotiation.
“Were he master of those happy turns of expression for which his author was so justly celebrated, he might perhaps have endeavoured to express his sense of the goodness of her Royal Highness the Princess Elizabeth in taking so much concern in this matter. Without, however, any pretensions of that kind, he trusts he may be permitted to say that her Royal Highness’s condescension in exerting her powerful influence for the purpose of procuring copies of these literary remains of the great Dryden, evinces not only the benignity of her disposition, but her good taste and love of letters, one of the surest sources of happiness to the possessor, and no inconsiderable ornament of the highest station.
“Whenever an opportunity shall offer itself, he requests that Lady Ailesbury will have the goodness to express to her Royal Highness the sentiments of gratitude and respect imprinted upon his mind by her Royal Highness’s gracious interposition on the present occasion, which has obtained these memorials of one of our most celebrated English poets that otherwise, perhaps, might have been lost to posterity.
"F. P. Monday, March 2nd, 1812.”
Soon afterwards he proceeded to the country; but the scene, or the season, failed to give relief. Excess in long-continued study had doubtless induced aggravated dyspepsia—what hard student has escaped it?—with more or less permanent disease of the stomach. Emaciation and exhaustion of the animal powers succeeded. Instead of throwing off study, seeking home-travelling, horse exercise, seaside residence, and frequent change, the routine of remedies already adopted in town was continued. Thus we find him a solitary, comfortless patient in the middle of April, in a letter to Mrs. Smith, an intimate friend of his sisters, and near relative of the Jephsons. The utter absence of self to save the sensibility of his sisters in this extremity, evinces the thoroughly amiable qualities of this very amiable man.
"My dear Madam,—I cannot tell you how much I am obliged for your care and discretion in not mentioning my illness to my sisters, from whom I have taken great pains to conceal my present situation; for my poor Kate is in great distress about her sister, and it would quite break her heart to learn how ill I have been, and indeed am.
“Such has been my situation ever since the latter end of January, or beginning of February, under Sir Henry Halford’s care. All of a sudden I lost all my colour, and much of my flesh and strength. Halford for some time tried the usual medicines, but with little effect, and then wished I should change the air. As I have an abhorrence of public places which some recommend, I borrowed from Lady Thormond (who is in town) her house at Taplow Court, near Maidenhead, on condition of being my own purveyor; and I remained there from the 17th of March to the 13th of April (last Monday), during which I had not one soft or genial day; and though strictly following my physician’s prescriptions, do not think I derived any benefit from this movement.
“My course was half a pint of new milk in bed at half-past seven. About half-past eight I rose, dressed for the day, and walked about half an hour before breakfast. From eleven to half-past one I devoted to the newspaper and a letter or two, and a few pages of Shakspeare. Then appeared a bark draught; after that I walked two or three miles if the weather would at all permit; dinner at five; tea at eight; the bark again at ten; and so to bed. All this promised well, but had no effect, not for want of being well planned, but from that disposition, or rather indisposition, which had no tendency to be cured by medicine or air. I therefore came to town on Monday, and had a long conversation with Sir H. Halford on Wednesday, who was so good as to give me half an hour before he went to Windsor.
“He said that had happened to me which must happen to himself some time hence, and to all mankind—that there is a time with every human creature when the powers of digestion weaken, and the whole system becomes less energetic. That if I weathered this attack (and he saw no reason why I should not) he could not promise me ever to be again as in times past, but that I might live some years with tolerable health and strength. This appeared to me extremely sensible. He then ordered a new course of medicines.
“From my earliest years I have been accustomed to communicate to my dear Kate every sentiment of my heart. You may easily, therefore, conceive how distressing it has been not to let her know my real state; but it would be a terrible aggravation of her present distress; and, therefore, as soon as it is determined either that they can come to England, or not come, I will inform them of the truth. I have had two or three visitors since I began this, and it is late. My kindest love to my dear Shakspeare associate, and believe me ever,
About a fortnight more elapsed ere the secret was disclosed by himself to Lady Sunderlin. The heaviest of pressures was upon him. The shadow of the destroyer flitted around, and obviously influenced the tremulous hand that aimed to tell its story of suffering without inflicting painful recitals upon others. With the ease of his dear sisters ever in view, he attempts to prescribe for the one, and hint something like consolation to the other. The allusion to Mrs. Smith respecting his studies is almost affecting. It is, indeed, love to the last—Devotion to Shakspcare in the struggle with Death!
