After giving this quotation from the marquis of Halifax, he proceeds to inveigh against the various kinds of luxury, in which people of fashion indulge themselves.
He observes that luxury has in a particular manner been destructive to the ladies: 'That artificial dainties raise in their constitutions fierce ebullitions, and violent emotions, too rude for the delicate texture of their fibres; and for half the year together, they neither take any air, nor use any exercise to remove them. From hence distempers of body and mind; from hence an infinity of irregular desires, unlawful amours, intrigues, vapours, and whimsies, and all the numerous, melancholy croud of deep hysterical symptoms; from hence it comes to pass that the fruit of their bodies lie in them like plants in hot-beds; from hence it proceeds that our British maids, who in the time of our Henrys, were not held marriageable till turned of twenty, are now become falling ripe at twelve, and forced to prematureness, by the heat of adventitious fire. Nor has luxury only changed our natures, but transformed our sexes: We have men that are more soft, more languid, and more passive than women. On the other side we have women, who, as it were in revenge, are masculine in their desires, and masculine in their practices.'
In a pretty advanced age Mr. Dennis, who then laboured under severe necessities, published two volumes of Letters, by subscription, which are by far the most entertaining part of his writings. They have more sprightliness and force in them than, from reading his other works, we would be disposed to imagine. They are addressed to persons distinguished by their fortune, genius, and exalted station; the duke of Marlborough, the Lord Lansdowne, earl of Godolphin, earl of Halifax, Mr. Dryden, Mr. Prior, Mr. Wycherley, Henry Cromwel, Esq; Walter Moyle, Esq; and Sir Richard Blackmore. He entitles them Letters, Moral and Critical. The Critical are chiefly imployed upon Mr. Addison's Cato, which he censures in some places with great justice, and critical propriety: In other places he only discovers spleen, and endeavours to burlesque noble passages, merely from resentment to the author.
There is likewise published amongst these letters, an enquiry into the genius and writings of Shakespear. He contends for Shakespear's ignorance of the ancients, and observes, that it would derogate much from his glory to suppose him to have read, or understood them, because if he had, his not practicing their art, and not restraining the luxuriance of his imagination would be a reproach to him. After bestowing the highest panegyric upon Shakespear, he says, 'That he seems to have been the very original of our English tragical harmony; that is the harmony of blank verse, diversified often by dissyllable and trisyllable terminations. For that diversity distinguishes it from heroic harmony, and bringing it nearer to common use, makes it more proper to gain attention, and more fit for action, and dialogue. Such verses we make when we are writing prose, we make such verse in common conversation.'
One of the reasons Mr. Dennis assigns for Shakespear's want of learning, is, that Julius Cæsar, in the play which goes by his name, makes but a third rate figure, and had he (says the author) consulted the Latin writers, he could not have been guilty of such an error; but this is far from being conclusive, which might us well be owing to his having a contempt for Cæsar's character, and an enthusiastic admiration for those of Brutus and Cassius.
Another prose Essay of Mr. Dennis's, which does him very great honour, is his Grounds of Criticism in Poetry. Amongst many masterly things, which he there advances, is the following. 'The antient poets (says he) derived that advantage which they have over the moderns, to the constituting their subjects after a religious manner; and from the precepts of Longinus, it appears that the greatest sublimity is to be derived from religious ideas.'
Mr. Dennis then observes, that one of the principal reasons, that has made the modern poetry so contemptible, is that by divesting itself of religion, it is fallen from its dignity, and its original nature and excellence; and from the greatest production in the mind of man, it is dwindled to an extravagant, and vain amusement. When subjects are in themselves great, the ideas of the writer must likewise be great; and nothing is in its nature so dignified as religion. This he illustrates by many examples from Milton, who when he raises his voice to heaven, and speaks the language of the divinity, then does he reach the true sublime; but when he descends to the more trifling consideration of human things, his wing is necessarily depressed, and his strains are less transporting. We shall now take a view of Mr. Dennis, in that part of his life and writings, in which he makes a less considerable figure, by exposing himself to the resentment of one so much his superior; and who, after a long provocation, at last, let loose his rage against him, in a manner that no time can obliterate. Mr. Dennis we have already observed, waged a perpetual war with successful writers, except those few who were his friends; but never engaged with so much fury, and less justice, against the writings of any poet, as those of Mr. Pope.
Some time after the death of Dryden, when Pope's reputation began to grow, his friends who were sanguine in his interest, were imprudent enough to make comparisons, and really assert, that Pope was the greatest poet of the two: Dennis, who had made court to Dryden, and was respected by him, heard this with indignation, and immediately exerted all the criticism and force of which he was master, to reduce the character of Pope. In this attempt he neither has succeeded, nor did he pursue it like a gentleman.
In his reflexions on Pope's Essay on Criticism, he uses the following unmannerly epithets. 'A young squab, short gentleman, whose outward form tho' it should be that of a downright monkey, would not differ so much from human shape, as his unthinking, immaterial part does from human understanding.—He is as stupid and as venomous as an hunch-backed toad.—A book through which folly and ignorance, those brethren so lame, and impotent, do ridiculously look very big, and very dull, and strut, and hobble cheek by jowl, with their arms on kimbo, being led, and supported, and bully-backed, by that blind Hector impudence.' The reasons which our critic gives for this extraordinary fury are equally ridiculous. 'I regard him (says he) as an enemy, not so much to me, as to my king, to my country, and to my religion. The epidemic madness of the times has given him reputation, and reputation is power; and that has made him dangerous. Therefore I look on it as my duty to king George, and to the liberties of my country, more dear than life to me, of which I have now been 40 years a constant assertor, &c. I look upon it as my duty I say to do,—Reader observe what,—To pull the lion's skin from this little ass, which popular error has thrown round him, and shew that this little author, who has been lately so much in vogue, has neither sense in his thoughts, nor English in his expressions. See his Remarks on Homer, Pref. p. 2. and p. 91.
Speaking of Mr. Pope's Windsor-Forrest, he says, 'It is a wretched rhapsody, impudently writ in emulation of Cooper's-Hill. The author of it is obscure, is ambiguous, is affected, is temerarious, is barbarous.'
After these provocations, it is no wonder that Pope should take an opportunity of recording him in his Dunciad; and yet he had some esteem for our author's learning and genius. Mr. Dennis put his name to every thing he wrote against him, which Mr. Pope considered as a circumstance of candour. He pitied him as a man subject to the dominion of invidious passions, than which no severer sensations can tear the heart of man.
In the first Book of his Dunciad. line 103, he represents Dullness taking a view of her sons; and thus mentions Dennis,
She saw slow Philips creep like Tate's poor page,
And all the mighty mad in Dennis rage.
He mentions him again slightly in his second Book, line 230, and in his third Book, line 165, taking notice of a quarrel between him and Mr. Gildon, he says,
Ah Dennis! Gildon ah! what ill-starr'd rage
Divides a friendship long confirm'd by age?
Blockheads, with reason, wicked wits abhor,
But fool with fool, is barbr'ous civil war,
Embrace, embrace, my sons! be foes no more!
Nor glad vile poets, with true critic's gore.
Our author gained little by his opposition to Pope, in which he must either have violated his judgment, or been under the influence of the strongest prejudice that ever blinded the eyes of any man; for not to admire the writings of this excellent poet, is an argument of a total deprivation of taste, which in other respects does not appear to be the case of Mr. Dennis.