"My dear Lady Sunderlin,—I have this moment received a letter from Catherine, of 28th April, in which she calls on me for all the comfort I can give her. But, alas! I wanted comfort myself; and the concealment of my own illness for near three months was a sad and heavy weight on my own mind. I wrote to K. (Kate) and to my brother on the 29th April, and I think it probable they will set off before this letter can reach Dublin, and that my poor Harriet may be in bed, and that even the reading a letter may be troublesome to her, and I therefore direct this to you; and if my brother and sister should not have set off, you will, of course, on reading it communicate it to them, so that nothing will be lost.
“K. in her letter mentions that poor dear Harriet suffers excruciating pain in the coach from certain movements in the hip. Now, might not this be prevented by her going to the salt-water bath in a sedan chair, the men being instructed not to swing her high. With respect to the hip pain, which is described as similar to one that I had there when I (rode?) some twenty years ago, I believe the camphorated volatile liniment would do it some good; so pray ask Dr. Percival about it, and if he approves, apply it. As to the salt-water hot-bath, I have myself no great faith in it; for to a very weakly person, as much is lost by the relaxation as may be gained on the other side for the malady. However, we must obey the physicians. But I have great faith in the rubbing, and have proof of it in myself, for one of my symptoms has been swelling in my insteps and ankles, which have been very much removed by rubbings morning and night.
“If my brother and sister should not have set off when this arrives, I beg you will exhort them not to agitate themselves about me on their journey; for though my illness has been long and is attended with great weakness, yet there are several favourable symptoms, such as a steady, good pulse, my being able to take a good deal of nutriment at different times in the course of the day, and my sleep in general being tolerably good, though not always. My kindest love to my dear Harriet; and believe me, my dear Lady Sunderlin, most faithfully and affectionately yours,
His brother and sister Catherine soon reached Foley Place, and rendered such aid and sympathy as devoted affection could bestow. But the dart had been thrown with too fatal precision. An exhausted frame could not long sustain itself against increasing debility, former excesses in study, sedentary habits, and the weight of seventy-one years. He expired on the 25th May, 1812.
No place of sepulture had been named in his will; but Lord Sunderlin remembering a former conversation where something fell from him on the preference due to family burial-places, the body was removed to Baronston for interment.
None who knew the man but regretted the event. He had made no enemies but the worthless—such as aimed by fraud to impose upon public credulity. Those who possessed merit or character found in him a sincere friend. A kind disposition and gentlemanly manners enabled him to pass through life with few of its almost inevitable bickerings. Several tributes to his worth found their way into print. The following from an unknown correspondent, with a few additions by its editor, appeared in the journal (Gentleman’s Magazine) to which he had been a frequent contributor:—
Mr. Malone had the happiness to live with the most distinguished characters of his time. He was united in the closest intimacy with Dr. Johnson, Mr. Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Lord Charlemont, and the other members of a society which, for various talent and virtue, can never be surpassed. . . . . As an editor, this is the peculiar fame of Edmond Malone, that he could subdue the temptations to display his own wisdom or wit, and consider only the integrity of his author’s text . . . . He adhered still more pertinaciously than Mr. Steevens to the ancient copies. To obtain them was the great effort of his life; and a large part of his very moderate fortune was devoted to purchases, to him of the first necessity—to many collectors, of idle curiosity. His library was accessible to every scholar; and in any difficulty, his sagacity and experience were received and gratefully acknowledged by men themselves of profound erudition. . . . .
Since the year 1790, he had been zealously continuing those labours which in that year produced his edition of Shakspeare’s Plays and Poems. Had he lived to carry a second edition through the press, the world would have received a large accession to its knowledge of Shakspeare. From the careful habit which he had of entering every new acquisition in its proper place, and the accurate references which he made to the sources of his information, it is apprehended there will be little difficulty in carrying this design into effect. With such a stock of materials as perhaps no other man than Mr. Malone could have collected, the executor of his critical will can have no other than a delightful task.