We shall now take a view of our author in the light of a dramatist. In the year 1697 a comedy of his was acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, called A Plot and No Plot, dedicated to the Earl of Sunderland. The scope of this piece is to ridicule the credulity and principles of the Jacobites, the moral of which is this, 'That there are in all parties, persons who find it their interest to deceive the rest, and that one half of every faction makes a property in fee-simple of the other, therefore we ought never to believe any thing will, or will not be, because it is agreeable, or contrary to our humours, but because it is in itself likely, or improbable. Credulity in men, engaged in a party, proceeds oftner from pride than weakness, and it is the hardest thing in the world to impose upon a humble man.' In 1699 a tragedy called Rinaldo and Armida was acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, dedicated to the Duke of Ormond. Scene the top of a mountain in the Canaries. The hint of the chief characters is owing to Tasso's Gierusalemme, but the manners of them being by our author thought unequal in that great Italian, he has taken the liberty to change them, and form his characters more agreeable to the subject. The reasons for doing it are expressed in the preface and prologue to the play.
Our author's next tragedy was upon the subject of Iphigenia, daughter to Agamemnon King of Argos, acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn 1704. Iphigenia was to have been sacrificed by her father, who was deluded by the fraud of Calchas, who proclaimed throughout the Grecian fleet, that the offended gods demanded of Agamemnon the sacrifice of his daughter to Lucina, and till, that oblation was offered, the fleet would remain wind-bound. Accordingly, under pretence of marrying her to Achilles, she was betrayed from Argos, but her mother, Clytemnestra, discovering the cheat, by a stratagem prevented its execution, and effected her rescue without the knowledge of any one but her husband Agamemnon. A Grecian virgin being sacrificed in her place, Iphigenia is afterwards wrecked on the Coast of Scythia, and made the Priestess of Diana. In five years time her brother Orestes, and his friend Pylades, are wrecked on the same shore, but saved from slaughter by the Queen of Scythia, because she loved Orestes. Orestes, on the other hand, falls in love with the Priestess of Diana; they attempt an escape, and to carry off the image of the Goddess, but are prevented. The Queen then dooms Orestes to the altar, but Pylades, from his great friendship, personates Orestes, and disconcerts the design. The story and incidents of this play are interesting and moving, but Mr. Dennis has not wrought the scenes much in the spirit of a tragedian: This was a subject admirably suited for the talents of Otway. The discovery of Orestes's being the brother of Iphigenia is both surprizing and natural, and though the subject is not well executed, yet is this by far the most affecting tragedy of our author; it is almost impossible to read it without tears, though it abounds with bombast.
The fourth play introduced upon the stage by Mr. Dennis, 1704, was, a tragedy called Liberty Asserted, dedicated to Anthony Henley, esq; to whom he says he was indebted for the happy hint upon which it was formed. Soon after this he wrote another tragedy upon the story of Appius and Virginia, which Mr. Maynwaring, in a letter to Mr. Dennis, calls one of our best modern tragedies; it is dedicated to Sidney Earl of Godolphin.
He altered Shakespear's Merry Wives of Windsor, and brought it on the stage under the title of The Comical Gallant. Prefixed to this, is a large account of Taste in Poetry, and the Causes of its Degeneracy addressed to the Hon. George Granville, Esq; afterwards Lord Lansdowne.
Our author's next dramatic production was Coriolanus, the Invader of his Country, or the Fatal Resentment, a Tragedy; altered from Shakespear, and acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. This piece met with some opposition the first night; and on the fourth another play was given out. The second night's audience was very small, though the play was exceedingly well acted. The third night had not the charges in money; the fourth was still worse, and then another play was given out, not one place being taken in the boxes for any ensuing night. The managers were therefore obliged to discontinue it.
This usage Mr. Dennis highly resented; and in his dedication to the duke of Newcastle, then lord chamberlain, he makes a formal complaint against the managers. To this play Mr. Colley Cibber took the pains to write an epilogue, which Mrs. Oldfield spoke with universal applause, and for which poor peevish, jealous Dennis, abused them both.
Mr. Dennis happened once to go to the play, when a tragedy was acted, in which the machinery of thunder was introduced, a new artificial method of producing which he had formerly communicated to the managers. Incensed by this circumstance, he cried out in a transport of resentment, 'That is my thunder by G—d; the villains will play my thunder, but not my plays.' This gave an alarm to the pit, which he soon explained. He was much subject to these kind of whimsical transports, and suffered the fervor of his imagination often to subdue the power of his reason; an instance of which we shall now relate.
After he was worn out with age and poverty, he resided within the verge of the court, to prevent danger from his creditors. One Saturday night he happened to saunter to a public house, which he discovered in a short time was out of the verge. He was sitting in an open drinking room, and a man of a suspicious appearance happened to come in. There was something about the man which denoted to Mr. Dennis that he was a Bailiff: this struck him with a panic; he was afraid his liberty was now at an end; he sat in the utmost solicitude, but durst not offer to stir, lest he should be seized upon. After an hour or two had passed in this painful anxiety, at last the clock struck twelve, when Mr. Dennis, in an extasy, cried out, addressing himself to the suspected person, 'Now sir, Bailiff, or no Bailiff, I don't care a farthing for you, you have no power now.' The man was astonished at this behaviour, and when it was explained to him, he was so much affronted with the suspicion, that had not Mr. Dennis found his protection in age, he would have smarted for his mistaken opinion of him.
In the year 1705 a comedy of Mr. Dennis's called Gibraltar, or The Spanish Adventure, was acted unsuccessfully at Drury-Lane Theatre. He was also author of a masque called Orpheus and Euridice.
Mr. Dennis, considered as a dramatic writer, makes not so good a figure as in his critical works; he understood the rules of writing, but it is not in the power of every one to carry their own theory into execution. There is one error which he endeavoured to reform, very material for the interest of dramatic poetry. He saw, with concern, that love had got the entire possession of the tragic stage, contrary to the authority of the ancients, and the example of Shakespear. He resolved therefore to deviate a little from the reigning practice, and not to make his heroes such whining slaves in their amours, which not only debases the majesty of tragedy, but confounds most of the principal characters, by making that passion the predominant quality in all. But he did not think it safe at once to shew his principal characters wholly exempt from it, lest so great and sudden a transition should prove disagreeable. He rather chose to steer a middle course, and make love appear violent, but yet to be subdued by reason, and give way to the influence of some other more noble passion; as in Rinaldo, to Glory; in Iphigenia, to Friendship; and in Liberty Asserted, to the Public Good. He thought by these means an audience might be entertained, and prepared for greater alterations, whereby the dignity of tragedy might be supported, and its principal characters justly distinguished.
Besides the works which we have already mentioned, Mr. Dennis is author of the following pieces, mostly in the Pindaric way.
Upon our Victory at Sea, and burning the French Fleet at La Hogne in 1692.
Part of the Te Deum Paraphrased, in Pindaric Verse.
To Mr. Dryden, upon his Translation of the Third Book of Virgil's
Georgics. Pindaric Ode.
A Pindaric Ode on the King, written in the beginning of August 1691; occasioned by the Victory at Aghrim.
To a Painter drawing a Lady's Picture, an Epigram.
Prayer for the King's Safety in the Summer's Expedition in 1692, an
Epigram.
The Court of Death, a Pindaric Poem; dedicated to the Memory of her
Most Sacred Majesty Queen Mary.
The Passion of Byblis, made English from the Ninth Book of Ovid's
Metamorphosis.
The Monument, a Poem; sacred to the Memory of the best, and greatest of Kings, William III.
Britannia Triumphans, or A Poem on the Battle of Blenheim; dedicated to Queen Anne.
On the Accession of King George to the Imperial Crown of Great
Britain.
The following specimen, which is part of a Paraphrase on the Te Deum, serves to shew, that Mr. Dennis wrote with more elegance in Pindaric odes, than in blank verse.
Now let us sing a loftier strain,
Now let us earth and earthly things disdain,
Now let our souls to Heaven repair,
Direct their most aspiring flight,
To fields of uncreated light,
And dare to draw empyreal air.
'Tis done, O place divinely bright!
O Sons of God divinely fair!
O sight! unutterable sight!
O unconceivable delight!
O joy which only Gods can bear!
Heark how their blissful notes they raise,
And sing the Great Creator's praise!
How in extatic song they cry,
Lo we the glorious sons of light,
So great, so beautiful, so bright,
Lo we the brightest of created things,
Who are all flame, all force, all spirit, and all eye,
Are yet but vile, and nothing in thy sight!
Before thy feet O mighty King of kings,
O Maker of this bounteous all!
Thus lowly reverent we fall.
After a life exposed to vicissitudes, habituated to many disappointments, and embroiled in unsuccessful quarrels, Mr. Dennis died on the 6th of January 1733, in the 77th year of his age. We have observed that he outlived the reversion of his place, after which he fell into great distress, and as he had all his life been making enemies, by the ungovernable fury of his temper, he found few persons disposed to relieve him. When he was near the close of his days, a play was acted for his benefit. This favour was procured him by the joint interest of Mr. Thomson, Mr. Martin, Mr. Mallet, and Mr. Pope. The play was given by the company then acting at the little Theatre in the Hay-market, under the direction of Mr. Mills sen. and Mr. Cibber jun. the latter of whom spoke a prologue on the occasion, written by Mr. Pope.
Mr. Dennis was less happy in his temper, than his genius; he possessed no inconsiderable erudition, which was joined to such natural parts, as if accompanied with prudence, or politeness, might have raised him, not only above want, but even to eminence. He was happy too in having very powerful patrons, but what could be done for a man, who declared war against all the world? Dennis has given evidence against himself in the article of politeness; for in one of his letters he says, he would not retire to a certain place in the country, lest he should be disturbed in his studies by the ladies in the house: for, says he, I am not over-fond of the conversation of women. But with all his foibles, we cannot but consider him as a good critic, and a man of genius.
His perpetual misfortune was, that he aimed at the empire of wit, for which nature had not sufficiently endowed him; and as his ambition prompted him to obtain the crown by a furious opposition to all other competitors, so, like Cæsar of old, his ambition overwhelmed him.
[Footnote A: Jacob's Lives of the Poets.]
[Footnote B: Which friendship he ill repaid. Sir Richard once became bail for Dennis, who hearing that Sir Richard was arrested on his account, cried out; "'Sdeath! Why did not he keep out of the way, as I did?"]
* * * * *
G. GRANVILLE, L. LANSDOWNE,
Was descended from an illustrious family, which traced their ancestry from Rollo, the first duke of Normandy. He was second son of Bernard Granville, and grandson of the famous Sir Bevil Granville, killed at the battle of Lansdowne 1643. This nobleman received the first tincture of his education in France, under the tuition of Sir William Ellis, a gentleman, who was eminent afterwards in many public employments.
When our author was but eleven years of age, he was sent to Trinity College in Cambridge, where he remained five years, but at the age of thirteen was admitted to the degree of master of arts, having, before he was twelve years old, spoken a copy of English verses, of his own composition, to the Duchess of York, when her Royal Highness paid a visit to that university.
At the time when the nation was embroiled by the public distractions, occasioned by the efforts of King James II. to introduce Popery, lord Lansdowne did not remain an unconcerned spectator. He had early imbibed principles of loyalty, and as some of his forefathers had fallen in the cause of Charles I. he thought it was his duty to sacrifice his life also, for the interest of his Sovereign. However mistaken he might be in this furious zeal for a Prince, the chief scope of whose reign was to overthrow the law, and introduce absolute dominion, yet he appears to be perfectly sincere. In a letter he wrote to his father upon the expected approach of the Prince of Orange's fleet, he expresses the most ardent desire to serve the King in person[A]. This letter we shall insert, but beg our readers patience to make a digression, which will justify what we have said concerning James II.
The genuine mark of a tyrant is cruelty, and it is with concern we can produce an instance of the most inhuman barbarity in that Prince, which ever stained the Annals of any reign. Cruelty should be the badge of no party; it ought to be equally the abhorrence of all; and whoever is tainted with it, should be set up to view, as a terror to the world, as a monster, whom it is the interest of mankind to destroy.
After the suppression of Monmouth's rebellion, many of the unfortunate persons engaged In it fled to London, and took shelter there, 'till the Act of Indemnity should be published. They who afforded them shelter, were either of the Monmouth faction, or induced from principles of humanity, to administer to their safety: what would become of the world, if our friends were always to forsake us in distress? There lived then in London an amiable lady, attached to no party, who enjoyed a large fortune, which she spent in the exercise of the most extensive beneficence. She made it her business to visit the Jails, and the prisoners who were most necessitous and deserving, she relieved. Her house was an asylum for the poor; she lived but for charity, and she had every hour the prayers of the widow and orphan poured out to her. It happened that one of the rebels found shelter in her house; she suffered him to be screened there; she fed and cloathed him. The King had often declared that he would rather pardon those who were found in arms against him, than the people who harboured, or secretly encouraged them. This miscreant, who sometimes ventured out at night to a public house, was informed, that the King had made such a declaration, and it entered into his base heart to betray his benefactress. He accordingly went before a magistrate, and lodged an information, upon which the lady was secured, brought to a trial, and upon the evidence of this ungrateful villain, cast for her life. She suffered at a stake with the most resigned chearfulness, for when a woman is convicted of treason, it seems, she is sentenced to be burnt[B]. The reader will easily judge what sort of bowels that King must have, who could permit such a punishment to take place upon a woman so compleatly amiable, upon the evidence of a villain so consummately infamous, and he will, we are persuaded, be of opinion that had his Majesty possessed a thousand kingdoms, he deserved to lose them all for this one act of genuine barbarity.
Lord Lansdowne. who did not consider, or was not then capable of discovering, the dangers to which this prince exposed his people, wrote the following letter to his father, earnestly pressing him to permit his entering voluntarily into king James's service.