Few men ever possessed greater command of temper; it characterized his virtues; they were all of the gentle yet steady kind. To form new friendships could hardly be expected from one who had survived the most distinguished ornaments of the world; but they left their principles to him as a legacy. . . . .His reputation as a critic will vindicate itself—as a man he needs no vindication.
As ready to communicate as to acquire information, he has left us in no doubt as to personal appearance. “I weighed at Hall Barn” (Mr. Wallers), he says, “Oct. 4th, 1791) eleven stones two pounds. Height five feet six inches and a half.” Again, in August, 1796, “weight as before.”
His face, I learn from surviving friends, was bland, quiet, and rather handsome; his manner no less agreeable and winning. The portrait by Sir Joshua in the possession of the Reverend Thomas R. Rooper of Brighton, is a good resemblance, doing him no more than justice, and has been twice engraved. One is a correct copy of this picture and has been widely circulated. The other, smaller and less pleasing, has place in Bell’s British Poets; said also to be from Sir Joshua’s pencil and engraved by Bartolozzi.[1] The date given to this print is May, 1787. It will be seen by the preceding pages that another portrait was executed by Ozias Humphrey and transmitted to Lord Charlemont, of the fidelity of which his lordship speaks highly. I have not, however, seen it. In his collection of prints of the Literary Club, his own stands number thirty-one.
The lady already mentioned, now resident in Ireland, who with her father visited him during childhood in London, thus describes his exterior:—
His countenance had a most pleasing expression of sensibility and serenity. When I saw him, his dress was unlike that of most other gentlemen of the time. He wore a light blue coat, white silk stockings, and I think buckles in his shoes. His hair was white and tied behind. I remember him taking some pains to make me recite effectively before Mr. Windham, some lines which he had taught me from one of Bishop Heber’s prize poems. . . . .
The death of Mr. Windham was deeply felt by Mr. Malone. Indeed, all his attachments were strong and durable, never neglecting their interests or gratification in smaller as in greater matters. His habits were methodical. He loved London, and seldom left it excepting for occasional excursions during the summer. James Boswell (the younger) was a frequent visitor at his house when we were there, and likewise Mr. Courtenay. . . . . That house was in Queen Anne Street East, and the only one I believe he ever inhabited in London, though one end of the street became changed to Foley Place. I remember his saying in a letter that he had gone to bed in one street, and rose in the morning in another. The house seemed to my young ideas what that of a literary man should be; handsomely, not showily furnished; a good library; and excellent pictures, chiefly I think, portraits. Everything seemed in order. He gave dinners frequently, and all said they were remarkably pleasant.
By others of riper years he was often adduced as representative of the race of English gentlemen of the old school, and became a favourite into whatever society he was thrown. Boaden, who knew him well, adverts to some of his characteristics in the Life of Kemble.
I had the melancholy task of announcing to him the death of our excellent friend, Mr. Malone. I am unable to name in the large circle of Mr. Kemble’s acquaintance, any gentleman for whom he had a more perfect esteem. He frequently alluded in conversation to the elegance of his manners; and delighted to quote him as one of the best illustrations of the old school. As a commentator on Shakspeare, Mr. Kemble greatly preferred Mr. Malone, because he saw in him unwearied diligence and most scrupulous accuracy; with an utter rejection of that self-display which had discredited, on too many occasions, the wit, learning, and labour of some of his rivals.
Some early defect of vision, increased by constant occupation on books and manuscripts, tended to keep him away from the theatre more than might be supposed. He saw no advantage in the increased size of theatres. “Whenever, after the play, he walked round to Mr. Kemble’s dressing-room where I have joined him, his usual complaint was, ‘I dare say it was a very perfect performance, but you have made your houses so large that really I can neither hear nor see in them.’ On these occasions when speaking even of Garrick, he would with the natural feeling of his country, honour Barry with a parenthesis of praise so as to extract a smile from Kemble. The chief theme seemed to be the wonderful beauty of his voice, and its effect in the thrilling ecstacies of love.”