'SIR,
'Your having no prospect of obtaining a commission for me, can no way alter, or cool my desire at this important juncture, to venture my life, in some manner or other, for my King and country. I cannot bear to live under the reproach of lying obscure and idle in a country retirement, when every man, who has the least sense of honour, should be preparing for the field. You may remember, sir, with what reluctance I submitted to your commands upon Monmouth's rebellion, when no importunity could prevail with you to permit me to leave the academy; I was too young to be hazarded; but give me leave to say, it is glorious, at any age, to die for one's country; and the sooner, the nobler sacrifice; I am now older by three years. My uncle Bath was not so old, when he was left among the slain at the battle of Newberry, nor you yourself, sir, when you made your escape from your Tutors, to join your brother in the defence of Scilly. The same cause is now come round about again. The King has been misled, let those who misled him be answerable for it. Nobody can deny but he is sacred in his own person, and it is every honest man's duty to defend it. You are pleased to say it is yet doubtful, if the Hollanders are rash enough to make such an attempt. But be that as it will, I beg leave to be presented to his Majesty, as one, whose utmost ambition is to devote his life to his service, and my country's, after the example of all my ancestors. The gentry assembled at York, to agree upon the choice of representatives for the county, have prepared an Address to assure his Majesty they are ready to sacrifice their lives and fortunes for him upon this, and all other occasions, but at the some time they humbly beseech him to give them such magistrates as may be agreeable to the laws of the land, for at present there is no authority to which they can legally submit. By what I can hear, every body wishes well to the King, but would be glad his ministers were hanged. The winds continue so contrary, that no landing can be so soon as was apprehended, therefore I may hope, with your leave and assistance, to be in readiness before any action can begin; I beseech you, sir, most humbly, and most earnestly, to add this one act of indulgence more, to so many testimonies I have so constantly received of your goodness, and be pleased to believe me always with the utmost duty and submission,
'Yours, &c.'
We are not told whether his father yielded to his importunity, or whether he was presented to his Majesty; but if he really joined the army, it was without danger to his person, for the revolution was effected in England without one drop of blood. In the year 1690 Lord Lansdowne wrote a copy of verses addressed to Mrs. Elizabeth Higgins, in answer to a poetical Address sent him by that lady in his retirement. The verses of the lady are very elegant, and are only exceeded by the polite compliments his lordship wrote in answer to them. They both deserve a place here,
I.
Why Granville is thy life to shades confin'd,
Thou whom the Gods design'd
In public to do credit to mankind?
Why sleeps the noble ardour of thy blood,
Which from thy ancestors so many ages past,
From Rollo down to Bevil flowed,
And then appeared again at last,
In thee when thy victorious lance
Bore the disputed prize from all the youth of France.
II.
In the first trials which are made for fame,
Those to whom fate success denies,
If taking council from their shame,
They modestly retreat are wise;
But why should you, who still succeed,
Whether with graceful art you lead
The fiery barb, or with a graceful motion tread
In shining balls where all agree
To give the highest praise to thee?
Such harmony in every motion's sound,
As art could ne'er express by any sound.
III.
So lov'd and prais'd whom all admire,
Why, why should you from courts and camps retire?
If Myra is unkind, if it can be
That any nymph can be unkind to thee;
If pensive made by love, you thus retire,
Awake your muse, and string your lyre;
Your tender song, and your melodious strain
Can never be address'd in vain;
She needs must love, and we shall have you back again.
His lordship's Answer thus begins.
Cease, tempting syren, cease thy flattering strain,
Sweet is thy charming song, but song in vain:
When the winds blow, and loud the tempests roar,
What fool would trust the waves, and quit the shore?
Early and vain into the world I came,
Big with false hopes and eager after fame:
Till looking round me, e'er the race began,
Madmen and giddy fools were all that ran.
Reclaimed betimes, I from the lists retire,
And thank the Gods, who my retreat inspire.
In happier times our ancestors were bred,
When virtue was the only path to tread.
Give me, ye Gods, but the same road to fame,
Whate'er my father's dar'd, I dare the same.
Changed is the scene, some baneful planet rules
An impious world contriv'd for knaves and fools.
He concludes with the following lines
Happy the man, of mortals happiest he,
Whose quiet mind of vain desires is free;
Whom neither hopes deceive, nor fears torment,
But lives at peace, within himself content,
In thought or act accountable to none
But to himself, and to the Gods alone.
O sweetness of content, seraphic joy!
Which nothing wants, and nothing can destroy.
Where dwells this peace, this freedom of the mind?
Where but in shades remote from human kind;
In flow'ry vales, where nymphs and shepherds meet,
But never comes within the palace-gate.
Farewel then cities, courts, and camps farewel,
Welcome ye groves, here let me ever dwell,
From care and bus'ness, and mankind remove,
All but the Muses, and inspiring love:
How sweet the morn, how gentle is the night!
How calm the evening, and the day how bright!
From thence, as from a hill, I view below
The crowded world, a mighty wood in shew,
Where several wand'rers travel day and night,
By different paths, and none are in the right.
In 1696 his Comedy called the She Gallants was acted at the
Theatre-Royal[C] in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. He afterwards altered this
Comedy, and published it among his other works, under the title of
Once a Lover and Always a Lover, which, as he observes in the preface,
is a new building upon an old foundation.
'It appeared first under the name of the She-Gallants, and by the preface then prefixed to it, is said to have been the Child of a Child. By taking it since under examination; so many years after, the author flatters himself to have made a correct Comedy of it; he found it regular to his hand; the scene constant to one place, the time not exceeding the bounds prescribed, and the action entire. It remained only to clear the ground, and to plant as it were fresh flowers in the room of those which were grown into weeds or were faded by time; to retouch and vary the characters; enliven the painting, retrench the superfluous; and animate the action, where it appeared the young author seemed to aim at more than he had strength to perform.'
The same year also his Tragedy, intitled Heroic Love, was acted at the Theatre. Mr. Gildon observes, 'that this Tragedy is written after the manner of the antients, which is much more natural and easy, than that of our modern Dramatists.' Though we cannot agree with Mr. Gildon, that the antient model of Tragedy is so natural as the modern; yet this piece shall have very great merit, since we find Mr. Dryden addressing verses to the author upon this occasion, which begin thus,
Auspicious poet, wert thou not my friend,
How could I envy, what I must commend!
But since 'tis nature's law, in love and wit,
That youth should reign, and with'ring age submit,
With less regret, those laurels I resign,
Which dying on my brow, revive on thine.
Our author wrote also a dramatic poem, called the British Enchanters[D], in the preface to which he observes, 'that it is the first Essay of a very infant Muse, rather as a task at such hours as were free from other exercises, than any way meant for public entertainment. But Mr. Betterton having had a casual sight of it, many years after it was written, begged it for the stage, where it met with so favourable a reception as to have an uninterrupted run of upwards of forty nights. To this Mr. Addison wrote the Epilogue.' Lord Lansdowne altered Shakespear's Merchant of Venice, under the title of the Jew of Venice, which was acted with applause, the profits of which were designed for Mr. Dryden, but upon that poet's death were given to his son.
In 1702 he translated into English the second Olynthian of Demosthpracticewas returned member for the county of Cornwall, in the parliament which met in November 1710, and was soon after made secretary of war, next comptroller of the houshold, and then treasurer, and sworn one of the privy council. The year following he was created baron Lansdowne of Biddeford in Devonshire[E].
In 1719 he made a speech in the house of lords against the practicee of occasional conformity, which is printed among his works, and among other things, he says this. 'I always understood the toleration to be meant as an indulgence to tender consciences, not a licence for hardened ones; and that the act to prevent occasional conformity was designed only to correct a particular crime of particular men, in which no sect of dissenters was included, but these followers of Judas, which came to the Lord's-Supper, from no other end but to sell, and betray him. This crime however palliated and defended, by so many right reverend fathers in the church, is no less than making the God of truth, as it were in person subservient to acts of hypocrisy; no less than sacrificing the mystical Blood and Body of our Saviour to worldly and sinister purposes, an impiety of the highest nature! which in justice called for protection, and in charity for prevention. The bare receiving the holy Eucharist, could never be intended simply as a qualification for an office, but as an open declaration, an undubitable proof of being, and remaining a sincere member of the church. Whoever presumes to receive it with any other view profanes it; and may be said to seek his promotion in this world, by eating and drinking his own damnation in the next.'
This accomplished nobleman died in February, Anno 1735. By his lady,
Mary, widow of Thomas Thynne, Esq; (father of Thomas lord viscount
Weymouth) and daughter of Edward Villiers, earl of Jersey, he had
issue, four daughters, Anne, Mary, Grace and Elizabeth.
His lady died but a few days before him.
Mr. Pope, with many other poets of the first eminence, have celebrated lord Lansdowne, who seems to have been a good-natur'd agreeable nobleman. The lustre of his station no doubt procured him more incense, than the force of his genius would otherwise have attracted; but he appears not to have been destitute of fine parts, which were however rather elegantly polished, than, great in themselves.
Lord Landsdowne likewise wrote a Masque, called Peleus and Thetis. His lordship's works have been often printed both in quarto and in duo-decimo.
[Footnote A: Gen. Dict. Art. Granville.]
[Footnote B: See Burnet's History of his own Times.]
[Footnote C: General Dictionary, ubi supra.]
[Footnote D: It was called a Dramatic Opera, and was decorated at a great expence, and intermixed with Songs, Dances, &c.]
[Footnote E: Upon the accession of King George the 1st, the lord Lansdowne was seized, and imprisoned in the Tower, upon an impeachment of high treason; but was soon after honourably discharged, without being brought to a trial.]
* * * * *
Mr. JOHN GAY,
This eminent Wit was descended of an ancient family in Devonshire, and educated at the free-school of Barnstaple in the same county, under the care of Mr. William Rayner, an excellent master[A].
Mr. Gay had a small fortune at his disposal, and was bred, says Jacob, a Mercer in the Strand; but having a genius for high excellences, he considered such an employment as a degradation to it, and relinquished that occupation to reap the laurels of poetry.
About the year 1712 he was made secretary to the duchess of Monmouth, and continued in that station 'till he went over to Hanover, in the beginning of the year 1714, with the earl of Clarendon, who was sent there by Queen Anne; upon whose death he returned to England, and lived in the highest esteem and friendship with persons of the first quality and genius. Upon Mr. Gay's arrival from Hanover, we find among Mr. Pope's letters one addressed to him dated September 23, 1714, which begins thus,
Dear GAY,
'Welcome to your native soil! welcome to your friends, thrice welcome to me! whether returned in glory, blessed with court-interest, the love and familiarity of the great, and filled with agreeable hopes; or melancholy with dejection, contemplative of the changes of fortune, and doubtful for the future. Whether returned a triumphant Whig, or a desponding Tory, equally all hail! equally beloved and welcome to me! If happy, I am to share in your elevation; if unhappy, you have still a warm corner in my heart, and a retreat at Binfield in the worst of times at your service. If you are a Tory, or thought so by any man, I know it can proceed from nothing but your gratitude to a few people, who endeavoured to serve you, and whose politics were never your concern. If you are a Whig, as I rather hope, and as I think your principles and mine, as brother poets, had ever a bias to the side of liberty, I know you will be an honest man, and an inoffensive one. Upon the whole, I know you are incapable of being so much on either side, as to be good for nothing. Therefore, once more, whatever you are, or in whatever state you are, all hail!'[B]
In 1724 his tragedy entitled the Captives, which he had the honour to read in MS. to Queen Caroline, then Princess of Wales, was acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury Lane.
In 1726 he published his Fables, dedicated to the Duke of Cumberland, and the year following he was offered the place of gentleman usher to one of the youngest Princesses, which, by reason of some slight shewn him at court, he thought proper to refuse. He wrote several works of humour with great success, particularly The Shepherd's Week, Trivia, The What d'ye Call It, and The Beggars Opera, which was acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields 1728. The author of the Notes on this line of the Dunciad, b. iii. I. 326.
Gay dies unpensioned with a hundred friends;
observes that this opera was a piece of satire, which hits all tastes and degrees of men, from those of the highest quality to the very rabble. "That verse of Horace
Primores populi arripuit populumque tributim,
could never be so justly applied as in this case. The vast success of it was unprecedented, and almost incredible. What is related of the wonderful effects of the ancient music, or tragedy, hardly came up to it. Sophocles and Euripides were less followed and famous; it was acted in London sixty three days uninterrupted, and renewed the next season with equal applause. It spread into all the great towns of England, was played in many places to the thirtieth and fortieth time; at Bath and Bristol fifty. It made its progress into Wales, Scotland and Ireland, where it was performed twenty-four days together. It was lastly acted in Minorca. The fame of it was not confined to the author only; the ladies carried about with them the favourite songs of it in fans; and houses were furnished with it in screens. The girl who acted Polly, 'till then obscure, became all at once the favourite of the town, her pictures were engraved, and sold in great numbers; her life written; books of letters and verses to her, published; and pamphlets made even of her sayings and jests. Furthermore, it drove out of England, for that season, the Italian Opera, which had carried all before it for ten years; that idol of the nobility and the people, which Mr. Dennis by the labours and outcries of a whole life, could not overthrow, was demolished by a single stroke of this gentleman's pen."