He had no airs of assumption or presumed superiority—never put on the learned garb to silence or alarm the less knowing. “He talked of literature without a tinge of pedantry, with a seeming imitation of the laughing manner of Sir Joshua Reynolds.” Again, Boaden says, “I met at Kemble’s hospitable board with such men as either, for instruction or amusement, will not be easily excelled, with Mr. Malone and Dr. Charles Burney."
Malone forms a striking example of a life devoted almost to one literary pursuit. The object indeed was not personal but national, having employed more pens and given birth to more readers and admirers in our island than any other literary topic whatever. For this he forsook law, wealth, and probably station for unprofitable literature; and proved beyond most other men fitted for the occupation. He set out with the determination that whatever his employment, its duties should be faithfully fulfilled—that his business in life was to work. A memorandum which I found among his papers, signed with his name, contains this maxim:—“All the importunities and perplexities of business are softness and luxury compared to the incessant demands of vacancy and the unsatisfactory expedients of idleness.”
If our ancient poetry and drama be really objects of national interest as the most eminent scholars maintain, we owe him serious obligations. He brought many useful qualities to the investigation—laborious habits, keen spirit of research, love of antiquity, and determination to explore farther and dive deeper than any of his predecessors. He saw as he advanced many new points of inquiry opening before him. A placid persevering spirit carried him cheerfully onward to exhume from oblivion such information, in print or manuscript, as inquiry proved to exist. From the solid volume to the tract of a few leaves, nothing was unexamined that could be procured. He purchased, read, studied, and turned to its proper uses everything bearing upon his subject in the opinions, language, and manners of the olden time. The very quiet of the pursuit kept a mind occupied and at ease which painful private circumstances might have caused to prey upon itself. A competent provision left nothing to apprehend on the score of poverty; and learning, family, and connections gave him at once that standing among the educated and well-born which it might have cost others less fortunately situated some trouble to acquire.
Emendations of Shakspeare’s text, though the principal, was not solely his object. The drama as but a representation of life, required life in all its phases to be gauged with all the accuracy which an attentive survey of its peculiarities, habits and general social condition could give. Hence much ampler reading than merely dramatic reading, was required. Poems and plays could supply only a part of the knowledge necessary to full acquaintance with the age. An apparently slight fragment, a passage, an epigram, a song, a jest, an allusion, threw light upon a speech in a play which had puzzled or misled previous commentators. Plots were to be traced to history or romance; characters to national feelings of the time; incidents to traditions then existing, or received in the era of the supposed events. This labour pursued as he pursued it, enormously increased the duties, though it as deservedly increased the fame of the critic. He disdained in fact to skim the surface of any subject as writers of credit are too often found to do even in matters of moment. He worked for facts as men in certain positions now labour for nuggets; and truth to him was scarcely less valuable than gold to the others.
Inseparably connected with the written drama was the Stage for its representation. Yet though beyond all others the most intellectual amusement of the people, and thence had found its way to the highest quarters in rank and station, few inquirers had given full attention to its earlier years.
Here was another enterprise for his persevering spirit—curious, unworked, and to the literary antiquary interesting in a high degree. Materials were scanty, but his exertions unwearied. Wherever documents or books of the time existed fitted to aid his pursuits, there was he to be found—whether in libraries, less frequented repositories, or unaired and unfurnished rooms. His business was to explore and note—to feast at home in the evening upon discoveries of the day, and fit them into form and consistence for the public eye. Unwearied assiduity produced its usual effects. He has left a history of the stage such as few thought could have been written, and none but whom have admired.
Burke, as we have seen, was one of the first. His large views and comprehensive information had foreseen the difficulty; and so great was his curiosity that on receiving the work, although in the midst of serious engagements, he went nearly through it at once, and immediately as we have seen, testified his gratification. Writers who have since touched this theme, amid endless differences upon all other points, have uniformly borne similar testimony.
Malone, therefore, had the merit of originating and completing a great work in the history of letters, as one of our greatest authorities has testified. “The stage,” said Burke on this occasion, “may be considered as the republic of active literature, and its history as the history of that state.” What was thus accomplished no pains were spared by our author to improve; for much of his subsequent career was spent in fishing out for a second edition all that could be supposed wanting in the first. As to Shakspeare he mainly devoted his life, so to his skirts he may lawfully cling for a touch of that immortality which his principal has so wonderfully earned.