Dr. Swift in his Intelligencer Numb. 3. has given us a vindication of Mr. Gay, and the Beggars Opera; he observes, 'that though an evil taste be very apt to prevail both in Dublin and in London; yet, there is a point which whoever can rightly touch, will never fail of pleasing a very great majority; so great that the dislikers, out of dullness, or affectation, will be silent, and forced to fall in with the herd; the point I mean is, what we call humour, which, in its perfection, is allowed to be much preferable to wit, if it he not rather the most useful, and agreeable species of it.——Now I take the comedy, or farce (or whatever name the critic will allow it) called The Beggar's Opera, to excel in this article of humour, and upon that merit to have met with such prodigious success, both here and in England.' The dean afterwards remarks, 'that an opinion obtained, that in this opera, there appears to be some reflexions on courtiers and statesmen. It is true indeed (says he) that Mr. Gay hath been somewhat singular in the course of his fortunes, attending the court with a large stock of real merit, a modest and agreeable conversation, a hundred promises, and five hundred friends, hath failed of preferment, and upon a very weighty reason; he lay under the suspicion of having written a Libel, or Lampoon, against a great minister, it is true that great minister was demonstratively convinced, and publickly owned his conviction, that Mr. Gay was not the author, but having laid under the suspicion, it seemed very just that he should suffer the punishment, because in this most reformed age the virtues of a great minister are no more to be suspected, than the chastity of Caesar's wife.' The dean then tells us, that our author in this piece has, by a turn of humour entirely new, placed vices of all kinds in the strongest, and most odious light, and thereby done eminent service both to religion and morality. 'This appears from the unparalleled success he has met with; all ranks, parties, and denominations of men, either crowding to see his Opera, or reading it with delight in their closets; even ministers of state, whom he is thought most to have offended, appearing frequently at the Theatre, from a consciousness of their own innocence, and to convince the world how unjust a parallel, malice, envy and disaffection to the government have made.——In this happy performance of Mr. Gay, all the characters are just, and none of them carried beyond nature, or hardly beyond practice. It discovers the whole system of that commonwealth, or that imperium in imperio of iniquity established among us, by which, neither our lives, nor our properties are secure, either in highways, or in public assemblies, or even in our own houses; it shews the miserable lives and constant fate of those abandoned wretches; for how small a price they sell their souls, betrayed by their companions, receivers, and purchasers of those thefts and robberies. This comedy contains likewise a satire, which though it doth by no means affect the present age, yet might have been useful in the former, and may possibly be so in ages to come, I mean where the author takes occasion of comparing those common robbers of the public, and their several stratagems of betraying, undermining, and hanging each other, to the several acts of politicians in the time of corruption. This comedy likewise exposes, with great justice, that unnatural taste for Italian music among us, which is wholly unsuitable to our Northern climate, and the genius of the people, whereby we are overrun with Italian effeminacy. An old gentleman said to me many years ago, when the practice of an unnatural vice grew so frequent in London, that many were prosecuted for it; he was sure it would be the forerunner of Italian operas and singers, and then we would want nothing but stabbing, or poisoning, to make us perfect Italians. Upon the whole I deliver my judgment; that nothing but servile attachment to a party, affectation of singularity, lamentable dullness, mistaken zeal, or studied hypocrisy, can have any objection against this excellent moral performance of Mr. Gay[C].'
The astonishing success of the Beggar's Opera induced our author to add a second part, in which, however, he was disappointed, both in profit and fame. His opera entitled Polly, designed as a sequel of the former, was prohibited by the lord chamberlain from being represented on the stage, when every thing was ready for the rehearsal of it, but was soon after printed in 4to. to which the author had a very large subscription. In the preface Mr. Gay gives a particular account of the whole affair in the following manner; 'On Thursday December 12 (says he) I received this answer from the chamberlain, that it should not be allowed to be acted, but suppressed. This was told me in general without any reasons assigned, or any charge against me of my having given any particular offence. Since this prohibition I have been told, that I am accused, in general terms, of having written many disaffected libels, and seditious pamphlets. As it hath ever been my utmost ambition (if that word may be used upon this occasion) to lead a quiet and inoffensive life, I thought my innocence in this particular would never have needed a justification; and as this kind of writing is what I ever detested, and never practiced, I am persuaded so groundless a calumny can never be believed, but by those who do not know me. But when general aspersions of this sort have been cast upon me, I think myself called upon to declare my principles, and I do with the strictest truth affirm, that I am as loyal a subject, and as firmly attached to the present happy establishment, as any of those who have the greatest places or pensions. I have been informed too, that in the following play I have been charged with writing immoralities; that it is filled with slander and calumny against particular great persons, and that Majesty itself is endeavoured to be brought into ridicule and contempt.
As I know that every one of these charges was in every point absolutely false, and without the least grounds, at first I was not at all affected by them; but when I found they were still insisted upon, and that particular passages which were not in the play were quoted, and propagated to support what had been suggested, I could no longer bear to lye under those false accusations; so by printing it, I have submitted, and given up all present views of profit, which might accrue from the stage, which will undoubtedly be some satisfaction to the worthy gentlemen, who have treated me with so much candour and humanity, and represented me in such favourable colours. But as I am conscious to myself, that my only intention was to lash in general the reigning and fashionable vices, and to recommend, and set virtue in as amiable a light as I could; to justify and vindicate my own character, I thought myself obliged to print the opera without delay, in the manner I have done.' The large subscription Mr. Gay had to print it, amply recompens'd any loss he might receive from it's not being acted. Tho' this was called the Sequel to the Beggar's Opera, it was allowed by his best friends, scarce to be of a piece with the first part, being in every particular, infinitely beneath it.
Besides the works which we have already mentioned, Mr. Gay wrote several poems, printed in London in 2 vol. 12mo.
A Comedy called The Wife of Bath, first acted 1715, and afterwards revived, altered, and represented at the Theatre Royal in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.
Three Hours after Marriage, a Comedy; acted at the Theatre-Royal, in which he was assisted by Pope and Arbuthnot, but had the mortification to see this piece very ill received, if not damned the first night.
He wrote likewise Achilles, an Opera; acted at the Theatre in Covent Garden. This was brought on the stage after his death, and the profits were given to his Sisters.
After experiencing many vicissitudes of fortune, and being for some time chiefly supported by the liberality of the duke and duchess of Queensberry, he died at their house in Burlington Gardens, of a violent inflammatory fever, in December 1732, and was interred in Westminster, by his noble benefactors just mentioned, with the following epitaph written by Mr. Pope, who had the sincerest friendship for him on account of his amiable qualities.
'Of manners gentle, of affections mild;
In wit a man, simplicity a child;
Above temptation in a low estate,
And uncorrupted even amongst the great;
A safe companion, and an easy friend,
Unblamed thro' life, lamented in thy end:
These are thy honours! not that here thy bust
Is mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy dust,
But that the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms—here lies GAY;'
Then follows this farther inscription,
Here lie the ashes of Mr. John Gay;
The warmest friend;
The most benevolent man:
Who maintained
Independency
In low circumstances of fortune;
Integrity
In the midst of a corrupt age;
And that equal serenity of mind,
Which conscious goodness alone can give
Thro' the whole course of his life.
Favourite of the muses
He was led by them to every elegant art;
Refin'd in taste
And fraught with graces all his own:
In various kinds of poetry
Superior to many,
Inferior to none,
His works continue to inspire
what his example taught,
Contempt of folly, however adorned;
Detestation of vice, however dignified;
Reverence of virtue, however disgraced.
Charles and Catherine, duke and duchess of Queensberry, who loved this excellent man living, and regret him dead, have caused this monument to be erected to his memory.
Mr. Gay's moral character seems to have been very amiable. He was of an affable, sweet disposition, generous in his temper, and pleasant in his conversation. His chief failing was an excessive indolence, without the least knowledge of economy; which often subjected him to wants he needed not otherwise have experienced. Dean Swift in many of his letters entreated him, while money was in his hands, to buy an annuity, lest old age should overtake him unprepared; but Mr. Gay never thought proper to comply with his advice, and chose rather to throw himself upon patronage, than secure a competence, as the dean wisely advised. As to his genius it would be superfluous to say any thing here, his works are in the hands of every reader of taste, and speak for themselves; we know not whether we can be justified in our opinion, but we beg leave to observe, that of all Gay's performances, his Pastorals seem to have the highest finishing; they are perfectly Doric; the characters and dialogue are natural and rurally simple; the language is admirably suited to the persons, who appear delightfully rustic.
[Footnote A: See Jacob.]
[Footnote B: General Dictionary, Article Gay.]
[Footnote C: Swift, ubi supra.]
* * * * *
PHILIP Duke of WHARTON,
The unhappy nobleman, the memoirs of whose life we are now about to relate, was endowed by nature with all those shining qualifications by which a great man can be formed. He possessed a most extensive memory, a strong and lively imagination, and quick and ready apprehension.