Among other pursuits of taste and leisure was a collection of engraved portraits of persons in English history; chiefly poets and others of literary eminence. These, now in the possession of the Reverend Thomas R. Rooper of Brighton, I have looked over with much interest. One large volume contains four hundred and sixty-three of various merit. Twenty-three are of Shakspeare, eleven or twelve of Dryden, nine of Pope. The rarest are about forty in number; noted as of Gower, Howard, Shakspeare, Donne, Chapman, Fanshaw, Cowley, Overbury, Dryden, Prior, Addison, and others. Occasionally he purchased works of cost to cut out such portraits as were rare or good. Members of his own “Literary Club” were of course not forgotten—those at least which were procurable and of sufficient note in public life. They are preserved in a separate volume.
The researches involved by his pursuits necessarily led to the formation of a good library. He became a purchaser to some extent of Reed’s, Farmer’s, and other collections that promised anything rare. Upon these most of his savings were spent; and notwithstanding this acquisitive spirit says—“He should lament to acquire others, as implying the loss of his friend (Bindley), and he was quite sure he would feel equal regret at seeing his in the market.”
His mission however as collector was less general than special. Anything of the age of Elizabeth, her predecessors or indeed successors even to his own time bearing upon poetry and the drama, formed the business of his life to obtain. No research was spared, no sale unattended, no novelty unexamined, no money grudged to glean information from every source. Whenever one collector died off who was rich in curious rarities, another was in the field to acquire them. The longest purse was usually successful; and as Malone without being rich was not often straitened for money, and competitors were then comparatively few, his acquisitions were of the rarest description.
The gift of the Misses Malone to the younger Boswell, accounts for the dispersion of much of their brother’s correspondence and of other literary papers known to be in his possession. In the sale of the former gentleman, May 1825, we find two hundred and eighty-seven letters addressed to the critic by various correspondents—Burke, Windham, Farmer, Tyrwhitt, Steevens, the Wartons, Burney, Kemble, and many more.
So likewise were disposed several of his transcripts and notes upon books. These, which in intervals of leisure he took the trouble to make more or less complete, were no doubt destined to future use; some to illustrate other pieces; a few for new editions. Among them were Kempe’s Nine Days’ Wonder, Sayings of Hobbes, Extracts from Spence, with manuscript notes, afterwards printed; Milton’s Letters of State, 1649–59, annotated; interleaved copy of Johnson’s Poets, with Notes. Among others with which he amused himself were—A folio volume of autograph collections in illustration of Shakspeare, with papers by Steevens and Boswell; a quarto volume of extracts from old household books of Baptist May, Privy Purse to Charles II., with items of losses at play of his Majesty and Lady Castlemaine; Diary of Philip Henslowe in Dulwich College of theatrical companies, with notes and corrections; a memorandum book from Dodsley’s papers, illustrative of literary history, and notes upon Shakspeare. And others doubtless exist of which no record is preserved.
One, however, must not be forgotten. It is a collection of “Tracts,” above seven hundred in number, comprised in seventy-six volumes. These chiefly proceeded from, or are connected with, persons of his own or the preceding age. Many are freely annotated; and the whole passed into the world at his sale in 1818. They came again into the book-market in 1833, under the auspices of Thorpe, the well- known dealer in such literary wares. He gives an outline of their authors and contents, which will be found in the appendix; and making allowance for the usual eloquence of trade, forms a fair summary of both. Such a collection, embracing many things now scarce or unattainable, should find place in some public library.
His will was made in 1801. Lord Sunderlin is named sole executor, to whom he leaves the Shinglas and Cavan property; three thousand pounds to each of his sisters; an annuity to Mrs. Susanna Spencer; memorials to Mr. and Mrs. Windham, Mr. Forth; his servants; and earnestly recommends his sisters to the affectionate care of their brother.