By the immediate authority of his father, our noble author's studies were confined to one particular branch of learning; with a view, no doubt, that his son's uncommon genius might make the greater progress, and shine with a superior lustre in that species of erudition he had made choice of for him. On this account it was, that the earl his father would not permit the young lord to go to public or private schools, or to any college, or university, but had him carefully instructed by domestic tutors; and as he gave an early display of the most astonishing parts, the earl bent all his thoughts how to improve them in the best manner, for his son's future advantage.
As soon as this sprightly genius, had laid a sufficient foundation in classical learning, he studied history, particularly that of his own country, by which he was able to discern the principles of the constitution, the revolutions it has undergone, the variety of accidents by which it may be endangered, and the true policy by which it can be preserved. While he thus read history, he became a politician; and as he did not neglect other sciences, he acquired a general knowledge both of life and things, before most other persons of distinction begin to read, or think at all.
By his not receiving an academical education, he escaped that stiffness and moroseness of temper frequently contracted by those who have been for some time condemned to a collegiate obscurity. Neither had he the least tincture of a haughty superiority, arising from the nobleness of his birth, and the lustre of his abilities. His conversation was easy, pleasant, and instructive, always suited to his company, of whatever quality, humour, or capacity they were.
As it was the earl of Wharton's view, to qualify his son to fill that high station, in which his birth would one day place him with advantage to his country; his great care was to form him a compleat orator. For this purpose some of the principal parts in the best English Tragedies were assign'd him at times to study, particularly those of Shakespear, which he used to repeat before a private audience. Sometimes his father gave him speeches which had been uttered in the house of peers, and which the young lord got by heart, and delivered with all the graces of action and elocution; with so much propriety of expression, emphasis of voice, and pronunciation wherever it was requisite, as shewed his lordship was born for this arduous province. Nor did the excellency of these performances receive a small additional beauty from the gracefulness of his person, which was at once soft and majestic.
Thus endowed by nature to charm and persuade, what expectations might not have been formed on him? A youth of a noble descent, who added to that advantage the most astonishing parts ever man possessed, improved by an uncommon and well regulated education. What pity is it, this illustrious young man, born to have dictated to the senate, and directed the business of a state, with the eyes of a people fixed upon him, should fall so exceedingly short of those fair hopes, he had so justly raised in every breath. He wanted one quality, without which birth, fortune, and abilities, suffer a considerable diminution. That quality is prudence; of which the duke of Wharton was so destitute, that all his parts were lost to the world, and the world lost to him.
The first prelude to his misfortunes, may justly be reckoned his falling in love, and privately marrying a young lady, the daughter of major general Holmes; a match by no means suited to his birth, fortune and character; and far less to the ambitious views his father had of disposing of him in such a marriage, as would have been a considerable addition to the fortune and grandeur of his illustrious family. However disappointed the earl of Wharton might be, in his son's marrying beneath his quality; yet that amiable lady who became his daughter-in-law deserved infinitely more felicity than she met with by an alliance with his family; and the young lord was not so unhappy through any misconduct of hers, as by the death of his father, which this precipitate marriage is thought to have hastened. The duke being so early freed from paternal restraints, plunged himself into those numberless excesses, which became at last fatal to him; and he proved, as Pope expresses it,
A tyrant to the wife his heart approv'd;
A rebel to the very king he lov'd.
The young lord in the beginning of the year 1716 indulged his desire of travelling and finishing his education abroad; and as he was designed to be instructed in the strictest Whig principles, Geneva was judged a proper place for his residence. On his departure from England for this purpose, he took the rout of Holland, and visited several courts of Germany, and that of Hanover in particular.
Though his lordship was now possessed of his family estate, as much as a minor could be; yet his trustees very much limited his expences, and made him too moderate remittances, for a person of his rank and spirit. This gave him great uneasiness, and embarrassed him much in his way of living, which ill suited with the profusion of his taste. To remove these difficulties, he had recourse to mortgaging, and by premiums and large interest paid to usurers, supplied his present necessities, by rendering his affairs still worse.
The unhappy divisions which reigned in England at the time this young peer made his first entry into public life, rendered it almost impossible for him to stand neuter, and on whatever side he should declare himself, still there was danger. The world generally expected he would follow the steps of his father, who was one of the first English gentlemen who joined the prince of Orange, and continued firm to the Revolution principles, and consequently approved the Hanoverian succession, upon whose basis it was built. But whatever motives influenced the young marquis (for king William had bestowed this title on his father) he thought proper to join the contrary party. The cause of his abandoning the principles of the Whigs is thought to be this.
The marquis being arrived at Geneva, he conceived so great a disgust at the dogmatical precepts of his governor, the restraints he endeavoured to lay upon him, and the other instances of strict discipline exercised in that meridian of Presbyterianism, that he fell upon a scheme of avoiding these intolerable incumbrances; so, like a torrent long confined within its bounds by strong banks, he broke loose, and entered upon engagements, which, together with the natural impetuosity of his temper, threw him into such inconveniencies, as rendered the remaining part of his life unhappy.
His lordship, as we have already observed, being very much disgusted with his governor, left him at Geneva, and as if he had been flying from a pestilence, set out post for Lyons, where he arrived about the middle of October 1716.
The author of the duke of Wharton's life has informed us, that the reason of his lordship's leaving his governor so abruptly, was on account of the freedom with which that gentleman treated him, a circumstance very disgustful to a person of his quality. He took leave of him in the following manner.
His lordship somewhere in his travels had picked up a bear's cub, of which he was very fond, and carried it about with him; but when he was determined to abandon his tutor, he left the cub behind him, with the following note addressed to him.
'Being no longer able to bear with your ill-usage, I think proper to be gone from you; however, that you may not want company, I have left you the bear, as the most suitable companion in the world, that could be picked out for you.'
When the marquis was at Lyons he took a very strange step, little expected from him. He wrote a letter to the Chevalier de St. George, then residing at Avignon, to whom he presented a very fine stone-horse. Upon receiving this present, the Chevalier sent a man of quality to the marquis, who carried him privately to his court, where he was received with the greatest marks of esteem, and had the title of duke of Northumberland conferred upon him. He remained there however but one day, and then returned post to Lyons; from whence he set out for Paris. He likewise made a visit to the queen dowager of England, consort to king James the IId. then residing at St. Germains, to whom he paid his court, pursued the same rash measures as at Avignon.
During his stay at Paris, his winning address, and astonishing parts, gained him the esteem and admiration of all British subjects of both parties who happened to be there. The earl of Stair, then ambassador at the court of France from the king of Great Britain, notwithstanding all the reports to the marquis's disadvantage, thought proper to shew some respect to the representative of so great a family, which had so resolutely supported the present administration, especially as he was a young man of such great personal accomplishments, both natural and acquired, and blest with a genius so capable of serving his country even in the most eminent station.
These considerations induced lord Stair, who was a prudent, discerning minister, to countenance the young marquis, give him frequent invitations to his table, and to use him with distinguishing civility. The earl was likewise in hopes, by these gentle measures, and this insinuating behaviour, to win him to his party, which he had good reason to think he hated. His excellency never failed to lay hold of every opportunity, to give him some admonitions, which were not always agreeable to the vivacity of his temper, and sometimes provoked him to great indiscretions. Once in particular, the ambassador extolling the merit, and noble behaviour of the marquis's father, added, 'That he hoped he would follow so illustrious an example of fidelity to his prince, and love to his country, by treading in the same steps.'—Upon which the marquis immediately answered, 'That he thanked his excellency for his good advice, and as his excellency had also a worthy and deserving father, he hoped he would likewise copy so bright an original and tread in all his steps.' This was a severe sarcasm, as the ambassador's father had betrayed his master in a manner that was quite shameful. He acted the same part in Scotland, which Sunderland did in England. They pushed on king James the IId. to take violent and unconstitutional measures, to make his ruin certain: They succeeded in their scheme, and after the Revolution, boasted their conduct as meritorious; but however necessary it might be for king William, upon principles of policy to reward the betrayers, he had yet too good a heart to approve the treachery.—But to return to the marquis, we shall mention another of his juvenile fights, as an instance to what extravagant and unaccountable excesses, the inconstancy of his temper would sometimes transport him.
A young English surgeon, who went to Paris, to improve himself in his business, by observing the practice in the celebrated hospitals, passing by the embassador's house on the 10th of June at night, took the liberty to break his excellency's windows because there was no bonfire before his door. Upon this outrage he was seized and committed prisoner to Fort L'Eveque. This treatment of the young surgeon was resented by the marquis; but he fought for no other satisfaction than to break the ambassador's windows a second time. Accordingly his lordship proposed it to an Irish lieutenant-general, in the service of France, a gentleman of great honour and of the highest reputation for abilities in military affairs, desiring his company and assistance therein. The general could not help smiling at the extravagance of the proposal, and with a great deal of good-nature advised his lordship by all means not to make any such attempts; 'but if he was resolutely bent upon it, he begg'd to be excused from being of the party, for it was a method of making war to which he had never been accustomed.' We might here enumerate more frolics of the same kind which he either projected, or engaged in, but we chuse rather to omit them as they reflect but little honour on the marquis.—We shall only observe, that before he left France, an English gentleman of distinction expostulating with him, for swerving so much from the principles of his father and his whole family, his lordship answered, 'That he had pawned his principles to Gordon the Pretender's banker for a considerable sum; and till he could repay him, he must be a Jacobite, but that when that was done he would again return to the Whigs.'
About the latter end of December 1716, the marquis arrived in England, where he did not remain long, till he set out for Ireland; in which kingdom, on account of his extraordinary qualities, he had the honour done him of being admitted, though under age, to take his seat in that august assembly of the house of peers, to which he had a right as earl of Rathfarnam, and marquis of Catherlough. Here he espoused a very different interest from that which he had so lately embraced. He distinguished himself on this occasion as a violent partizan for the ministry; and acted in all other respects, as well in his private as public capacity, with the warmest zeal for the government. The speeches which he made in the house upon many occasions, uttered with so much force of expression, and propriety of emphasis, were an irrefutable demonstration of his abilities, and drew upon him the admiration of both kingdoms. The marquis's arguments had very great influence on which side of the question soever he happened to be.—No nobleman, either in that or the English house of peers, ever acquitted himself with greater reputation, or behaved with a more becoming dignity than he did during this session of the Irish parliament. In consequence of this zeal for the new government, shewn at a time when they stood much in need of men of abilities, and so little expected from the young marquis, the king who was no stranger to the most refined rules of policy, created him a duke, the highest degree of a subject.
In the preamble to his patent, after a detail of the merit of his father, and his services to the government are illustrated, his lordship's behaviour in Ireland and his early endowments are thus mentioned.
'When we see the son of that great man, forming himself by so worthy an example, and in every action exhibiting a lively resemblance of his father; when we consider the eloquence he has exerted with so much applause in the parliament of Ireland, and his turn and application, even in early youth to the serious and weighty affairs of the public, we willingly decree him honours which are neither superior to his merits, nor earlier than the expectation of our good subjects.'
As soon as the duke of Wharton came of age, he was introduced to the house of lords in England, with the like blaze of reputation, and raised jealousies in the breasts of the most consummately artful, and best qualified in the house of peers. A little before the death of lord Stanhope, his grace, who was constant in nothing but inconstancy, again changed sides, opposed the court, and endeavoured to defeat all the schemes of the ministry.
He appeared one of the most forward and vigorous in the defence of the bishop of Rochester, and in opposing the bill for inflicting pains and penalties on that prelate.
The judicious observations he made on the trial of the bishop, and the manner in which he summed up and compared a long and perplexed kind of evidence, with inimitable art and perspicuity, may be seen in the duke's speech upon that extraordinary occasion, which is a lasting proof of his amazing abilities in the legislative capacity, as well as of his general knowledge of public business.
He, however, did not confine this spirit of opposition to the house of lords, but exerted it both in city and country, promoting in all kinds of elections such persons as were supposed to be no fautors of the court. Such was the hatred he now conceived to the ministry, and such his desire of becoming eminent; that he even pushed himself into the city of London; was invested with the rights and privileges of a citizen, and was entered a member of the wax-chandler's company; by virtue of which he appeared at all meetings, charmed all societies, and voted in his own right upon all occasions.
Notwithstanding his astonishing activity in opposition to the court, he was not yet satisfied that he had done enough. He could not be in all places, and in all companies at once. As much an orator as he was, he could not talk to the whole nation, and therefore he printed his thoughts twice a week, in a paper called the True-Briton, several thousands of which being dispersed weekly, the duke was pleased to find the whole kingdom giving attention to him, and admiring him as an author, though they did not at all approve his reasoning.
Those political papers, which were reckoned by some the standard of good sense, and elegant writing, were collected together in his life-time, and reprinted by his order, with a preface, in which he gives his reasons for engaging in an undertaking so uncommon to a person of his distinction.
Here it will not be improper to remark, that notwithstanding all those instances of the duke's zeal, his sincerity in opposing the ministry was yet suspected, as his former behaviour was so very inconsistent with it; but he never failed to justify himself throughout the different and contrary courses of his conduct, pretending always to have acted consistently with the honour and interest of the realm. But he never was able in this particular to obtain the public judgment in his favour.
It is impossible to reconcile all the various actions of this noble-man. He was certainly too much governed by whim and accident. From this time forward, however, though he might deviate from the strict rules of a moral life, he cannot be said to have done so with respect to his politics. The same principles on which he set out, he carried to his grave, with steadiness through all the events of fortune, and underwent such necessities, as few of his quality ever experienced, in a cause, the revival and success of which had long been desperate, before he engaged in it.
The duke's boundless profusion had by this time so burthened his estate, that a decree of chancery took hold on it, and vested it in the hands of trustees for the payment of his debts, but not without making a provision of 1200 l. per annum for his subsistence. This allowance not being sufficient to support his title with suitable dignity at home, he proposed to go abroad for some years, 'till his estate should clear itself of incumbrances. His friends, for his own sake, were pleased with this resolution, and every body considered this course as the most prudent, that in such circumstances could be taken. But in this the world was deceived, for he went abroad from no such prudent motive, oeconomy being a virtue of which he never had the least notion in any part of his life. His business at Vienna was to execute a private commission, not in favour of the English ministry, nor did he ever shine to greater advantage, as to his personal character, than at the Imperial court.