His library he valued very moderately at two thousand pounds; and would wish it to remain an heirloom at Baronston, the family seat. But remembering there was no immediate descendant—no child of his brother, sisters, himself, or particularly valued relative, and that such want might be fatal to its integrity, he then mentions Trinity College, Dublin. But not desiring to make it an absolute trust, finally leaves the disposal to Lord Sunderlin.
The result was that his lordship, deeming so remarkable a collection more accessible to scholars in England than in Dublin, or in compliment to the spot where he finished his education, offered it to Oxford in 1815. The tender met respectful acceptance from the Vice-Chancellor and other assembled officials; and in 1821, when the younger Boswell had finished the edition of Shakspeare intrusted to him by Malone, the remainder of the books still in his possession were transferred to the Bodleian Library. The collector himself terms it “The most curious, valuable, and extensive collection ever assembled of ancient English plays and poetry.” This is quite true. We have nothing like it or approaching to it elsewhere; nor could a second such collection probably be formed. He told Caldwell, who repeats the remarkable fact, that he had procured every dramatic piece mentioned by Langbaine, excepting four or five—the advantage, observes that gentleman, of living in London.
The number of printed volumes and tracts in a folio catalogue of forty-six pages printed by the University, amounts to about two thousand seven hundred.[2] The majority poetical and dramatic. He did not however turn aside from other pieces of ancient date bearing upon manners, opinions, or events of the time; and the hunter after such literary curiosities may here make some gratifying discoveries.
The manuscript list, which embraces several copies from his own pen, comprises chiefly miscellaneous poetry—songs, epistles, addresses, ballads, love verses, epigrams (very numerous), elegies, and epitaphs. The volume numbered 13 has fifty-seven pieces of that description; number 21, ninety-six;[3] 14, thirty-two;[4] forming altogether, perhaps, about three hundred or more. Appended to some are explanatory notes, as, for instance, “This manuscript appears to have been written, or at least a part of it, about or after the year 1644. In p. 91 is an allusion to Sir Edward Littleton, then Lord Keeper, going from London to the King at Oxford, which was in 1642; and in p. 38, the pulling down of Cheapside Cross is mentioned. This was, I think, in 1644.—Edmond Malone."
In the Bodleian, they remain a distinct collection—creditable alike to the industry, taste, and patience by which they were brought together. Nor can we but feel respect for that preservative spirit and taste of our ancestors by which so many small pieces of a remote age should have been snatched from that hasty oblivion to which such things are commonly destined. The catalogue bears date 1836.
Such was the life of a scholar. Careless of the bustle of human existence, he was active only to read, hear, and note the progress of its letters. He loved them for their own sake; for the inquiries induced—the thought and knowledge evolved—the enlargement of mind acquired by the successful cultivator—the innocence as well as amusement of the occupation. His topics promised well for the quietude he loved. While others lost their temper or good manners toward each other in critical pursuits, nothing of that description escaped from him.
A few, not acquainted with the peculiarities of his line of studies, deemed them little more than dalliance with letters—a kind of agreeable disporting over the green fields of literature. They knew not the labours it involved; the occasional difficulties of access to the places where deposited; the interminable research, the exhausted patience, eyes, and frames of which I have in him endeavoured to depict an outline. None of his predecessors had attempted what he accomplished. Few of his successors have, on most points, added materially to our knowledge. When assailed for excess of accuracy by the idle or superficial, he disdained reply.
He was studious, and selected an object of popular study; inquiring, and left nothing unexplored likely to afford information; reflective, and therefore usually accurate in drawing conclusions where positive testimony was at fault. His talents were steady and practical; his learning extensive; his critical judgments, as we have seen in the preceding pages, sound. He who could throw light upon the career of Shakspeare and Dryden—give us the first and best history of the Stage—and leave, for our study and guidance, volumes at Oxford which no other spot supplies, must be considered no small benefactor to letters.
- ↑ Among his letters is a note from Bartolozzi, requesting payment for some of his labours, being then, as he said, hard pressed for money.
- ↑ Estimated, however, in a note to me by the Rev. H. O. Coxe, of the Bodleian, by whom my inquiries were assisted, at three thousand two hundred. I am likewise indebted to the attentions of Dr. Bandinell.
- ↑ Ninety-eight.—H.O.C.
- ↑ Thirty-three.—H.O.C.